And I did indeed take control. Although not as a parent, but as a horny slut.
I resumed the slow-motion riding that previously my son had been controlling.
Suddenly it wasn’t my son forcing me to ride him, it was my riding him of my own volition… because I wanted to… because I wanted him… although slowly, which only compounded my frustration as I knew I could never get off like this.
I needed to bounce on his ÇOçk and do it hard.
I needed to ride it fast.
I needed it slamming into me. I didn’t need to make love, I needed to Fuçk.
Yet I couldn’t do any of those things without completely giving away to my husband the shocking truth of what we were doing.
Suddenly my phone, which I had by now put on vibrate, buzzed in my hand.
I looked at it.
Fuçk, I love you, Mommy.
Reading those five words… reading the most sweet, endearing… innocent even… term for being a mother… and I was a quivering, needy mess.
I couldn’t deny that I felt something powerful even as his ÇOçk slowly moved within me, even as I stared at those tender words. Talk about your mixed signals!
I loved him too. No question.
And this… this… wh@tëver this was… only enhanced my love for him.
I convinced myself that this wasn’t wrong!
How could something wrong feel so right?
I was making my son happy, which is the goal of every mother… of every Mommy.
I struggled to control my trembling hands so I could text him too.
I love you too, son.
Another text.
I’m going to come in you Mommy.
Another text:
Just ride me a teeny bit faster Mommy.
Another text:
Please, Mommy!
I wanted to make my son happy.
I wanted to get him off.
I wanted to feel his cvm shooting inside my pu$$¥.
So…
I began riding him faster, cautiously grabbing the back of my husband’s seat for support.
I didn’t bounce on his ÇOçk like I desperately wanted to do, but I did move faster and performed my expert move that always got my husband off, as I tightened my Kegel muscles around his stiff d_1ck.
And just like it always worked for my husband, it now worked for my son… like father, like son… as I felt his cvm filling my Çüñt.
I let out an uncontrollable Mõ@n, made worse by the fact that my head was resting on the side of the seatback just inches from my husband’s left ear.
“You okay?” Alex asked again.
“I just really need to pee,” I replied, desperately grabbing any old excuse as my son continued spewing inside me and I continued milking him for all I could get.
“A couple more minutes,” he promised.
“Okay,” I replied, leaning up, then adding the double entendre, “much longer and I may explode.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” he said, knowing from years of travelling that when I say I have to pee… I have to pee.
My son began bucking his @$$ up, really Fuçking me now, making me tremble and gasp, “Oh, God.”
“There’s a truck stop in two miles,” Alex said, pointing out a sign.
“So close,” I replied, again a double meaning, now completely unable to hide my desperation to come, grateful he was misinterpreting what my urgency was about, as I desperately tried to come at least without screaming, and before we reached the truck stop.
Cory kept pumping his ÇOçk, not super-fast, or hard enough to make slapping sounds, but actively enough to build my 0rg@zm.
I could feel the tide rising in me, knowing the inevitable eruption was close, when I saw the one-mile sign.
Urgency overwhelming me, I had to have this 0rg@zm, my very life depended on this 0rg@zm! I leaned away from my husband, leaned back against my son’s chest and rode his ÇOçk like a crazy woman as I moved my hand to my çlit and started strumming.
I was thankful the music was too loud for my husband to hear the wet sounds of sëx right behind him as I bounced on Cory’s ÇOçk, desperate to 0rg@zm.
I could see the truck stop and a restaurant in the near distance, fast approaching even as I was doing the same, and I closed my eyes and rode and rode and rubbed… and rubbed and finally erupted.
“God,” I Mõ@ned loudly, allowing the word out, certain that my husband would still think I was desperate to pee, not knowing that immediately behind him I was unable to restrain my vocalisations not because of hydraulic pressure, but because my 0rg@zm was hitting me like a thunderstorm, my cvm gushing out of me and flooding onto my son’s ÇOçk and lap. Again I grabbed the driver’s seat and pulled myself up, my son’s ÇOçk finally exiting my overheated pu$$¥.
Thankfully thoughts of incestuous sëx never occurred to him. Why would it? I was in the backseat with my son as Alex reassured me, clearly concerned only about my bladder, “Thirty seconds, honey.”
“Okay, thanks,” I replied weakly, as my now unstoppable 0rg@zm continued ripping through me like a tornado.
I could feel my son fumbling underneath me, likely putting away his ÇOçk, which I realized I still hadn’t seen.
I just closed my eyes and allowed the tornado of pleasure to spin through me, an 0rg@zm as intense as any I’d ever experienced. Partly because my son’s ÇOçk was bigger than my husband’s; partly because of the taboo fact I had just Fuçked my son; and partly because of the crazy reality I had just Fuçked my son in a car with my husband mere inches away.
When he pulled in and brought the car to a stop, my 0rg@zm still wasn’t complete. Yet I had to appear urgent, desperate even, like I could pee myself at any moment, so I slammed open the door, cvm running down my legs, and jumped out of the car, glancing back as I began running to see my son grinning at me, his package safe and sound in his shorts… although a very clear wet patch providing visible evidence of our wrongdoing should CSI show up to investigate.
I scurried through a rustic restaurant and into the washroom, the guilt and shame of my indiscretion and incestuous act suddenly hitting me like the summer heat.
I… had… just… had… sëx… with… my… son!
In… our… car!
With… my… apparently oblivious husband… inches… away!
Oh… my… God!
I… am… the… worst… mother… ever!
But worse yet?
It had been Fuçking amazing!
I may have been a bad mother, but I was a very good Mommy!
I got to the washroom, and for the second time today I wiped cvm off my legs. This time the cvm wasn’t just mine.
What had come over me?
Why had I let my son do that to me?
I could blame the confined space, but truthfully nothing had prevented me from pushing him out of me. Nothing except my own willingness to Fuçk him.
Fuçk!
Then he texted me:
That was amazing, Mommy.
Fuçk!
I texted back, my 0rg@zm finally subsiding, finally responding to him as a mother:
That can’t happen again!!!
He didn’t respond.
So as I finished cleaning up, I texted again:
I’m serious!
He again ignored the text.
I calmed down at least physically, and realized I was feeling completely dehydrated after my workout.
