So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie)

1.

It was a little after midnight when Jerry started exercising his big guns again. After all these weeks I thought I was used to it, thought it didn’t rattle me quite like it did at first, but Christ… This time it went on and on. It adds up. It’s cumulative. The odds are quite slim that any one shell is going to be the one. But even so, it adds up. Every explosion kills you a little more, the dirt and ice dropping off the trench walls, the ground shaking and the air slapping you in the face, the acrid smoke, the smell of blood and metal and burning flesh and trinitrotoluene, until my hands are shaking, until I flinch like a girl with every boom of artillery, holding my breath and waiting to hear the corresponding shell exploding, until I can’t fecking put two thoughts together in my head. I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it, or part of it anyhow?

It lasted an eternity. Or a couple hours. And then it abruptly stopped, which was almost worse. It was worse, because I knew what was coming next. The night was cold, which was good because the mud was frozen and there was no danger of getting sucked down into the muck, but bad because my boots were wet and had holes in them and my toes were starting to freeze inside my regulation wool socks.

I wondered if Pepper had gotten my note.

I’m not sure how long he’d been standing there, watching me. Not long, I don’t think. His brown eyes were watching me cooly, unreadable. How he ever manages to look so sharp, I’ll never know: we’re a bunch of filthy men living in a muddy hole in the ground, periodically getting blasted to bits. But he does anyhow. Looks smart and neat as a dress parade.

“We’re going over the top tonight,” he said. “Word is.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I figured that.” He stubbed out his cigarette and took off his cap, looking at me expectantly. “I guess we don’t have a lot of time then. Come here.”

All pretense was dropped. We really didn’t have much time. And there was always the possibility, however slim, that somebody might walk in on us back here, which would in many ways be worse than the brief flashing shock of a German artillery shell.

He kissed me full on the mouth, and I hungrily kissed back. I’d never kissed a man before Pepper, and to be honest, precious few girls, but it made me feel alive in a way I don’t remember ever feeling before, and my body responded, and suddenly I felt alive again, my spirit clawing it’s way up out of the semi-catatonic state I’d been reduced to, my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to me, tasting his sweat, his smokey saliva, his urgency, my own cock swelling and straining inside my khaki trousers.

Our clothes came off, almost by themselves, heedless of the chill night air. Ever the gentleman, he spread his greatcoat over the top of a sandbag, lifted me up and set me down, bending over to take my rigid cock into his mouth. I leaned back, resting my head against the cold dirt wall, and gave myself over to bliss, however brief it might be.

He was a detail man, of course. He kissed and licked and nibbled every last bit of me, parts I hadn’t even known existed. He ran his tongue up along the underside of my rod, he nibbled at my balls, he tried to press his rolled-up tongue up inside my pee-hole, he kissed and licked at my arse-hole, eventually sliding a finger up inside, making me quite literally squirm with desire.

I wanted, I needed for him to fuck me right then and there, and that is exactly what I told him.

“Well then,” he said, disengaging from my wet cock and standing up. “I reckon you should get it nice and wet first.”

I never sucked a cock before Pepper. Never crossed my mind, to be honest. I made it up as I went along, trying to imitate him. I always felt like an amateur doing it, but he told me I did just fine. Anyway, like I said, we were pressed for time, so I just opened up my mouth and did my best to swallow him whole.

He was bigger than me, not by a ton, but definitely bigger, and I don’t think I have a small dick. I never imagined I would get so much pleasure out of sucking another man’s dick, but war teaches you a lot of things. I wrapped my lips around my teeth to keep them out of the way and cupped his balls in one hand, letting him grasp my hair and slide it in and out of my mouth as I bobbed my head in time. Another night he might have come that way and I would have swallowed every drop he had to give me, but not tonight.

I came up for air, coughing a little, involuntarily.

“Fuck me, Pepper.”

“How do you want it?”

I wanted to watch him doing it, and I told him so. I lay flat on my back on the sandbag, his wool coat pressed against my naked skin, drawing my knees up to my chest, my cock lying thick and hard against my stomach. You could occasionally see a star or two in the sky above, through the racing clouds.

