Pause. Rest. Worship.
by Eric Ross
Copyright© 2025 by Eric Ross
Fiction Sex Story: On a steamy road trip to Seattle, country couple Ella and Bobbie can’t stop reliving last night’s motel sex—or dreaming up what might come next. As Highway 2 winds past queer campgrounds, threesome fantasies, and teasing turns, Ella’s 'girl' gets hotter by the mile. She pulls over when they spot a tiny chapel bearing the words “Pause. Rest. Worship.” Before you know it, it becomes a scandalous communion of kisses and heat and “speakin’ in tongues”.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Humor Cream Pie Oral Sex Public Sex .
They rolled outta Leavenworth ‘round ten, windows down, sun already bakin’ the pine needles crisp.
Ella had her legs propped up on the dash like she owned the highway, dress ridin’ up to damn near her panties. Her curls were a bird’s nest of mischief and last night’s sweat. Bobbie’s hand stayed glued to the wheel—mostly. But now and again it drifted, like it had a mind of its own, down to her bare thigh.
“Last night,” Ella said, thighs squeezin’ thinkin’ on it, “my girl just ‘bout burst into song.”
Bobbie chuckled. “That bedframe was squeakin’ like a choir of field mice.”
“She’s still hummin’, baby,” Ella purred, nudgin’ his hand higher. “You wore her out with that weiner.”
He barked a laugh. “You can’t call it a weiner when you were beggin’ to ride it like a goddamn bronco.”
“Mm,” she grinned, lazy and wicked. “Don’t matter what I call it. My girl knows what she likes. And she likes that weiner. All thick and twitchy like it’s got opinions.”
The road curled tight around the mountain—clear streams rushin’ below, cold and fast, fed by meltwater and shadow, with jagged peaks risin’ like busted teeth up high. They passed signs for the little town of Scenic, thick pine shadow on one side, sun-slapped cliffs on the other. The river was down there somewhere, glintin’ like secrets between trees.
They hit the stretch near Index and slowed some, windows full of that sleepy mountain town: weathered wood cabins, a crooked post office, a tiny general store with a “Live Bait” sign even though there weren’t no lake in sight.
Bobbie leaned forward, squintin’. “Ain’t this the place got that gay RV park?”
Ella turned to him. “What?”
“Yeah. Up the hill somewhere. Heard they throw wild-ass parties over Labor Day. Half-naked men in chaps, drag queens roastin’ marshmallows, sex swings in the woods.”
Ella whistled low. “Well I’ll be. Sounds like a hoot.”
Bobbie snorted. “Don’t reckon I’d want a man suckin’ my dick. No offense to ‘em, just—ain’t my brand.”
Ella tilted her head. “You ever wonder if a man’d suck it different, though?”
He gave her a sideways look. “I don’t need different. You damn near made me see God last night.”
She grinned, then looked out the window, voice soft. “I do wonder what it’d feel like, though ... havin’ a girl go down on me.”
Bobbie’s eyes flicked from the road to her. “You serious?”
Ella shrugged one bare shoulder, coy. “My girl’s curious, is all. Reckon a woman might be softer. Slower. Might know just how to touch it.”
She shifted in her seat, thighs squeezin’. “Think she’d lick it the way I like? Or would it be more like ... I dunno ... explorin’. Real gentle.”
Bobbie groaned. “Jesus, woman. You tryin’ to make me wreck the truck?”
By the time they got through Gold Bar, Ella was flush and fidgetin’. The wind through the windows hit her damp spot just right, makin’ her twitch.
Bobbie looked over, his voice low. “You ever think ‘bout a threesome?”
Ella blinked slow, then gave a long, thoughtful mmm. “What kinda threesome?”
He grinned. “Two boys? Or two girls?”
Ella leaned her head back on the seat. “Two weiners sounds like trouble. All that thrustin’, tryin’ to figure out who’s where...”
Bobbie was smirkin’. “But fun trouble.”
“But two girls...” She trailed off, lickin’ her lips. “All soft hands and wet kisses. Moanin’ into each other. Takin’ turns pleasin’ each other’s girls.”
Bobbie shifted in his seat. “Which one you’d rather?”
Ella laughed. “Don’t make me choose. My girl wants it all. Double the weiners, double the tongues, double the praise.”
They were passin’ through Sultan now—more houses, gas stations, a busted-looking taco shack.
Ella sat up straighter, eyes sparklin’. “You reckon Sultan ever had a harem?”
Bobbie barked a laugh. “Ain’t even got a real bar, far as I seen.”
“Well it oughta. Imagine that—Ella’s House of Divine Temptation. Bring your weiner, leave your sins at the door.”
He was mid-laugh when she gasped.
There, just off the road, nestled in the trees:
PAUSE. REST. WORSHIP.
Her whole body lit up like a fuse.
“Pull over.”
Bobbie blinked. “What?”
“I’m feelin’ ... spiritual.”
He swerved into the gravel pullout, tires crunchin’. The tiny white chapel sat there, plain as milk, with a steeple just big enough to point to heaven. Nobody around. Not a soul.
Ella stepped out barefoot, her dress swayin’ like sin on a breeze. “C’mon,” she said, crookin’ her finger. “Let’s go pray.”
The old door groaned like it had a secret.
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