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Since the day she met him, Melinda had adored the Lankett boy. She knew he was best friends with her son, and also respected their casually physical relationship by honoring the closed bedroom door whenever she encountered it. On more than one occasion she'd ended up discovering panties in her son's room, and although she found it fruity for a boy to wear a girl's underwear, she was an open-minded woman. Being a former groupie for whatever rock bands she could chase after had that effect on a lady, and the fact that her son didn't have a father in his life was down to her free-love philosophy. She hadn't grown up in the era of flower power, but she admired its principles.

Men who met Melinda were grateful for that outlook on life. She was a beautiful mare, statuesque and athletic, but with the well-aged curves being a MILF of thirty-nine (which she had just turned) implied. She had never dabbled in the hard drugs when they hit the scene - instead she was a past and current pot smoker who rejected the notion of it being the gateway drug. Her indulgence, if anything, was to pleasures of the flesh.

"Happy birthday to ya', Miss Lane," drawled Desmond, presenting to the black mare an envelope. He beamed a smile at her full of pearly white teeth, and when she smiled back, he blushed.

"Aw, thank you, Desmond." As she opened the envelope and fished out the card, she teased, "You're such a sweetie. Are you ever gonna start calling me Melinda, though?"

"Prolly not," said the foxcoon, clutching his wrist behind his back. "Momma'd yank my ear clean off if she knew I'd been all disrespectful to a lady."

The mare liked the cover of the card. It showed a glass of red wine, half a lipstick mark on the top edge. "Well, you kno-o-ow," she tutted, "your mom's not here to beat you up if you wanna call me something that doesn't make me feel like my own mom."

Desmond watched her open the card, and he kept his remarks to himself, waiting for the payoff like watching the ball arc down after a home run. She read the words, mouthing them, then giggled girlishly and followed along aloud the second time. "Women are truly like wine: best when aged, wonderful with dinner, and healthy only in small amounts. Well, aren't you just a little charmer."

"Figgered y'might like it, Mel-, do I hafta call ya' by name...?"

"You do," Melinda said with a wink. "It's my birthday wish."

The foxcoon sucked in his cheeks, huffed out of his nostrils. "We-e-ell, all right, since yer the birthday girl an' all... Melinda. But don'tcha tell my mom."

"I think that's the first time you've even called me that," the mare wistfully said. She leaned down and smooched Desmond on the nose and was stricken by his composure. It struck her that he was probably completely gay for her son, and she wondered if he wasn't getting ready to be her son-in-law. I could sure do worse for an in-law, she told herself as she took a seat at the island counter.

"So Desmond, sweetie." She laid the card on the counter and smiled. "Ricky's off working. I know that you know. Did you really come by just to give me this card?"

Desmond took the opposite seat, a thin smile on his face. His long, banded tail swished. "Sure did, ma'am. I thought it might cheer ya' up, sensitive as some ladies are when they're..." He rolled his eyes. "Ya' know..."

"Getting older?" Melinda suggested. She reached across the counter and rubbed Desmond's paw. "I appreciate it. You remind me of a boy I used to know when I traveled."

"Miss-, Melinda," Desmond stumbled, earning a little laugh from the mare, "I get th' feelin' a lotta boys're all nice to a pretty lady like you. I bet I ain't too special."

"Aw, see, you're too good at flattery, honey. That accent makes even the total BS sound totally sincere." To her amusement, Desmond looked away with a potent blush on his cheeks. "Uh-huh, that's what I figured... you trying to get me all pliant?"

Both sounding and looking perplexed, Desmond asked, "Why would I wanna do that?" His gaze barely met hers, like that of a beaten dog.

Melinda smiled demurely. It was a look she hadn't been very good at when she was youthful and a little naive, but in her later years, it served her well. She tossed back her head and her fiery red hair draped over her back, gleaming healthily in the kitchen light. "Ricky's told you all about me, I'm sure. Don't be all coy with me, sweetie. I won't tell him about this."

Desmond stared full-on at the mare, his eyes wide and full of disbelief. She saw something on his face which was very nearly offense, but then he started to laugh. At first the sound worried her because it seemed almost malicious, like it was pointed her way, but the fox wasn't like that and she knew it. Eventually he wrangled it under control and said, "Oh... Melinda. You're insinuatin' I wanna get in them yoga pants ah'yours?"

The mare licked her lips. She found Desmond's accent unbearably cute. "Well, don't you?"

