Incest/Taboo A Mom, Her Son, and His Lap

I'm a naughty girl, I thought, but I as the thought ran through my mind, I turned my butt in a circle, grinding on my son's hard-on once again. Oh, yeah, I'm a naughty fuck, all right. So naughty. So nasty. So fucking horny.

If we never talked about this moment to each other, it would be okay, wouldn't it?

I hung my head, still biting my lip, still moaning on the inside as my core flooded with heat and a throbbing sensation entered my pussy, dancing around my lips and clit and releasing my juices into my panties. Oh, god, I had ruined my panties, but I always packed more panties than I needed no matter where I went. I had to. I was a pussy-juice dripping machine, always had been. . . .

I don't know for how long I sat grinding my butt on my son's lap while he pushed his cock against me, but his hands began to move while I did my best not to cry out in pleasure. First, they moved around to my front, massaging me through my silky gown. I drew in shaky breaths then he moved his hands up my sides until his fingers grazed the sides of my breasts.

I had my hands onto my knees by then, but I closed my arms over his hands. I thought I heard him laugh. He humped his cock upwards, then he moved his hands low to my hips, then forward across the skirt of my nun's gown and over my bare thighs. He stopped to trace the suspenders connecting my garter belt to my stockings; then he moved back to my thighs, then my waist, then up my front. I put my hands over his hands, but he kept going. Pleasure raced through me. My nipples tightened, and as his thumbs and forefingers touched the under-curve of my breasts, he slid his hands downward, not stopping until his fingers rested on the welts of my stockings.

My son ran his fingers over the lace, then moved his digits up my suspenders, pulling them away from my skin and letting them snap back into place. The music covered the sound, not that my son lifted them high . . . not in the way his father liked to snap my G-strings.

Then his hands went up again, along my sides until they reached my ribs. My son paused, squeezed, and moved forward and inward below my breasts. He passed my shelf bra quickly, pausing when his fingers touched my exposed skin above the support of my bra. Sighing—wanting more—I waited as my son held the undersides of my tits in the crescents of flesh between this thumbs and forefingers. I watched his hands, unable to look away, my hips turning on their own, pushing my squishy pussy against his hard shaft while spreading my legs so I could feel as much of his pole against my lips as possible. I wanted to lift my skirt up to my hips, but I kept my hands on my knees, careful not to ruin my stockings by digging my fingers into them whenever my clitty tingled with pleasure.

Move your hands, Colt, I thought. Move your fucking hands, you bad boy. Move them for Mommy, come on, move them for Mommy.

His fingers opened and closed against me, the topsides rubbing the bottom of my breasts, making my nipples sing as they tightened further.

Move those hands, Colt. Move them for Mommy. Come on, move them, baby. Move them.

My son's thumbs moved wave-like against my breasts. A tremor ran through me, rushing to my clit, making that little bud of pleasure tingle until I felt like I was going to squirt myself. I lifted my hands and placed my palms against the back of his hands, then I added a subtle amount of pressure, trying to force his palms over my breasts.

Come on, Colt, move those hands.

My son's hands lowered. I nearly screamed, then, without warning, up they went, pushing my silk gown head of them as they closed over my big breasts.

"Ahhhhh," I sighed, wincing, but the music covered my relieved sound.

Colt's big hands held my round breasts perfectly in his palms, his fingers curving around their inner swells. With a hesitant, almost apologetic touch, my son squeezed my tits—uncovered by my shelf bra, practically skin to skin—pushing them inward and testing their perkiness.

I leaned back against my son's chest, looking forward again, but my sleeping daughter and my speed-demon husband couldn't see us. Colt's chest rose and fell against my back. My stud of a son was breathing hard as he held Mommy's tits—it made my pussy cream. I squeezed his hands. He squeezed my tits harder, then he pumped his rock-hard rod upward, bouncing me on his lap for half-a-dozen mommy-pleasing strokes.

