Mene jake piche se use pakad liya voh sarmane lagi. Me dhire dhire use apni baho me dabochne laga voh mujse dur jane ke liye chatpatane lagi use uthak... mene bad par dhakel diya.Bad par jate hi voh bhagne lagi use pakd ke me usee kiss karne laga pahle voh muje dur karne lagi fir thodi der usko mene apni baho me uthake kavita ko mene upar sote hue hii uske kapde nikalna suru kiya usse smooch karte hue mene uska payjama nikal diya fir uska kurta aur boh mere samne adhdi nangi thi mene bhi jat se. Phil was still there. His eyes were closed and his young chest rose and fell gently. He was asleep.The last thing she remembered was just lying there beneath her son, basking in the feel of their bodies so closely pressed together. Then?She wasn't sure. She must have drifted off in the total relaxation that had suffused through her body after their love making. It had been good, so wonderfully good.Again, she looked at her son. An impish urge to reach out and fondle the sleeping hose of his. The loose tip of his foreskin rubbed and teased her depths over and over again. She felt her G-spot pulsating and her cervix constricting. She leaned her head down and moaned and screamed as loud as she could. Her breaths quickened and hardened until she couldn't breathe anymore. Her body tightened and froze as he slammed away at her pussy. The blackness seemed to get darker as she struggled to keep her eyes focused. Her head rushed with every sense of euphoria she had ever felt. Her body. Words. Words. ‘Echoes.’ ‘Of?’ Composed. It’s forgotten. ‘Things that’ve already been said. Or sounded. Or made.’ ‘Viruses? Loops?’ ‘Quotes.’ Pause. ‘Writer’s block?’ ‘No…but…’ ‘Plagiarism.’ His affect is sour. ‘Words, words, words.’ The sky darkened. She had lost time. ‘Hamlet.’ His face twitches. That same small tic. He is unaware of smiling. She had pleased him more than she could know. ‘My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.’ Her skin reddens.
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