The Longest Three-Hour Drive of My Life

Dear FemdomU Forum,

This happened over the summer, when I went home after my first year of college.

My parents announced that we were taking a “family trip” to the coast. That meant my older brother, my younger sister, and me crammed into the back seat of my father’s sedan for three hours. We were all grown, but apparently my parents still pictured us as three little kids who could fit comfortably beside one another.

I nearly faked being sick.

Then I learned Wanda was coming.

Wanda lived down the street and had babysat me years earlier. She was eight years older than me, a little over five feet tall, and had been the subject of more adolescent fantasies than I would ever admit to her. She needed a ride to the coast, and my parents had offered to take her.

When everyone realized there were more passengers than seats, my mother suggested Wanda sit on somebody’s lap. Since I was six-foot-two and had the largest frame, everybody agreed that somebody should be me.

Suddenly, I felt completely recovered from my imaginary illness.

My sister sat by one door, my brother was squeezed into the middle, and I took the other side. Wanda climbed in last and dropped onto my lap without the slightest concern for my comfort.

“Strong legs,” she said. “You’ll survive.”

The first half hour was awkward but innocent. Then we reached the highway, my siblings fell asleep, and every curve or rough patch shifted Wanda against me. She had to know what it was doing to me. There was no possible way she didn’t.

She was chatting casually with my mother when one of her hands slipped between us.

I froze. Her fingers found the clasp of my jeans and unhooked it without a sound. I felt every tooth of the zipper give way under her slow pull, one notch at a time, and each tiny click went off in my ears like a firecracker. I was certain my brother or my mother would hear it over the hum of the road. My cock jumped against the denim as the zipper came down, and I had to press my knees together to keep my legs from shaking.

Wanda kept right on talking, some restaurant on the coast, whether their crab cakes were worth the wait, while her hand slid past the waistband of my briefs. She took her time. Her fingers were warm and sure, and when she closed them around me I had to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep quiet. She gave me one long, unhurried stroke, then another, learning exactly how hard I was, how wet I already was at the tip. Her thumb traced a slow circle over the head.

I stared out the window at the passing fences and tried to keep my face flat. Inside, everything was coming apart. Every stroke pulled tighter up through my belly. My hips wanted to lift toward her hand; I had to pin them to the seat with sheer will. She squeezed at the base and held me there, working only the top half of me now, slow enough to make me ache for more.

She glanced back over her shoulder. The little smile on her face told me this was no accident.

What followed was the slowest and most terrifying seduction imaginable. Wanda gathered her sundress in one fist, the yellow one with the little white flowers, and lifted herself just enough to adjust something beneath it. Then she took my right hand, which I’d been keeping flat on my own knee like an idiot, and set it on her bare thigh.

Her skin was warm from three hours in a closed car. She pressed my palm flat against her, then slid it higher, guiding it under the hem of her dress until my fingers found the soft curve of her hip. She didn’t let go of my wrist. She held me there a moment, letting me feel how smooth she was, how close my hand was to everything.

She settled back against me, and this time there was no denim between us. The fabric of her dress had ridden up. Her bare bottom rested directly on my bare cock, and I felt every inch of her weight shift each time the tires hit a seam in the road.

I gasped as she reached back and took me in her hand… still slick from her own stroking… and guided me into her. She was so wet I slid in without a sound, one slow push that swallowed all of me. That was when I understood: no panties. She’d planned this from the driveway.

From the front seats, we probably looked like two uncomfortable passengers trying to survive an overcrowded car.

We were not uncomfortable for the reasons my parents imagined.

I didn’t dare move. Wanda did all the work, rolling her hips forward with every bump, letting the motion of the car disguise her own. Each time we hit a rough patch she would grind down onto me in one long, deliberate stroke, then lift herself just enough to make me miss her before dropping back onto my lap. The seat belt across her chest kept hitching with her rhythm; she would catch it with two fingers and ease it slack again without breaking conversation.

She kept talking to my mother about vacations, neighborhood gossip, some new bakery downtown — did they get their croissants from a supplier or did they make them in-house? Her voice remained perfectly calm, even while she quietly reduced me to a sweating, trembling wreck.

My father’s eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror.
“You doing okay back there, Trip?”

My whole body flinched. “Yeah,” I squeaked, voice cracking. “Fine.”

Wanda tilted her head, smiling sweetly at my dad. “He’s being a perfect gentleman.”

Heat rushed to my face. How could they not smell it? The humid, intimate scent of her arousal and mine clinging to the air? How could they not hear the slick, quiet friction every time she shifted?

I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. Wanda took full advantage. Twice, I felt her clench around me, subtle but unmistakable ripples of pleasure that made her pause mid-sentence, take a slow breath, then resume chatting lightly about nothing at all.

Then Dad turned off onto a pothole-riddled backroad.

Every jolt sent shockwaves through me. Wanda didn’t soften the blows, she leaned into them, rising and falling with deliberate slowness, milking each bump until I was biting my lip raw. My knuckles were white where I gripped the seat, desperate to stay silent.

Just as my control began to fray completely, Wanda said brightly to my mother, “You really did raise wonderful children. Trip has grown into such a strong, polite young man.”

“Thank you,” Mom replied warmly.

Wanda’s hips rolled gently as she added, “He must be terribly uncomfortable. His legs are probably asleep, but he hasn’t complained once.”

The contrast shattered me… her public praise while her body privately took everything from me. A few thrusts later, I couldn’t hold back. I turned toward the window, muffling my release into a fake cough as I pulsed inside her, wave after helpless wave. Wanda didn’t so much as shudder. Only when the road smoothed out did she adjust her dress, let me fix my jeans, and settle back onto my lap as if nothing had happened.

The car smelled suspiciously intimate afterward. I was convinced everyone noticed, although nobody said anything.

Wanda finally leaned close to my ear.

“You always were my favorite,” she whispered.

When we arrived, she climbed out, stretched, and thanked me for being such a comfortable seat. Then she kissed my cheek in front of my entire family.

My brother laughed at my red face. My sister rolled her eyes. My parents assumed I was embarrassed because I still had a crush on my former babysitter.

For once, they had no idea how right they were.

Trip