I should have never fucked my sister, I thought as my face broke into a helpless mask of pleasure and shame. I wanted to cry, but this felt so good. I should have never masturbated while listening to my dad pound my mother's pussy. I was such a bad girl. I shouldn't like this so much. I turned my hips in a sensual stripper's grind, giving my son's steel bar of a hard-on some love. I shouldn't be such a bad mommy.

What did my twin use to say? Oh, right: What's a little incest between family?

My son's palms pulled away from my tits, but his fingertips stayed connected, closing over my breasts until his thumbs and fingers caught the long, thick nipples he used to suck on for nourishment.

Oh, god, I thought as the silky friction rubbed my aching tit-buds.

His fingers came together, adding pressure to my nipples as my silk gown made my titties tingle. A tremor ran through me. A dirty, mini orgasm that squirted cherry-flavored cum into my soaked panties spread through my lower body. My son rolled my nipples between his naughty fingers. I shuddered as pleasure rolled through my body, making me hump my hips back and forth over his stiff pole.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. . . .

My son pulled my nipples outward.

Oh, yeah, I moaned in silence as an electric surge of pain that hurt so good stretched my nipples outward.

My son gave my nipples a soft twist then he pulled them again. I clenched my eyes as I rocked my butt across my son's cock. Its length and hardness tickled me between my legs, causing heat to bloom beneath my mound. God, god, god, this shouldn't have felt so good.

Colt gave my breasts one last squeeze before dropping his hands down my stomach again. I let go of his hands and cupped my breasts, where I rubbed my palms over my nipples in tight circles, bending them, stretching them, wishing I had someone to suck them.

I looked at the back of my husband's headrest, thinking, If I could let my twin sister suck my nipples for him, then he could suck my nipples while our son—oh, god, no, what was I thinking?

A fluttering of sparks danced through my stomach as my son tickled my belly button. I licked my lips as his hands went lover, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them. He reached my waist, then my thighs, then he moved over my short skirt, back to my stockings. He played with the welts and suspenders again, then moved upward, his thumbs catching on the hem of my gown and pushing it up and up and up until it lay bunched against my waist. I could see my small, lacy panties as I looked between my thighs. What was I thinking? Why had I worn those panties?

Colt's hands went down my legs, sinking inward, touching the fleshy part of my inner thighs as he pushed his fingers down to my knees. My breathing quickened as he pulled his hands back up my legs, pulling them apart, touching me where I was damp and hot.

Oh, god, I thought. He's going to do it. My son is going to . . . uh, mmm, yeahhhhh!

My son's fingertips had pushed deep between my legs, touching me where the lacy edges of my thong panties met the small depression between my inner thighs and outer labia. He pressed on the soft flesh of my outer labia, running his fingers up and down, tracing the oval shape of my outer lips. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I should have wanted it to end!

Instead, I bit my lip as my son pushed his fingers inward, pressing my outer lips together over my inner folds and pinching my clit between the upper edges of my soaking wet pussy lips.

"Uh," I squeaked in my throat, like a little girlish mouse afraid of being caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

My son pulled his fingers away, pulling my lips outward, stretching them away from the stickiness dripping out of me. He pushed his fingers in, then pulled out, squeezing my pussy lips, then puffing them out against my panties, then pulling them apart. This was too much. He was hugging my clit with my upper folds in a rhythm that had me rocking my butt against his cock like a whore in heat.

Squeeze-puff-pull.

Oh my god.

Squeeze-puff-pull.

Oh my fucking god.

Squeeze-puff-pull.

Mmm, baby, mmm, you bad boy.

Squeeze-puff-pull.

Oh, you naughty bastard. You naughty fucking—mmm—bastard.

Squeeze-puff-pull . . . Oh, yeah, Colt, I'm almost there. My clitty throbbed, shooting bolts of ecstasy so deep into my body that my asshole clenched, and my nipples tightened. They ached so bad I had to pinch and pull them as I rocked my pussy harder against my son's naughty cock.

Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh—

"Pit stop!" Dex said over his music.

"Oh, no," I said aloud as Colt pulled his fingers away from my pussy.

You have gotta be fucking kidding me!

Dex guided the Porsche to the right, slowing down as we curved away from the highway toward the old '50s -style gas station that marked the halfway point of the trip.

As we pulled into the station, stopping at the full-service pump, I looked down at myself, shaking my head. Here I was, dressed as a nun, sitting on my son's thick cock, which I had drenched in my pussy juice and . . . and . . . and I couldn't believe it. But another thought came to me as I sat there in disbelief, a dirty thought: How many priests and nuns had done this for real? How many priests had pulled their sexy nuns into a confessional and asked them about their sins, all the while pulling their gowns up their thighs so they could get a piece of that religious pussy? God, if I was a nun, you couldn't stop me from crying out, "Father, Father, oh, fuck me, Father," every night of the week.

Fuck me silly—I had to put an end to this.

Pit Stop

"Does anybody want anything?" Dex asked as my daughter said, "I need to use the restroom," and exited the car with her little backpack in hand.

"A large bottle of water," my son said.

I looked at my daughter's empty seat. I watched my husband throw open his door and slide his seat backward until he could exit the car comfortably. I felt my son's rock-hard cock throbbing beneath me, and a lightning bolt zigzagged through my mind.

"I want one of those small blankets," I said, trying to control my breathing.

"A blanket?" Dex asked, turning his head as far as he could. "I can turn on the heater."

I pushed my door open and exited the car, my legs trembling when I tried to stand up straight. Dex followed my lead, leaving his keys in the ignition as always. I closed my door and stepped up to my husband, pushing my tits against his polo-shirt-covered chest. The friction made my nipples tingle.

"I'm practically naked," I said, looking into my husband's eyes and grabbing onto his shoulders. "I'm sitting in our son's lap with nothing but my thong protecting me from his lap." I had lost control. "You got me so wet upstairs before we left"—did I see a glint of humor in my husband's eyes—"and I can feel the power in that car right between my legs." Why was I saying this to my husband? "You know how horny I get. Get me a damn blanket."

"Okay," Dex said, smiling. "One thin, piece-of-shit gas station blanket coming up."

"Thank you."

As my husband headed inside with visions of his pit crew working on his Porsche in his head, I looked through the car at my daughter's empty seat.

"Top her off and clean off the windows," my husband called to the full-service attendant as he headed into the station. "Quickly though, I got to get back on the road; there's a big tip in it for you."

I ignored the odd looks my nun's habit got me as I walked around the car—Halloween was a day away—and opened the passenger door. "We're sitting in front," I said, my eyes focusing on the tent lifting my son's cotton shorts, and what a fucking tent it was. A little bit bigger than his father . . . in every way.

"Something wrong?" Colt asked.

I looked up from his shorts, where his knob pressed against the cotton. Was he wearing his boxer briefs? I didn't think he was. I met my son's eyes, and I could see he knew where I was looking. Is something wrong? Was he fucking with me?

"I want more legroom," I said. "Lana can sit in the back." I look at my son's cock again, not saying anything about his hard-on, and when I look back into his eyes, knowing that he knew where I had been looking, a tremor ran through my shoulders. "Your sister can't sit in your lap with . . . with how she's feeling."

"She won't mind," Colt said.

I glared at my son.

"Okay," Colt said, and maybe I saw a smile crept onto his lips. It was hard to say. My son always had this happy-go-lucky air about him and a wicked sense of humor.

He didn't get out of the car. Instead, he lifted his feet, thrust them between the two front seats, and pulled himself over the center console with an athlete's ease and sense of body control. He settled in the passenger seat—which Lana had already pushed as far back as it could go—and said, "Climb aboard, Mom."