He entered me with a grunt, and it didn’t hurt, not at all, not the way I had been afraid it would the very first time. It just felt full and good and strange and sexy. He bent over and kissed me again, and then he was all the way up inside, his big cock filling my arse, stretching me, using me, and he started thrusting. I felt his urgency, his need, and I cried out loud with the savagery of it. For a little while, his hand found my cock, and pleasure me in time with his thrusts, but then he started to slip past the point of no return. Our hands met and clenched, and he fucked me hard and fast, and finally buried deep inside me, I felt his cock switch and his breath come out in a long slow hiss, a stifled scream. He collapsed limp on top of me, and I kissed him again and again.

“Now we’ll take care of you,” he whispered in my ear, but already the whistles were blowing, battle stations, and it was a quick clumsy wet kiss and a rush to get dressed and off to our assigned places, one last kiss for luck, and then I was running down the line, tin hat in one hand, rifle in the other, boots untied and shirt hanging out, and he was headed for the officer’s bunker, and the last thing he said to me was “You’ll get yours next time lad, I promise.”

The first boy up the ladder was dead before his boots hit the frozen mud, like he’d been torn to pieces by wild dogs, and down he came, tumbling into the trench on top of us, splattering our upturned faces with blood and gore. The second guy, and the third too, I think, and then it was my turn. The noise was a constant, overwhelming roar. It had been weeks since I had seen so much open space, and it took the breath away from me. Away in the east, the sky was just beginning to pale. Smoke and fire were everywhere. Mustard gas? I wondered, but if so it was too late to worry. I held my breath, gripped my rifle, and charged toward the enemy trenches, jumping over the fallen bodies, dancing around coils of barbed wire, remembering to keep my head down until a German machine gun bullet found its mark, tearing right through my chest in one side and out the other, ripping the life right out of me. My body ran on another couple of strides before falling onto the cold earth, and whatever spark that had been there inside me quietly slipped away.

2.

I found the note in grandpa’s old war chest, when I was helping mother clean out the attic in the old house. It was tucked inside a bible, of all things, folded very carefully into the shape of a five-pointed star. The specifics were vague, but the general meaning was quite clear. I didn’t say anything, of course, but tucked it into my pocket where it would remain, a secret, mine and grandpa’s own little secret.

3.

I’d agonized about this moment for weeks. Days anyway. It’s in my nature to agonize over things, but the stakes here were rather high. And this was probably the last chance I’d ever get.

She was my academic advisor. Professor Brodzinski. Professor Mrs. Brodzinski. I’d had a crush on her ever since I’d sat down in front of her cluttered desk back in September, what seemed like a thousand centuries ago. Oh my God, every time I went into her office, I came out with a boner. And I could swear it was mutual.

I’ve never been any good at this kind of thing. At all. Which was probably why I was still a virgin. The meeting was wrapping up. This was the end of the year, and who knows when, if ever, I’d get another chance. The top button on her otherwise-severe black blouse was undone, revealing just a tantalizing hint of cleavage. My hands were shaking. What would Humphrey Bogart say?

“So,” I said, my voice tremulous. She handed me my course list with an indulgent smile. “Would you like me to make love to you?”

She laughed in my face. “Well, you’re quite the smooth talker, aren’t you? It’s lucky I don’t have any more appointments until after lunch.” She got up from behind her desk, circled around behind me, and locked the door to her office.

She stood behind me and started gently kneading my shoulders. I realized I’d been holding my breath, and I finally exhaled.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I first set eyes on you, Pepper.” The impromptu massage stopped. She ruffled my hair in an oddly maternal gesture. “We don’t have all day, let’s get to it. You, young man, are wearing entirely too many clothes.”

There was a little tweed couch up against the wall. It was covered in books, papers, literary journals. Impatiently, she swept it clean. It was then that I noticed that she’d stripped down to her underwear. Holy cats, this is really happening, I thought stupidly.

She unfastened her brassiere, and her breasts were just as big and beautiful as I had imagined.

