”“So polite,” she praised, “Good boy.”I was embarrassed by how good her praise felt. I think she could tell.“Do you like being my good boy...” she tugged on my hair with a balled up fist.“Yes!”“Yes, what?”“Yes, Mistress!” I corrected myself.My mistress undid her trench coat. It fell to the floor in a heap around her ankles. Her naked body was so beautiful. I licked my lips.She slid two of her fingers into her pussy. She fingered herself for a few seconds, then withdrew her hand. A thick slime. “Sorry,” I said as I removed my hand from my shorts. I may have blushed a little; I certainly must have looked flustered. But in truth I wasn’t terribly embarrassed. It was more the unexpectedness of my mother being there, rather than the fact that she had caught me holding my cock, that prompted my reaction. Like most eighteen year old boys I masturbated every day, usually more than once, and of course my mother knew that I did. But Mom just smiled, and said, “Don’t mind me.” And she sat down. More

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