I looked over the Porsche's roof, giving the attendant a quick look as he cleaned the rear windshield, then I turned forward, lowered my butt, which caused my gown's hem to rise, and I slid into the car—right atop my son's cock with my skirt around the middle of my ass.

"Uhhh," I moaned as his knob pressed between my cheeks, tickling my asshole before slipping forward and grinding into the lace of my panties right where my pussyhole lay. I had needed to release that moan.

"Mmm," Colt moan-grunted, keeping his lips closed, the sound coming from his throat. His hands found my hips as I pulled the door shut.

"Just need to get comfortable," I said, moving my panty-clad pussy against my son's rigid cock.

"Sounds—mmm—good," Colt whispered.

What was I doing? I was supposed to be putting an end to this.

"When your—mmm—father gets back," I huffed, "we'll have to have to have—oh—found our spots."

"I know," Colt moaned. "I know, Mom, trust me—I, uh—I know." She thrust hard against me. "I'm just looking for your spot right now."

My cheeks reddened.

Together, my son and I moved my little butt and wet cunny over his glans, making sure to keep the head of his prick pressed against the warm folds of my maternal pillow. The attendant came around the front and started cleaning the windshield. I didn't care, not even when he looked in and saw my nun's gown around my waist, exposing my stockings and garter belt's suspenders, and the black, lacy silk cupping the triangle of my mound. But, after half a minute of staring between my legs, I dipped my head low and glared at him, and he started cleaning the windshield once again.

"Colt, we have to stop," I said when I felt his fingers slip below the hem of my gown.

"Soon, Mom," Colt said, breathing into my neck through my nun's veil.

I shivered, then my eyes widened as my son pushed my panties down my thighs. Lucky for him, I had put them on over my suspenders because I was in a hurry to leave this afternoon. I tried to spread my legs open, whispering, "No, Colt, no," but he let me sink between his thighs, and he used his legs to close my legs. My cheeks burned red as my panties passed my knees and fell to my feet—I hadn't put up much of a fight against my son's demanding strength. With a helpless sigh, I kicked my panties off my feet, then used my heels to push them under our seat.

I had no panties on . . . my son had his hands on my waist, touching my garter belt and my hot skin, and he was pulling and pushing me across his cotton-covered cock, and I wasn't stopping him.

"You're not wearing your boxers, are you?" I panted as a buzzing sensation warmed my cunny and clitty and suffused my core with the growing heat of orgasmic ecstasy.

"No," Colt sighed.

"You can't—mmm—drink before these trips again," I said, wondering what Lana would have done if she had known her brother wasn't wearing his boxers while she sat on his lap.

"Okay," was all my pussy-pleasing son said.

I shook my head, first left, then right, and that's when I saw Dex and Lana standing outside the gas station's front doors. Dex had my blanket in his hands, tearing the plastic packaging open and pulling out the cheap cloth before he tossed the plastic into a red-painted garbage can.

"Stop, Colt, stop," I whimpered just as his cotton-covered knob split my pussy lips apart, allowing his spongy tip to rub the entrance of my pink hole. "Your father"—oh, it felt so good—"and sister are coming."

Colt grunted, but he stopped using me as his personal knob polisher. Watching my husband and daughter, I fixed my nun's gown, pulling it under my ass. Seeing my daughter coming toward us, I lowered the window a couple of inches and said, "You're in back now."

Lana gave me a surprised look, but then she walked around the car, opened the rear door, and got in. She closed the door, leaned against it, and closed her eyes; poor girl but lucky me.

Dex opened his door, saying, "Here you go, Mother Theresa," as he handed the blanket to me and got into the car. "And here's your water, Colt; don't spill it."

Colt put the water in the center console's cupholder, and it was big enough to cause some viewing problems if my husband looked down at our laps.

But . . . my husband didn't look in my direction until he finished moving his seat forward—he didn't say anything about Colt and me having moved upfront—and he only looked in our direction to check the angle of his side-view mirror.

