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Rose McGowan's secret life is in danger of being exposed.

"I like how you cook," he said, lowering his vocal register in what he hoped was a sexy way.

"Mmmmm," Francesca murmured, "and I like the way you rub my shoulders." She rolled her muscles, like a wave under his moving fingers, from her left shoulder point to her right. Wally's eyes were directly above her forehead and his dick fattened as he watched the shimmering swell of her breasts rising and falling under her reflective silk robe.

Wally's hands automatically, quite naturally, slid down beside and then under his mother's boobs. She felt her pussy contract involuntarily as her son's hands simultaneously rubbed the sensitive outsides of her breasts and the soft insides of her bare upper arms before they lifted her heavy tits and pushed them flat against her chest. "Hhhnnnnn," She sighed, deflating her lungs and raising her hands up to Wally's ears. She rubbed the top his shells and suggested, "Let's go sit on the couch, huh?"

Wally stepped back as Francesca pushed her chair from the table and stood. She held out her right hand to curled her finger tips around Wally's left wrist, using it like a leash to lead him to the big four-cushion reverse camelback couch beside Johnny's wet bar and stereo system. She kicked off her mules and reclined on the two deep brown velvet center cushions, taking full advantage of the couch's nine-foot length to stretch her arms up and extend her arching feet. Wally stared down at her elongated voluptuous body. She looked, to him, like a blue angel. Francesca patted the cushion by her hip. "Sit." Her voice was quiet, but held a gentle command, nonetheless. "Tell mama what you see... and what you like."

Wally sucked in a deep breath and perched on the edge of the sofa midway between Francesca's knees and the top of her thighs. He reached out his left hand and laid it on her right breast, feeling her stiff nipple stab the center of his palm as she inhaled. He closed his hand and moved it in a circle, pushing her boob in its lace, under the satin. "I see YOU and I like THAT..." he began, huskily, "And when I touch you, I want to see more and do more."

"Hhhhnnn," Francesca moaned, "Go... on."

Wally continued massaging Francesca's mound and tugged her robe's belt tie with his right hand, loosening the bow and pulling the sash free. He leaned over his mother and kissed her warmly, increasing the pressure of his left hand and opening the furry shawl collar from her waist to her throat. She pushed her tongue between his lips and lowered her arms. Her right hand held the back of his head as she mangled his mouth fervidly. Her left hand drug along his spine and dove beneath the elastic waist of his fleece pants. "Aaaahhhhnnn" she cried into the back of Wally's throat as she discovered his naked ass and dug her nails into his flesh.

"Uuunnhh!" Wally groaned, around Francesca's tongue, wondering if she had drawn blood from his butt, yet flexing his cheeks and pushing back against her harsh hand for more. He found her left nipple with his right hand and pinched it hard, through the lace, between his thumb and middle finger. Quickly releasing it, he spread his splayed hand over her whole tit and pulled it up, as if he was stretching taffy.

"NNNNYaahahhh!" Francesca squirmed with agonized pleasure as the initial sharp pain sent stronger, and longer, ecstatic messages through her entire neural network. Her stomach flipped and her cunt flooded. She pushed Wally's face up and hissed "Oh! Fuck me! FUCK me! NOW, SON!"

For all his self-talk and resolve, Wally was still a 21-year old man with limited sexual experience.

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