Besides she's Jake's mom, and we don't even know if she's into girls." I smile as Tracy says this. Thinking back to what I saw when I came over to Mrs. Thompson's house early from soccer one day....long ago. (That however, is for a different time.)"Yeah, well anything's possible." I say to her. "So, what time are you getting home tonight?" I ask, wondering when I need to start cooking dinner. "I dunno, were fairly quiet here, so not late I hope. Maybe 10:00, 10:30?" She says with her usual quirky little voice. "Ok, I'm thinking chicken, or steak. You'll be surprised when you get home." I said with an attempt at humor. "I will be wondering all day, you fucking dork! I love you, tell Lana I say; Hey." I grin, "I will honey, I love you too." I close the phone in time to see Mrs. Thompson walking out of the bathroom, naked carrying her strapon. "Who was that?" Lana Thompson asks. "It was Tracy, she says; Hey." Mrs. Thompson blushes across her entire body, "Well you tell her, hey back for. She pushed her moistened fingers down into her swollen folds, curling her fingers, bringing them back up, feeling her juices dripping out of herself. As if with their own will, her fingers continued to glissade back down and then up. She knew her lips glistened with her wetness. She felt wetness like morning dew between her inner thighs and ass cheeks. Not only was she able to see her chest rise and fall with the depth of each breath, she heard her panting, the short irregular gasps. Each breath, each exhalation, released pieces of her tension, of her self-doubt, her toxins, ghosts of the past. She moaned, loudly. Thoughts of his hand at her neck, stilling her, gazing into her eyes, reading her soul consumed her. She knew he saw that moment of panic before it was purged with the rest of her poisons. Calmness. His. He had a way of cleansing her insecurities, her self-imposed impurities. Chloe reached for her vibrator. Bringing it to her begging sex, with a quick smooth forward.
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