‘For a mother of an eighteen year old son, I still looked good. I know my husband still likes what I look like. He tries to fuck me at least five ti...es a week.’ I heard the car horn. I ran downstairs, closed and locked the front door and headed for the car. My son was already in the seat. I sat down on his lap and swung my legs into the car. I looked down and notice my dress barely covered my thighs. It rode up pretty high. My son was wearing baggy shorts and a t-shirt. I closed the car door. . He had smiled and nodded every time, given me a condescending slap on the cheek, and put his cock back into my mouth. Once he was fucking me, I somehow lost the ability to continue pushing the condom.Finally, I can't take the building shame and guilt anymore. I pull my head out of the pillow and look at the clock next to the bed. Fuck! It says 6:30. That's ok, you can't trust a motel clock. It must be wrong. I lunge to the side of the bed, searching for my pants. I go through my pockets and. More

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