Backseat Mommy: A Long Hard Ride
Summary: Son slyly fucks Mom multiple times with Dad in the car.
Note 1: This is a Summer 2015 Contest story so please vote.
Note 2: Thanks to goamz86, Robert, and Wayne for editing this story.
Note 3: I had purposely avoided this type of simple plot device for years now… but I finally came up with an idea and a story I thought was worth sharing… I hope you agree.
Note 4: This story and the entire series was updated in October 2018 with a new edit by Tex Beethoven.
Backseat Mommy: A Long Hard Ride
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.
My husband and son were leaning against the car chatting when I walked up to them.
“So, less than fourteen hours left,” Alex quipped, with a playful smile. “Piece of cake.”
Cory replied, “I don’t know about the cake, I think it’s going to be a tight ride.”
I couldn’t tell for sure, maybe it was just the self-conscious part of me, but he seemed to stress the word ‘tight’.
I joked, realizing only after the words had left my mouth that they only added to the innuendo if he was implying one, “Yes, it will likely result in some unavoidable mom and son bonding.”
“Well, it’s you two back there for the whole drive,” my husband added. “No way can I fit back there with anybody.”
That was true. My husband was a big man, and there was no way my son or I would be able to fit either side by side with him or on his lap.
Nope, I still had just under fourteen hours to spend with my son in the backseat. The next stretch without any underwear.
My son climbed back into the car first and patted his lap.
I’d intended to get in first and suggested, “Shouldn’t we try side by side again?”
“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, patting his lap once again.
“You sure?” I asked, knowing it could get awkward without my wearing any panties and my pussy still damp… the aftermath dribble of a strong orgasm.
“Side by side will be too tight,” he replied. “We already learned that the hard way.”
There’s that word ‘tight’ again, I thought. Is he saying that on purpose?
“But I’ll crush your legs,” I pointed out, desperate to avoid sitting on his cock again… having enjoyed it too much the first time.
He shrugged dismissively, “Oh Mom, you’re not heavy at all.”
“You sure?” I asked again, still tentative, as I looked down and could still see the shading of a pussy juice stain on his shorts, as well as the clear outline of his cock… which at least no longer looked to be completely erect.
“Mom, it’s not hard at all,” he answered, now repeating the word ‘hard’ .
The naughty side of me wanted to respond, ‘but it likely will be hard quite soon’, but the good mom in me responded, “If you’re sure I won’t smother you?”
He shrugged, “I can handle whatever you give me.”
So I sat back down on his lap, his words again possibly dripping with innuendo, this time adjusting myself sideways to sit more onto his leg to avoid his crotch.
For half an hour I sat precariously but reasonably virtuously in that spot as we continued driving. Then I felt his hands on my hips as he informed me, not asking for my opinion, while he lifted me up slightly, “Mom, we need to change positions.”
When he lowered me back down, my pussy was again directly seated on his cock, which was again stiff and prominent. I couldn’t help but let out a slight moan as my naked pussy once again responded to its pressure. (I realize that the last time I was sitting in this position I was calling it a penis, but anything that could get me this horny was no clinical penis, it was a damn cock.)
For the next half hour, even though the road was smooth, I kept feeling his cock flinching periodically, which made my pussy tremble and get excessively wet.
Alex asked, “Comfortable back there?”
My son replied, “It’s tight, but good.”
I gasped because while he was saying that, I felt three distinct movements of his cock.
“You okay, Sarah?” Alex asked, as I felt some wetness leaking out of me.
“I’m good,” I responded. I wanted to move away, but I knew without a doubt that I’d deposited even more wetness on my son’s crotch, and if I moved (not that there was anywhere to move to), it would be clearly noticeable. The ability to enjoy wet multiple orgasms had always been a great joy to me, but right now it was my kryptonite.
“Next stop is almost an hour away,” Alex informed his passengers courteously.
“No worries,” I responded, trying to be causal.
Cory added, “Yeah, although it’s getting hot back here.”
“The air is on full,” Alex informed him, and indeed I wasn’t overly hot, except down below. This time Cory’s words were definitely filled with innuendo. My son was flirting with me!
“I think it’s Mom’s body resting on mine that’s making me so hot,” Cory said, as he again flexed his cock directly against my pussy… his intent now perfectly clear. His words also had two very different meanings, one for his Dad and quite a different one for me.
After another minute, Cory asked, “Dad, can you turn the radio up?”
