The windscreen wipers smeared the lashing rain across the glass, turning the familiar landscape into an Impressionist blur. It was well past nine in the evening, and the promised two-and-a-half-hour drive home from Gran’s had stretched into nearly four. Mum was gripping the steering wheel like it owed her money, her brow furrowed in concentration. I was slumped in the passenger seat, trying to stay awake but losing the battle.
“Nearly there, love,” she murmured, more to herself than me, her voice tight with fatigue. “Just a bit further.”
We’d gone up north for the weekend, a flying visit to check in on Gran after her hip op. It had been lovely, in its way – tea and biscuits, old photo albums, Gran’s endless supply of knitting that seemed to multiply when you weren’t looking. But the drive back always felt like a colossal effort, especially on a Sunday night when you knew Monday morning was looming like a particularly unpleasant bill.
The old Ford Fiesta, bless its weary heart, wasn’t exactly built for epic journeys. It had its quirks – a dodgy radio that only picked up one station, a heater that blew air seemingly at random temperatures, and a persistent rattling noise from somewhere in the back that we’d long ago stopped trying to identify. Tonight, though, it seemed to be labouring more than usual against the wind and rain.
Suddenly, a new sound cut through the rattle and the swish of the wipers. A sort of low, mournful groan from the engine, followed by a distinct clunk.
Mum’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was that?”
The car began to lose speed, despite Mum pressing the accelerator. We were on a stretch of road with no streetlights, just the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the drenched fields on either side. The rain seemed to intensify, drumming a frantic rhythm on the roof.
“Pull over, Mum, quickly!” I said, sitting up straight, a jolt of adrenaline clearing my head.
Mum steered the car onto the narrow verge, the tyres spitting gravel. The engine coughed, sputtered, and died. The only sounds left were the rain and the wind. The temperature inside the car seemed to plummet instantly.
We sat in silence for a moment, the digital clock on the dashboard glowing accusingly: 9:47 PM.
“Right,” Mum said finally, letting out a long, shaky breath. “Well, that’s just grand, isn’t it?”
I tried the ignition. Nothing but a pathetic click. “Completely dead,” I confirmed, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over me. We were stuck. Properly stuck.
Mum fumbled in her handbag for her phone. “Okay, don’t panic. I’ll call the breakdown service.”
She dialled, her fingers stiff. I watched her face as she spoke – explaining where we thought we were, describing the breakdown, asking for an estimated time of arrival. Her expression grew steadily grimmer.
She hung up, sighing heavily. “They’re swamped. Said it could be anything up to three hours. Maybe more with this weather.” Three hours. Stuck in a cold, dark car in the middle of nowhere. Not exactly my idea of a fun night out.
“What about a garage?” I asked.
“It’s Sunday night, Alex. And we’re miles from anywhere judging by this sodding rain. Even if there was one nearby, it wouldn’t be open.”
We checked our location on the satnav. It showed us on a minor A-road, the nearest village marked as ‘Kingswood’, about five miles away. Five miles. In this weather, in the dark. Walking wasn’t really an option, not safely anyway.
“Okay,” Mum said, thinking aloud. “Right. Breakdown service is coming eventually. We can’t just sit here freezing the whole night. Is there… is there anything in Kingswood? A pub? A B&B?”
I zoomed in on the map. Kingswood looked tiny. “Hard to tell from this… looks like a church, maybe a shop. There’s a symbol here… looks like a bed? Could be a small inn or something.”
“Right. Plan B,” Mum declared, pulling a torch from the glove compartment. “We ring round. See if anyone in Kingswood can put us up tonight. We’ll have to leave the car here, obviously.”
The signal was patchy, but eventually, after several failed attempts and calls that went straight to answerphone, I found a number listed for ‘The Kingswood Arms & Motel’. It sounded promising, marginally.
Mum dialled the number. I could hear a tinny voice on the other end. Mum explained our predicament – the car breakdown, the need for a room, just for one night. She paused, listening. Her face fell.
“Nothing at all?” she asked, her voice laced with desperation. Another pause. “Are you absolutely sure? Anything? A single? Anything available?”
She hung up, looking completely defeated. “Nothing. Fully booked. Apparently, there’s some sort of local event on this weekend.”
“But… it’s nearly ten o’clock,” I said, bewildered. “Who books a motel till past ten on a Sunday night?”
“Don’t know, Alex, but they have. And that was the only place listed within miles that looked like it offered rooms.”
This was worse than sitting in the cold car. Being stranded was one thing, but being stranded and having nowhere to go felt like a particularly cruel joke.
“What do we do, then?” I asked, the earlier rush of adrenaline replaced by a dull ache of tiredness and disappointment.
