Road Trip 151

I was in the backseat of an ugly station wagon, sitting next to my best friend from college.

"Thanks for the ride home," I said to his dad in front of me. He was smoking a cigarette that smelled nasty. He didn't respond for a while. Maybe 30 minutes of silence, not even filled by radio.

"Yeah, sure thing," he said like he had his mind on other things. And so set the tone for the rest of this long, boring drive through the desert.

Pretty much all me and my buddy ever talked about was girls. Which ones we liked. What we liked about them. What we had done with whom. So with his mom in the seat in front of him and his dad in the seat in front of me, I figured it was only a matter of seconds before we whipped out our phones and started texting while right next to each other.

"Don't do that," his dad said, empty eyes in the rearview mirror aimed low, at my lap. That was weird. I paused with my phone only halfway out of my pocket.

"Okay," I said. Waiting for something else to happen. But he only readjusted his mirror back up to the back window. And we were back to the quiet hum of the engine and AC. And I started to wish slightly that I was dead.

The desert was pretty, but I'd seen it a million times. Brandon's mom scratched an itch within her bra, on the side of her left breast where I could see. And she readjusted how her heavy breast sat in it. And suddenly, I was taken into a world of interest that would last me the rest of the 8-hour trip.

The car was old and rattling, and suddenly I could do nothing to miss every little jiggle of this mysterious woman's breasts in the corner of my eye. I hadn't seen her face, but I could see long, dark brown hair. And the longer I stared at it, the better I could smell it. She smelled like sweet blooming flowers. And her hands looked soft and warm whenever she touched her face, brushing her hair behind her ear. Or positioning her bra yet again. Like her tits were just too big to ever quite sit right just hanging there in front of her. She pulled down the sun visor to look at her minimal makeup in the mirror, and I saw her tired, patient, playful eyes. Her eyes showed sexy little creases from so much smiling. I wanted to see her smile. She glanced at my stare in the mirror before she put the visor back up, but didn't smile or say anything then. She just sort of saw me and waited half a second. Like she was curious what I was all about, or what I was going to do since I hadn't said much. It made me wonder the same thing. But I decided to distract myself from what came into my head then by searching the immediate vicinity in the car for a book to read.

I put down the Art of War a few hours later when the volume of an argument I hadn't noticed became too loud for me to think. Dad was furious. Brandon had given him some bad directions (likely because he couldn't use maps on his phone since the man didn't like to see them), and we were on a route now that added another entire hour to our journey. So much for dinner at home tonight. We stopped for our first gas and meal break, and I stared at Brandon's mom out of the corner of my eye the entire time. Her body was oddly desirable for a woman who showed her miles and lack of interest in the gym in her arms and tummy. They looked so soft. I stared at my plate for the rest of the meal after realizing I was growing resentful and jealous of Brandon's father. He didn't seem to appreciate that he'd picked a woman who was smarter and sweeter than anything on earth, and that she was his to have and hold and fuck and kiss even while he became more and more gaping an asshole as the day went on. It didn't quite seem fair. I tried not to dwell on it.

Brandon made his mom take his seat. She wasn't too happy about it. She didn't have to come, and said she only did for the desert view back. The setting sun on the desert horizon was one of her 15 favorite reasons for living, she'd said. I wanted to ask what the others were when she'd said it, but the argument had already picked back up by then. So the two of us only shared a bit of eye contact instead as she saw me open my mouth. And she gave a lighthearted little kind of giggle as the boistrous behavior of her son and husband interrupted an actually meaningful conversation about to take place. This whole situation was starting to test my patience.

"I've never understood how boys can read that," mom said softly under a safe cover of argument erupting in the front seat. "There aren't any characters. It doesn't have a plot. Not even any clear morals or creative ideas," she passed playful judgment on the book I had no choice in selecting to read. I stared at the woman a while. She was so intruiging. So wise and beautiful, I could tell. And I think her eyes were different colors in different lighting. Right now they looked sort of mysterious sea green.