I unfolded the blanket and placed it over my body from my stomach down, and Dex never questioned how this would make me feel less naked in my son's lap. Instead, my husband had put the car into drive, keeping his foot on the break as he checked the mirrors and planned his path back to the highway through his windshield.

"And here we go," Dex said, hitting the gas and taking off as fast as safely possible.

"Dex," I said, feeling my son's cock pressing into my naked butt, "those storm clouds are getting closer, drive fast, but don't kill us."

"Can I cut out another ten minutes?" Dex asked himself. After a second, my husband pulled his right hand from the steering wheel and gave me the thumbs-up signal, never once taking his eyes off the road. . . .

An Early Halloween Treat

Oh, that engine made my pussy purr over my son's cock. Cotton-covered or not, I felt that head digging into the bare lips of my twat. Thank God for my son's shorts. I looked down at my nun's habit—thank God indeed.

My son had started moving his hands the moment I had covered us with the blanket. I didn't know what he intended, not with his father right next to us, but his father had his eyes on the road, hidden behind his sunglasses, and they only faced forward.

Colt, I thought when his fingers slid to the sides of my thighs and began edging my gown up my body, knock it off.

I wasn't telepathic, and if he was, he wasn't listening. I tried to stay still as my hem crawled over my skin, but when my hem reached my butt, my son gave it a hard tug. He didn't move much, but he didn't have to, mostly using his right hand that was hidden from his father's inattentive gaze.

I dug my right elbow into my son's ribs, but he only tugged harder while slipping his left hand beneath my hem. My son waited for my husband to switch to the left lane again, then he gave my hem another hard tug, baring my ass and pussy once again.

God, I thought as his cock pressed harder against me. Fine, grind me on your dick, Colt; I won't fight you.

But my fucking son had other plans.

His hands left me, and I felt him try to push down his shorts a little at a time. I shook my head and pulled the blanket further up my body as if that could protect me. Colt gave his shorts a shove, but he couldn't get them down.

Again, my husband switched to the left lane so he could pass a car on the right, and as he did, Colt humped his hips upward, bouncing me on his lap as he pushed his shorts down his thighs. By the time his father looked left, I had sat back down on my son's bare cock. His swollen meat lay horizontally between us like a balance beam made of iron that my pussy was now straddling.

Oh my god, I thought, feeling the thickness of that pole pushing upwards against my muffin folds. This wasn't happening—but it was, and my pussy was kissing the topside of my son's cock and leaving it soaked. Looking down, I saw our blanket dissolve into nothing, and the image of my son's knob sitting between my thighs as his shaft pressed into my slutty crevice filled my mind with pornographic glee.

I shook my head again, then looked around as the world seemed to brighten. I felt . . . funny, lightheaded, like I was floating. Was I going to faint? I had never fainted before. I had never—

Oh, oh—oh, no!

Colt had slid me forward and his ass back as far as it could go. His knob touched my backdoor, then slid forward into the bottom of my pussy lips. What was happening? This couldn't be happening. My pussy throbbed, my clitty tingled, and my nipples ached. Oh boy, oh fucking boy, my son was not about to fuck me. No way. No fucking way.

Why not; you've fucked your sister, I thought. And she's fucked you to please your husband and each other.

I pushed myself down on Colt's lap hard. I wouldn't let him do this. Even though his glans against my lips made my cunny hum and my juices run. A sexual heat ran through me, warming my core. I slid backward, pressing my bare ass against my son's waist and getting his mushroom tip back between my thighs. With my right hand, I reached down and squeezed the outside of his thigh, then I slid my hand between my legs, moving the blanket as little as possible. I took a deep breath, then I reached between us and grabbed my son's knob, giving it a hard squeeze.

Colt sighed and squirted a messy wad of precum into my palm.

I looked at his father, who had his eyes on the road as our car flew down the highway. The faster my husband drove, the more I felt the engine's power surging through my son and into my pussy, making me tingle all over. What would his cock feel like with that power reverberating through him?

