Chapter 4

Helen Palmer drew deeply on her cigarette and squinted at her son across the breakfast table. He wasn't paying attention to his food like he usually did, and she suspected why. It was that damn waitress showing herself off like a common whore. She could see her son squirming in his chair, even reaching under the table to stealthily rearrange himself.

Helen Palmer was still very attractive and well preserved, not turned to fat like so many middle-aged women, though a trifle plump. She had always been chesty, but her tits didn't hang down to her belly button; they were still firm and proud.

"What's the matter, Peter?" she asked. "You're acting strange this morning. Don't you feel well?"

"I'm okay, Mom, just sleepy. We started awful early."

"You're right, honey, but I want to get home tonight if we can. You can crawl in the back seat and take a nap and I'll drive. I feel good this morning."

The waitress returned.

She was young, about eighteen or nineteen, and she was built. Her skirt was tight and short, clinging to her round ass and showing off most of her smooth, bare legs. Her blouse was even tighter, and low cut, revealing a deep cleavage between heavy, braless tits. Her dark nipples could be seen through the thin, white material. A tiny apron tied tightly around her waist gave her an hourglass shape. The girl was cute and she knew it. She knew she was turning Peter on, too.

The girl bent over farther than necessary to refill their coffee cups. She smiled at Peter. "Is there anything else you'd like?" she asked sweetly, knowing full well what else the young man would like.

"Just the check," Helen said testily.

She could see that her sixteen-year-old son was really turned on, and she wondered what his little cock looked like all swollen with blood and desire. It had been years since she had seen him naked. She realized what she was thinking and blushed, and then again she wondered what his cock looked like. Had it grown? Of course it had grown. Was it hard? She looked away from her son and pushed back her chair.

Helen paid the check and they walked out to the car. "You get in the back and sleep; I'll drive. You can drive this afternoon after you've rested." Peter crawled into the back seat and stretched out on his back, trying to imagine what the waitress' big tits looked like without the blouse. They were big and soft and round, and the nipple was dark and hard. In his mind, he sucked on one of her ripe nipples and slid his hand under her skirt; of course, she wasn't wearing panties, and he immediately felt the thick hair on her pussy; it was wet and sticky. His hand slid into his pocket and squeezed his hard prick. He masturbated as best he could through the cloth of his pocket.

In the front seat, Helen adjusted the mirror until she could see her son. She could see he was playing with himself, and she almost gasped aloud when he removed his hand from his pocket, unzipped his pants, and reached inside. It was obvious he was masturbating. She had never thought of Peter jacking off, and it excited her. Her boy was a male animal; he had a prick, and it would get hard, and if he pulled on it enough it would squirt that nice milky stuff. Her throat was dry.

She felt the wetness in her panties and she put her hand between her legs. But it wasn't enough to massage her pussy, it never had been. Helen was one of those women who needed penetration, preferably deep penetration. A cock going in and out was what she needed. Helen didn't masturbate much, only when she felt the need strongly, only when she was unusually stimulated, and her own son was stimulating her unusually.

Helen Palmer no longer enjoyed sex with her husband. Perhaps it was because of the daily routine of marriage, or the dulling effect of familiarity, or maybe Dan was just a lousy lover. At any rate, the thrill was gone. She certainly didn't want it this way, but the thought of the same man, the same technique, and yes, the same prick in her cunt left her cold.

Peter's prick was a new prick. She fought against the ugly thoughts forming in her mind. She looked into the mirror and saw her son's hand inside his fly; he was pulling at his cock faster; the ugly thoughts came back, stronger than before.

She saw a huge service-station sign and swerved off the road.

"Go ahead and sleep, son: I'm going to get some gas. And I need to go potty," she said. "I forgot at the cafe."

Peter pulled his hand from his fly and quickly zipped up. "Okay, Mom," he said, trying to sound half asleep.

Helen got out of the car and told the attendant to fill it up. She went into the ladies' room, pissed frantically, wiped her pussy with care, and put her panties into her purse.

