I received feedback on one of my previous stories & was asked nicely for my take on the popular "Mom rides in backseat with son" story so I thought I'd give it a go. Thanks!
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I couldn't believe this. My mother-in-law had called us to her home as she was dispensing of family heirlooms prior to retiring to a smaller place on the coast. I had no desire to go since she had never had any use for me, but my husband and 19 year old son insisted on my coming along. I knew I would be miserable, and I was proven right.
As I said, my mother-in law never thought I was worthy of respect despite being, I thought, a pretty good wife to her son for twenty years and mother to her grandson. She had always thought that her son had married down, and truthfully my background didn't match theirs, at least in financial terms. I hadn't gone to university, and I had been a part-time model and actress and full-time exotic dancer. We'd met at a wedding in which I was tending bar, and my husband was simply attending. It had happened quickly; we were married within a few months and I was pregnant shortly after.
My family didn't know about the exotic dancer part; I had kept that from them all, as they would not have been supportive, but regardless for 20 years or so our family life had been fine.
Fine, but not great. While I raised our son, my husband worked and traveled. I knew he'd had a fling or two but chose not to make it an issue as long as he didn't flaunt it. I doubt he was aware that I knew about them, but I chose to keep the family intact for our son.
But for the past couple of years, my son and husband apparently decided that it was fun to tease me, make jokes at my expense and belittle my education and position as a stay at home mother. Whenever I got upset, they always laughed and told me they were just kidding, and I would smile it off. But I think it may have hurt more than either they or I realized.
This trip, though, was over the top. I was agitated on the car ride, and they had paired up to joke about me as usual, and that was before we arrived, where another round of abuse and negative comments awaited me from his mother.
Upon arrival my husband was given a classic watch that had been his grandfather's and my son was given a beautiful and extremely valuable ring that had been his grandmother's. He was told, actually basically instructed, that he could give it to his wife when he married. I was given nothing. My mother in law knew that I had really admired the ring, which no doubt is why my son got it, so I'd eventually have to watch another woman wear it for the rest of my life. I imagined this was her way to attempt to remind me that I wasn't part of the family forever more.
I decided right then that I would not do that. I would not let that ring go to someone else and then have to see it on her finger forever.
The next morning, as if to rub it in, I was offered to pick something that I'd like from the stuff in the garage that was being taken away that afternoon. It was literally stuff they were just dumping. But I selected a mid-size grandfather clock.
My husband bitched and whined because it wouldn't fit in the car, but I was insistent. I explained that if it was taken apart and the passenger seat was laid all the way back, it would fit. He continued to complain, so I pointed out that I was sure I'd find a mover to do it for a few hundred dollars if he wouldn't do it.
Now he was motivated to save money so he got it into the car.
"There you go," he said. "But now you're going to have to squeeze in the back for the whole ride back."
I nodded.
"Hope it's comfortable," he added sarcastically.
I thought to myself, "Oh, it will be," knowing that the only reason I wanted the clock was to get to squeeze in the back with my son.
A few words about my son... He was a good kid, never got in much trouble and was more of a homebody than anything else. But he was terrible with girls his age, and he knew it. He didn't go out much, didn't know how to relate to women and was very sexually frustrated. I did his laundry; I knew he jacked off regularly, and I was fairly confident that he had never had any more action than that,
I had caught him a time or two watching me undress or dress. I noticed it because my shades and curtains would often be opened a few inches or positioned in such a way that I discovered could be seen through.
I began investigating and found footprints near two of my windows, and there was only one set, and they were from his shoes, and then another day I discovered some binoculars in his room with a receipt. They were very expensive, and I couldn't imagine why he'd bought them as he hadn't discussed astronomy or birding or anything else I thought people used them for. But then as I glanced out his window, I noticed that he had a straight sight line into one of my windows. I picked up the binoculars and, sure enough, learned, with the curtains parted as I assumed he did in my room, he had a perfect view of my mirror, dressing area and bed.
I put two and two together and realized that after breakfast most mornings, he'd return to his room as I went to mine to dress for the day. And that as I finished dressing and left my room, he'd emerge from his room and leave for school.
Although this was inappropriate on every level, I sort of figured, "What's the harm?"
I knew I was fit; I was practically the same size and weight as I had been for twenty years; I worked out, was proud of my body, and I was flattered that a guy, even my son, would take those steps to watch me, appreciate me, and, as I'm not naïve, jack off looking at me and thinking about me. And it made me remember the parts of exotic dancing that I enjoyed, the exhibitionism, the thrill of using my skills to work guys up without touching them and commanding their full attention without even acknowledging them.
Some days I'd give him a good view, others barely a peek; still others, I'd "notice" that the curtains were open and close them before getting dressed. I decided that if I gave him a show every day, he'd eventually conclude that I was on to his actions. So he'd get shows, but usually only two or three at most per week.
Over the course of a few months, I did upgrade my wardrobe from typical mom attire to more edgy and sexy stuff like shorter skirts, tighter tops, and sexier lingerie. I added thigh high stockings to my collection and started taking more time adding lotion on my legs, things that I could legitimately do which would add to my time in front of the window without giving anything away.
