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Since we first fucked at the boathouse, that was where Sandy and I always met. I was early that night, maybe a little extra horny with all the talk about fucking Mom, and waited impatiently in the darkness.I stripped off my clothes and jerked on my rock-hard cock, wondering what was taking Sandy so long. Finally I heard steps on the deck outside and saw her slip inside. I was so eager to fuck, I practically jumped on her, and not until I wrapped my fingers around her huge tits did I realize my mistake."Mom?" Yes, baby," she said, patting my cheek before reaching for something else. She grabbed my hard cock and squeezed."Sandy told me you had a surprise for me in the boathouse. Is this it, son?" Yes, m'am," l blurted, immediately realizing how silly that sounded. Mom chuckled and started undressing."I don't think we have to worry about manners, son. We're just here for some serious fucking, right?" You bet!" l quickly agreed.I watched excitedly as Mom peeled off her clothes. When she. I fast forward the play back from the time I left that morning. There was nothing of interest happened. The only activity was when Jessie got out of bed around 10:30. I was watching the video live by the time lunch was over. I was about to stop watching when Jessie reappeared in the bedroom naked. She looked like she had been sprayed with cum as she went into the bathroom. I confirmed later that Frank had visited Jessie at lunch. I was careful not to say anything that would give away my spying on Jessie. I now realized that I might need to have another camera in the livingroom. I searched online for tiny video cameras with mics. I was pleasantly surprised at what I found. I ordered 4 night vision with audio cameras. The only drawback was they recorded to an SD card. I fast forwarded through the rest of Monday afternoons recording on my way home. Tuesday at lunch I began skimming through that mornings recording from about the time I left.I almost immediately saw Jessie coming into the.
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Sherlock hated this fragility. He always did this, and always had to come back in the end. "My," he pleaded, using his brother's childhood nickname, "I need you. Please."There was a pause. "Come here," Mycroft sighed, opening his arms slightly and gesturing for his brother to come. "Tell me what you need, Sherlock."The curly-haired detective stepped closer to his brother, his arms falling into place around Mycroft's. Into the no-doubt Italian-made fabric of his brother's shoulder, as though he were a child again, he said brokenly, "It's too much, my mind is like white noise, I can't ... I can't think. I need your help." He hesitated.Mycroft's arms settled around him easily, knowing what was coming, but he always needed Sherlock to voice it. "Tell me, Sherlock. What can I do for you?" he murmured. He fumbled a bit for words. "Let me ... let it go. Take control. I'll do whatever you want, My, anything." Sherlock looked up to his brother, shifting on his feet restlessly, hoping that.

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