She glanced at the dirty, streaked mirror, looking for signs of perverted lust in her face. She saw none and sighed with relief.

When she returned to the car, she was startled to see Peter sitting behind the wheel. "I thought you were napping," she said, opening the door.

"I couldn't sleep, Mom. You crawl in on the other side and I'll drive," he said.

He knew he couldn't bring himself off with his mother in the front seat, and he had even thought of going into the men's room and jerking off, but gave the whole thing up as a bad deal. He was soft now, anyway.

Helen was disappointed, very disappointed. She had been counting on watching her son fondle himself while she masturbated. Her need for a deep, satisfying orgasm was strong. Reluctantly, she got in the seat beside him.

"Are you sure you feel like it, Peter?" she asked.

"I feel fine, Mom," he answered.

Peter's cock was soft when he pulled from the gas station, but it didn't stay that way for long. The wing on Helen's side was open and the wind lifted her light skirt halfway up her thighs. A quick look told him that her eyes were closed, so he stared brazenly at his mother's exposed legs. He fought off the urge to reach over and lift her hem higher. Helen moaned softly, opened her legs, and the wind did the job for him, her skirt blowing several inches higher.

"It's awfully warm in here," Helen mumbled. Her hand tugged at her bodice, pulling several buttons open.

Peter's eyes widened at the sight of his mother's cleavage, which was much deeper than the girl's at the cafe. He could see that her tits were even bigger than he had thought. His hand dropped to his leg and he started to rub himself again. His cock was hard as a rock. He looked at her legs which were bare well above mid-thigh. He was soon jacking off through his trouser leg, untroubled that he might come inside his pants.

Helen watched him for several minutes, her passion a mixture of doubt and lust. She sat up abruptly and opened her eyes wide. "What on earth are you doing, Peter?" she cried.

The startled boy jerked his hand back to the wheel, his face reddening. "Nothing, Mom, honest."

"Don't lie to me, Peter. You were playing with yourself, weren't you?"

"Yes," he answered weakly.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

Peter was unaccustomed to lying to his mother and blurted out, "I was looking at your legs."

"Pull the car over to the side," she snapped.

Peter didn't know what to think. He slowed the car and eased onto the shoulder. His heart was pounding when he finally brought the vehicle to a stop. His cock had wilted to nothing.

"Push the seat back all the way," she said.

Peter did as he was told, confused now at his mother's actions.

"Don't you know it's not good for a young boy to get sexually excited and not get any relief. It could make you impotent later on in life," she said.

Peter trembled as his mother's hand reached over and boldly unzipped his fly. His mind reeled with amazement, unable to grasp what was happening, when her warm fingers slipped inside and circled his cock.

"Oh, you've gone soft already!" she cried, hauling his cock out.

With fascination she watched his smooth, young prick swell in her hand, first matching in size, and then surpassing his father's.

"My God, it's so big," she said. "I had no idea..."

With slow, deliberate strokes, she slid her hand up and down his cock, squeezing firmly each time her palm came up over his cherry knob. Her nostrils flared.

"Oh, Mama, that feels so good!" he cried.

"Just relax and enjoy it, honey. Mother will take care of you." She glanced quickly into his eyes. "You must have relief, you know."

Her glance returned to her moving hand and she stared as though hypnotized at his magnificent cock-head. It was so proud, and so smooth and hard and red, and so goddamned big, much bigger than his father's. His whole cock was bigger than his father's. She gripped it in the middle and there was leftovers above and below. It was the cock of a stallion, not a sixteen-year-old boy.

The urge to bend over and take it in her mouth was so strong that it terrified her. She didn't dare. Never, ever would she want him to know that his own mother would do such a thing.

Helen had once had a wild passion for cock-sucking, a passion long since cooled. She had the mistaken impression that her husband thought it was dirty and degrading. Dan and Helen did not communicate very well.

Helen developed her taste for cock-sucking while still in high school. She was unusually well developed by the time she was fifteen, and since she looked like a sexpot, boys expected her to act like one. And she didn't disappoint them.

