I move my fingers up to the underside of the headboard and grip it tightly, my knuckles turning bone white as I feel the blood rush out of my hands. Y...u cup your own hands over my breasts as they begin to move lazily with each hard, slow thrust. Toying with my nipples, your thrusting becomes faster- feverish, purposeful. My moaning becomes louder and just when I think I'm going to succumb to orgasm, you pull out! I scream with disappointment, but you quell the height of my cry by placing your. We had lived with my mother, until she had died in a car accident when I was only twenty-two. From that time on, my son, William, and I had lived together in a small apartment. Over the years I had often held two jobs, so that I could provide as best as I could for William. He had never complained, and had always been a good son.As we headed home that night we drove past a fancy restaurant that we always joked about, saying that someday we'd eat there. We knew it was too expensive for us, but. More

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