On the car

[Gangsta Moll Deactivated]

Some years back, I was asked by a colleague if I would entertain an American visitor who had expressed an interest in walking in the English countryside. I am a keen country walker, and so an obvious choice to ask: and I enjoy showing others the walks and places I love, so I was pleased to agree.

The man was very nice - genuinely interested in English places, habits and history - and we spent a full and very nice day walking, talking and generally enjoying each other's company. At the time I was not aware of it, but in retrospect we were quickly more intimate than I think either of us realised: nothing overt, but the casual brush of hand on bare arm, knees touching at lunch in the pub, a gaze held for a little longer than is usual. I was, I insist, not consciosuly aware of this - I do admit I liked him, liked being with him, found him fun and funny. And I admit that I thought he liked me. But nothing more entered my mind - it was a fun day with a nice man, walking, showing off my local knowledge, navigation skills and fitness, enjoying a day in the country.

That evening I drove him to the airport.

It was a pleasant drive, with the evening darkening into early night. We talked at first but then lapsed into a comfortable silence.

As I drove, quite out of the blue, he turned to me and in rather a tortured voice sort of blurted: "Sarah, I am so sorry but I really want to make love to you".

I was genuinely stunned - shocked. I had not even thought about him in that way at all, nor had any clue he might have such thoughts about me. I drove on in silence for a while - not so much thinking as sort of feeling: I did not let myself think, dared not.

I pulled the car off the road on a track to a car park behind a church: still without saying anything.

Then I got out of the car, walked to his door, opened it, and almost physically pulled him out of the car.

Until then - until I had his hand in mine, in the dark, by the car - until then I was quite calm. But then, quite suddenly, I was not calm at all.

I actually unzipped him - unzipped his pants, undid his belt, pushed them down, and took his cock out.

He was rigid - hard as a rock - and I just almost dragged him, by my hand wrapped round his cock, to the front of the car.

I had on a dark green skirt, and I hiked it up. He was hard as a rock. I did not take my panties off - I simply tugged the gusset to one side.

He went in very easily - I was very wet.

I remember the heat of the engine through the car bonnet (hood, to my American friends) - almost too hot, against my buttocks - and the way my juices lubricated not just the cock but the car hood, so that my body slipped and slid all over it, almost making me laugh even as I took the hard deep fucking and grunted as he did it to me.

It did not take long: my own orgasm was quick and intense, and triggered his. But it didn’t matter - I was so sated, so smug, I felt like a goddess of sex.

All the way to the airport, he apologized. He was sorry for saying what he said: sorry for doing it to me; sorry for not lasting. I wanted to scream. I wanted to dump him from the car so I could hug myself and hold that cum-filled sated - desired - feeling. He was sorry about everything, it was awful, he ruined it.

But when I escaped, dropping him at the ‘drop off’ zone, I forgot him, and remembered what we did. It was hot.

And cum stains car paint.

[WritesNaughtyStories]

A million years ago, when Thatcher and Reagan were all the rage and I was young, I made a terrible decision in a car.

I was hitchhiking in the American southwest. It was winter so the temperature was bearable and I had been walking northbound for a couple of hours.

A convertible pulled over and an older man in a golf shirt and khakis pulled over when I thumbed at him.

I jogged to catch up, my camo jacket bouncing on my slender frame. I had most of $100 dollars I'd earned getting fucked in a cheap motel the night before and a straight razor in my pockets. He shot me a smile and waved me in. I slid into the low slung red vinyl seat and thanked him.

He pulled off in silence and we sped past several tractor-trailers before he looked over and said, "You can get undressed if you want."

And I did.

I knew how dangerous it was and I did it any way. I liked that it was dangerous. 

I leaned back, nearly hairless, and stretched out as best I could in the car and let the desert sun warm my naked body as the older stranger beside me drove and leered.

He lay his hand on my thigh, hardly inches from my half erect cock. He didn't move it but I could feel the eyes of truckers on me as we passed them.

An hour or so passed and we were nearing populated areas so I got dressed and he let me out.

Man, I was dumb.

[Gangsta Moll Deactivated]

Reckless is not dumb - not always anyway

[WritesNaughtyStories]

That was practically suicidal.