“If I do, I won’t be able to talk with you, I can barely hear you now,” Alex objected.
“That’s okay,” Cory reassured him, “we’ll just let you drive and rock out to your eighties tunes.”
“It’s the eye of the tiger,” my husband began singing as he turned up the radio to the Survivor tune.
Cory was doing something with his phone. Suddenly my phone rang out, announcing a text message.
It was in my purse, which was on the floor, so I reached down, and in doing so I ground my pussy into my son’s very hard cock. I couldn’t deny it… I was incredibly aroused.
I snagged my phone and leaned back up again, unable not to grind my very wet pussy against him again, and I saw the text was from my son.
Perplexed, I clicked on it.
Why are you not wearing panties?
I gasped again. Although this time the music was too loud for my husband to hear me.
I didn’t know what to say.
A second message followed.
And why are you so wet?
I still didn’t know what to say.
I was paralyzed with indecision. Obviously I should stop this inappropriate texting in its tracks. Yet I was incredibly horny, so I wasn’t thinking like a mother or a wife, but like a wanton woman.
As I stared at my phone, shocked by my son’s brazen words yet equally turned on, I was startled as I felt Cory’s hands grasping my hips, lifting me up.
I leaned up slightly against the driver’s seat, bumping my husband.
Alex glanced back so I said, trying to act casual even as my mind was turned to mush, “Sorry, just changing positions.”
“I’m sorry about this situation,” he apologized.
“It is what it is,” I replied, not blaming him, as I felt my son’s hands on my hips as he lowered me back down onto his lap and… and right onto his hard cock!
I yelped in surprise and Alex asked as he turned down the radio, “You okay?”
“Yes, I just got poked by something in a box,” I responded weakly, unable not to say something naughty, an amazing pleasure coursing through me as my son’s cock, which I now had excellent reason to know was bigger than my husband’s, was buried deep inside me, his hands firmly on my hips, holding me in place.
“Okay,” he nodded, as he turned the radio back up as another eighties tune, Bryan Adam’s ‘Summer of 69’, began.
I just sat there; still in complete shock that my son’s cock was buried deep inside me, anchoring me in place.
I just sat there; the urge to start riding my son’s cock growing with every second it remained inside me.
I just sat there; wondering what my astonishing son was going to do next.
I just sat there; secretly wishing Cory would take even more control.
I just sat there; worried that if my son did take control, I would be unable to conceal the obvious reality that we were committing incest just inches away from my husband.
I just sat there and… judge me if you must… enjoyed the ride, every bump in the road giving me fresh pleasure as Cory’s cock surged up inside me. I had to use all my will power not to moan, not to alert my husband to the incestuous adultery I was committing and I couldn’t deny, committing willingly.
Yet, I was frustrated that my son, who had been so brazen as to slide his cock into me, was now just sitting there reading his Kindle, as if his cock weren’t buried deep in his mother’s box.
I just sat there for over half an hour, doing nothing but allowing myself to be teased like crazy.
I had to use all my willpower not to just give in to my insatiable hunger and begin bouncing wildly up and down on my son’s cock.
I had to use all my willpower not to moan in response to every bump on the highway, especially when Alex occasionally drove across some rumble strips, making my body tremble and my pussy quake.
I had to use all my willpower not to grind my pussy on his cock to get myself off, the teasing of a quiescent cock nestled inside me but not doing a damn fucking thing driving me nuts!
Alex startled me, since my head was miles away, when he announced, “Twelve miles to the next stop.”
This seemed to prompt my son finally to take control. He began slowly lifting me up and down on his cock.
I clamped my lips together to make sure I wouldn’t moan as a mixture of emotions swirled through me.
Excitement, because my son was finally taking control.
Humiliation, because I was excited he was taking control.
Pleasure, because the slow fucking was now coursing through every fibre of my being.
Frustration, because he wasn’t fucking me hard like I liked it, although I knew there was no way that was a good idea.
Guilt, because I was allowing my son to fuck me. Theoretically, when his cock had been only motionlessly lodged inside me I hadn’t been allowing him to fuck me. I had simply been allowing him to penetrate me. I know that’s a pitiful technicality, but it had been all I had left to grasp onto… and now it was gone.
But then my son let go of my hips, handing the decision over to me.
This was my chance to put a halt to this. To lift up my body and eject his cock from my very wet pussy. To take parental control of this bizarre situation.