No, don't think about that! But it was too late. Like every sexual adventure I had ever been on, by the time I came to my senses, it was already too late, and I wasn't even close to regaining my senses.

I squeezed my son's knob again, then ran my cum-slick thumb over the head of his cock. He shook beneath me. His big hands found my waist, and he grabbed onto me, pushing me forward and pulling me back, using slow movements as I tried to keep my upper body still while my pussy played Slip 'N Slide on my son's juicy dick.

You're going to do this, I thought, or my pussy thought for me, I didn't know. If men could think with their little heads, then I could think with my twat. You've got to, just this once, and you'll never talk about it. Never ever. Never ever ever.

I stretched my left hand from under the blanket, careful not to reveal too much, and I turned the music up a little bit more. Dex said nothing, staying focused on the road. I pulled my hand back, reached down, and squeezed my son's right thigh, then I turned to my left and looked into the backseat, lifting my ass as I did. My son's cock sprang up as much as it could, finding the bottom of my slit as if guided by God.

"You feeling okay, Lana?" I said, trying to keep the tremors of pleasure from my voice.

Lana lay still against the door, sleeping; I hadn't spoken that loud to her.

As I went to sit back down, I felt the head of my son's cock between my pussy folds. He had his fist around his shaft, holding his magic wand straight up. With his eyes on the road, my husband never noticed how I lifted my body higher than I needed to or how I slid my pussy onto my son's knob then sank down upon his dick. My husband, Colt's father, didn't see me bite my lip or look at him with an, I'm so sorry expression, nor did he see my eyes widen as I slowly lowered myself down the meatiest cock shaft I had ever felt in my life.

"Uh," I moaned, unable to stop myself, but I held most of the emotion back within my chest, then I clenched my teeth as I slid down my son's hard pole.

Oh, oh, oh, I moaned within my head as that wonderful, almost painful stretch spread my pussy lips wide. Even with my thighs spread beneath the blanket, getting that cock up my cunny tunnel was a tight fit. The tingling in my pussy spread outward, from my lips to my clit to my asshole to my stomach and down my thighs, unrelenting in the pleasure it brought me. My face burned hot, and I looked at myself in the side view mirror, seeing the pink flush in my cheeks and nose—I had the expression of a woman taking a cock for the first time.

When I finally sat my naked ass against my son's lap, a low groan left my lungs, but my husband never turned his head—he was in the middle of passing a car.

God, I thought, I can feel my baby boy in my guts.

Just a little bigger than his father? Maybe, but that extra bit of thickness and half-a-head more of cock was big enough to make me feel like a virgin again. Thank God I was wet. Thank God I was so juicy down there. Thank God my cunny had creamed itself for the last forty minutes, turning me into a gushing well of ready-to-be-fucked pussyhole.

God, I'm a slut, I thought, but I wasn't a slut for just anyone. I was a slut for my husband. I loved being a slut for Dex, and now I was a slut for my son and his big, juicy dick. I want to suck it. I hung my head, looking down through the blanket, trying to picture that big mean dick inside of my poor little pussy, bullying my lips open right before it rode me like an animal all night long.

My son flexed his cock inside of me.

My nipples tightened—Jesus, that swelling of his fuck-trunk had sent a spasm of ecstasy through me that left my toes shaking in my tennis shoes. I wanted to turn around, lift my legs, and put those shoes on either side of my son's head as he split me in half.

Do it, baby, just tear my pussy up, I thought, but we couldn't fuck like that in the car. Even my speed-obsessed husband would notice that kind of fucking.

Colt swelled his cock again. I moaned in silence. My boy gripped my waist with his left hand, pushed his right under my right ass cheek, laying his little finger in my crack, and he gave my bun a hot squeeze, then he moved me on his cock.

Oh, fuck!

