Classic Cars

Classic Cars Classic Cars

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

I can never find a policeman when I need one; but when I'd rather not have one . . .

Summary

I can never find a policeman when I need one; but when I'd rather not have one . . .

Content

Submitted: November 01, 2015

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Content

Submitted: November 01, 2015

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A A A


Classic Cars

Well, I guess it was my own fault... Dad always used to tell me not to try to raise the soft-top from inside he car. 'Don't be lazy, girl', he would say, 'you'll only get your knickers in a twist if you do'. Hmmmm... well, no chance of that today; but here I was, one knee on each seat, facing backwards and pulling for all I was worth on the header rail and nothing was moving. The last thing I needed to see was the yellow and blue checkered BMW pulling-up behind me.

Oh God... why do I always feel guilty when I see a policeman? I'm in a layby; no yellow lines; I've paid my insurance; I'm really sorry I didn't get out of the car to put the top up...

'Good evening, Miss; don't see many of these any more'. I wanted him to be tall and blonde and rugged, but he wasn't. He was kind of comfortable in an older brother sort of way. Not threatening but with an unmistakable aire of authority about him.

'No, Officer, I guess you don't'. [the car... he's interested in the car, not me!]

'Had it long, Miss?'

'Three years. It used to be my Dad's car'.

I glanced down at my dress and wished I'd worn jeans and a T-shirt. It would be too obvious to try to rearrange it; I was holding the header rail and I couldn't put it down without bending forward or lifting my legs inelegantly.

'It's in lovely condition... 1964, isn't it; did he restore it?'

'Yes, it took him years. It was his pride and Joy'.

My arms were aching. I glanced down, finding my dress billowing round me. I could see my breasts and my perky little nipples behaving almost as if they wanted to get caught, I could see the gossamer fuzz between my legs and I could see the red carpet beyond that. I tried to straighten my back and my dress obediently fell back against my chest... but my knees ached and I still had the header rail in my hands.

'Did he show her?' (Errr? Oh... the car!)

'Occasionally, but it isn't quite concourse standard so it was mostly at village fetes or agricultural shows'.

I had to move my knees... and a gasp escaped from somewhere deep inside me My eyes grew wide and I fought to concentrate, not quite able to understand what was pressing against my most private of places...

'I always liked the roadsters better than the coupes. They're more like real sports cars; more... sexy'. His eyes sparkled. He was being risqué, but teddy bears don't do risqué convincingly.

'Yes, I know what you mean; they're much more fun so long as it's not too wet'.

Wet. Oh, God; wet (where did that thought come from?), Wet (my mouth is watering), WET (not just my mouth...). I realised I was moving; slowly, very slowly, rocking back and forth... just a little; no one would notice, no one would spot the blush spreading over me or the raggedness of my breath. Hold on, Cee, don't lose it now...

A radio squawked. He walked round to the front of the car, talking into his lapel as he bent down to look at my wheels. I felt the smooth, curved plastic parting my lips, sending a shower of sparks upwards into my tummy, bursting like fireworks inside me. And still I clung on to the header rail.

My eyes were heavy. The world was becoming soft and pleasantly fuzzy round the edges. I struggled to look relaxed and... normal. I swallowed a gasp before it escaped my throat and I smiled at my admirer as he appeared on the other side of the car.

'Well, Miss; duty calls, as they say. It has been a real pleasure though. Oh, do you need a hand with that?' (no, No, NO!!!)

'Uhrrmmm... no, no thanks, I've got it covered' (Go, please, Just go!)

'OK' well, take care'

The wave was already on its way. In that place where all waves begin there was the unmistakable stirring that promises ecstasy. It was roilling around those parts I feel but can't name that live somewhere behind what makes me a woman. I watched him get into his car and I eased myself downwards, carefully at first, drawing out the pleasure from every movement, every touch, savouring the slipping and sliding, the stretching and the pressure, pausing to rub a special place or to stop the wave breaking too soon and spilling the pleasure before I could wallow in it's maturity. Then, finally, letting all control leave me and abandoning myself to the swell deep inside me, passing that sensitive spot and igniting my orgasm as blue flashing lights pierced my eyelids and a scream escaped my throat to harmonise with the song of a siren vanishing down the road. And as my body writhed and my muscles tensed and the crescendo washed over me, the metal moved and the hinges flexed and I collapsed, impaled and exhausted but safe and secure, modesty preserved beneath the recalcitrant canvas.


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