My Mother Spent the Whole Night Riding on Me

Marisol was forty-two and had a near-religious obsession with the gym. She ran at dawn, measured every plate, and took care of herself as if time didn’t matter. The result was plain to see: brown skin, chestnut hair down to her waist, and a body that turned heads in any supermarket. But what really stopped men mid-sentence was her ass, round and firm, too big for such a petite woman.

That afternoon, nobody was thinking about that. Grandma had died and the family was leaving for the funeral, five hours away by road. The car was a disaster.

—Marisol, nothing else fits —Ricardo, her husband, complained as he tried to close the trunk—. You’ve got two boxes of bread in the front and two more in the back, the folding chairs… where do you want us to put the sleeping bags?

—I’ll put them on my lap —she replied, unruffled—. It’s my grandmother’s funeral; I’m not going empty-handed.

—And Damián? Where do you sit him? Here he comes.

—I’m going on top of him.

Ricardo shrugged and got behind the wheel. Damián arrived with his backpack over his shoulder, freshly turned eighteen and carrying that mix of annoyance and resignation kids have when they’re dragged anywhere.

—Honey, would you mind if I sit on your legs? There’s nowhere else —his mother asked.

The boy rolled his eyes, but in the end he agreed. He climbed into the back seat, where there was barely any space between the boxes. Marisol settled in after him, crouching so she wouldn’t hit the roof, and as she turned she planted her whole ass in his face, squeezed into pink leggings that looked painted onto her skin. One cheek brushed his nose.

—Sorry, sweetheart —she said, laughing—. Can you push those bags a little farther over?

Damián had to brace himself on the driver’s seat to maneuver. For a second, his eyes were level with that enormous ass and he couldn’t stop looking at it.

—Yes, Mom. There.

—Then I’m sitting down, okay? Tell me if I squash you.

Marisol slowly lowered herself until her weight rested on her son’s thighs. He felt the heat through the fabric and turned his face toward the window, trying to think of something else.

—All set, let’s go —she announced.

The car pulled out toward the village. The sun faded on the road and, before the first hour was over, night had already fallen.

***

—Oh… mmm… —Marisol complained all of a sudden, resting her hands on her son’s knees.

—Everything okay back there? —Ricardo asked, never taking his eyes off the road.

—Yeah, my legs are falling asleep.

—Should I stop for a minute?

—No, it’ll pass. Damián, help me lift up a little.

She took her son’s hands herself and brought them to her narrow waist, skin against skin.

—Lift me a bit —she asked.

Damián lifted her as much as he could in that tiny space. Then he pulled her back down again, and when he sat her, he felt all the weight of that ass dropping onto his thighs.

—Mmm… —slipped from her lips.

—What’s wrong, darling? —the father insisted, glancing in the rearview mirror.

—Nothing, I’m stretching my legs and it helps. Again, Damián. Lift me.

He lifted her. He lowered her. He lifted her again, slowly, unconsciously mimicking a sway neither of them named. Every time he sat her down, she let out a sigh and leaned back for a moment against his chest before straightening up.

—Mom, what are you doing?

—Stretching, son, just stretching.

Marisol sat upright again, but this time her butt landed right on top of the bulge growing in Damián’s pants. He kept looking down again and again at that ass moving in front of him, and felt his body respond without permission.

—Mommy, do you mind if I keep my hands here? —he asked, holding her by the hips again.

—No, sweetheart. Hold on.

A few minutes passed. Outside, only the headlights of oncoming cars were visible. And with every bump in the road, Marisol’s ass moved over her son’s erection until it was impossible to hide anymore.

—Sweetheart… what is that I’m feeling? —she murmured, turning her head just a little.

—I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t help it —he whispered in her ear.

—Do you want me to get off?

—No. Stay like that, please. Don’t move.

—Is everything okay back there? —Ricardo asked.

—Nothing, love —she answered, with a calm she didn’t feel.

***

Marisol took her phone out of her pocket. A second later, Damián’s phone vibrated in the dark.

“My love, what I’m feeling… is it what I think it is?”

He typed quickly, his pulse racing.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m not doing it on purpose, I can’t control it.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m sitting on top of you, I suppose that’s normal at your age.”

“It’s just that I’ve never had a woman’s body on top of me before.”

“Really? Well, that explains it. But try thinking about something else, okay?”

“I’m trying. It’s impossible.”

Marisol could feel how, against her will, it was getting harder and harder between her butt cheeks. She wrote again.

“Oh, son, it’s getting worse and worse.”

“Mom, it’s your fault too. With those clothes, I can feel everything.”

“I can feel everything too, you idiot.”

“Does it bother you?”

“It bothers me because you’re my son. If you weren’t… honestly, it feels pretty good.”

Damián read that three times. His heart pounded in his chest.

“If I weren’t your son, would you like what you’re feeling?”

“If you weren’t, I wouldn’t even tell you. It’s very hard. Does your mother turn you on that much?”

“Mom, it’s just that you’ve got a… your…”

“Say it, sweetheart. Don’t be shy. My ass?”

“Yes, Mom. Your ass is unbelievable.”

“You’re crazy, you horny boy!”

“You’re way too hot, Mom. It’s not my fault my body reacts.”

“Boy, what things you say. At least think about somebody else.”

“Nobody has an ass like yours.”

Marisol pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t smile in the dark. She typed slowly.

“Oh, son, your testosterone’s shot through the roof and now you don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“Mom… could you move in circles a little?”

