Burgers, Buns, and a Blowout
Puny Pervert
chapter 22
by
Froakie
The sudden, violent stop leaves you dazed and in agony. The erratic movements have aggravated every bruise and sore spot on your body. You lie limp in the bottom of the cleavage valley, a tiny, broken marionette with its strings cut.
"Great. Just great," Lauren fumes, slamming her palm against the steering wheel. The impact sends a final, jarring shockwave through her chest, eliciting a weak, pained groan from you.
In the backseat, Becky's voice is small and hesitant, but it cuts through the tension. "Um... Mom? Are... are you sure Sammy is okay in there? With all that shaking..."
"He's fine, Rebecca," Lauren snaps, her patience completely gone. "He's tougher than he looks."
"Tougher than he looks?" Nikki scoffs from the back. "Mom, you basically used him as a stress ball for the last half-hour. He's probably a pancake by now." She throws her hands up in exaggerated exasperation. "Whatever. The car's dead. I'm not sitting out here in the heat. I'm going inside. You guys coming?"
She doesn't wait for an answer, pushing her door open and hopping out onto the pavement. The prospect of food and air-conditioning has completely overridden any concern for your well-being.
Lauren lets out a long, shuddering sigh, the sound of a woman pushed to her absolute limit.
Lauren's shoulders slump in defeat. She stares blankly through the windshield at the deflated tire, then glances at the inviting, brightly-lit facade of the Burger Palace. The allure of a cold drink and a moment of peace is too tempting to resist.
"Fine," she relents, her voice flat and exhausted. "We'll go inside. But we are calling roadside assistance the second we sit down."
She unbuckles her seatbelt, the motion giving you a brief, terrifying moment of weightlessness before she settles back. Then, with a resigned sigh, she reaches into her dress. Her fingers, still radiating her frustration, delve into the warm, dark space and wrap around your battered body.
The extraction is rough and impersonal. She pulls you out into the bright, harsh sunlight, holding you up like a problematic object she's been forced to deal with. You blink, your eyes adjusting to the light, your body a canvas of aches and bruises. You're covered in a sheen of your mother's sweat, smelling strongly of her perfume.
"Here," she says, extending her hand towards Becky, who has just gotten out of the car. "Take him. And for God's sake, try not to lose him or break him any more than he already is."
Becky receives you with a tenderness that is a stark contrast to your mother's rough and frustrated handling. Her palm is soft and cool, a welcome sanctuary.
Becky accepts you with a reverence that borders on sacred. Her touch is feather-light, her palm a cool, safe haven after the sweltering, crushing prison of her mother's cleavage. She cups her other hand over you, creating a protective, dark shell that blocks out the harsh sunlight and the indifferent world.
"Hey," Lauren's voice calls out, already sounding distant as she and Nikki head towards the restaurant. "You coming?"
"In a minute!" Becky calls back, her voice muffled by her hands. "I just... I want to make sure he's okay."
She waits until the sound of their footsteps fades away, then carefully lifts her top hand. You are greeted by the sight of her enormous, concerned face, her blue eyes filled with a deep, unwavering sympathy. She brings you closer to her face, her warm, minty breath washing over you.
"Oh, Sammy..." she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "I am so, so sorry. I should have just let you stay in my cleavage. Are you alright? You look... you look really hurt."
She uses the tip of her pinky finger to gently prod your side. Even her lightest touch sends a sharp spike of pain through you, and you can't help but flinch violently. A choked sob escapes your lips.
Tears well up in Becky's eyes. "Oh, god... I knew it. Mom was too rough, wasn't she?"