SITTING ON MY STEP SON'S LAP

1

It was August. We spent the morning packing the car. My stepson Mike was leaving for college. Though it was morning, the temperature had already reached 90 degrees. Mike, my husband, and I grew sweaty loading the car. The trunk was full, and the back seat had little space left. Mike returned to the house to retrieve his final belongings. When he reappeared, he carried his 42-inch flat-screen TV.  

“Where will you put the TV?” his father asked.  

“Not sure, but I don’t want to leave it. Maybe we can rearrange the back seat,” Mike replied. I peered inside. “I don’t think so, son.” Mike inspected the car. “We could place it in the middle of the front seat.”  

“Okay, *college man*,” I said. “But where will your mom sit?”  

His face tightened as he brainstormed. “Got an idea!” He opened the passenger door, wedged the TV into the center, and sat down. “See? Plenty of room. Come sit next to me, Mom.”  

I attempted to squeeze in, but the door wouldn’t close. At five feet tall and a hundred pounds, I wasn’t the issue—Mike, at six feet and two hundred pounds, occupied most of the space. “It’s not me taking up room—it’s you. This won’t work. Leave the TV, and we’ll bring it when we visit.”  

“No way,” he insisted as I stepped out. “Decide quickly, Mike. It’s sweltering,” my husband urged.  

“Fine,” Mike said, turning to me. “You can sit on my lap.”  

“It’s a 10-hour drive,” his father cautioned.  

“Mom’s light. What do you say?” Mike asked.  

“Okay, but if it gets uncomfortable, we stop,” I agreed, glancing at my husband, Steve. He nodded. “Let’s shower and hit the road.”  

My shower was brief. Knowing I’d be on Mike’s lap for hours, I opted for comfort. Jeans were too tight and hot. I chose a short, sleeveless summer dress with front buttons. After putting it on, I noticed it revealed too much of my b-ra. I removed the bra and tried again.  

In the mirror, I assessed myself. At 30, my t--ts remained perky, and the dress’s hem stopped mid-thigh. I slipped on a pair of white panties. “I still look good,” I thought. “Steve certainly thinks so—he tries to f--k me five times a week.”  

The car horn blared. I rushed downstairs, locked the house, and hurried to the car. Mike was already seated. I settled onto his lap, swinging my legs inside.

My dress rode up, barely covering my thighs. He wore baggy shorts and a T-shirt. The back of my bare legs pressed against his.  

“How are you doing?” I asked.  

“Fine. You’re light—no problem,” he replied.  

I peered over the TV at Steve. “Can you drive comfortably?”  

“Yes,” he said, his head barely visible. “I can only see your head. Are *you* okay?”  

I shifted slightly. “I’m fine. This isn’t bad.”  

I turned on the radio. As music played, I gradually felt something firm beneath me…

 2  

I started to feel something h--ard. I repositioned my a--ss, but it didn’t go away. I also noticed my stepson had gotten real quiet. “It wasn’t there when I first sat down,” I thought to myself.

Then I realized what I was feeling—my stepson was getting a h--ard-on. I hadn’t considered that sitting on his lap would cause this. I could feel it still growing. “My god,” I thought. “How big is it going to get?”  

I wondered what he was thinking. Did he assume I couldn’t feel it between the crack of my a--ss? I glanced down at my legs. My dress had risen a little higher, nearly revealing my p--anties.

My stepson’s hands were on the seat beside me, and I questioned if he could see how much my dress had ridden up. Strangely, the idea of it excited me. It gave me a thrill to know I’d caused his h--ard-on.  

We had only been on the road for an hour, with nine more to go. My husband couldn’t see how high my dress was from his seat—the TV blocked his view. My stepson shifted slightly, and his d--ick pressed against the back of my a--ss. Part of me wished he’d try something.  

“How you doing back there, son?” I asked.  

“I’m okay, Mom. How are *you* feeling?”  

“I like what I’m feeling,” I replied. “Are your arms tired?”  

“Yeah, it’s a little uncomfortable.”  

“Here, try this.” I took his hands and placed them on my bare thighs. “Better?”  

