It only came to the middle of my thighs. I slipped on a pair of white panties. I took one last look in the mirror. I thought to myself and for a mothe... of an eighteen year old son.I still looked good and I know my husband still likes what I look like. He tries to fuck me at least five times a week. I heard the car horn and I ran downstairs, closed and locked the front door and headed for the car. My son was already in the seat.I sat down on his lap and swung my legs into the car. I looked down. He’s discharged, even so, he continues to force his cock inside me, all the way inside until his balls bounce off my pussy.The man pulls my top up until my bare chest is exposed to the fridge nights air and cold, rough bricks. My nipples and ample tits mash against the coarse building, more discomfort, more pain. And still, this angry stranger pounds into me.“How old,” he asks, pumping harder than before, his hips thrust, his whang gouging me.“Fourteen.”“Oh, motherfuck-motherload,” his second. The dream was over.I still adored her, but the world caught up with us, demanding we face the music and pay the price. Strangely, when the fuzz took us away, I seemed to accept arrest much better than Sarah, who fought all the way into the van, shouting, kicking, screaming at the police, while I just sat in the corner and kept as quiet as a mouse.Felicity bravely agreed to represent me and did everything she could, but the best barrister my fortune could buy fell ill, suspiciously, at the last. Then she turned and left without saying anything. I assumed she was going to get her coat, but she went straight back to the dining room, walked round the table, and sat back down next to Ben. I returned to my seat next to Lara. "Everything ok?" she enquired. I shrugged. To be honest I didn’t really know. By now we were the only couples left in the dining room. Looking intensely in my eyes across the table, Chloe lent over to Ben and spoke at length in his ear. His eyes gave a quick look in.