AC Died, So Did My Restraint

The old car had been rolling for almost five hours under that brutal sun when the AC finally died. A wave of hot air came blasting out the vents like the damn thing had a fever. Mike cursed under his breath and smacked the dashboard like it would magically start working again.

“Easy baby,” she said with that calm husky voice that always seemed to slide right down his spine. “Just roll the windows down.”

Carla lowered her window and the furnace air rushed in. Hot asphalt smell mixed with her scent, sweet and musky with a hint of coconut that he knew since forever, made his stomach twist in that guilty way.

“It’s a fucking oven in here,” she laughed a little. “I’m gonna melt if I don’t get this top off.”

Mike swallowed hard.

“Mom… seriously?”

“Seriously what?” She was already pulling the tight white tank top over her head. The fabric came up slow, showing first her soft round belly with that gentle curve, then those heavy full breasts spilling a bit over the black lace bra. The bra wasn’t some plain one, it lifted everything up and out, thin straps and a little satin bow right in the deep cleavage. After all, Carla was a Brazilian Latina…When the top finally came off her long dark chestnut hair fell messy over the shoulders. She threw it in the back seat without caring.

“Much better,” she sighed stretching her arms up. Her big breasts lifted with the move, heavy and a little pendulous, the lace stretching tight while her dark nipples poked through the thin fabric from the heat and the sweat already shining on her skin.

Mike tried to keep his eyes on the road but it was useless. The rearview mirror kept betraying him. Every time she reached for the radio or scratched her neck those full tits swayed softly inside the cups. He felt his cock getting thicker slowly inside his shorts, pressing hard against the fabric. He tried crossing his legs, only made it worse.

He knew that body for years, not by touching never that, but by stealing looks. The times he hung around in the hallway waiting for her to come out the shower with a towel barely covering those thick thighs and wide hips. The nights he laid awake hearing the shower run, imagining water sliding over the soft belly, down the big round ass, between those meaty thighs now showing because she hiked her denim shorts up higher to try to cool off.

He remembered the last time he came thinking about her. Not even a week ago. She wore that tight red dress to a friend’s birthday dinner, when she got home she kicked the heels off in the living room and walked around barefoot, the fabric clinging to the outline of her full panties underneath. He went upstairs, locked the door and jerked off staring at that mirror selfie she left on her phone, her in black lace panties and cropped top, smiling like she knew exactly what kind of mess she caused.

Now she was right there inches away, half naked, sweaty, smelling like warm woman. His cock throbbed so hard it hurt.

“You’re not gonna take your shirt off too?” she asked glancing sideways with a small smile. “You’re soaked honey. No need to be shy with me.

He hesitated. If he took it off she would see the obvious bulge in his shorts. If he didn’t it would look weird. So he pulled the t-shirt over his head quick and threw it in the back with hers.

Carla’s eyes went over his chest, down his stomach and stopped just half a second on the thick ridge pushing against his shorts. She didn’t say nothing. Just bit the corner of her lower lip and looked back at the highway.

The rest of the afternoon was silent sweet torture. Every time she changed gear her arm brushed his thigh. Every time she leaned back to grab water from the cooler her heavy breasts almost touched his shoulder. He pretended to scroll on the phone but all he could think was closing his mouth around one of those dark prominent nipples he could see shadowing the lace whenever sun hit her from the side.

When they finally got to the roadside motel it was almost midnight.

Two separate rooms like always. She said goodnight with a slow kiss on his cheek, the kind that leaves warm wet trail and a scent that sticks, then went into room 214. He went to 216.

Mike took a cold shower. Didn’t help. He laid on the bed just in boxers, cock still half hard, listening to the ceiling fan spin lazy. Sleep wouldn’t come.

Around 1:40 he heard her door open.

Footsteps in the hall. Her low voice. A muffled laugh. Then another voice, male and deep.

“…come on then handsome… don’t keep this girl waiting…”

The door closed.

Mike froze. Heart hammering in his throat.

He got up slow, pressed his ear to the thin wall. He could hear almost everything.

First a zipper. Then wet hungry kissing. She let out a soft moan, the exact one he imagined thousand times. Then the mattress creaked.

“Yes… suck slow… just like that…” Her voice rough and bossy. “Good boy… suck this Auntie’s tits nice and slow…”

Mike leaned his forehead on the wall, hand already inside the boxers. His cock was rock hard, leaking at the tip.

He heard her moan louder when the guy must have pushed inside. The rhythmic thump of the headboard hitting the wall. Each thrust sent little vibrations through the plaster into his forehead.

“Harder… yes… fuck me good… make me cum…”

He started stroking in the same rhythm. Imagined it was him between those thick thighs, being called baby while he buried deep. Imagined her grabbing his hair, pressing those heavy breasts on his face, telling him to suck while she came all over his cock.

On the other side Carla came first. A long throaty moan ending in a satisfied purr, then:

“Yes… come inside… fill this Auntie up…”

Mike couldn’t hold it. He came hard, thick spurts spilling over his fingers while he heard the guy grunt and the mattress go quiet.

Silence.

Then soft giggles. Lazy kisses. Soon the door opening again, the guy leaving.

Mike stayed there panting, forehead against the wall, cum still dripping down his knuckles into the boxers. Heart racing.

He knew there was still three full days of road ahead.