She was only fifteen when the first male hand slipped inside her panties, and not many minutes older when she discovered the thrill of a hot, pulsing prick in her hand. She was young and afraid to fuck, so she sucked him off. From then on, every boy she dated deposited his slime in her mouth at least once.

She had wanted to go to her marriage bed a virgin, but it just wasn't in the cards. Her uncle took her cherry while she was staying with them to care for his infant son while his wife was in the hospital having another. They slept together every night she was in the hospital. And of course there were several others after that.

Helen continuing jacking off her son. Unlike his daddy's cock, Peter's was circumcised, making the head look so huge and smooth. She realized she wanted it down between her legs, to feel the swollen bulb push slowly up into her cunt. The thought of intercourse with her son revolted her, yet she still wanted it.

"Does that feel good, honey?" she said.

"It feels wonderful, Mother. It feels wonderful. Please don't stop."

"I won't, baby, not until you come. Are you getting close?"

"Yes, yes! Go faster, Mama, I'm almost there!"

It made her tingle to think of her son's semen gushing out over her hand. She knew she could never come herself without touching between her legs, but it was thrilling just to be holding his hard cock in her hand, knowing she was going to bring him off.

When he popped, she was unprepared for the explosion, having forgotten how much farther young boys squirt their stuff. He grunted and hunched, spurting out onto the steering wheel, onto his pants, onto her hand. Still she pumped on, refusing to stop until he was dry.

"Was it good, darling?" she asked, still holding his gooey cock in her hand.

"Oh, Mom! It was wonderful! Better than it's ever been."

"Do you do it often?"

"Pretty often." He blushed. "I wish you could do it for me all the time."

I wish I could too, Helen thought. She was blushing, too.

Helen turned away from him to get her purse and quickly sucked his cum from her hand. She took out several tissues and cleaned up the mess.

About five o'clock Helen hunched her shoulders in a gesture of fatigue and said, "I'm too tired to drive any more. I think we'll get a motel and drive on in the morning."

At the next town Helen pulled into a big motel with a restaurant and lounge.

"Let's stop over to the restaurant and eat, honey," she said to Peter after they had registered.

"I need a drink to relax before we eat. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, go ahead," he answered.

The one drink before dinner turned into an even dozen. After the fourth, she ordered one for Peter every other round. Peter was feeling quite good and Helen was drunk by the time dinner arrived.

The liquor stimulated Peter's appetite and he ate ravenously. She had two more drinks after dinner. Peter had never seen his mother tight before.

On the way back to their room, she stumbled and almost fell Peter put his arm around his voluptuous mother, his hand snugged against the underside of one breast. She leaned heavily against him.

Peter helped her inside. "Gosh, Mom, there's only one bed," he said.

"Well, never mind about that, just get ready for bed and crawl in. We're so tired I don't think we'll keep each other awake, anyway. I'm going to take a hot shower."

After Helen had gone into the bathroom. Peter took off all his clothing. The cool, crisp sheets felt good against his bare skin, especially his cock, which was half hard.

When Helen stepped from the bathroom, he pretended to be asleep, but he almost gasped out loud. His mother was wearing her robe, but she hadn't pulled it closed. He could see half of each tit and all of her hair-covered mound.

"That felt wonderful," she said. "Are you asleep yet?"

"Mmmmmffff," Peter mumbled, rolling onto his side so he could see her better. He kept his eyes half closed.

Peter's prick was at full attention.

She lit a cigarette and sat down in a chair facing the bed, her robe falling completely open. Peter could see both her tits, the nipples big and dark, and her soft belly tapered down to a thick nest of hair.

She crossed her legs for a minute, then uncrossed them. They came apart, a little at first, then widely. Peter's eyes came open at the sight of her pink, pouting cunt; Helen pretended not to notice. She sat like this until she was sure he was good and hot, then she got up, snuffed out the cigarette, and turned off the lights. Her robe slithered to the floor before she crawled into bed with him.