Mom & Grandma Fuck Son in Broke-Down Car Summer of 69

Christopher had the wheel of the old station wagon, one hand loose on the chrome, the other resting on the thigh of his mother, Kimberly, who sat in the middle of the front bench. His grandmother, also Kimberly, sat against the passenger door with the window down, the hot July air of 1969 lifting the ends of her silver-streaked hair. They were still a day out of San Francisco, chasing the summer of love the way half the country seemed to be chasing it, when the engine coughed, shuddered, and died on a two-lane stretch of nowhere with dry grass on both sides and no other car in sight.

“Damn,” Christopher said. He was twenty-two, tall even folded into the seat, shoulders wide from a summer of loading freight. The break in the road left them in the shade of a single oak. He popped the hood, looked, and came back shaking his head. “Fuel pump, I think. We’re not going anywhere till morning if somebody comes by.”

His mother watched him through the windshield. Kimberly was forty-one, dark hair pinned up against the heat, the sleeveless blouse she had put on that morning already open at the throat. She had been restless since they left Sacramento. The radio had played the new records and then static, and every time Christopher shifted gears his forearm had brushed her knee. Grandma Kimberly, sixty-three and still straight-backed, had watched the two of them without comment for an hour.

“Come back in,” his mother said. “No point baking out there.”

He slid in on the driver’s side. The bench was wide. His mother did not move over. Her hip stayed against his. Grandma turned a little on the seat so she could see them both.

“We could be here all night,” Grandma said. Her voice was low. “And you’ve been hard since the last town, Christopher. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

He went still. His mother’s hand, which had been on her own lap, moved onto his thigh and higher, until her palm rested over the thick ridge in his jeans. She pressed once, testing.

“Twelve inches if it’s an inch,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I measured you in my head every time you stood up at the diner. Your father never had that.”

Christopher’s breath left him. His mother’s fingers found the button, then the zipper. She worked them open with the unhurried care of a woman who had already decided. His cock rose into her hand, heavy, veined, the head already wet. She wrapped her fingers around as much as she could and stroked once from root to tip.

“Mom—”

“Hush.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then looked past him at her own mother. “You want to see him, don’t you.”

Grandma Kimberly nodded. She reached across and took Christopher’s wrist, guiding his hand onto the worn vinyl between them as if to keep him still. “Let her. We’ve got hours and a dead car. No one is coming.”

His mother shifted onto her knees on the seat, blouse falling open. She had nothing under it. Her breasts swung free, full, nipples dark and tight in the heat. She bent and took the head of his cock into her mouth, slow, lips stretching. Christopher’s hand found the back of her head. She sank farther, throat working, saliva shining on the shaft she could not yet swallow. Grandma watched, one hand resting on her own knee, the other sliding under the hem of her dress.

“That’s it,” Grandma said. “Take your son’s cock. You’ve wanted to since he got that big.”

Kimberly pulled off with a wet sound and stroked him, fist tight. “Get in the back,” she told him. “Both of you. I want him on the seat where I can sit on it.”

They climbed over. The rear bench was flatter. Christopher sat in the middle, jeans shoved to his thighs, cock standing straight up against his stomach, thick enough that his mother’s hand looked small around it. She stripped her skirt and underwear in the cramped space and climbed onto his lap facing him, knees on either side of his hips. The head of his cock nudged her cunt. She was already slick. She reached down, fitted him, and sank.

The stretch made her gasp. Inch after inch pushed up into her, the width opening her until she was seated fully, belly pressed to his, his cock buried to the root. She stayed there a moment, trembling, then began to rock.

“God, Christopher. You’re so deep. Right against my womb.”

He held her hips and thrust up to meet her. The car creaked. His mother rode him in short, greedy strokes, breasts brushing his mouth. He caught a nipple and sucked. She moaned and ground down harder, taking every bit of the twelve inches, the wet sound of her cunt on him loud in the closed car.

Grandma had climbed in after them. She knelt on the seat beside Christopher’s thigh, dress rucked up, watching her daughter fuck her grandson. Her fingers were between her own legs. “Don’t you waste it,” she said. “When he comes, he comes inside. I want to see your son cream-pie you.”

Kimberly nodded, breathless, pace quickening. Christopher’s hands slid to her ass and spread her. He drove up, fucking her from below, the head of his cock kissing the end of her with every stroke. She came first, cunt clamping, a broken sound against his neck, and the grip pulled him over. He held her down and pumped thick ropes into her, pulse after pulse, until it leaked around the base of his cock and onto his balls.

She stayed on him, shivering, his cock still hard inside her. Grandma reached between them and touched the place they were joined, gathering the slick mix on her fingers.

“My turn,” she said. “Turn her around. I want his cock in my ass, and I want her on his lap while he does it so I can watch her drip.”

They shifted in the heat and the narrow space. Christopher stayed seated. His mother turned to face the front of the car and sank back onto his cock, reverse, taking him bare again, his cum and her wetness easing the way. Grandma straddled his thighs behind her daughter, facing the same direction, and reached back to guide him. Christopher’s cock, still slick from his mother’s cunt, pressed against Grandma’s asshole. She bore down. The head popped in. She groaned, low and rough, and pushed until half of him was inside her ass, then more, the stretch obscene, her body shaking as she took her grandson inch by inch.

“Fuck,” Christopher said. His hands were on his mother’s waist. She bounced slowly on what length Grandma was not using, the two of them sharing him in the tight space, his mother’s cunt and his grandmother’s ass alternately gripping the same thick shaft as they moved.

Grandma sank the rest of the way. Twelve inches buried in her ass, her grandson’s balls against her. She held still, panting, then began to rock. “Family fucking in a broke-down car,” she said. “On the way to San Francisco. Don’t stop. Jerk the base if you need to. I want every bit of that big cock.”

Christopher reached under his mother and stroked the inches that slid free when Grandma rose. His mother ground down whenever the shaft was hers, cunt fluttering, his earlier load leaking out around him and onto Grandma’s thigh. The car filled with the sound of skin and breath and the wet pull of his cock moving from one woman to the other. Grandma came with his cock deep in her ass, clenching so hard he had to grit his teeth. He followed a minute later, pulling his mother down fully and flooding her cunt a second time, then shifting the head back to push the last pulses into Grandma’s ass, creaming her there while she held herself open on him.

They stayed tangled on the rear seat as the light went gold outside the oak. His cock softened only a little, still inside whichever of them had him last. His mother kissed his throat. Grandma rested her forehead against her daughter’s shoulder, one hand idly stroking the base of her grandson’s cock where it met them.

“When a truck comes,” Grandma said, “we’ll get a tow. Till then he stays hard. I haven’t had a cock like that since before either of you were born, and I’m not done with it.”

Christopher laughed once, shaky, and thrust up into the heat of them. The road to the summer of love could wait. The car was already full.