Summary: Son slyly fucks Mom multiple times with Dad in the car.
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You never realize how much stuff you’ve collected in your life until it’s moving day.
With our youngest son finally going away to college, we did two moves in one. My husband Alex and I were moving into a condo only a few miles away, but first we were driving Cory sixteen hours away to college. Because we had to put all our things in storage (we wouldn’t get title for another three weeks), we were planning a two-week road trip after we finished driving a few days drive to drop Cory off.
As we were packing the car, with all of Cory’s stuff plus our suitcases for the almost three-week round trip, we found we had a major predicament. By the time the car was loaded, there was only room enough to seat two people: the driver and someone sitting in the back seat directly behind the driver. Everyplace else was piled to the roof with Cory’s belongings and our suitcases.
My husband tried to reshuffle everything, but there was simply too much of it.
I finally suggested, “Cory and I could squeeze back there together.”
“For sixteen hours?” Alex asked. “You’d end up totally on each other’s nerves.”
“Well, we’ll likely have to take more rest stops this way,” I shrugged.
“With your teacup-sized bladder, we’ll need to do that regardless,” Alex quipped, always annoyed by how often I needed pit stops. He was a put-the-pedal-to-the-metal-and-keep-it-there kind of guy, while my bladder was the kind of traveler that always insisted on stopping to smell the roses. (Or if there wasn’t anyplace official to stop, perhaps just to make the roses smell.)
I turned to Cory, who was slim like I was, “Can you handle sixteen hours cramped beside your old mother?”
“Only if I have to,” my son, always sarcastic, agreed grudgingly. He felt resistant, but he realized the only alternative would be to leave some of his stuff behind, which wouldn’t be acceptable at all.
“Be careful with that attitude, young man,” I shot back playfully. “You’re going to be stuck next to me for sixteen hours, so you’re probably better off if I’m in a good mood.”
I should note it was a very hot August day and I was wearing a sundress for the drive, to stay as cool as possible.
We all did one more pee check, which I of course made use of, then Cory and I squeezed next to each other into the cozy spot big enough for one.
Alex asked, with sarcasm just like his son’s, “Comfy cozy?”
With Cory’s right elbow poking into my breast, I quipped, “Like a cow in a Pullman car.”
“Moo,” Cory added, shifting a bit more, resulting in even more pressure on my left breast, since on the other side I was crammed up against a pile of boxes that was stacked to the roof.
We were just out of the city half an hour later, when I objected, “This isn’t working.”
“You don’t enjoy being crowded together like a sardine?” Cory asked, as he set aside the book he was reading on his iPad, like I too was attempting, my Kindle app the only app really worth owning.
“Not particularly,” I agreed, as I wriggled around ineffectively before suggesting, “Maybe I could just sit on your lap for a while.”
“Okay,” my son nodded, agreeing with me for a change.
I climbed onto his lap and sighed, “Now that is much better.”
“Agreed,” Cory said.
“I’m not too heavy for you, am I?” I asked. At forty-six I was still in great shape. I was slim with big breasts, with a firm ass and tight legs. Selling real estate, I knew that my looks played a key role in my sales. Sex sells, always has, always will. So normally I dressed in professional but sexy business suits, or stylish dresses with nylons and four-inch heels. My 38d natural breasts were always showcased, as I counted on them to help me close more deals than the actual real estate I was selling.
“No, you’re fine,” he answered, shifting slightly.
As Alex continued driving, I soon noticed two things:
1. Wearing a short, skimpy dress had been a bad idea, as I was now sitting on my son’s lap, my skirt not quite covering my butt, and a narrow thong the only barrier between my vagina and my son.
2. My son’s penis was hard and I could feel it pulsing directly under my vagina.
My son, who was rather nerdy in high school like his father had been, and having been offered full ride scholarships to over a dozen colleges, he had really blossomed physically by working in construction all summer. Gone were his scrawny arms, replaced with impressive muscles. I had complimented him frequently on his summer reformation. My boy had become a man.
Yet now, as we drove along a bumpy section of road that was under construction, I realized my boy had indeed turned into a man, as I could feel his erect manhood directly beneath me.