"Think ya' got me misunderstood," Desmond said. "Oh, you're a real pretty lady, s'just..." His ears splayed back, fanning out and making his head appear wider. He smiled apologetically. "Well..."

"I know when to fold 'em, sweetie," Melinda ruefully said. "It was just a fun little idea. Don't worry."

Desmond hurriedly touched Melinda's hands, resting his fuzzy paws on both. "Oh, no! No, ya' don't quite get it. See, I'm kinda like--, y'know, girls are just fine, s'just I ain't exactly equipped like you'd think."

"Desmond, hon," Melinda cut in, "just because I'm a mare doesn't mean you need to be hung down to your knee. I mean, c'mon - with standards that high, I'd never get laid!"

The foxcoon chuckled sheepishly. "Hoo, boy... tell ya' what, you bein' the birthday girl 'n all, and my best friend's momma, and a purdy nice lady overall. I'm gonna just show ya' what's up, and you can decide for yourself."

Melinda glanced at the card again, thinking what a cute sentiment it was, and told herself she didn't care if Desmond was two or twelve inches long. She liked the boy, and more importantly, she wanted to sit on his face. "All right, hon. If it makes you more comfortable."

Desmond scooted off the stool, moving himself with his arms. He started to backpedal, then turned smoothly and beckoned her, never ceasing his gentle locomotion. "How's about somewhere's we can get a lil' more comfy than in here?"

"Aw, but the tile is so easy to clean up," clucked Melinda, scooting off her stool and following Desmond briskly. Her hooves clicked sharply on the kitchen tile like stilettos, seeming to give each step she took a femme fatale flavor which was incredibly off-base to anybody who knew the mare. "You've never even seen my bedroom, have you?"

"Nuh-uh," Desmond said, starting to grin. "Am I about to, ma'am?"

"Well, you might not see it for long, but yeah. I think you are."

Melinda took him down the hall, nudging him past Ricky's room which he tried to turn into by routine. She pushed him through into her room and left the door wide open, another deviation from Desmond's expectations about sex in the Lane household.

"No-o-ow, let's see what's under those Levis, prettyboy," said the mare, dropping to her knees with a heavy bump. She huffed against his belly, nosing into his thick blonde pubic hair just barely exposed by an untucked shirt. "Always thought this hair was cute. I love when men are a bit, what's the word? Hirsute, that's it."

"Wouldja believe me if I said I like it when women got a lil' hair down there?" Desmond asked, touching the back of Melinda's head in defiance of a nagging feeling that he was being somehow disrespectful to her.

She flicked her red eyes up to his warm, green gaze and smiled. Her hands clutched at his ass, fondling the pliant bubbles which were his cheeks. "I'd say you're in luck if that gets you off. Also, before you ask me, yes." She let the affirmation hang, its query unknown, as she opened his fly. When faced only with red lacy panties on the boy's body, she finished: "My carpet matches my drapes."

Taking a closer look at Desmond's groin revealed to Melinda how inactive things were. She expected a bump at the very least, and she began to wonder if Desmond was afflicted with a truly minuscule penis. But she never once doubted that she was turning the boy on, not when she could smell it through his clothes. Well, you did tell him you don't care how little it is. Might just have your bluff called yet, Mel.

"Hm, and what do we have in here?" asked Melinda, keeping her voice playful as she hooked her fingers in the waistband. Slowly she tugged his panties down and the coarse blonde hair of Desmond's treasure trail leading into his bush fanned out the closer she came to revealing his groin. His plush pubes made a quiet scrape as the panties cleared them, blonde curls and loops of hair springing up like corn after the flattening winds of a storm. The panties hooked on something round and smooth, and her smile widened. "Mmm, here's something interesting..."

"Miss Lane, ma'am, really-," Desmond tried to cut in. His voice was dire but his expression almost goofy, cheeks red and teeth all bared.

"Now Desmond, I stopped being Miss Lane as soon as I decided I was gonna suck your cock." She gave the panties a tug, and then there before her eyes was a thick, black vulva, swollen fat as though stricken by estrus. Where its lips met, they grew mildly pink, and a teardrop of viscous vaginal fluid ran down the crease and dripped to the floor. "What on earth is this thing?"

"I was tryin' to te-e-ell you-u-u," Desmond said, drawing the words out in an apologetic I-told-you-so manner. "I'm, y'know, not totally a boy, Miss Lane. How come ya' figger Ricky's always hangin' around with me?"

The mare rocked back on her knees and stared stupidly at Desmond's box. She glanced up at his face, but her eyes kept returning to his vulva, finding it so obscene and bizarre that it was impossible to ignore. "Well, that's-... that's unusual."