“Come on,” she said, cocking her head to one side and looking equal parts amused and annoyed, “Get undressed. I told you, we don’t really have very much time.”

Feeling very, very self-conscious, I stripped out of my school uniform. I thought the way the boner projected like a tentpole in the front of my briefs looked ridiculous, but she didn’t seem to mind one bit.

“Here, let me help you with that!” She stuck her hand inside my underwear, got a firm grip on my dick, and pulled my shorts down with her other hand. “Now,” she said, “We are getting somewhere.”

And then she bent over, took my dick inside her mouth, and I was in heaven.

I really didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there, occasionally petting her long grey hair, while the things she was doing with her mouth made my knees weak and wobbly. I had a sudden rush of panic that I was about to come.

I staggered backward. She stood up, grinning. “Your turn!” She pulled her white panties off and kicked them away. I gawked at her nudity, her pussy, covered in a healthy bush of salt-and-pepper hair. I’d never actually seen one before, not in person.

“You,” she said, lying down on her back on the couch and parting her long, shapely legs, “are adorable. I want you to kiss it. Lick it a little bit. Before we fuck.”

“I’ve never…”

“I know.” Was that a smirk? “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do.”

I got down on my knees between her thighs, up close and personal with her sex. Her scent was intoxicating. This was unreal. I could see every last part of her. She was slick and wet. Her hands wrapped around the back of my head and pulled me in. I stuck out my tongue, and licked, blindly.

The taste wasn’t anything like what I had expected. Not bad, not at all, just… she guided me with strong hands, and when I did good, she responded, grinding her pussy up against my face.

“Oh,” she said, “So much better than Mr. Brodzinski… oh yeah, Pepper you’re too sweet… Oh how I wish we had more time..!”

I came up for air, my face wet with her sticky juices.

“Are you ready?” she asked playfully.

“?”

“To pop your cherry, of course!” she giggled and grasped my cock again. “You still want to, don’t you?”

I felt awkward, clumsy. She helped me guide it inside. It fit just perfect, like slipping on a glove. A hot, slippery glove. She grunted.

“Fuck me Pepper, fuck me now. Fuck me really hard!”

I did as instructed. It didn’t take long, but it was bliss while it lasted. She humped back up against me, tits shaking with every thrust. When I came, I shouted out loud, and she pulled me on top of her, squishing her breasts against my sweaty pale chest, kissing me violently.

We got dressed, and her demeanor had already changed. More businesslike, less affectionate.

“Will we ever do this again?” I asked, trying not to sound plaintive.

“We’ll see…” she said. She offered me a Kleenex. “Maybe, it’s a possibility.”

She handed me back my course list, which had fallen on the floor in the first rush of excitement. “I’m so glad,” she said with a smile, “That I slipped you that note. I suppose I was worried you’d be offended, an old biddy like me.”

“Note?” I asked.

She looked sharply at me. “The one I tucked into your required reading list? That note?”

“Ah,” I said, thinking of the stack of untouched books back in my dorm. “That note…”

4.

I’d seen her before in the laundromat. She was striking, that’s for sure. Prettier than me, I thought. Almost always in a crisp IDF uniform, or some portion thereof. I’d noticed her there earlier in the morning when I’d swapped my clothes from washers into the dryer. She was folding her clothes, crisp and military, in her olive-green trousers and a black sports bra containing her breasts almost painfully tight. I watched the muscles in her back as she worked, and I’d wanted to fuck her right then and there. Which is odd, because I don’t, as a rule, have much interest in fucking other girls.

I never even heard the explosion. I was on the way out of the laundromat, an Ikea bag full of warm, dry unfolded clothes in my arms, and then I was on my ass, leaning up against a brick wall, a painful ringing in my ears like Blink182 turned up to 10 and skipping like a dirty CD. There was a *whoosh* as air rushed in to fill the vacuum. A New York City bus was on its side in the middle of the avenue, its top blown off, black smoke pouring out of it. There were people, or parts of people, strewn around the street.