“What? You’re sick. Never. You want me to rub you too?”

“It’ll make it go down. And I’ll think about someone else, I swear.”

“Swear it to me, Damián. Think about someone else.”

“I swear. I’m going to think about my math teacher.”

“Is she as hot as me?”

“Almost, Mom. You win, but she’s up there. Help me get this thing to go down.”

“All right. But don’t forget the teacher.”

***

Marisol began moving her hips in circles, perfectly discreetly, like someone easing a cramp. Damián looked down and saw that ass turning slowly over him. He had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning.

—You move so well, mommy —he whispered.

—Shut up and think about the teacher —she replied just as softly.

But she didn’t stop. She kept circling, and his pants were starting to tighten unbearably.

—Mom, the pants are hurting me. Can I take them off?

—You’re crazy! Be satisfied with this.

—It’s just that when you move, it hurts. Better stay still.

Marisol stayed motionless, but then her son’s erection pressed even harder into her, and the hard bulge against her body ended up bothering her too.

—Damián, like this I can’t even sit properly.

—Exactly, Mom. Let me lower my pants.

—How am I supposed to sit on you naked, son? There’s something wrong with your head.

—Mom, you said “naked”!

—Look at the filthy things you make me say. Okay: I’ll stand up, you pull them down to your ankles, and that’s it. Understood?

—Yes.

Marisol braced herself on the driver’s seat back and lifted her ass for a moment. Damián, as fast as was humanly possible so his father wouldn’t notice anything, yanked his pants down. Then he took his mother by the waist and guided her back down, leaving her seated on his hard erection, barely covered by his underwear.

—Oh, Damián… it feels huge —she panted very softly.

—Do you like it, Mom?

—Holy God. It’s a damn…

—Mom, that language.

—I’m not made of stone either, you pervert.

—Move in circles again? Please.

And she, already burning from feeling that between her butt cheeks, obeyed without a word.

***

—Damn, mommy, you move so good —the boy murmured, holding her by the waist.

—You like it, my king?

—A lot. You’ve got an incredible ass.

—This only happens once, son. Enjoy it.

Marisol sped up the sway of her hips. Then, in a move her son never saw coming, she herself straightened up for a second. Damián seized the moment to pull her pink leggings down to her knees. His mother turned her head, alarmed, but he didn’t give her time to react: he grabbed her by the hips and sat her down hard.

Marisol opened her mouth wide, without making a sound. Then she grabbed the phone.

“Son of my life, what the hell have you done?”

“Mom, you’re all hot inside.”

“Take it out, idiot.”

“Then get up.”

She tried to rise, but barely lifted herself a little before Damián seated her again with force, sinking back in all the way to the bottom.

—Ah! —she gasped.

—Is something wrong, darling? —Ricardo asked.

—No, love. I’m stretching.

—Damián, then do it like before, so her legs wake up.

The boy didn’t miss the opportunity. He started lifting her and sitting her down again and again, going in and out in the darkness of the back seat. Marisol clenched her teeth and let out moans she disguised as complaints.

—Better, sweetheart? —the husband asked.

—Much better. Do you mind if we do it faster, love? So my legs wake up sooner.

—No, not at all. Do it fast, don’t worry about it.

—You heard your father, son —she whispered—. Wake my legs up.

***

Damián held her with both hands and started lifting and lowering her at a firmer and firmer rhythm. The sound of her ass hitting him began to fill the car.

—What’s that noise? —Ricardo asked.

—I’m slapping my thighs, sweetheart. To wake them up.

And Marisol began slapping her own thighs with her hand, masking the sound of the impact with her son’s lap. The road remained dark and empty, and nobody up front suspected a thing.

—You like it, mommy? —he asked in her ear.

—Very much, my love.

A few kilometers later, Ricardo slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder.

—I’m pulling over for a minute; I need to go to the bathroom.

The car stopped. Mother and son stayed still, holding their breath, until the father got out and disappeared into the brush with a flashlight.

—He’s gone —she panted—. We’ve got a few seconds. Take advantage, son.

Damián grabbed her hard and resumed the sway, now without any pretense, slamming her against his body with all his weight.

—Oh, yes! You do me so well —she moaned, finally free to lower her voice.

—What an ass you’ve got, Mom.

—It’s yours, sweetheart. Enjoy it, that’s what I’ve got it for.

—I love how you bounce.

—Hurry up. Your father’s coming back.

The boy sped up as much as he could, eyes fixed on his father’s silhouette out there among the bushes.

—Do you like it like this, my boy? —she panted.

—I’m going to come, Mom.

—Do it, sweetheart, do it. I’m about to come too.

Marisol bit her hand to stifle her cry as the orgasm surged through her whole body, trembling on top of her son. Damián squeezed her one last time and emptied himself inside her with an intensity that left him breathless, clinging to her waist, feeling his mother’s body still shuddering against his.

—My God, son —she whispered when she managed to catch her breath—. You really needed that.

—Ugh, Mom. I needed way too much.

—I can see that. Quick, pull your pants up; your father’s coming back.

They rearranged themselves in a hurry in the dark. Marisol pulled her leggings back up, fixed her hair, and took a deep breath just as the driver’s door opened.

—What, did your legs wake up? —Ricardo asked, buckling his seat belt.

—Like new, love —she answered, with a smile her husband would never be able to decipher—. Like new.

The car got back on the road. There were still three hours left to the village, and Marisol, leaning against her son’s chest, knew that this trip would not be the last.