"I shoulda been a lil' more direct, I s'pose," Desmond said, backpedaling in little, awkward steps due to his pants around his ankles.

Before he could pull up his panties, Melinda shot out a hand and gripped the garment between his knees, bunching them up. All her grace had returned, and she smiled devilishly. "I used to follow around GNR and a few other bands when I was young. Don't tell Ricky, but I've had my face between another woman's legs before," she lowly told him, pulling him closer by the panties. "'Sides... I've never seen one like this before."

"Aw, Miss Lane, ya' know Ricky's gonna be so peed-off when he finds out his momma stole his pussy," Desmond said in his even way. She grinned up at him, and he grinned back down. "Unless ya' don't want me to tell him what we did... or, what we're 'bout to do, I s'pose."

Melinda's tail swished and flicked, red locks gleaming like ruby. She traced the lines of Desmond's vulva then slipped one indulgent finger inside, outwardly ignoring but inwardly savoring the crooning moan the boy made for her. "Sure feels like a good pussy. And here I figured you and Ricky were just stuffing each other in the butt."

"Oh, he does that too!" Desmond said in a shriek of laughter. "If it makes ya' feel all right, Miss Lane, Ricky's just about a normal boy when it comes to sexy-time kinda things."

She chuckled. "I'm not sure I want to know, if you get what I mean. But is he at least...? I mean," her motherly, concerned tone was completely at odds with her finger buried in his cunt, "is he safe about it?"

Desmond smiled crookedly, blushing. "Well, uh, we don't use any of them rubbers or nothin'. Can't knock me up." He stroked through her hair gently, feeling less and less like doing so was an affront to the lady. "I try to be safe with other boys. If'n I ain't got a reason to trust someone, I ain't gon' let 'em stick it in me. But Ricky, he's usually with me. He's got a life all his own, y'know, but he seems pretty smart about it." He winked. "I learned him pretty well for ya', Miss Lane. I been doin' this a long while."

Melinda slipped her digit out of him. It was utterly soaked with viscous fluid as if she had dipped it into a jar of thin honey. She kissed gingerly just above his muff, appreciating how his pubic hair tickled her nostrils. "I always knew you were a good boy, Desmond. Thank you."

Now the foxcoon slid his soft black paws around Melinda's head, both of them rubbing symmetrical circles in the mare's fiery red hair. His tail swished, dander and loose hairs swimming in the sunlit room like dandelion seeds. "Aw, I just try'n do what's right, Miss Lane... while also havin' a good time. Speaking of, is it just me, or were you hintin' I might get that butt of yours up close an' personal?"

She smiled through much of his speech, but laughed when he cut to the lewd point. She kissed quickly on the lips of his muff and felt a warm surge in her cheeks and loins, a blush for both areas. "Ah, yeah. I was thinking of sitting on your face. Letting you screw me in the butt was up for consideration too, but, well."

"Ain't got the equipment for that," Desmond helpfully noted, smiling. "Still. I'd gladly letcha park yer butt on me..."

Melinda rocked back on her knees. She licked her lips and hummed in thought. "I'll sit on your face," she said finally, "and I'll see if I've still got the old silver tongue. Can't top that deal, sweetie."

"Gettin' to touch your boobies might make it a lil' better," Desmond said, shrugging and smiling. "But ya' know, can't have it all."

The mare stood fast - age hadn't even begun to claim her speed - and threw her arms around Desmond. She gave him a peck on the lips then bumped her nose to his, and he cutely ground his with hers for an Eskimo kiss. "Who says?"

Desmond recoiled, though Melinda's arms - which were taut with muscle tone - wouldn't let him go far. "Why, Miss Lane," he said in an admonishing tone. "You already done and got me seduced, just why," his accent turned why into wha, "would'ja lemme sully them boobies too?"

Melinda smiled, dumbstruck. "God damn," she said after a pause of just a few seconds. The mare shook her head softly. "Your accent makes everything you say so fucking cute. You could tell me I have a week to live and I'd still just grin at how cute it sounds." She kissed his cheek just as he started to grin and laugh and pushed him toward the bed. "Lay back, you little southern shit. I need a place to sit down, and these yoga pants are making me sweaty."

The foxcoon obeyed, because there was no reason to do otherwise. He sat on her bed, shimmied out of his bottoms the rest of the way, and scooted back eagerly. Catching the sun, the matte black flesh of his muff glistened only where its lips had been wetted. "Ready when you are, Miss Lane," he chirped.