Someone was talking to me, shaking me by the shoulder. I slowly looked up. It was her, the girl from the laundromat, still in the sports bra and pants.

“Are you ok?” I nodded stupidly. I didn’t know if I was ok or not. “We’ve got to move,” she said urgently, “There could be another—”

This time I did hear the explosion. It knocked us both flat, her more than me. But she was back on her feet like a cat, and dragging me by the collar of my shirt until I could stand up and run along behind her.

“Keep down!” she yelled in my ear. My hearing was almost completely gone, it was like I had pillows crammed up against my ears, but I could hear the *pop-pop-pop* and I knew full well that it was automatic weapons fire even though I had never heard the sound in person before.

We made it around the corner and she stopped short, gave me a once-over. “You’re going to be OK,” she pronounced. “My apartment, it’s another half block. Can you do it?”

Dimly, I could hear more gunfire, and I thought now I could hear sirens, and maybe a helicopter? I nodded, and she took me by the hand. “Come on!”

Three flights up an echoey concrete stairwell. We got to her front door and I realized that I was weeping. And then, much to my embarrassment, I threw up. When I was done, she gave me something to wipe my mouth, and she kissed me lightly on the forehead.

I looked down and realized that I was covered in blood. Blood, vomit, and a constellation of broken safety glass, glinting like sequins all over my ruined jeans and t-shirt.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not yours. Not mostly.”

Somehow she got me inside her apartment, I think she cut most of my clothes off with a pair of shears that looked like they had been designed for the purpose. She kissed me again and packed me into the shower. “Looks like you get your wish.”

The shower was blessedly hot and the water pressure was amazing. My hearing started to come back as I scrubbed with a loofa, clean white soap and generic Costco shampoo. She was right: my knees were pretty scraped up and I had a pretty good gash in one elbow, but overall I seemed to be intact. Outside, the sound of sirens was incessant.

I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and she gave me that look again: clinical and appraising. Apparently I checked out, because the look on her face changed and softened, and she came to me and hugged me close. She was still wearing the same trousers and bra, and she smelled of pulverized concrete.

She took a step back and the towel fell to the floor. “So, do you still wanna?”

Without waiting for an answer, she took my hands and kissed me hungrily. “I am going to fuck you cross-eyed,” she declared. She pulled me into her bedroom and tossed me onto her bed, some kind of Krav Maga move that would have knocked the wind out of me if I’d landed anywhere other than dead center in her queen-sized bed. She pulled off her bra and her army trousers. No panties. Olive skin, nipples taut and erect, a flat belly, a full black bush neatly trimmed with not one hair out of place.

She straddled me, and now she was kissing me, aggressive, like a boy. But not in a bad way, oh no, not at all. My ears were still ringing, and I felt lightheaded and dizzy, but I didn’t think I was going to throw up again. And I wanted her. More than anything in that moment, I wanted her to fuck me.

Her big brown eyes looked me up and down, appraising. They were the softest thing about her, Christ, even her tits looked deadly. I hoped she liked what she saw.

She pinned my wrists down on the bed, bent over, her tit right in my face, and I suckled at it, taking the hard brown nipple in my mouth and sucking it, pulling gently with my teeth. There was a sharp intake of breath and I knew I had guessed right. I bit down harder, and was rewarded with the feel of her warm wetness grinding against my thigh.

“I am going to make you feel so good,” she whispered in my ear. I believed her. She slid one finger up inside herself, and pressed it to my lips. She was clean and slippery and tangy, just a hint of pepper. I sucked her finger clean and she giggled girlishly.

She slipped one arm under my bottom and lifted me up, right up off the bed, her arms were like steel, and she slid a pillow under my butt. If I got any wetter, I was certain I was going to melt. I was probably making a puddle on her sheets.

I hadn’t been with a girl… well, since college. And that had been, while exciting and naughty and certainly pleasurable, clumsy and awkward, and more than a little frustrating. I remember jerking off with my vibrator all alone afterward, wishing it had been more like what I’d seen in the pornos.

This girl was straight to the point. There was no teasing, no messing around, no long drawn-out foreplay, not this time. She stuck her head between my legs, found my clit like a smart bomb locking onto its target, and started sucking.