"How do you know?" I pushed back gently.

"Know what?"

"That stuff about there being no plot, no characters."

She didn't reply for a minute. Like she knew she'd fallen into a bit of a trap.

"My uncle always left it and books like it lying around our house when he came over."

I smiled. And I took my time with it too.

"So... you know because you've read it?"

"Well," she looked down at her shoes and played with her hair. She'd been caught. "Not because I had much else to do."

She looked back up at me when she realized I wasn't saying anything else. My eyes darted from the sentence I was on back over to her face. Then I raised my eyebrows and kept them there. The situation, when compared to hers, seemed to speak for itself. And then the clever older milf stole my heart with this epic face-stretching grin at my audacity. She tried and tried to keep it away from me, or her husband's face in the rearview mirror. She hid it in her sleeves. Turned, twisted, choked, and squealed... but she was absolutely delighted, and there was nothing she could do about it. It became obvious very quickly that no one else very witty gave her this much attention very often at all, if any. I glanced to my homeboy and his belligerent father. They were entirely wrapped up in her verbal jiujitsu. Their mother and wife were so irrelavent to their lives, they still hadn't bothered to tell me her name. But I had a feeling she knew mine. I had a feeling she was going to know it forever.

"Shut the fuck up," dad had said low and mean. Calmly. Like he didn't need to add any real anger to it--he knew the words themselves were enough. I forget what mom had said. I forget if Brandon had started it and mom took over arguing. But I came back to reality from the view outside the window, and he was saying that to mom. His wife. I was pissed at the man. Mom was so hurt. I looked over at her face as it refused to fill with tears; she was so used to this. Brandon didn't even seem to notice his dad had said it. And I began to get angry at him too. I grabbed her hand. I said "I'm sorry," but only with my eyes. Then anger filled my veins.

"Don't you fucking talk to her life that."

It was on the tip of my tongue. Mom saw it in my face. But she brought a mischievous finger to her lips to silently shush me. I shot her a bit of anger in my eyes. But she didn't flinch. She seemed to have an idea. I opened my mouth to quietly ask what that was all about, but mom escaped my gaze out through her own window. So smoothly, in fact, that I barely noticed her hand being placed on my thigh over my jeans for a gentle rest there. I looked down at it. It was oddly close to my dick. The shock of the reality of the situation tingled down my neck, chest, and spine to the end of my dick into its head immediately. And I felt the electric effect making me hard right away against my will. A few minutes, and I had no idea what was supposed to happen next, so I just let it be. Maybe this was as far as she was gonna go. This was hardly revenge, but she sure acted like it was something brilliant and powerfully secret between us. I sat up to readjust, feeling stiff and achey from sitting so long, but she pinned my movement with a surprisingly strong grip on my thigh. Like I was waking a sleeping cat. Or as if I shouldn't call attention to my body right now. Her physical reprimand was motherly and commanding, yet passive and sneaky. My dick continued getting a little harder. Again, against my will. Mom was incredibly sexy, sure, but if dad saw in the rearview or turned around, I was in no mood whatsoever to fight him or be ditched in the desert any number of miles from shade or a place to keep a phone charged. And mine was nearly dead.

"CHRIST!" mom yelled, flying up from her seat and slapping carbonated sugar shit off her lap. We'd just hit a bump. "Brandon, your drink!" she said in anger, but not directed at him. Just expressing it. I was so confused. It was miles away in the cupholder in the door to her right. How did it get up and out and spill through the lid on a pothole as small as the one we'd just barely tapped? Now the seat she was in was no good. "I'm gonna have to sit on your friend," mom said loud enough for the whole car to hear, but no one reacted. Mom winked at me. She knew they wouldn't. Her warm ass rolled into my lap, crushing my semi-hard dick and feeling so, so very good. Her ass was full, wide, soft, and hotter than a furnace after all that sitting. It was heaven against the cold of the blasting AC. She took the liberty of adjusting my seat belt to fit her too while the mature, womanly smell of her clothes and skin and hair and breath dazed and fuzzled my brain. I snapped my eyes to Brandon. He was most likely to see us. He was giving dad and thus, the rest of us the silent treatment and refusing to look anywhere but out the window to his right. Dad was doing something similar with the road. If only he knew his wife was suggling up to my neck and kissing my cheek.