With a little smile on her face, Melinda knelt on the bed and kept her eyes on Desmond's, making sure he watched for the full effect. She tugged her t-shirt up and off, baring great expanses of her black fur and the toned washboard of her belly. Clutched in the charcoal fabric of her sports bra, her jugs were almost prudishly hidden, but the mare pulled that up and off just as soon as she tossed away the now inside-out shirt. Her tits bounced free in almost perfect symmetry, big fine tits pulled into subtle teardrops by her middle age. She flicked her black nipples then traced their wide areolas. "Mmm, hard as fucking stone," she purred. "Bet you wanna suck these, huh?"

Mischief was wild in Desmond's eyes but tempered in his smile. He pressed his legs tightly together, somewhat compressing his fat vulva. It sent a shiver through him. "Well, a'yuh, but if I'm bein' a hundred percent honest here," his smile graduated into a grin, "I'm more of a butthole-suckin' kinda guy."

"At least you're honest," Melinda said, climbing into bed beside the boy and thinking impishly, no wonder Ricky loves you so much. She tugged down her skintight blue yoga pants, and unlike the shirt, she had on nothing underneath the pants. Wiry red pubes bristled under the waistband. It was a neatly-trimmed triangle, bringing to mind lovingly-crafted hedges, at least in Desmond's peculiar mind.

"Nice, real nice," Desmond purred, enjoying a lingering look at her bush. "Wouldn't mind stuffin' my snoot in there, too, Miss Lane..."

Melinda smooched him on the cheek and climbed over top of him, moving gracefully with long and toned legs. She swung around on a knee and there above his head hung the fantastic pair of bubbles which were her ass cheeks, thick and round and perfectly black with a shock of a red tail swishing above them. She wasted no time on spectacle, instead dropping her MILF ass on Desmond's eager face immediately. She started to grin as the wedge of his muzzle parted her cheeks.

"There we go," she purred, her tail swishing. "The-e-ere we are. You can find what you're after in there, I imagine. And me, I'm just gonna do my own thing here..."

Desmond found his mark with the cool, wet pad of his nose. He sniffed the bottom edge of her plump cuntlips and flitted his tongue across them. It wasn't hard to appreciate the taste of Melinda, which was in itself like her musk - subtle but undeniably crucial to her appeal. Quietly he moaned, sliding his paws around the curves of her ass cheeks. His nose bumped her anus, that thick black donut he'd been craving more or less since the day he'd laid eyes on the woman. Hungrily, Desmond wrapped his sticky jowl-lips around the pucker and gave it a suck. Melinda's soft croon was more gratifying than anything she could have said with words.

As the prettyboy went after that which he craved, Melinda doubled over and pulled apart his sissy legs. Her chin bumped the edge of his peculiar but fascinating box. She lapped it, but awkwardly, using the bottom of her tongue as the position demanded. The effort still made the boy purr, and she thought he suckled her more firmly.

Beginning to softly gyrate, Melinda gave Desmond more to work with and enjoy. Her mature snatch, damp as his, wiped against his fuzzy neck luridly. She loved the feeling of his fluff on her cuntlips, and she was both shocked and delighted at the creative way he ate her ass. Assuming he did this kind of thing to Ricky, she wondered why her son ever frowned at all.

Melinda, bringing her thoughts back to Desmond alone, reached under one of his warm thighs and felt around his muff from below. Its puffy, black flesh throbbed almost imperceptibly, blood rushing through tender ebon cuntlips, pushing overeager nerve endings to the surface. She traced the lips with a forefinger, then slid her thumb's pad through the split in the middle, leaving her digit wet. "Weird little pussy," she murmured to herself, but her tail swished again. She slipped two fingers into him abruptly - he whined and bucked for her, popping the seal off her asshole briefly - and closed her lips around the upper edge of his vulva, where she rightly guessed the clit to be. She suckled his thick box like he suckled her anus, but she fingered him too, pumping firmly and steadily.

The mare had no idea she was setting an example, but Desmond picked up on it. He reached around her broad hips with both paws, up into the crook of her loins. His pads brushed through her bush and then his fingers found her muff, partly resting on his warm neck. He played across the lips gingerly, drawing on private sessions of his own. Gently but knowingly, he tweaked and twiddled the fat nub of her clit, and it began to wink for him, baring its mottled, plump self in small peeks. Melinda hunkered down, shuddering.

