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There was a gorgeous female form on the other side of the stage, her details flickering in and out of the shadow of the curtain where she teased her entrance -- an elegant lady with powerful curves, a tight waist. Red, panting lips that seemed to beg for something to go between them. Dark brown hair that veiled her face. Her round, firm ass curving upward as she leaned, full, heavy breasts hanging in the thin material of a glistening bra.

Sexy. Somehow, both refined and dominant. In total control of her body. The way she moved was unlike anything I had ever seen; her hips gyrated in a dizzying circle as she stepped into the open, showing off exactly what she could do to a man if she rode him.

Everyone – and I mean everyone, turned to look at her.

For a split second, I could imagine what it would be like to experience a woman with that kind of control, riding on my cock. I could visualize it, sense it – she could move in a way that swirled, slick, around and around and around, a vortex of pleasure that I could almost feel. That woman was built for this kind of dancing, built to drive men to orgasm within seconds.

I felt the lust growing in me, unstoppable before this woman who knew exactly what to do, who in an instant, conquered the heart of every man that beheld her.

Her hands went behind her. The clip holding her bra over her lovely white chest was undone. Her hands slid over her chest like lightning, the bra falling, her fingers barely covering ruby nipples, her wet, pink mouth open and calling. I could almost feel what that mouth would feel like on me - I could imagine the sensation of those lips, those hips, the feeling of her white skin, the taste of the sweet pink perks on each breast.

She flipped her head back, her long hair flying upward, falling in a glorious cascade behind her pale neck. Her hands lowered, smoothing down and between her legs, the entirety of her breasts now gloriously free for me to see. Her breasts were still firm even though it was clear that she wasn’t in her twenties – she was older, in the very peak of her body’s sexual prime.

Ripe for the taking.

I was hard, painfully so, my cock forcing itself against my pants. Everything about her was what I wanted. Her teats were especially gorgeous, distracting me until I could look up to get a good look at her face.

She looked down and into the crowd.

And then I noticed it.

I realized it.

It was that angled face. It was that straight nose. The perfect eyebrows. The vibrant color of her eyes. I realized I had seen the shape of those breasts, very, very recently. And on the left breast, in the stark light of the stage, just over the areola, I could see it.

A mole.

A tiny, black mole, just above the pink jewel of her nipple.

I started to realize what -- who I was looking at. Whose lips were opened in a kiss, the mimicry of a suck, the kind of pursed mouth that women made when they wanted to taste cock. The loving, red lips that I had seen speak, teach, punish, comfort, a million times and more.

It was her.

It was my mother.

My beautiful, sweet mom was stripping on stage.

Her hips moved in a perfect circle with absolute and hypnotic control.

That was an excerpt from:

"Happy Birthday. Love Mom"

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