"God, your dick is big," her warm breath slithered down into my ear, just before her tongue. I had never been ravaged like this. Was she a regular dirty milf cheater? There was no way a woman gets this slutty for a guy like me out of nowhere. She must've been well used to getting back at her stone cold rock of a husband with things like this. "Let me feel it," she asked for consent at last, and I snapped out of it. I came back to my own mind and skin and loved feeling her in them. I kissed mom and squeezed her ass as hard as I could.

"Do it," I said just loud enough to be risking someone hearing and looking. But all my concern for that sort of thing was slipping away as I started to feel more and more like a fucking man, giving that mean old prick and his sweet dirty bitch what they each deserved. All in one naughty little act that I was starting to feel more and more like I was born to do.

Whatever mom did to me, I started doing right back. She squeezed my dick through my denim pants, I grabbed her pussy through her thin leggings. She bit my ear, I french kissed her and got her earlobe between my teeth right after. When she slipped off her bra, and not very discreetly, and threw it behind us into mine and Brandon's luggage, I unzipped my zipper. It only felt like the right thing to do. I was thinking she could tease me with my cock in her hot, warm mouth. That tongue had worked wonders on my ears, my lips, my neck and tongue. I wanted to finger her with a hand in her soda-soaked leggings while she crammed down by my legs or kneeled in her pop puddle next to me like a depraved hungry little mommy whore. But the second my dick was out, instead she twisted her ass, yanked her pants down by the waist, and hopped up and around the circumference of my cock and giggled, staring into my face, chest-to-chest as she lowered like a playful slut dumbwaiter on the ample length of my cock. Mommy kissed me when she finished sinking her steaming hot, slippery-slick tight milf pussy down on me. I moaned, out loud. They should have heard me. I hoped it sounded like a sigh. Dear god, this woman was all over me. No condom, no warning, no questions asked; she just JUMPED on me. I was on cloud fucking nine. She didn't even move or anything. She just sat on my cock, and let the bumps and vibrations of the old family wagon provide the movement and accompanying sensations for us.

"Ohhhhh, daddy..." she groaned softly into my ear with a voice so fucking sultry, like she reeeeally needed this. I thought it was all kinds of weird that she was calling me daddy with her husband and son in the car, but whatever. It was a word college girls used all the time when they wanted to be seen as fuck-needy whores, so it worked for me. I wrapped my arms around the soft, supple, dirty little thing in my lap, and we french kissed like we both had not a care in the world. Much less one for being caught. Mommy started sliding up and down out of nowhere. She stared into my eyes without blinking as she held in her moans with her teeth pinning her bottom lip still.

"Uh-huh," she said near imperceptibly. "Uh-huh... yeah..." she started to speed up, but only so very gradually. I held her ass. She arched her back, and made sure to pop her chest up a little bit extra at the end of each rise before the incoming fall; that way her soft, huge, free-range mommy titties could bounce up in my face and stiffen me up more than I ever knew could even be possible. This is it, I told myself. This is the best sex of your life. Enjoy it. Swim in it. Relish the fucking thing. I kissed mommy slowly and passionately, leaning over her as I held her close to me in my arms. I loved how slick and inviting she was for me. She was more wet than any coed girl I'd ever slept with in all my late-night booty calls. She seemed to KNOW how to be hornier for a young man. Like it was a skill you could adapt and grow and learn. And that was so hot, I nearly came in her already. She seemed to know it too. That I was near, and also that I was worshipping her patient, practiced cougar whore demeanor and slut tactics.

Mommy smiled against my lips.

