I got up onto my elbow as quietly as I could and stared at Mom’s newly bared pubic thatch. It was mashed down in places but the center was pulled up...in a mini-Mohawk. It seemed darker there and I leaned closer to confirm my suspicion that it was because her slit lay underneath the wispy ridge. Mom’s pelvic mound looked like a painting, everything rigid and fixed except for a tremble in her tummy so tiny it didn’t even disturb the little Mohawk. I wished for a breeze and, magically, a gentle. " Stop it!" she yells, or at least tried to yell. The sensations flooding her seem to be taking over her body, and it is all she can do to gasp out her plea. " Oh God, John" she begs. Still that relentless motion rocking her, bringing her pleasure, and leaving her feeling helpless. It isn't that she is helpless to fight it, Marina knew. It is just that her body didn't want to fight it, and is actively cooperating in her ravishment. She made a sound from deep in her throat, and she couldn't tell. More

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