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Over the day, my world of worries and lists diminished into one where I saw everything through the eyes of a child. It was delightful and fun.
Joshua didn’t like the seawater or waves. Not surprising. It was very cold, unlike our warm indoor pool. He loved the beach, kicking shale with his small bare feet or throwing handfuls about in the wind. Jason’s attempt at digging holes failed as Joshua demolished them by stamping his feet all around the edges.
Ice cream was Joshua’s favourite part of the day. His hands thrashed about in the air, before grasping the cone, which we purchased from the ubiquitous Mister Whippy van on the sea front.
“You did bring a spare set of clothes?” asked Jason, watching the ice cream melt over Josh’s chin.
“Two, actually,” I confirmed. “In case he got soaked.” Not an issue, since he hadn’t enjoyed paddling one bit.
Driving back, Joshua slept, and it gave Jason and me the chance to have a frank conversation about the morning’s disagreement.
“You do realise, if I didn’t work at the weekends, I would see nothing of Joshua in the week. I don’t want to be a weekend dad as my own father was. You can see how close his neglect made us. If we want to expand the family, you’re going to have to bear the burden of childcare, even with Clara’s help.”
“I know. I wasn’t implying you shouldn’t work at the weekend. I objected to the implication your work is inflexible and mine can be changed at a moment’s notice.”
“Gemma, be realistic, you know I like control in my life. If I shifted my hours around, I won’t be as productive. You can have a special time with Joshua on your own every Saturday afternoon.”
“I know.” I sighed.
“You were very wilful this morning. If Joshua hadn’t been with us, you’d had more than a tongue lashing.”
I stared out of the front window, unable to fashion anything sensible to say. He’d summed up my transgressions and his expectations in one nutshell. “I know. I’m having a bad subbie day.”
“They happen.” He patted my thigh then returned to concentrating on the road ahead.
He drove a different route home. I didn’t question why until he pulled over next to a wood on a country lane. The engine cut out, and he turned to me. I glanced at the back seat where Joshua was out of it, his head lolled to one side, gently snoring.
“He won’t wake,” said Jason. He pressed a button on his chair and the backrest lowered, enough for him to lie semi-reclined. With his other hand, he reached over and released my seat belt. The strap shot across my waist, freeing me.
The bulge in his pants stood out, beckoning to me. I didn’t need a verbal instruction from him; he’d given me a visual one. I smacked my lips together and glanced out of the window. Trees sheltered the small layby, and the lane we’d driven down remained deserted, but I was a city dweller, and we never did car sex, not in the precincts of London, which remained alive with activity all day. Once we had in New York, but in the confines of a limo with blacked-out windows and me knelt in the spacious foot well.
Jason grabbed my hand and placed it on his lower belly. Beneath my trembling fingers, his cock twitched and hardened. As if a switch had been activated, saliva filled my mouth—I’d been conditioned to respond to his erection. I clammed my thighs together, aware of another wetness.
A whirlpool of emotions swirled around my mind. The desire, growing stronger with every passing second, fed my sexual being, but the location, the exposure and lack of comfort, caused me to hesitate. I squeezed his cock, as if a little grope would be sufficient to meet his needs.
“Lift up your top and show me your breasts.”
My hand shot back to my side of the car. I opened my mouth to exclaim and instead, nothing came out. My tongue froze, cleaved to the roof of my mouth. Now, my heartbeats pounded against my ribs.
Jason tucked his hands behind his head. “Very well. Hitch up your skirt, take down your knickers, and sit on your bare arse. You do appreciate, every second you delay with one task, I’ll add another.”
The temperature in the car cranked up a notch; even in the shadows of the trees, I roasted. Did I want to see how far he’d push me? Add a few extra seconds and test both of our resolves? Surrendering to him was my solitary option, my chief desire, and part of me wanted to be stark naked and fucked in the front of the car. Except, we were not alone and, though he was fast asleep, I didn’t like the idea of debauchery feet away from my son.
I hoicked up my top, unclasped my bra, and allowed my breasts to bounce before Jason’s expectant gaze. I wriggled my shirt up to my waist and shimmied my panties down to my ankles. My bottom clenched when it encountered the leather. My dishevelled appearance complete, I unzipped his flies and leaned across the central divide.
How easy it came in the end, the need to worship his glorious member. I licked it with the tip of my tongue and caressed the fine hairs about his balls with my lips. The swollen cock responded by engorging, and the tip gleamed smooth. I stroked his balls, rolling them between my fingers, then plunged my hand up and down his thick shaft. Opening my mouth wide, I lowered my head and sank.
My hair tumbled over my face, and the ends became sucked into my mouth. I spluttered, trying to fish them out while maintaining my rhythm. Jason combed his fingers through my loose strands and bunched them behind my head.
“Thank you,” I muttered between sucks.
He chuckled then let out a long groan as I took his full length. My lips slithered over his moist skin and I held my breath, consuming his cock, allowing each vein to ripple beneath my tongue, almost tickling me.
My feverish desire to please him showed in the frenetic pace of my bobbing head. Kneeling on my own seat, my breasts bounced, and my naked bottom stuck up, giving somebody a fine view if they’d peered into the window.
My precarious position, balanced over two seats and trying hard not to smash my face into his groin, seemed to add to the thrill. What a slut! I loved it. Another time, we’d have to find a secluded street in London and hunker down in the back of the car like furtive teenagers.
“Whoa,” he moaned. “You’re drooling all over the place. Joshua wears the bibs, not you.”
