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She moved through the house in a pure white silence, her bare feet nestling in the thick pile carpet. In the moonlight everything seemed to reflect a light blue, a light blue that darkened as her shadow slinked past. She carried her martini glass, stylishly sipping, careful not to spill anything on her carpet.

Her husband, well ahead of her with the booze, as he was every night, was upstairs asleep, oblivious to her nocturnal roaming. She would finish her drink before slowly climbing the stairs.

Looking through the window she noticed the light mist that covered everything, a gray white presence that seemed to just float between lights, much like she floated now. That mist seemed to surround her as she carefully placed the glass on the counter and moved towards the stairs.

Standing in front of the mirror, she looked at herself. The sheer white gown seemed to cover her like the mist outside, veiling, but not covering her shape. She touched her hair, running her hand through the slightly tussled locks. The hint of gray expertly covered in a shiny, light blonde. Looking downward, the triangular hint of hair showing through her gown was also expertly colored.

Moving her hands down to her breasts, she lifted and cupped them in her hands. The bit of sag bothered her some, but it was not a bad trade for the increased sensitivity she experienced lately. Thinking of her lover's fascination with breasts, this sensitivity was a welcomed benefit in her struggle with age.

She watched herself turn in the mirror, noticing that, even with the slight sag, her breasts were lovely. Running her palms up over the nipples, she watched them stiffen through the wisps of fabric that covered them. She imagined his lips closing around them, suckling her like he had so long ago.

Feeling an odd feeling roll through her, she walked back to the counter, lifted her drink, and gulped the remaining liquid from it. The dry burn in her throat somehow soothed her and she reached to the pitcher and poured another. Quickly gulping it also, she placed the empty glass on the counter again and turned toward the stairs.

Quietly, she climbed the white carpeted stairs, pausing at the landing to look over the room below. The moonlight undulated over the furniture giving an eerie cast to the night. She finished climbing the stairs and walked to the door, moving her hand to the knob. Silently turning, she glanced down the hall and then slipped inside, locking the door behind her.

He was in the bed, pretending to sleep, as he did whenever she came to him. She enjoyed this game, making him play it each night. She'd slip in, sit on the bed and reach her hand under the white quilt.

The naughty boy would not be wearing anything beneath the quilt and she would find his cock and coax it to erection. Only then would he open his eyes, awakened to the pure white form of his mother.

Tonight was no different as she took his cock and expertly ran her fingers in just the way she knew he loved, feeling it stiffen to her. She then saw his open eyes gaze hungrily at her breasts as she tugged at her gown, letting it fall aside, flowing onto the floor. Moving her hand from his cock, she guided his head to her breasts, urging him to suckle them.

Remembering this sensation from nearly nineteen years ago, she moved her hand back to his bulging erection and began stroking. Her other hand guided his hand between her legs, leading his fingers back inside her.

Feeling his hips begin to move, she pulled back the quilt and then moved over him, straddling him. Taking his manhood (how she loved thinking of his manhood) she guided it as she lowered onto him. Sighing at the feel of him so deep inside her again, she began to move, moving his hands to her breasts as she did.

His glassy-eyed stare encouraged her to move faster. Knowing he'd be quick to come, she licked her fingers and then moved them to her clit, gently massaging it. Now they moved together, caught in the pure and blind intensity of need. In this moment, the haze rose from them both and they writhed, fueled by sensation only. Cock and cunt became the only existence they possessed as they succumbed to raw, physical desire.

Her ass slapped on her son's thighs as he moaned and raised his hips to her, coming in powerful, youthful spurts. Seeing his ecstasy, she came with him, her cunt muscles gripping and releasing his throbbing cock.

She fell over him, her breasts pressing the scant hair on his chest. Without a word, they lay entwined until she caught her breath. She then climbed off him and watched him turn to his side, curling up. She gathered her gown, unlocked his door and slipped down the hall to her bathroom. Turning on the water, she waited until steam poured from the shower and she stepped inside, scrubbing herself.

Rinsing off, she climbed out of the shower and looked at the clouded mirror. Only a shadow stared back at her. She dried herself, slipped back into her gown and headed back downstairs. Pouring another drink she walked to the window and peered out into the fog. She loved the fog, how it softened things, changing the stark colors, the dark black shadows into a pure graying white. She gulped her drink, searching for that softness, feeling the dark black ease into something gray. Perhaps another drink will make it all white.

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