Coche

Coche

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Romance

Summary

If Lily thinks that her lover has stopped on the roadside to take in the scenery, she has severely misjudged his intentions. Not that she minds what he has in mind...

Summary

If Lily thinks that her lover has stopped on the roadside to take in the scenery, she has severely misjudged his intentions. Not that she minds what he has in mind...

Content

Submitted: September 06, 2017

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: September 06, 2017

A A A

A A A


“Here? Now?” Lily asked and he nodded, flashed a salacious smile and proceeded to lean in. The old Nova’s engine was idling—a bass-rumble like a god’s fingers on the drumhead of the world—and she could feel each percussive boom from its eight cylinders traveling up through the exhaust pipe underfoot, sending little ripples through her feet, her legs, her chest…

She started off gingerly, tentative to an extent. She could be coy—but not today. She wanted it, but Lily wanted it slow. He nuzzled her neck, panting. Beyond the windows of the Nova the empty countryside stretched with its myriad hills and rollicking rises of green shrubbery turning to autumnal hues. He bumped up the heater control and warm air flooded the floorboards. It was cozy here, she was horny and this seemed to be the safest place—the single most secure place—to be here with him. Lily parted her legs, allowed his hand to slip between them and feel the suppleness just beneath the denim fabric of her jeans. Then, she closed them again and like a water-droplet traveling along the path of an ever-shifting surface, his hand now slid over her thighs, across her knee, back up and around her hip where he drew little semi-circles on the right wing of her pelvis. This elicited shivers—combined with the drumbeat of the Nova’s big-block engine, she went from dry to wet in a matter of minutes. She shifted her legs, could feel her labia slickening as the two halves of her most secret inner self rubbed one against the other. Lily leaned back in the seat, slipped off her sandals and let them fall with a muffled thud to the thick carpet covering the floorboard. She propped her bare feet up on the dashboard and felt the grain of the vinyl against her arches. Her legs naturally spread and now he could slid up and down her inner thighs without restraint. She wanted him to. Wanted to feel his trembling hands searching for someplace to squeeze, to touch, to caress, to pinch. To all at once be fumbling about in search of so many things, but knowing, ultimately, where the pleasure truly was. “Ya gonna unzip me?” She teased, and he looked to her and smiled. He hid some of the raw lust—or, rather, it was mingled with his love for her so that when they locked eyes, he did not have the wild maniac stare of lovers from her past. Rather, there was gentility with the promise of sexual gratification. There was love aflame there in the hearth of his sexual passion. Lily figured she ought to give him something to go on, something to prompt him, some signal or another. He was so positioned that his hips were away from her, but now she felt along the bench seat and laid her hand across his erection, pressing upwards against the teeth of his own zipper. “Or maybe…” she whispered, each sibilant knifing through the inches of air that separated her lips from his ear, “Maybe I need to unzip you. Maybe I need to let this out…”

He kissed her hard. He strained against her. She worked loose his zipper, his button, and his erection came bursting out all at once hard and venous in the naked light of the sun above. Now he tugged at her jeans. Now it was her turn to lose some clothing. Eager, he attacked her with an assiduity that she had never seen before. He loosened the top button, tugged at the waist of her jeans until the zipper had pulled apart sufficiently enough for him to slip them off and over her bare feet. His breathing quickened. He placed her feet back on the dash, slipped into the floorboard through some trick of sexual flexibility and now had her legs spread so that her lips down below were exposed to him. He looked at her once, cast his eyes downward and bent to his work. Each lap, each roll of the tongue, each sensuous circle he drew with his tongue tip around her clitoral hood, probing inside, lifting back the flesh and tasting of her, drove her to sighs and half-shouts and groans. She grabbed hold of his head as he bobbed up and down, intertwined her fingers with his hair, then looked up towards the roof of the Nova, her arms outstretched on the back of the seat while he ate her eagerly. “You fuckin’ bad boy, you…” she said, throwing out the first in a string of sexual taunts. “You don’t know how to eat a woman out, do you? You can’t eat this pussy. You can’t get deep enough. That tongue of yours can’t move fast enough to satisfy me…” This only increased his fervor and, though she knew he was doing more than a satisfactory job—damned outstanding, if you ask me, she thought—Lily continued to ag him on. “Lick me harder than that, fuck-boy. If you’re gonna eat me, you’d better be ready to pull a fuckin’ muscle. If you’re gonna bust a nut in me, it’s gonna take work…”

