Kidnapped with My Mom【2】

A month had passed. Dad was finally on leave, so he took Mom and me on a self-drive trip into the mountains.

We all piled into Dad’s imposing Audi Q8—the one with the aggressive exterior and cavernous interior—and set off. Everyone’s mood had lightened considerably.

For the next few days the three of us actually got along. We hit every major scenic spot in the area.

Then, on the last day, right as we were packing to head home, the problem hit.

Mom had dragged Dad through shop after shop all week. The trunk was stuffed solid. The front passenger seat was buried under bags. The back seat was half-swallowed by the rest of the haul, leaving just enough room for one person to sit.

The three of us stood in front of the car staring at each other in silence.

Mom looked at Dad, helpless. “What do we do? Maybe we ship some of this stuff home?”

Dad shook his head. “We’re in the mountains. Where the hell would we find a post office? You two squeeze.”

Mom walked to the rear door and eyed the narrow space, frustration clear on her face. “Squeeze how? There’s barely room for me alone.”

Dad frowned at the cramped back seat. “Fine. Sit on the kid’s lap.”

What?

I was standing off to the side. My pupils blew wide. My gaze locked onto Mom.

Her face tightened. Conflict flickered in her eyes. “I’ll just take a taxi back. You drive Jack.”

Dad pointed at the empty wilderness around us. “Babe, look where we are. You see any taxis? Stop arguing. It’s only a few hours. Just sit on him.”

My breathing turned shallow. My throat went dry. Every muscle in my body was wound tight, trembling with a mix of panic and heat.

Dad noticed me standing there like a statue and raised an eyebrow. “Son, you getting in or what? You waiting for your mother to carry you?”

I scrambled into the back seat. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Mom walk toward the car in that white off-shoulder dress with the black trim. The fabric clung and shifted with every step. Her long, pale legs moved with that same elegant rhythm that always destroyed me. I dropped my gaze fast. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

She stopped at the open door. I felt her hesitation. She gripped the frame, face tight with nerves.

Dad caught her in the rearview mirror and kept pushing. “Babe, get in. We need to move. Once it gets dark these mountain roads turn nasty.”

Under the pressure she opened her mouth, closed it, then set her jaw and lowered herself onto one of my thighs. The door shut.

Her ass wasn’t fully on me—just barely resting against my leg.

Then Dad put the car in gear. The first bump of the road shifted her. Her weight settled fully between my thighs.

Her ass was heavy and soft at the same time, softer than any couch I’d ever sat on. My eyes drifted half-shut. Filthy thoughts started flooding in whether I wanted them or not.

Mom shifted to get more comfortable, lifting that heavy ass and rolling it lightly back and forth across my thighs. I felt the heat of her body and the expensive scent of her perfume rising off her skin. I stole glances at her bare shoulders and the elegant line of her neck, drinking in the view of her back. My blood was on fire.