The things she was doing with her mouth! I gave up any pretense of control and went along for the ride, thrashing and kicking and moaning my pleasure. When she wasn’t sucking my clit, she was flicking it with the tip of her tongue, and her fingers were invading my cunt, filling me, fucking my hungry pussy while her lips once again wrapped around my engorged clitoris and she was sucking it like a cock, and now she was slipping a wet finger into my asshole, and I realized that I was coming, and suddenly I was screaming out loud, and she stuck with me, fucking my pussy and my ass, sucking my clit as my body convulsed and thrashed and my legs flailed in the air and my head shook from side to side.

At last it was over, and I slowly came down, a little sheepish at the violence of my orgasm. There was a secret little smile on her face.

“You can borrow some of my clothes. We’re close enough in size to get you home. You can return them…. Next time.”

There were still sirens outside, but not as many now, not as urgent. I could hear a helicopter hovering somewhere nearby.

“Hey,” she said, with a wicked smile, “Next time I get to come too, ok?”

I nodded dumbly, still in a daze. It had been quite an afternoon.

“By the way, how did you know my name?” Her name?

“Oh, and the next time you slip a note in somebody’s laundry… maybe you should include your phone number.” She smiled and winked, patting me on the tush as I staggered out into the fluorescent-lit stairwell.

‘Note in her laundry??’

END

I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. Of course, I’d known all along that it was a bad idea. But now I knew for sure that it was a really bad idea.

There was only one other car in the parking lot, and it was not a baby blue Honda. There was a couple sitting inside it, and while it was unclear to me just what they were doing in there, I was reasonably sure it was nothing wholesome.

He texted me to let me know he was running late. I was still a little early. I was brought up to believe that ten minutes early was ‘right on time’.

It was called the Lenape Queen Hotel, but the big nicotine-yellow sign out front only said ‘Hotel’, and sported a softball-sized hole in the lower left corner through which you could see bare fluorescent tubes.

I checked the contents of my purse: condoms, lube, breath mints, Ativan, vibrator, bear spray. Set? All set. I stepped out into the night, the parking lot glittering with the reflected, refracted light of a million shards of broken glass.

The front desk girl at the Lenape Queen Hotel had her tooth pierced. Two of them, actually. Both her front teeth were conjoined with a narrow gauge steel loop with something that looked like a diamond but certainly was not, hanging from the ring on a short chain. There’s not a lot that will make me step back and say ‘Whoa’, but that did the trick.

She had full Egyptian cat eye makeup with huge eyelashes, pink hair, all black clothes, slasher pink lipstick. Her earrings were also remarkable, they were a character from horror films, like the Demigorgon or something from Dead by Daylight.

She gave me the key to room 237, and up I went. When I locked the door, I felt like the people outside were safer than I was. I didn’t dare check under the bed.

Nobody had broken into my car yet, and there was still no light blue Honda in the parking lot, although the couple who were ‘sitting’ in the car next to mine were still there. It was nine o’clock.

The couple in the room next door were arguing shrilly. I turned on the TV, it was boys high school wrestling. I sat by the window, at my double cheeseburger from Wendy’s, and drank a complimentary water. I didn’t change the channel, not because there was nothing else on; but because I’m a pervert.

I turned up the volume of the TV, but that didn’t drown out the antics from the next room. It was unclear to me whether those ‘antics’ were consensual or not. From somewhere nearby, the acrid scent of crystal meth seeped into my room. I pulled back the comforter. There were cigarette burns on the sheets.

The woman next door was now getting either vigorously murdered, or fucked, or both. I looked out the window. My car was still intact. No new messages on my phone. I decided to cut my losses and check out.

Mouthful of Metal at the front desk accepted my key back without comment or apparent interest. Her pupils were pin pricks, and Dr. Phil chattered mutely on the TV set in the lobby.

No blue Hondas pulled in as I traversed the parking lot, past the smoke-filled sedan, and into the safety of my own vehicle. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed a lonely aria.

