The Whitcombs or more likely, Mrs. Whitcomb, invited me to a small luncheon at their summer place on Cape Cod. There was a morning train that ran down...the cape where guests would be picked up and driven to the beach house. An afternoon train would take us all back to Boston in time for dinner. I knew the service well since I owned thirty percent of it.The summer weather was fine, with high clouds and a soft offshore breeze keeping the air cool enough even in the sun. Several people had brought. I slid my naked, freshly shaved body between the silk sheets of the bed, sighing contentedly as I rubbed myself against the slinky material. I woke up to the sound of Amy’s voice the next morning.“Wake up, angel. It’s time to dress you.”I stirred and groaned, rolling over to face the wall, my back now to her. She grabbed the covers and yanked them off me. I whined and pouted.“Mmm mm mmm,” Amy said. “Seems like a crime to cover up such a prime cut of triple-A fuck meat with clothes. But rules. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back to lay on the bed. As he pushed my skirt up around my waist, I thought of his clothes laying on the living room floor and prayed none of my house-mates came home earlier than I expected.I looked down between my breasts and across my tummy to see the wrinkled man who was about to fuck me. Or he would just as soon as his cock got hard! It was still as small as it had been downstairs. I had expected some sort of action to have started, but. Ayan could not really authenticate, but it was very much like she was moaning. And, though, the voice clip lasted only for a few seconds, the lust in her voice was very clear.Or was it just his feeling? Was his mother, in reality, crying?! But what about the messages she just sent? That was real! Or was it his own mind playing games?Ayan just could not process all that happened in the last few minutes and decided to send his mother a text message.Ayan: Are you alright, Mom? You don’t sound.