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My bedroom back home. My mom's house, I mean."Now, why am I back here?" I wonder aloud.I can hear a voice, soft, muted, in the background. It sounds r...markably like my mother's voice.Swinging myself up and out of bed, I pad to my door, wearing only a pair of pyjama pants. My cock swings heavily between my legs, unfettered by underwear.As quietly as I can, I open the door.It's definitely her voice, but not as I've ever heard it... mom speaks in a low, sexy tone that filters up from downstairs,. “Mrs,” she said, as she sat down primly, about three-quarters of the way across the carriage, her small valise and gas mask resting on her lap, “not Miss,” she continued somewhat haughtily.I looked up from the doorway. She was waving her left hand at me, showing her ring finger adorned with a modest thin band of gold reflecting in the dim electric lights of interior of the carriage. I was immediately reminded of the first war, when a lot of young and too immature girls hastily married their. More

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