He moved me slowly, slightly, but move me on his dick he did, swelling his cock as he used my pussy as his own personal fuck-slot. He turned his hips, rubbing his spongy, yet oh-so-firm, head against my soft insides, making me feel his dick up there—letting me know what kind of fucking I could expect when we were alone.

When? my mind shouted at me. When? We can't do this again.

But we're gonna, I thought, lost in the tide of bliss that was my son's cock. We're gonna. We're gonna get this cock again. Yes, we are. Yes, we fucking are.

What the hell was wrong with me?

It didn't matter because I started moving my butt in tiny circles while trying to keep my upper body still. Not that it mattered, my husband had his eyes on the road, focused behind his sunglasses, while his son fucked me in the seat next to him. It felt so good, but I wanted more. I wanted a nice, long cock-pump up my tight pussy.

As if reading my mind, the next time my husband passed a car, my son bounced me on his cock. Up I went, shaking, and down I came, losing my breath when his dick filled me up again. His knob hit something soft, sending a wave of pleasure through my body and a stream of light through my vision. Again, the next time my husband passed a car, up my cunny went, down it came, making me grunt behind my closed lips. That's what I needed. Fuck, just give me a good pounding half a dozen times, and I'd come. But we didn't have that kind of freedom, did we?

No, fuck, we didn't.

Instead, I leaned back against my son and turned my hips in a circle, grinding my pussy on my son's teen meat. I lowered my right hand to his wrist and pulled his hand upward over my thigh and garter suspenders and between my legs where I was the hottest. My boy got the idea, and he ran his hands down my wet muff, playing with my pubic hair cross, then going lower as a surge of body-shaking pleasure filled my body. When his middle finger touched my clit, I came, clenching my teeth and looking to the left, outside of my window, as my lower body humped my son's cock back and forth.

Oh, holy shit, I moaned on the inside as my body trembled and my face tightened. Oh, oh, oh, oh god, mmm, fuck, yeah.

I grabbed my son's hand, trying to get his finger off my buzzing jewel, but there was no fighting his strength. He ground me against his dick, flexed his shaft inside of me, and fingered my pearl without giving me a break.

Oh, shit—no! I thought as I came again. No, no, no!

This time, I lowered the window a few inches, doing the same for the back window. I think my husband glanced at us, but he said nothing as the wind tore through the car, cooling my sweating body as another mini orgasm rolled through me.

Fuck, my son was going to get us caught.

I grabbed his soaking wet fingers again. I pulled up, and the little bastard slid his hand up and under my dress, over my slender tummy, and grabbed onto my right breast. My nipple throbbed beneath his palm, bending as he rubbed my tit in a circle. Electric pulses shot through me, and I arched my back, forcing my ass harder into his lap and my pussy lower onto his cock. His knob pushed through me, searching for the closest thing I had to virgin pussy meat. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out as I came again. This time, my son only swelled his cock within me as I bathed his incest dick in my golden honey.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, I thought. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't.

"No more," I begged, sounding helpless and beat and on the verge of tears. "No more."

"We're almost there," my husband said. "I can't slow down now."

I looked up through the windshield. I recognized the hills around us. Mansions appeared on my left every quarter-mile with short roads leading to their courtyards. We were almost to my in-laws' home. Thank God. My son squeezed my tit again, but he didn't grind me on his cock, so I let him have my breast and my nipple as I sat as still as I could with his prick buried deep inside me. Still, without him moving, I felt every little surge of power the Porsche's engine had, and by the time we pulled into my in-laws' driveway, I had come one more time. It had been so tiny . . . but oh-so-good.

Finally, the road trip was over . . . but wait, my son hadn't come yet.

One Last Ride

"Holy shit," Dex said, looking at his watch. "That's a new record, baby." He turned to me, then leaned toward me, smiling. "And you know why? Because you let me drive fast."

He pursed his lips, leaning closer to me, and I leaned into him, pressing my lips to his while his son's dick stretched my pussy from top to bottom.

