His stiff middle classiness, made it hard for him to relax. He liked the Duchess; they got on very well sexually. They rarely talked. Twice in fact had they talked properly. The one time on the plane between Carcassonne and London, when the co-pilot hadn't arrived, he wasn't essential for the short trip; she asked if she could sit by him. Impressed Kinghorn felt, by his command of her aircraft. She only had the one; it had been in fact her fathers. He noted her elegance then as she sat in the seat, and how she put on the head set. And how she had waved her hair, and lifted her arms to put it on, he smelt her beautiful smell that seemed unique to her, or perhaps he though in retrospect to her perfumer in Grasse. He noted at that time three things seemed to emanate from her. She was liberated, she celebrated life in her own sophisticated special way, and she was an explorer of humanity for truth and ultimate happiness. This took him to the second conversation in London. Soho in. All the while however my son was standing off to the side of my door frame watching me intently, his eyes glued on every quick thrust I made with my pleasure toy into my glistening steaming slit. I could also see that he was rapidly jacking off, his hand wildly pumping up and down his long thick cock shaft as he watched me. I know, I should have stopped right then and there, but it had been more than four long hard years since anyone except my husband had showed that kind of interest in me, and I guess I got caught up in that longing look of desire he was giving me. So, I continued to masturbate with my vibrating toy driving it harder and faster into my dripping hole, while my son masturbated to me. Knowing that he was watching me so closely sent a wild shiver up and down my spine, and I found myself whimpering and moaning louder than I should have, saying things like, “Fuck yeah that feels so good!”, and “Oh God yeah, right there baby! Come on give me all of that big cock!” God.
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