"You bad boy," she whispered, and bit me.

I gasped and moaned quieter and quieter as I realized I was very close to losing control.

"Don't..." mom gasped. Slowly, she spun herself around my dick. With her back now to my chest, I could finally squeeze her huge soft heavenly titties properly from behind.

"Don't cum?" I heaved out, just a little too loud.

"What?" dad asked automatically, hearing something that weird. But his tone was empty. Like he was still not really present. Mom entirely ignored his inquiry, so I followed suit. Nothing mattered now that mom had me in her web of sex and scandalous behavior.

"No," mom laughed, arching her back and gripping my waist to make her fuck her harder from behind and under her. "Don't... hold back," she grinned.

"But..." a few words got lost to my heavy, hushed breath. "...the pill?"

"I'll get a morning after," she said like it was nothing. Like having to flush out her babymaker with drugs was the smallest, most negligible price to have to pay for what she wanted. What she knew she had to get right now.

Mom started really clapping her ass down on me. It was making noise. There was no way the front seat didn't hear it. It was starting to look and sound like sex. In a second, it was even gonna smell like it.

There was no space to push her off. The immense, insane swell of pleasure she fucked down onto me started to space out and away from me as I realized there was no way out of this, and the concern and panic started to set back in. I was going to cum in this woman whether I liked it or not. She looked like she was lost in the chase of her own orgasm now, and as I saw it enter, and make rigid and electric shock her body. I became so entirely jealous. I was so scared of Brandon's big, strong, mean ass dad. If I came, I'd make a mess nobody could hide. There'd be evidence. No coming back. But I had gone along with this, and I still didn't want it to stop. I did, but not really. So I gave in. I pulled mommy in tight and close and hard, and as her orgasm left, mine began. I felt it come out. I've always been a big cummer, and with all this buildup, I'd generated MUCH to be wasted inside this married milf's sweet snatch, and it flowed and burst like a broken water main, and I had no problem with that as I stepped sweetly into great ecstasy for 30 seconds.

Mom knew I was done. She flopped her soft body back against mine, and we sighed together. I caught Brandon's eyes. He was petrified with the realization of what had just happened. It was dark by then. We weren't far, but definitely weren't very close to either of our homes yet. I froze too, staring at Brandon's wide, frozen white eyes. He didn't seem to know what to do. He wasn't hurt, angry, upset, or anything just yet. And then I realized that was because he was too scared. Scared of what his dad would do to his mom. Of what that meant for me, before that could even extend to how badly it meant I'd just betrayed him with what I just did literally right behind his back.

"What?" dad asked. For real and awake, this time. "Brandon," he said with patient curiosity laced with anger. "What is it? What the fuck are you starting at?" Brandon wasn't gonna snitch, and he didn't. But that didn't mean he was gonna be much help, either. If he even knew how to. Mommy hopped off my lap, and yanked up her panties and leggings up to plop next to me on the perfectly dry middle seat she could have sat in the entire time. She started humming and looking out the far window like she didn't have a care in the world. Like my fat young load wasn't oozing and dribbling and soaking from her hot milf pussy into her panties and down between her cheeks, I was sure. Probably into the fabric of her station wagon, where I guessed she'd fucked other young guys many times before, with how casual was her cheating wife demeanor.

"Brandon?" Dad said more calmly. But still angry. "What's going on? Is your mother ok back there?"

My homeboy was still staring at me. He'd probably just caught a flash of his mom's cummy pussy. He was horrified, the poor guy. I knew we'd get past this, but had no idea if I was about to throw hands with a grown ass man if myself and mommy couldn't smooth this sticky, slimy situation. I tucked my dick away, and Brandon saw me do that too. Then I looked out my own window, and slowed my breathing and let the last drops left of my orgasm melt me into the dim, gorgeous scenery out my own window, resting my chin on my hand and my elbow on the door's armrest. I felt better. I felt at peace with the moment, despite the complications. And the coming storm.

"Brandon?"