I noticed cute things about my son too. After what I thought was a particularly good show, he'd be bashful and not very talkative on the way out, but after a time when I closed the curtains, he'd be frustrated and sullen, particularly if I closed the curtains but then appeared in a really sexy outfit.
But back to the story of the horrible visit.
The next day, I wore jeans and a sweater as we all sat down to breakfast, before leaving. But I had already done my makeup and hair and knew I looked good. I sat across from my son and faked a shoulder cramp that gave me an excuse to stretch. My husband and his mother paid no attention whatsoever, but my son noticed and I saw his eyes following my chest as I stretched.
His attention focused, but I made eye contact, and he looked away. I stopped and picked up my juice. Checking to make sure no one else was looking at me, I quickly poured the juice down the front of my sweater and onto my jeans.
"Oh, dear," I exclaimed, acting as if it were an accident.
"Really?" my mother-in-law said, "What are you doing?"
"Sorry, it just slipped," I sheepishly replied.
"Well, go clean up or change;" my husband added, "I want to be on the road within the hour now that your silly clock is in the car."
"That clock has been here for years," his mother added before taking her usual swipe at me, "Though I would have thought your wife could have chosen something more sensible."
As I stood up to go change, my son spoke to all, "I'll just go to my room and meet you at the car in 30 minutes or so."
I thought, "Damnit, the guy wants to go get off like he does every morning."
I considered letting it happen, knowing that a 19 year old is usually good to go again quickly, but decided against it.
I spoke to my husband, "Why not let him pack the bags in the car during that time, dear? Your bag is ready and mine will be as soon as I change."
"Great idea, hon," he agreed.
"Go with your mother and start loading the car," he commanded my son.
I then lead the frustrated kid up the stairs.
"I won't be a moment," I told him as I entered my room. "Just let me throw these dirty things in the bag, and you can take it now."
With my back to him, I removed my sweater, letting him see my bare back. Then I pushed my jeans down, stepped out of them and picked a skirt up off of the bed. It was a style that had buttons all the way up the left side, and the buttons alone held it on.
I wrapped it around me, buttoning the top two buttons and pulled on a silk tank top before turning around. I had decided to be braless today as I'd have a jacket on and no one would notice.
Of course, no one knew that I was planning on removing the jacket while in the car.
With only two of the buttons done, the skirt gave a nice view of my legs, in fact all of them and up to my hip.
I could sense that my son enjoyed this view as I stuffed the wet stuff in the side of my bag.
"I'll wash that stuff when we get home; you can take it now," I told him.
As he left, I quickly wrapped up packing, finished buttoning my skirt, added a light jacket, and added a set of thigh highs.
I returned to the kitchen and said that I was ready.
My husband stood from the breakfast table, grumbled something that I couldn't understand, and announced that it was time to go.
He didn't notice that I was ridiculously overdressed, but my mother-in-law did, "Why are you all dressed up? That's ridiculous for a drive."
"I was in a jean and sweater," I replied, "But then I spilled the juice and this is all I have clean."
"Ridiculous," she reiterated.
I chose not to respond, but I was glad I gone through the act of the spill earlier. She was right in that if I had just come to breakfast like this, it would have been possible that someone would have deduced that I was up to something.
The bags were in the car, and this was the moment of truth.
Would someone realize this had been staged and say something?
I hopped in the back first and scooted as far over as I could toward the clock, leaving as much room as possible for my son.
He approached the car, and I noticed that his eyes were focused on my skirt buttons which now were all done and revealing very little of my leg. As he sat we were pressed against each other, and though I could tell he was crowded and looking at the clock as if there may be another way for this to work, he didn't complain.
My husband sat in front of us, started the car, and our journey was underway.
We were a few hours from home, so I had time to plan my seduction.
For the first few minutes we just sat there perfectly straight, similar to two people crammed together on an airline, though I believe the airlines actually have more space.
He began playing a game on his phone, and with both arms moving, he was pushing into my side more.
My husband turned on the radio and as he fiddled with the tuning, I raised my left arm and put it around my son.
"That's better," I whispered, "Gives us a little more room."
He didn't really comment, but he did use the extra space to move and immediately was fully against me again. I raised up and eased about a quarter of the way onto him.
I began slowly stroking his arm and then hair as my arm was now in a position to do so.
At first, he was still fixated on his game, but as my strokes got longer and firmer, I felt him tense up, and I knew he had finally noticed.
Pulling my arm back I announced that I was warm and managed to slip out of my jacket, leaving it next to me on top of the clock. Now my tits were against his bare arm separated by only a thin silk top.
My husband handed me a bottle of water, and I took a sip, letting my lips slowly move around the bottle, knowing that my son was watching. I set the bottle down and unbuttoned a button near the bottom of the skirt. Noticing that it was still only showing calf, I unhooked another, then another.
I noticed that my son was still holding the game, but wasn't actively playing it. I knew his eyes were on my fingers as they slowly revealed more and more stocking.
I glanced at him and commented, "It's hot."