Disappointment has a bitter aftertaste. I had really been looking forward to getting some illicit dick tonight. As I navigated unlit, unfamiliar secondary roads, I fumbled with my cell phone and dialed Ali.

Ali is a taxi driver, and one of the most beautiful male persons I have ever met. He is slender, lithe as a willow, with dark skin that is almost translucent, eyes like a doe, soft and brown, and a mop of soft black hair. His dick is perfect in every way, and tastes of Persian spice.

He loves getting his dick sucked, which works out pretty well, because I love sucking it. The first time I saw his cock, I thought it was shaved bare, but it turns out that cock and balls have an almost invisible pelt of very soft, fine, well-coiffed black hair.

Ali’s cock is the absolute perfect size for fucking, but I will never find out, because he considers fucking, or in fact any kind of reciprocation, adultery. I am, however, welcome to suck him off whenever the opportunity arises, and when I’m on my knees with a mouth full of Ali’s dick, listening to the moans I am making him make, playing with his balls  tickling his tight little anus, I am a very happy girl indeed.

His phone rang six times, and then a woman answered. His wife. I hung up, and concentrated on navigation.

One time Ali and a friend of his got a hotel room together, a lot closer to home. His friend really wanted to fuck me up the ass, and I was quite willing. Slightly less enthusiastic when I saw the size of friend’s monster cock, but I was still willing to give it a go.

I played with Ali’s dick while his friend played with my butt. His tongue felt absolutely amazing, and his slippery fingers felt nice too, as he probed my ass. I could have used a little attention paid to my clit and/or cunt, but I certainly wasn’t complaining, and I was thoroughly enjoying licking Ali’s beautiful erection, and the look of pleasure on his face: watching me getting my ass eaten out really turned his crank. And mine too, for that matter.

Actual penetration, however, was just not happening. Even drenched in lube, even after two or three fingers up my ass as a warm-up, that thing was not going in. The trying felt really nice, I gotta say, feeling that monster log bumping urgently up against my anus like a baseball bat, doing the slippery slide between my butt cheeks, up and down my ass crack, that made me gurgle with pleasure. It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying, I was grinding back against him just as hard as he was attempting to spear me, but it wouldn’t even start to go in.

I wouldn’t have been opposed to giving my cunt a chance to try, although I was a little dubious on that front as well, but apparently Ali’s friend had ethical qualms about fucking vaginas that didn’t belong to his wife. So I ended up giving him an old-fashioned white trash titty fuck, and had the pleasure of him coming all over my neck and chin, while Ali jerked off into my open mouth. And that, my friends, was the closest I have ever come to a bona fide threesome.

At last I saw a sign for the Turnpike. God Damn. Navigating the onramp one-handed and distracted, I sent a quick text to my friend Lisa in Minnesota: “Hi”.

I didn’t really expect to hear back, and I didn’t. Lisa and I had been friends in college, nigh onto twenty years ago, and had reconnected through Facebook, and six months ago we had a brief but extremely torrid sexting affair. Admittedly, I had done most of the heavy lifting, but she had engaged just enough to keep me interested, and to let me know that she was into it. I spent many happy hours on my phone, typing with sticky, slippery fingers, telling her in great detail all the things I had wanted to do to her in college, and a few that I didn’t even know about at the time. I told her how I had jealously lusted after her breasts from the first time I saw her, and how I always used to barge into her dorm room in the hopes of catching her in her underwear. I confessed that I had always wanted to join her in the semi-public dorm shower. I told her how I had fantasized about sneaking into her dorm room at night and joining her in the bunkbed beneath her oblivious, sleeping roomie. I told her how I masturbated at night, dreaming of licking her pussy, licking her clit, licking her asshole. I told her that I imagined sucking her tits, with two fingers in her cunt and two in her ass, feeling her shake and listening to her moan as I made her come. I told her my fantasy about fucking her, deep and hard, by moonlight in the middle of the quadrangle. I told her how I wanted to pull out her tampon with my teeth, taste her period blood, how I wanted her to grind her swollen, menstrual cunt all over my face until she orgasmed all over me. I confided in her how I wished I could suck fresh semen out of her cunt, her mouth, her asshole. I told her how I wanted her to piss into my mouth, and I would kiss it back to her, our wet tits pressed together like a foursome of slippery otters.