That psychological part of her that carried up upwards on the surge of pleasure to that ever-elusive climax began to rise. “Don’t you bite my fuckin’ clit. Lick it. Suckle it…” Her heart had been beating before, but now it tamped in double-time. Already, little sly fingers had crept up and gripped that deep part of her—sly fingers of electric pleasure, squeezing down there just above her pubis. Her orgasm was coming on. “You can’t eat a girl out for shit…” she said, even as she began to pant, even as her voice faded, even as her fingers curled up and her nails bit into the vinyl of the bench seat. “You don’t…you don’t know…” He paused, enamored with this part of her sexuality. He took a moment to look her over. “Should I stop?” He asked her, smiling, “I’d hate to disappoint…” She laughed, put her hand on the crown of his head and pushed him down. “Eat. Don’t talk…” And his tongue tapped against that little sensual node like a telegraph needle---tap-tap-tap—rapid-fire. She came on his face. He lapped it up. He swallowed it. He drank up her wetness. “Now…” she said, “Now I’m gonna bend over and you’re gonna ram it in. No delicate bullshit. Make it hurt a little…” Obeisant, romantic, eager-to-please lover that he was, he slipped out from between her legs, grabbed her ass with both hands and dug his nails deep into her ass-cheeks. She let out a squeal—she couldn’t help it—and rolled over. Now her ass was in the air. She could feel the chill of the autumnal winds that had seeped in through the cracked windows sighing against the naked flesh of her buttocks. All that wetness that she’d given out during her orgasm was now only serving to pleasure him—to make it easier for him to slide that cock of his as deep as his balls would let him into her. Loud as a whip-crack, his hand popping her on the ass sounded in the interior of the Nova. She loosed a little cry. Another one, open palm against supple flesh. She still had her shirt on. He reached around, groped for her breasts beneath the lace and wire of her bra. He squeezed her nipples between his thumb and forefinger—your turn—and the swelling of his member inside of her increased. She could come again—but he wanted her. He’d blow his load all over the seat just pleasing her if she didn’t let him do this. And besides, she wanted that warmth in her.

Now his hands ran along her back. Fingers interlocked in her hair, encircled the back of her neck, ran down along her spine. He used both hands to steady her hips and commenced to pounding her with his engorged cock. The angle made his tip slide against the floor of her vagina—she thought back to how it had felt when he had first fucked her ass on their fifth or sixth date, and times like this the sensation was almost the same. They didn’t have much anal, now, but when they did it was dirty like this and oftentimes in a public place.

The car rocked with the force of his thrusts—she thought of how comical it must have looked, realized she didn’t give two fucks, then put her hands against the door panel to brace her body against the impending last stroke. And just in time.

It was like a fountain of semen had opened up in her and began pouring out. Jets of thick cum spurted out from between her lips, pattered on the vinyl seat, trickled between her thighs. He stopped as the last convulsive shudder shook his body, his hands working uncontrollably, his fingers clenching and unclenching. Then, he pitched forward and lay against her back, kissing her, touching her, feeling her.

They lay for a while on the seat, him propped against the door and her lying against his chest. After an hour had passed, the call of the highway got to them. The occasional motorist driving by sighed their highway song, tires on asphalt carrying them onward to new places.

“Let’s go, then,” he said. She buckled. He floored it. The tires were still spinning by the time they hit 65. 


© Copyright 2017 Aurora M. Soleado. All rights reserved.

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