Clearly, modesty is out the window.
Rain is hitting us and my thin night shirt seems to have melted into my chest. I can feel my long nipples have become concrete hard.
Brads’ hand returns to my stomach and his fingers worm their way into my most sensitive spot. The pressure is increasing as I am just trying to orient myself to this new environment.
He is making it difficult for me by grabbing my neck and without my consent presses his lips against mine firmly enough that I can’t turn away and succumb to his kiss.
The pressure of his hand on my stomach is finally initiating my release. My stream starts and what a feeling of relief as I let it go.
The wind and rain camoflauge any noise.
I can’t help but sigh into Brad’s mouth which only encourages him to explore me with his tongue that I accept by parting my lips. Our tongues duel and our lips aren’t shy as we suck on each other. The release I feel is strangely very satisfying.
I have an overwhelming desire to watch my stream from this very erotic position and break off our kiss.
Becoming singular in the moment I look down seeing my stream flow freely in an arc.
What is happening to me? I’ve been fucked in this position many times with my knees up high on a couch or chair but have never peed like this obviously.
I know Brad’s looking as well and I don’t care.
I finally tilt my head back and look at my son as my stream continues. Our eyes are accustomed to the dark and the tent lantern gives off enough light for this indecent moment to be seen. My son is ogling me and I can see in his face and feel in my heart that very bad things are going to happen tonight.
My stream ends and I don’t want to get up. I just sit there in that uncomfortable yet erotic position letting the rain wash me clean as I look away searching for a sane thought and hoping I don’t find one.
Every square inch of my body’s screaming for an orgasm. One I hope will be so powerful I might pass out and wake up in my bed at home, taking me away from this morbidly fascinating moment.
Carnal lust is urging me to just go back in that tent and let Brad fuck me and blame it on the alcohol and perfect alignment of the stars. Any excuse would work I am thinking.
I am perplexed. I have never harbored any thoughts such as these about Brad.
I’m his mother! I scream in my head. Yet looking down, my pussy’s still exposed and I know he’s seeing his mother’s sex. Desiring me, lusting for me. Yet I make no attempt at modesty. Allowing him to take me in.
A man I dated about a year back said my pussy was so fucking wet you could float a canoe in it. At the time I was insulted. I let him fuck me but that was the last time I saw him.
Right now his analogy is apt.
In the dark shadows I can sense my swelling, the flowing of juices can be felt. Although rain is falling, a woman knows.
Brad finally breaks our trance and looks at me saying loudly over the wind; “You know what happens now don’t you?”
Looking at him my mind is on auto pilot.
I want the games to end, the questions to end, the teasing to end! “just fuck me! that’s what you want! Just take it!!! Haven’t I complied enough, acted improper enough? What more do you want? For me to ask for it? Beg for it? Say the words out loud? Is it really necessary?