Sally hadn't known what else she could do. John had kicked and screamed and shouted, "I'm not going!" But he went anyway.
Tommy was easy. He was sleepy and she packed him into the back of the station wagon. But when it came to. John, after she left a note for Hal she could barely pack the kicking, resisting youngster into the front with her. And then she took off.
It was getting dark outside and the rows of white-painted, two-story houses that dominated the neighborhood were just blurs in the darkness as Sally and her two kids sped past.
The inside of the station wagon was quiet and warm. John subsided into a twelve-year-old pout and Sally was thankful. It gave her a chance to think. And she needed that.
The letter she had left behind far Hal, telling him she was taking the kids to the mountain cabin for the weekend had been abrupt, at the least. She'd blamed him for not being interested in, the kids. But she wondered if he'd see through it, if the sins she'd just committed with young Tommy would show in her handwriting or on the paper?
Am I a marked woman? She laughed nervously as she drove. She didn't believe in superstition. Yet, there must be some stigma resulting from fucking her own son. She was worse than an adulteress, leading her own children into sexual sin.
She glanced into the rearview mirror and her heart almost stopped. She had it tilted so she could watch the kids. And she could see Tommy clearly, his hands bright in the dark shadows of the station wagon as he played with his cock.
Quickly, Sally looked at John to see if he had noticed anything. He was sitting squeezed into the corner by the door. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his hands were cupped over his crotch. She'd seen him sulk in that position before and knew he could stay like that for hours without paying any attention to the rest of the world.
Almost casually she was about to dismiss the boy from her mind when it struck her that his fingers were moving very slowly and casually.
Sally peeked out of the corner of her eye to confirm what she thought she saw. Her heart thumped in her breast as she realized her oldest son was playing with himself! There could be no doubt. His hands were lifted from his crotch in a way that suggested that he had a massive hard-on under his pants and his fingers were stroking it into steely rigidity. He was masturbating while she thought he was sulking.
Suddenly Sally felt the heat in the car and she cracked the window slightly. The sudden rush of cool wind on her cheek reduced her feverishness somewhat, but not completely.
She had been in such a hurry to leave the house that she hadn't put any underwear on and the furry seat under her naked butt was starting to itch like mad. Her hips wiggled back and forth on the seat, but that helped hardly at all. It just shifted the location of the itchy feeling from the bottom of her slit to her clitoris, irritated by her nervous motions. Her crotch was sweaty and she had an irrepressible desire to pull her short skirt all the way up and let the wind cool it.
"Can I lay down, Mom?"
John was looking at her and his hands between his thighs were still. But he seemed to have gotten over his tantrum.
Sally was overjoyed. "Yes, dear," she said. "It will be good for you to take a nap." She smiled at him and hoped he could see she wasn't mad at him or upset. She had to convince him not to tell Hal when they went home. She just had to.
"Can I put my head on your leg? You forgot to bring any pillows."
"Of course, darling. You know mother will always let you do that."
John smiled at her and stretched out on the seat as much as he could. He rolled around until his forehead pressed against her stomach and his ear rested on her thigh.
It felt comforting to have him resting peacefully against her. "Go to sleep, darling," Sally said. "I'll wake you at the cabin."
"Yes, Mother," the boy answered. He yawned and his hot breath warmed Sally's slim, girlish stomach.
She glanced in the mirror and Tommy's hands had stopped moving. At least he's asleep, Sally thought. But he shouldn't be masturbating all the time like this. I'll have to take him to the doctor when.
Suddenly Sally realized some things would never be the same again. A visit to the doctor might reveal what she had done with her son. Perhaps his masturbation could be blamed on her.
She was rigid with fear. She didn't see any way out of her dilemma.
John stirred in his sleep and groaned. He moved and his mouth brushed against her stomach. Absently, Sally stroked his face with her hand. The boy moved again and she realized too late that he was turning, that he was pushing across her legs.
When he was still, his face was buried in her lap. Oh, dear! she thought. He'll smell my cunt! She was so embarrassed by the sudden consideration that she almost ran off the road.
And then Sally had something else to think about. The twelve-year-old's heavy breathing went right through the thin fabric of her skirt. Not only could he smell her twat, but her cunt could feel the steady, hot strokes of his breath.
It was like a feather being brushed up and down her slippery slot. Each movement was a sudden thrill and she felt her twat responding. In seconds it was brimming wet with sex juice.
She shifted her ass back and forth on the seat. But that didn't help. The furry seat just teased the backs of her legs and buttocks even more. Her twat lips were twisting frantically and despite herself, Sally felt her cunt being invaded again by sexual feeling.
What am I going to do? Sally felt like breaking down and crying. Her son hated her, she knew. He'd tell his father and that would be the end of everything. The night rushing past wasn't as dark as Sally's thoughts. The beam of the headlights turned everything gray in the cold shaft of light. Dismal. Discouraging.
John moved his head and nestled his face harder in her lap. His mouth and nose were closer to her cunt. His hot breath was like a blow-torch scorching the moist, red labia that guarded her hole.
Sally squirmed again. She knew she had to keep from being turned on. If she couldn't keep her son's innocent touch from heating her up how could she ever trust herself again.
But the truth was, Sally couldn't trust herself. John moaned in his sleep and arched his body. His face pressed against her sex slot through the thin material of her skirt. It paralyzed Sally.
Then he moved again and her skirt gathered up toward her waist. His cheek was on her bare thigh, his nose was practically buried in her fevered crotch.
There was nothing Sally could do. She couldn't let go of the steering wheel to move his head. And if she did, she risked waking him to stare straight down her skirt at the moist red cavern of her sex.
She held herself rigid, staring down the road. And when it came, it was no surprise. At least, not the surprise it might have been.
Sally instantly recognized the warm, fevered touch of a hot tongue brushing her swollen sex lips. Her son's hot, fevered tongue.
"Don't, John," she said. "Please don't."
The twelve-year-old son wasn't listening, though. His tongue continued, to stroke her hapless hole. The movements were swift and sure and suggested practice at cunt lapping. Each touch was a little different. Sally even moaned as the boy twirled his tongue in the entrance of her snatch. Without taking her foot off the gas, she spread her legs.