I was VERY wet.
I knew he was looking right at my ass _ and my pussy, barely covered by my panties.
It excited me even more to know the "he" who was looking at my ass was my 18-year-old nephew.
And more still that his eyes had to be roaming over my panty-clad pussy.
His hands already had been roaming over my thighs. Up under my skirt.
I knew he, too, was turned on.
The evidence was quite obvious.
Indeed, right before my eyes when I turned my head.
Hard evidence.
Evidence fairly bursting from his jeans.
I felt his hands high up on my thighs, at the beginning of my ass cheeks, on both sides, pushing.
I could feel the blood soaring into my pussy, turning me on still more, as he pushed upward on my thighs.
I moaned. Involuntarily, this time. But a moan.
It stopped him.
He hesitated.
Asked if I was OK.
I laughed.
Easily.
"Oh, yes. It just feels wonderful ..."
And his hands started moving again, suddenly both on the cheeks of my ass, spreading me, gently, but spreading.
I could feel myself opening up, the wetness, the heat.
And his hands moved down, back to my thighs, down toward the calfs of my legs.
I spoke.
Softly.
But I knew it was the time.
It had become an obsession with me.
I couldn't help myself.
"Your mom ... does she let you touch her like this?"
Silence.
Then, "No."
"Have you tried?"
Softly, "No."
"But you want to?"
Even more softly: "Yes ..."
"Do you know what you are doing, right now, have been doing?"
"What? ... No ..."
"Pushing up on my thighs ... you are moving blood to my pussy, turning me on. It's obvious isn't it?"
"What do you mean? Obvious?"
I turned, forgetting my top was off, exposing a breast, a very erect nipple.
"You ARE looking up my skirt aren't you?"
Silence.
More silence.
Then, a barely audible, "Yes."
"I already knew that. I wouldn't be here, with my top off, and a skirt on, if I didn't know that ... if I didn't want you to look.
"Do you really think your mom doesn't know it when you give her backrubs?"
"No ... no ... she wouldn't let me if she thought that ... You know that ..."
"Why do I know that? I'm here, on the couch, my top off, no bra, with you staring at my breasts. Your hands have been wandering all over my ass ... Do you think you could do that without me knowing? Without me allowing it?
"I want you to keep practicing. Slowly. Deliberately. I want you to pretend I am your mother. I want to know what you want to do, I want to feel it.
"And, then ... then ... when you go home ... I want you to do the same things to your mother.
"Not all at once. Slowly. Over several times. Each time, see how far you can go, how far she lets you go before stopping you ..."
He was so quiet.
"You want to do that, don't you?"
More silence.
Then, almost inaudible: "Yes."
"You want us both, don't you?"
Still more silence.
This time, he just nodded his head.
"Practice.
"On me.
"Now. Then, later, maybe I will share a dark secret with you. My secret."
I felt his hands, back on my thigh. I settled back down, letting myself wallow in the sensations ...
Both hands were on my right thigh, moving higher.
Higher.
Now, suddenly, his left hand brushed against my pussy.
He withdraw it like it was on fire.
Without moving, or shifting, I said: "That's what I meant earlier. You touched my panties. They were wet. Proof that I'm turned on, turned on by what you are doing. I can't hide that. It shows. You can see it. It will be the same with your mom ... when you look up her skirt, or touch her, look for any sign of the wetness on her panties, or pantyhose. Then, then you will know: If you see it, she is enjoying herself, letting you do it. You'll know ... That's what you want isn't it?"
Silence.
I turned.
Looking again at his rock-hard cock, bulging in his jeans.
I pointed.
"Just like that! Obvious. Some things don't hide well."
Without another word, I reached over, caressed his boy toy through his jeans.
Gently.
Slowly.
But firmly.
His turn to moan.
"Want me to stop?"
No silence.
