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If you're not careful, you'll get what you ask for.

For all those years, she'd gone to the second row, on the middle aisle. That meant that every time she knelt down, half the men in the place had a clear view of her ass, thrust high in the air. Mom wasn't there to pray! She was there to make sure that none of the men did.

Father Ambrose was the priest. His sermon was some boring thing about giving back to the community. Funny thing, it seemed to me that the only person he was ever looking at was mom. And not mom. Her tits. She smiled the whole time in a tight little smile. Was Father Ambrose thinking about greasy up his cock and titty-fucking mom? No way!

When it got to communion, mom got up. I was still sitting. "Aren't you going," she whispered? "No," I said quietly. I didn't get to confession yesterday. "Well, that was foolish of you," she said, a smile on her face, if you die today you'll go to hell, won't you?" She stepped out of the pew and went up, knelt down, and opened her mouth to Father Ambrose. I noticed that he pause a long time and looked at that mouth when he to her for communion.

When it was all done and we stood to go, I said, "Mom, where do you want to have brunch?" "Oh, dear, I'm not all that hungry, and some things are best not done on a full stomach."

She didn't elaborate on what she needed to do, but I hoped it involved my cock and her ass.

"Same for me," I said. "Just a coffee, then?"

"Please, that would be grand," she said.

We went over to Starbucks. As with church, every guy in the place got hard looking at her ass, pushing high by her fuck-me-pumps. When we went to the counter, there was some 20-something slacker guy. His eyes about exploded when he looked at her. I could see that he was her wet-dream come true. Mom just wanted a black coffee, with two shots of espresso. "I need something to wake me," she said. I don't recall what I had.

When we got the coffee and sat down, mom looked right into my eyes. "I hear that Paula will be home to see her folks in a few weeks. She's on summer break from that college where she teaches." She paused.

"Oh?" I replied.

"She's a lovely girl. Never r married, I hear from Eileen." That would be Mrs. Beechen. "Very pretty girl."

"Oh, as pretty as her mother," I asked.

"Even more," said mom. "How about I have Paula and the Beechens to dinner and have you come, too?"

"I'd like that , mom," I said, but I really wasn't thinking about Paula.

"Well," said mom, "Like mother, like daughter."

"How's that mom?"

"Quite the ass on that pair," said mom. She looked me straight in eye. A grin came to the corners of her mouth. "Quite the women for having babies." I swear she winked one eye at me.

"How about," she said, sipping the last of her coffee, "We go? I'm afraid I've put on a pound or two and need to get out of this dress."

"You want to get home?" I asked.

"Oh, we don't need to get me home. A little more time visiting would be awfully nice." There was a big smile on her face.

I am no idiot, but I played along.

"Any place you need to go?" I asked. "The pharmacy?'

"Oh, anything you need there, Junior," she asked.

"No," I said, all my meds are up to date.

"Oh, you need meds? You didn't tell me!" she said, pretending ignorance.

"Nothing much," I said.

"Why, then let's go to your place and have chat," said mom, smiling.

It was five minutes drive to my house. On the way, mom spent a great deal of time adjusting her dress around her ass. "I really have to drop a few pounds," she said when she caught me looking at her hands tugging at the fabric.

"No, mom, you look just fine," I answered. I was sincere, not the way most guys would say that. Mom did look fine. So fine that every guy wanted to fuck her.

When we got to my place and she came in, I expected her to kick off her shoes, as we always did. No one wore shoes in the house in our family. But she kept the heels on.

I led the way into the living room, and then I felt her hand on my shoulder. "Do you like the sofa or the bed?" she asked.

"You're in charge, mommy," I said.

"No, junior, you're the man.

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