“Yeah… a lot better.”  

When I positioned his hands palms-down, his thumbs brushed the inside of my thighs, dangerously close to my p--anties. The sight thrilled me. I wanted him to move higher, to touch my p--ssy, but I knew he wouldn’t dare. Resting my hands over his, I rubbed them gently—a motherly gesture with ulterior motives. My husband sat mere inches away, oblivious.  

As I caressed his hands, I subtly guided them upward. He didn’t resist. Now his fingers grazed the hem of my skirt, still touching bare skin.

I lifted my hips slightly to hike the fabric higher. His hands followed, and when I looked down, my p--nties were visible. His fingertips hovered near the edge.  

I raised his right hand and pressed it against my p--anties. When I spread my legs, his hand slipped between them. I held it there, forcing his palm against my covered p--ssy. Already, I could feel myself getting w--et. When I let go, he kept his hand in place but didn’t move. Maybe he was scared.  

I guided his hand to the top of my p--anties, slid his fingers beneath the fabric, and pushed downward until his fingertips grazed my p--ussy l--ips. The tight material restricted further movement, but I felt him attempt to probe deeper.  

EPISODE 3

NB: I WILL ONLY POST THE NEXT EPISODE AFTER 100 SHARES

My pa--nties were too tight for both of our hands. Finally, I felt him try to move his hand further down so he could find my entrance.

When I took my hand out from under my pa--nties, my stepson left his hand on my p---sy. I raised my h¡ps, hooked my thumbs on each side of my pa--nties, and pulled them down to my knees.

As soon as I did this, I felt Mike move his hand so he could get his fingers in me. My pa--nties kept me from spreading my legs out for him to really get to feel me.

Before I could move my hand to take my pa--nties off, Mike used his other hand and started pulling them down around my ankles.

I lifted up my leg so he could take them all the way off. I spread my legs as wide as I could. This was all he needed. I was so w--t that he sank two fingers in me at once. I let out a low m--n. “Are you okay?” my husband asked me. He was looking at me. I smiled and said, “I’m okay; I thought it would be a problem sitting on my stepson's lap, but it really isn’t. This isn’t going to be so bad of a ride.” Here I was talking to my husband with my son’s fingers in me. “How much farther until we stop?” “I don’t want to stop until I go a little further,” “How about you, Mike? Can you go a little bit further?”

“Yeah, mom. I can go a lot further,”

“Good,” I answered. “The further we go, the better I like it.” That’s okay with you, isn’t it, honey?” I asked my husband.

“Yeah, I like the idea of not stopping.” He answered. I turned and looked at my stepson, “Me too. I don’t want you to stop.”

“Mike?” my husband asked my stepson, “How are you doing with your mom on your lap?” “No problem, dad. Mom keeps moving around so one position doesn’t get uncomfortable. She raises up every once in a while to relieve the pressure.” As my son was talking to his dad, he was sinking his fingers even deeper in my p---sy. Mike was starting to move his fingers in and out of me. I had to bite my tongue to keep from m--ning. I pressed my hand against his. I pushed his hand hard into my p---sy. I wanted him to know I wanted him to go deeper in me. He got the idea and sank his fingers in me as deep as he could. I started moving my h¡ps to the rhythm of his fingers. I looked over at my husband. It was a good thing the TV was blocking his view. If he could see his son with his fingers deep in his step-mother’s p---sy, I don’t really know what he would do.

My whole body was starting to respond to his fingers. Without warning, he pulled his fingers out of me. I felt disappointed. That didn’t last long. My son started unbuttoning my dress.

Episode 4

He started at the top button and was working his way down to the bottom button. As he was unbuttoning my dress, I could feel the cool air from the car’s air conditioner. It made my n---ples even h---der. I felt him unbutton the last button. He opened my dress. The front of me was totally unclad for my son to do whatever he wanted to do to me. He started running his hands up and down my body. He started fondling both of my t¡ts. He kept cupping them with his hands. I thrust my chest out so he could press against my t¡tseven h---der. I raised my h¡ps up and pulled my dress out from under my a--. My son understood why.

---

...