Despite her femininity and beauty as an Arabian mare, Melinda was still a horse with all the brutish strength that that entailed. She snorted, flaring her nostrils. Hot breath blew across the bed and into the exposed, dark flesh of Desmond's vulva, and the boy's toes curled. He crooned, sweeping his paws across Melinda's fine black ass in a reverent state.

Melinda pulled forward, tilting her head as she went. Her lips slid along those of the foxcoon's vulva, cunt juices smearing across her lips as though she were eating an overripe peach. Accustomed to horse cocks and fat knots, Melinda eagerly and easily popped the entirety of Desmond's box into her mouth, and she sucked at it voraciously. Knowing that was hardly enough, she wedged her tongue against the split of the lips, where the black let over sharply to a vibrantly inviting pinkness she couldn't see. Through sheer force, she parted the lips and her strong equine tongue wriggled into him, softer than a cock but more forceful than a digit. To nobody's surprise, Desmond groaned for her.

With the mare further along his body, Desmond was no longer pinned underneath her ass, but it still loomed in his face, big and magnificent. He pulled apart the cheeks and exposed her anus again, and he saw how he'd left it a little more swollen with his suckles - exactly the kind of sucking she was returning now. He smooched it delicately, his nose pressing into the base of her tail. That was the moment he'd remember for years to come, when Ricky's mom was sucking his cunt and his lips were pressed sweetly into the button of her asshole.

Desmond would remember it so clearly and vividly because, at that moment, Ricky poked his head into the room. "Hey mom, you in-?"

Everything stopped like somebody had pressed pause on the whole scene. It was just a second of stillness, but it was a painful second. Melinda popped her lips off of Desmond's cunt, drool falling from her chin messily. She swiped at it in an absent gesture as she sat up, pressing her ass down against Desmond's face. The intrusion of his dazed snout yet again startled her and she flinched off of him, landing on her worshiped ass.

"Ricky!" she blurted, covering her breasts with her arm. "Jesus! Ricky!"

The foxcoon squirmed away from Melinda, rumpling the already well-rumpled sheets under his bottom. He pressed his thighs tightly together and covered his groin with his paws for good measure. "Uh, uh, Ricky. Shit. Hey," he muttered, ears flat and cheeks beet-red.

The stallion stared, the puzzled look on his boyish face turning to an ashamed, blushing frown. "What the hell?" he managed to bleat, finally looking away. "Desmond, that's my mom!"

Desmond scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed his bottoms. The stallion looked in again, as if to confirm that what he was seeing was real, and Desmond flinched to cover his muff despite the dozens, if not hundreds of times Ricky had seen and done lurid things to it. "Well, well, shit!" Desmond snapped, staring at the floor. "Your momma's hot, for Chrissakes!"

Melinda managed to get her sports bra back on. Her pants were so far out in the room that she just sat where she was, legs pursed and cheeks red.

"God dammit, Desmond!" Ricky grunted, pushing away from the door. He could be heard stomping down the hall.

The guilty parties looked at each other shamefaced. The beginning of a smile formed on Desmond's impish face. "So, uh... happy birthday to ya' again, Miss Lane."

"Thanks," the mare said blandly, her expression matching her tone. "Never gonna hear the end of this one..."

"Well... I got an idea if ya' wanna hear me out. I was right about the card, huh? Think I might be two-for-two?"

The mare smiled thinly. She found Desmond's accent cute even in such trying times. "Yeah, I guess so. What's your plan, hon?"

His smile widening and just becoming toothy, Desmond shrugged and said simply, "Threesome. Betcha I can talk him into one."

Shock welled in Melinda's features. "Desmond, that's not even funny."

"Aw... c'mon. Said ya' experimented a lot when you were a groupie," Desmond cooed, getting up and walking over to Melinda. With his jeans on, his shirt off, and his long hair flowing behind his back in the warm summer sunlight, he looked like he belonged in an advertisement for cologne. He leaned in close and smooched her cheek. Any shyness he felt towards the mare had rightly evaporated. "Come on. Ain'tcha just a lil' bit curious? I'll be there, ya'know, to take the edge off."

Melinda shoved Desmond, but it was a gentle push. She shook her head, smiling. "You could sell shit in the sewer, you little-," she laughed unsteadily and shook her head again. "You know what? If you can talk him into it, fine. After the things I've done with my uncle..." She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine."

Desmond didn't have the heart to tell Melinda that her son fucked his cousin on a regular basis, but he made plans to ask about her uncle later on. He kissed her cheek and wordlessly sauntered off to find Ricky. His silver tongue was about to get yet another workout.