At some point I must have taken it too far, because she mostly stopped answering my texts. Not completely though, because occasionally I got a ‘hey’ or a ‘hi there sexy’ back, and that was enough for me to keep on trying.

On the Thruway, I pulled down my jeans and set the cruise control for 74mph. I probably should have done that in the opposite order, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight at this point. In any event, my car found its lane, and as the road was straight and there was not traffic, I was able to shimmy out of my one and only pair of sexy black lace panties that I had worn special for the night’s festivities.

I fished the vibrator out of my bag. I had plenty of joy juice going on, so I didn’t need to apply lube, which was good, because that was one less complication that might well end up in a fiery heap of twisted metal on the side of the highway. I held the steering wheel between my knees, and pressed the buzzing toy up against my swollen clit, half closing my eyes, and moaning into the night.

There is something about a moving car, a running engine, that seriously turns my crank. I had jerked off to the idea of me and Lisa doing a 69 in the driver’s seat while doing 85 down the freeway, a fantasy that ain’t happening until I can afford a Tesla. Or, upon reflection, probably not at all. I had once sucked Ali off while he was driving his taxi in heavy city traffic, but while enjoyable, it really wasn’t really the same rush at all. Perhaps, however, he’d be willing to drive while I 69’d some willing individual next to him in the passenger seat; now there was an idea worth exploring.

The night was pitch black except for the occasional glare of oncoming headlights. My clit felt ready to explode. Maintaining enough concentration on driving with my knees while keeping the business end of the toy right on my clit, all without swerving into the guardrail and crashing and dying was a huge component of the thrill.

I flipped down the vanity mirror, further obstructing my view of the road, and adjusted it so I could see my own cunt. The labia were purple and swollen, pouting out like a rosebud. I pulled back the hood, exposing my engorged clitoris. Everything gleamed with slippery wetness. I tugged my lips wide open, until I could see all the way up the entrance of my own vagina. I don’t know about the rest of me, but my pussy is extremely pretty. I should have been a fucking porn star.

I blew past a speed trap, but I either wasn’t driving fast enough or erratically enough to catch the trooper’s attention, thus avoiding possibly the most embarrassing traffic ticket in history: “…and, er, what seems to be the problem, officer?”

Still I couldn’t quite push myself over the edge, not without shutting my eyes and humping my hips and completely losing control of the vehicle, so I dangled on the precipice of orgasm for fifteen or twenty pleasure-filled miles.

My cunt was famished though. Digging with one hand through the random junk in the console bin between the seats, I came up with a pair of candy canes left over from Christmas. How jolly! They were still shrink-wrapped, thank goodness, no yeast infections for me, though truth be told in my current state I would have jammed their naked sugary goodness straight up my twat anyway, consequences be damned.

In any event, the festive and hygienically sealed sugar sticks slipped easily up my cunt, and my pussy purred with pleasure. With my left hand I fucked myself, my right hand buzzed away at my clit, my knees somehow kept us on the road, and that combination was just enough to trigger the most intense, screaming, blinding, earth-shattering orgasm I had had in a long time!

I settled down and got my hands on the wheel just in time to swerve violently and make my exit. The driver’s seat was soaked through, but honestly I liked that it was stained with my pussy juice, and next time I drove my car, I would stop and sniff it before I got in, and that would get me turned on all over again. I didn’t bother pulling up my pants until I had pulled into the driveway and come to a complete stop.

I could hear my husband’s irregular gurgling snore as soon as I entered the house. I took a quick half-shower, popped an Ativan, and a couple Benadryl too for good measure, and slipped into bed next to him. The snoring paused, he grunted contentedly, and squeezed me with one hefty arm, kissing me clumsily on the forehead. I rolled over, closed my eyes, and let sleep wash over me like a rising tide.

END