With each bump his hardness rubbed against my vagina, and even though I tried to control myself, it was getting me wet. I considered adjusting where I was sitting, but was worried it would embarrass him if I let on that I could feel his erection. So instead, I tried to control my bouncing by pressing my hands down on the seatback in front of me.
Yet for about ten minutes, which felt like an eternity, my son’s erection, thankfully trapped behind his shorts, kept rubbing against my very wet woman parts and driving me crazy.
Finally the road smoothed and now his tumescence was just resting quietly, but it was still hard and I could still feel it prominently, directly underneath my opening. I knew I should move, even an inch or two sideways would probably help, yet I still felt obligated to remain frozen in place. Partly because I was worried I would embarrass him if I moved, but also partly, undeniably, because the position I was sitting in right now felt so damn good.
For twenty minutes my vagina rested on his erection, which never shrank, while chatting with my husband as much as possible to distract myself from the awkward situation I was in.
Finally I saw an upcoming rest stop and suggested we stop.
Just as Alex was slowing down, I felt the insistent flinching of Cory’s penis. It flinched three times, each time pressing itself up ever so slightly but still noticeably against my labia.
I moaned, unintentionally.
Alex asked, “You okay, Sarah?”
“I just need to stretch for a bit,” I answered, my face burning red at getting aroused from sitting on my son.
“I could grab a drink,” my husband nodded, as he pulled into the stop.
“Me too,” I agreed, feeling a bit dehydrated.
Once we rolled to a stop I joked to Cory, “I imagine you’re dying for a break, too.”
“No, I’ve been enjoying the ride,” my son answered without implying any sort of sexual innuendo. Truth be told, except for my frustration and guilt, part of me had been enjoying the ride too, but if I dared to mention it, there would be a definite sexual charge to my words, so I remained silent.
My face, which was already quite flushed, went a shade darker as I opened the door and climbed out. I’m not sure if my face could get any redder than it already was, but as my son climbed out and stood up, two things were apparent:
1. His erection was poking out against his Adidas shorts.
2. The shorts had a prominent wet spot that undoubtedly had come from me.
I turned away and headed for the washroom, mortified that my fluids had soaked into my son’s shorts. Once inside, I pulled my panties down and couldn’t believe how wet they were.
Now I should note I’ve always gotten wet easily, and I was quite a flooder when I got off. I also had a ferocious sexual appetite that my husband could seldom satisfy… thus I had a variety of sex toys on hand to finish the job he usually couldn’t complete. I had a we-vibe, a couple of vibrators, anal beads, a butterfly toy I could wear while I was away from the bedroom, which was currently in my purse, and my newest acquisition, a massage vibe… which was literally orgasmic.
Deciding I needed to quell my burning cunt (fuck the niceties, I was so horny I could hardly stand), I leaned against the wall in a stall and began pleasuring myself. Not surprisingly, the half-hour-plus of Cory’s unintentional teasing (I hoped it was unintentional, but I certainly wasn’t going to ask) had me already revved up, and I came in no time at all. My pussy juice had spilled down my leg when I came, so I awkwardly cleaned myself up with toilet paper.
Once I was recovered more or less, I also wrung out my panties while they were wrapped in toilet paper to try and make them less damp, but after putting them on, I could still feel their humiliating wetness. Usually I loved sex. I loved coming; but the constant reminder by these wet panties that my son’s cock had gotten me horny was too much to bear, so I took them back off.
Instead, I hid the sexy wet thong in my purse and went to the sink to wash my hands and legs. Unfortunately, a mother with her child came in, so all I could do was wash my hands thoroughly, hoping that would be enough to hide the scent of my own cum.
Leaving the washroom, I decided there was no way I would sit back on my son’s lap. I figured that instead, we would have to persevere squished side by side. I purchased a coke and a bag of chips from a vending machine and headed back to the car.
Fuck, I thought as I left the shaded area of the rest stop and the summer sun pounded into me. It was a fucking sauna out here. I wanted to get a change of panties from my suitcase, but decided not to: how would I be able to explain that? ‘Oh, I just feel like a change’ would sound really stupid and inevitably lead to further questions. No thanks.