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By the end of her story she had regained composure, no longer crying, although looking completely miserable. I comforted her as much as possible while...avoiding any physical contact, keeping myself busy preparing coffee and fetching her tissues. ‘I know you don’t want me here, but please let me sleep on your couch, I won’t bother you, and I’ll move my flight up in the morning, I have no where else to go.’ I hesitated, but one look at those pleading green eyes and I melted, even smiling warmly as. Their disapproval seemed to refocus upon her rising hand inching up her silk blouse. Trembling fingers hot against the topmost clasp. She worked it undone in moments, and then the second clasp. Her other hand held pinned between the slow rise and fall of her uppermost thighs. Her eyes blue gaze locked on to those who would watch, taking image after image of her breaking. Her back bent, arching her chest towards the Sun. It's heat instantly enveloping her smallish breasts as they surged from the. “Tony, will you accept the commission to paint forty panels and provide a story for each for the Chapel of St. Jerome?” President Haywood asked when we were seated.“Yes, sir,” I responded simply. “As long as my art is not questioned.”“I think we have an agreement in principle and can work out the details with your agent. Father Andrew will be your guide and sounding board in the stories and funding will be provided for your work. As we understand that this cuts into your income as an artist,. Yet nothing which could prepare me for the beguiling, heart stopping sight of my mother’s swollen pussy!She was sleeping (or was she?), breathing softly, her bare bosoms moving gently up and down like waves upon a calm sea. Her legs were spread wide like a petal, her trimmed, moist pubic hair glistened like dew upon lush grass. I halted in my tracks – my whole body felt numb, I felt as if my flesh had been consumed by raging fire. The very blood within my veins, felt like hot flowing lave.
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