"And," he said when we broke the kiss, "I didn't use the restroom at the pit stop."

I uttered a breathy laugh as my son swelled his prick inside of me.

Dex opened the door, calling, "I'll send someone for the bags," as he raced toward his parents' home.

"Mom," Colt whispered in my ear, pushing his lips against my nun's veil. "I need to come."

"But," I gasped as my son grabbed my ass and raised me up his cock, "your sister."

He dropped me on his dick, knocking the air out of me. He lifted me again, emptying my pussy, then dropped me again, making me gasp. Lana made a noise. I threw my blanket off my body, looking down at my stockings, at my garters, at my nearly bald mound, and my son's big balls beneath my vanilla pie. Holy shit, this was hot! Then my son bounced me on his lap while jackhammering his rock-hard dick into my pussy.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!" I gasped in surprise at the sudden ramming.

"What," Lana said, yawning, "what's going—Colt! Mom too!"

Mom too?

Lana opened her door, exiting as my son bounced me on his lap. She turned around and said, "You asshole!"

She stamped her foot and slammed the door, walking off toward the house.

"She'll—mmm—get over it," Colt moaned. "We're allowed to—oh, fuck, Mom, that pussy's good—fuck other women."

How could I be so—oh, oh, oh, fuck—stupid!

"Hurry, Colt," I gasped, looking through the windshield at my in-law's backdoor. "Hurry before someone comes."

"Help me come, Mom," Colt said, sliding his ass down the seat and holding me by my ass cheeks. "Work that pussy on my dick."

I huffed, I puffed, I moaned as his dick hit me deep. I drew my knees back, closing my thighs and puffing out my pussy, then I placed my feet on the dashboard and held myself up, giving my son's long prick some room to thrust. Colt moaned, picked up his pace, and soon the sexy sounds of his lap smacking my ass filled the car.

I squeezed my pussy muscles as my insides spasmed. My son stretched me so much, and now that he was piston-fucking my soaking wet snatch, my entire body wanted to burst in ecstasy. Colt jackhammered me, fuck, he fucked me like a thoroughbred sprinting for its life. My clitty swirled with unreleased pleasure as my son's fuck-stick plunged the cum out of my body. I reached down with my left hand, sliding my fingers over my mound, getting the tips on my clit between my thighs. With my right hand, I reached around my ass cheek, found my son's balls, and massaged them.

"Oh, oh, oh, fuck—Mom!" Colt shouted, burying his bone to the balls inside of my cunt.

"Colt!" I screamed as the pleasure building within me exploded, sending wave after wave of orgasmic bliss through my body. I had never felt so wet between my legs. I had never drenched my husband's balls with this much cum. I had never in my life came so hard. . . . This was something every mother should experience with her son, or sons, however many she had. . . .

After

I stood in my son's room, having changed out of my nun's costume and into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a proper bra cupping my tits and a pair of lacy, boy short panties protecting my tender twat.

Colt was sitting on his bed, with the gas station blanket around his waist and his half-filled bottle of water in his right hand. He had poured it on his lap to explain why he was so wet. His sister, my daughter—his sister!—sat next to him on his bed, in her sweats. She didn't look so mad now as I stared down at her. My maternal gaze had knocked them back into their childhoods.

I had a speech prepared to throttle them with, but then I saw their costume lying on the bed next to them. It was a tandem costume of a hotdog bun and a wiener. My son would wear the hotdog bun, and connected to him from the front, his sister would wear the wiener. I ignored my children as I checked their costumes and found what I knew I'd find: A hole that would allow them to secretly fuck in the middle of everyone: friends, family, guests, and the catering staff—everyone!

I looked at my adult children, and they shrank back from me.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked, and after a harsh mother-to-her-children scolding, I went back to my room and washed the cum out of my nun's costume in secret.

Later that night, I dressed as a nun once again for my in-laws' Halloween party, but this time I wore my come-fuck-me heels, and I left my panties in the drawer.​