Mum was quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the rain hammering against the window. “There has to be somewhere,” she muttered. “Maybe the satnav’s missed something. Or maybe there’s a smaller place not listed.”
She spent the next twenty minutes frantically scrolling through online listings on her phone, trying different search terms, looking at maps again. Each failed attempt chipped away at her resolve. The rain didn’t stop. The wind howled. The car felt colder and colder.
Just as we were starting to seriously contemplate the grim prospect of huddling under blankets in the car until dawn and the arrival of the breakdown lorry, Mum gasped.
“Wait. This popped up. It’s called ‘The Traveller’s Rest’. Looks like… well, it’s a bit out of the way, another couple of miles down the road towards Kingswood, but it says it offers ‘basic accommodation’. Doesn’t have great reviews, mind, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Basic is fine,” I said quickly. “Just needs a roof.”
She dialled the number for The Traveller’s Rest. The phone rang for a long time before being answered by a gruff-sounding voice.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, hello,” Mum said, trying to sound cheerful despite everything. “I wonder, we’ve had a bit of car trouble just down the road, and we’re desperately looking for a room for the night. Do you by any chance have any availability?”
A pause. “Depends what you need.”
“Just… a room. For two people. For one night.”
Another pause, longer this time. I held my breath.
“Got one,” the voice grumbled. “Only one left. Couple cancelled last minute. Not pretty, mind.”
Mum’s face lit up. “Oh, thank goodness! That would be wonderful. We’ll take it.”
“Alright. Fifteen miles south of Kingswood. Big, red ugly sign you can’t miss. Name’s Barry. Reception shuts in ten minutes.”
“We’ll be as quick as we can!” Mum said, hanging up. “Right! Not ideal location, apparently, but it’s somewhere. He said it’s about two miles from where we are now.”
Getting our bags out of the boot in the pouring rain was a miserable affair. Everything felt damp and cold. We locked the car, a slightly forlorn shape on the verge, and started walking down the road in the direction Barry had indicated. With the torch beam cutting a weak path through the rain, the walk felt longer than two miles. Lorries sometimes thundered past, splashing us with spray. We huddled closer together under the single umbrella Mum had unearthed.
Finally, after what felt like an age, a neon sign, flickering and half-broken, appeared through the gloom: ‘THE TRAVELLER’S REST’. It wasn’t red and ugly as Barry had described, but green and very ugly. It was attached to a low, squat building that looked more like a slightly neglected pub with extensions tacked on haphazardly.
We hurried inside, shaking off rain, the warmth hitting us like a physical force. The reception area was small, smelling faintly of stale beer and damp carpet. Behind a counter sat a large bloke who could only be Barry, his face jowly and unwelcoming.
“The room,” Mum said, catching her breath. “For the night.”
Barry grunted, consulted a grubby ledger. “Yeah. Traveller’s Rest special. Lucky you.” He pushed a key across the counter, attached to a hefty plastic fob with ‘Room 3’ scrawled on it. “Up the stairs, third door on the left. Pay now. Sixty quid.”
Sixty quid for what already felt like a dubious establishment seemed steep, but Mum didn’t bat an eyelid. She just wanted to be indoors and dry. She handed over her card.
“Breakfast?” she asked hopefully as Barry processed the payment.
He snorted. “Nah. Vending machine down the hall. Coffee’s muck.”
Charming. We thanked him anyway and trudged up the narrow, creaking staircase. The hallway upstairs was dimly lit and smelled even more strongly of damp. Room 3 was at the end.
Mum inserted the key with a click. We pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Barry hadn’t been lying. It wasn’t pretty. The room was small, with faded floral wallpaper peeling in one corner, a single, bare lightbulb in the ceiling, and a window that looked out onto a brick wall. There were two pieces of furniture: a slightly sagging double bed and a single, hard-looking chair tucked in the corner. There was a small door that presumably led to a bathroom.
My heart sank a little. Forget basic, this was Spartan. And the bed… one double bed. For both of us.
Mum closed the door and leaned against it, looking utterly drained. “Right,” she said, forcing a thin smile. “Not exactly The Ritz, is it?”
“No,” I agreed, trying to sound light-hearted. “More like… The Rest.”
We dumped our bags on the floor. The air in the room felt stuffy.
“Well,” Mum said, rubbing her hands together. “First things first. A shower. Try and wash off that drive.”
“You go first,” I offered. “I’m not exactly covered in mud from the car, am I?”
“Cheers, love,” she said, giving me a tired smile. She picked up her small overnight bag and headed towards the bathroom door. I heard the lock click.
