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The Ride
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girl22

The Ride


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His hand went up my skirt and what with all my moaning, I forgot to stop him.

Scant seconds from my house, it just happened. The flirt went too far, he pulled the big car over and leaned in.

I spluttered, “What’re you doing?” but I knew. His hand went up my skirt and what with all my moaning, I forgot to stop him. Presumptuous fingers pressed into warm flesh, explored my stocking, the ribboned garter clip, the hot, satiny thigh above.

Astonished, breathless, my knees accidentally drifted apart. My hips rolled involuntarily, offering him a tempting chance to stroke another man’s very personal property. Touch it! my brain commanded. I waited, mouth open, lips quivering for the likely kiss he’d use to distract as he sampled white satin with little black polka-dots; expensive panties, insanely soft. Pulled up tight and mashed warmly against a man’s face, they could make him forget his own name.  

David moaned during our kiss. No longer an accident, I spread my knees wider, as wide as I could; both of us intoxicated by his audacious trespass and my loss of appetite for good-girl integrity. His middle finger breached the elastic.

“Yesss,” I whispered into his mouth.

And probably because my husband was likely sitting at home, less than 200 feet away, watching a movie at that very moment, David savored the sensation of gathering the damp crotch of my panties in his fist and grinding a row of rough knuckles into the warm putty of my sex.

Bleary-eyed, my mouth dropped open. I watched his eyes turn a werewolf black. “Yes,” I whimpered, as he dragged me, panties snarled around my ankles, into the spacious back seat; a king-sized bed compared to Sean’s Mustang. Carnal vocalizations filled the air as we pawed each other until, with little fanfare, his meat emerged, weaving and drooling like something from an Alien movie. It was the only cock I’d ever seen besides my husband’s, and neither of us discussed protection, or feelings, or tomorrow before it disappeared again, a hot blade to my butter. Our bodies synced in mindless resolve, testing the limits of the big car’s suspension.

Twenty-one hazy minutes later, David eased the car up in front of my house, saying nothing as his defrost labored to unsteam the windows. He waited. I fumbled the door handle and wobbled to my feet, immediately aware of the slithering evidence trapped in my knickers. I straightened the worst of my disarray as his car idled soundlessly away. Brake lights at the corner, and he was gone.

Scanning the twilight neighborhood for witnesses, I tossed my hair back, slipped past the side gate and let myself in through the garage. Sean was frozen at the cutting board, realizing mid-sandwich-cutting that he’d dropped the ball; forgot to pick me up at work, forgot to answer his phone.

I dropped my keys and purse where I stood, simmering. His eyebrows rose. I reached back to unzip my skirt. Being a man, Sean looked down to watch my tits as I dragged the zipper-key down.

He frowned, “What happened to your bra,” gesturing vaguely, “I can see your…”

I dropped my skirt where I stood, interrupting, “Take your cock out.”

Grinning, his eyebrows rose higher, “Bad day?”

Unamused, I stepped out from the pool of skirt around my ankles, all the while pushing pearlescent buttons through little linen buttonholes.

He glanced down, “Nice panties!”

“So I’ve heard. C’mon pull your cock out.” I shrugged off my blouse, leaning to mash my lips to his, ending our foreplay with a little predatory bite.

Confused, he fumbled with his pants. I commandeered one of his hands, holding it to the tiny black bow on the front of my panties. His fingers drifted down.

“You’re wet,” he whispered reverently.

“I am wet,” I agreed, watching his eyes, squinting for emphasis, “very wet.”

Kneeling, I finished the job that seemed beyond his shaking fingers, pulling out a slippery cock every bit as happy as the one I’d just finished with out front. It drooled on the kitchen floor before I got it into my mouth.

“Ah, easy!” he protested. “What the hell’s gotten into you … not that I’m complaining. Ouch!”

I pulled back, sucking hard on the knob of his meat, letting it go with an audible Pop. “Horny, cum!”

“You do seem to need regular service.” He leaned back against the counter, one hand supervising the bounce of my head before it turned unfriendly, gripping a shock of my hair. Apparently, violence begets violence.

“Jeez,” he hissed, leaning over me as his knees started to buckle. I whimpered grunts of approval, minding the pace, minding my teeth, feeling his balls retreat for the big finale.

“Umph!” I grunted. Roughly translated: “Cum!” We’d been married long enough that he knew what I meant.

Sean complied. Shaking violently, grasping the counter behind, he shuddered through two spasms that nearly broke my nose, and three more to rid himself of every last drop.

“Sssss,” he hissed above me, wiping drool with that back of his arm as his body shook in agony. He stuttered, “No more, st-stop.”

I ignored him, polishing his knob dutifully as punishment for leaving me stranded at work.

“Sss, stop, stop.” He pulled my hair.

I rose, stepping back; wobbling a bit, wiping my mouth, seeing my sweetie with new eyes, estimating his resolve in light of more than a few passion-fueled past statements.

He glanced up, gingerly tucking he meat back in his pants, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“I’ll think about it.” Backing away, my heart pounded faster, “You still thinking you want me to be naughty at work?”

His head snapped up. I saw the rolling progression of dawning awareness rise in his eyes, moments of disbelief, and then abject confusion. Without an erection in his hand, he couldn’t compute it: was I serious, did I - could I - his college sweetie, renowned good girl, really do it?

I turned, “I’ll be in the shower.”

“Hey,” he yelled, “how’d you get home?”

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