"Not here, baby boy," she says breathlessly. She gives you a reassuring squeeze and then moves to her closet, rifling around for a minute before emerging with an overnight bag.
"What?" you say. Your dry mouth struggles to form a follow up to that very broad question, but you're terrified to get more specific in case you've misinterpreted the situation.
She pauses for a moment, swiveling to plant her astoundingly large frame on the edge of the bed, and raises you to eye level. Her pupils are dilated, her breathing fast and irregular...either she was having a stroke, or you both understood exactly what was going on.
Then, suddenly, she broke.
Her free hand fell to one titanic mammary, and with a couple of deft tugs, she frees it from bra and blouse alike. Your breath intakes sharply. My God.
Massive, honey-soft and creamy, full and surprisingly perky given her age...it was all you had fantasized about and more. She brought you to her exposed nipple and pressed you hesitantly into it, her grip loosening until she was merely cupping you in place.
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