I was absolutely exhausted. My feet ached from the unexpected walk, my shoulders were stiff, and the whole day felt like one long, drawn-out disaster culminating in this dreary little room. I looked at the single chair. It didn’t look comfortable, but sitting was better than standing.
I sat on the motel chair and watched as Mum came out the bathroom in just a my t shirt and her pink knickers. She got in bed and laid on her side looking at me in just my jeans.
“I am sorry sweetie, I can’t believe this was the only room available. You can’t sleep in that chair, get in it’s just for one night.” Mum said as I stretched.
I got up and took my jeans off and I was just in my boxers as I got in behind her.
As I slipped beneath the thin, scratchy blanket, I felt the warmth of Mum’s body against mine, her skin soft and comforting. I curled up close behind her, my arm wrapping around her waist, my face nestling into the crook of her neck. My groin resting against her ass as she accidentally pushed her ass back against me.
“Ah, that’s better,” Mum murmured, feeling my body press against hers. She let out a soft sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing as I wrapped myself around her. My erection nudged her ass through the thin fabric of her knickers.
“Oh, Alex,” she whispered, a hint of amusement in her voice. “You can’t just go around getting hard in bed with your mum, you know.”
I chuckled, my lips brushing her ear. “Sorry, Mum. Can’t help it. You’re just so warm and comfy.”
She turned her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips rolling her ass against me. “Flattery will get you nowhere, young man. Omg your hard as a rock, you need to get rid of it.”
“Sorry, I can’t believe you brought that up. I am so embarrassed,” my face went red I can’t believe she came out with it about my dick being hard. I pushed my luck and started to hump her ass, I wish I could fuck her.
She sighed, “Sweetie, w-what are you doing? Omg are you… humping my bum?”
I couldn’t help it, the feeling of her ass against my cock was driving me wild. I started to hump her harder, my hips thrusting up to grind my erection into her soft flesh.
“Oh, Alex, stop it,” Mum protested, but her voice lacked real conviction. I could feel her body responding to my movements, her hips starting to roll back to meet my thrusts. “Don’t tell anyone ok.”
What did she mean, and then she shifted and pulled her knickers down. “You can put it in now, I mean it don’t tell anyone that I let you fuck me.”
I couldn’t believe what was happening, but the heat of the moment took over. I pulled my boxers down and positioned my cock at her entrance. I was spooning my mum and my cock teased her pussy as I suddenly sank it inside her.
“Ahhh sweetie… You came out of there… ahhh, now your dick is in there.” She moaned and the way she spoke about me coming out of her pussy when I was born and now I am fucking the same hole turned me on.
“Fuck, Mum, you feel incredible,” I panted, my hips snapping faster now, driving my cock in and out of her with increasing urgency.
“Alex, oh god, you’re so deep,” Mum gasped, her voice thick with arousal. “I can’t believe this is happening, I shouldn’t be letting you fuck my fanny… ahhh fuck.”
“Your fanny feels so good,” he said as he kept pounding into me.
She griped my ass cheeks as I kept on ploughing her sweet cunt.
“Ahh harder…. yeah… fuck,” she moaned has I pounded her cunt and my balls slapped against her.
“Mmm yes… I can’t believe… your fucking me,” she moaned as my dick slid in and out with ease.
She felt so good my dick felt so damn good inside her pussy. I was actually fucking my mums pussy. I really hoped this wasn’t going to be a one time thing, I am addicted, I loved this pussy, her pussy.
I pounded her harder my balls slapping against her ass, I loved the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the feel of her slick and wet pussy around my cock. Her cries were music to my ears, every moan urging me on.
“Alex… Harder… Oh god… I’m gonna…” She bucked her hips up to meet my thrusts, her voice on the verge of a scream. Her fingers dug into my chest, her nails lightly drawing blood but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.
The heat was building inside me, threatening to explode. I was so close, but I wanted it… I needed it… to be perfect, to be here, with her, right now.
“Mum…. I…” I choked out, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Her fingers tightened as she gasped,”Yeah… Alex… Yesss…”
And then it hit me. A wave of pure ecstasy surging through me, every nerve ending screaming. It was like a physical eruption, my body trembling as I came hard, filling her tight. I groaned, burying my face in her hair, my chest heaving.
She whimpered, arching her back as I continued to thrust even as my body drained, my release lingering in her.
“Fucking hell,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You’re amazing, Mum.”
Mum clung to me, her body still shaking with pleasure, her breaths coming in shallow pants. She sighed, her voice thick and breathless. “God, Alex, that was… that was…”
I didn’t answer I just put my lips on hers and we kissed so deep.