Monday, February 18, 2013

The Drive - Part 3

You might like to start with Part 1.
Or check in on Part 2.

The cab was beautiful. Sarah had told me the story while we ate: Her father had bought the truck so they could drive together, but a stroke had kept him from being able to stay on the road. Now Sara and Bruce were a long-haul team in a rig most young drivers would never have been able to afford. As I hauled myself up the two steps behind Sara, I was amazed by the color-coordinated interior. Orange and black seats. Tufted orange leather upholstery on the ceiling. Retro wood-grain trim. It was gorgeous.

Not that I got much time to look around. As soon as I stepped into the back Bruce shoved me forward onto the bed. I gave a startled scream and Sarah laughed. “Bruce,” she remonstrated. “You’ll scare her!”

“She should be scared,” he said. “Showing her pussy like that on the highway! Coming back to our place like a little slut!” He had a hand on my back, holding me down, as he stepped into the small sleeping area and sat down on the bed.

I was scared, Sarah was right. But there was a teasing note in Bruce’s voice that kept me from being terrified. While a part of my mind was saying, What the fuck are you doing here these people could be serial killers! another part of my mind was absolutely certain they were nothing of the kind. I didn’t struggle more than a token amount as Bruce pulled my legs onto his lap and started maneuvering my panties down. Sarah shifted over closer to us, so that my head was in her lap. She began to smooth my hair as Bruce lifted my skirt and began to explore.

“Sarah,” he said, “You won’t believe how wet this little girl is! You’ve got to feel this!” Sarah’s fingers joined his for a moment, then came to my mouth, rubbing my wetness on my lips.

“Be careful,” Sarah said. “She’ll drip on your pants.”

“Too late,” answered Bruce. “She’s that kind of slut.” Without warning, he landed a hard slap on my bottom, across the middle so it really stung. I yelped. “What’s the matter?” Bruce mocked. “Didn’t know you were going to get a spanking for all that naughty behavior?” He slapped me again. It hurt.

“Who said you get to spank me?” I answered, though not trying to get away.

He punctuated his answer with a quick series of stinging blows. “I. Say. Any. Girl. Who. Shows. Me. Her. Pussy. While. Driving. Gets. Spanked!” By the end of this imperious sentence I was wriggling and whining with pain and desire. I had not thought about what might happen in their truck beyond that it would be exciting. This was a little more exciting than I’d quite been prepared for. But as Bruce stopped hitting me and pushed two fingers into my drenched pussy, all thought about what I was doing and what might happen next left my mind.

We were all suddenly desperate. Things happened fast. Sarah grabbed my hair and lay back on the bed so my nose was mashed against her panties.  I opened my mouth to breath hot air through the cotton, taking in the smell of another woman for the first time. Bruce finger fucked me hard. I grunted and quivered and humped him and came. Then I was wrestling down Sarah’s underwear and she was handing Bruce a condom and I didn’t have mental space to feel nervous as Bruce fucked me and I devoured her.

Later, I tried to replay the experience in slo-mo. Finding her clit with my tongue. Bruce’s cock pounding into me and Sarah’s hands gripping my hair, keeping me tight against her. My need to taste and bite and suck. Thrusting my fingers inside Sarah as Bruce fucked me and I came, again, face slick with Sarah’s juices and my fingers feeling her pussy contract around them. Separating each sensation so I could remember it.

It couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes after we got in the truck that we collapsed in a sweaty, exhausted heap. I had my cheek on Sarah’s thigh. Bruce had an arm around each of us. I wanted to never move again.

“Chemistry,” Sarah murmured.

“Goddamn,” Bruce replied.

We rested. And then, far too soon, Sara sat up again. “We’ve got a deadline,” she said. For a moment I was confused. A deadline for what? Then I realized she was reminding Bruce. It was time for them to hit the road.

“I wish I could ride with you,” I said, reorganizing my clothes.

Bruce laughed and gestured out the window with his chin. “I like you down there where I can keep an eye on you.” With a few soft kisses, and a not so soft squeeze of my bruised bottom, we parted ways. They were due in Chicago that night, and I was still a day away from St. Louis.

As I got back in my car I realized I’d left my panties in the truck. Oh well. Given all the fuel I’d gained for my imagination, they’d only be in the way.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

The Drive - Part 2

Here is Part 1

Back on the road, coffee refreshed, I turned up the music and went back to my fantasy. Bryan was pulling  me into the house, hands under my shirt, gripping my back. I arched in my seat. My hand gravitated back to my lap. I could feel the heat and wet even through my skirt.  And that’s when I passed my friends in the truck.

I couldn’t see the driver, but I was sure my hand and its activities were clearly visible from the high 18-wheeler seat. That’s what the blast of their horn told me, and their accelerations to meet my speed. I braked, hoping to throw them off, but they stayed by my side easily. The road ahead was flat and empty. For a moment I felt panic. Accelerating was pointless, I already knew they could match me. Pulling over only meant they could get to me in person. Should I grab my cell and call 911? And tell them what?

As quickly as my panic came, it changed into a different kind of energy. I felt reckless and powerful. I had clearly enthralled these truck drivers. Why not give them a show? I began to inch my skirt up higher, keeping my eyes carefully on the road. Nothing kills a buzz like swerving into an 18 wheeler, I told myself. The truck honked again, a short series of blasts that I assumed was encouragement. I took the hem of my skirt in two fingers and shimmied it all the way up to my waist. There was no doubt in my mind the truck driver had a perfect view of my moisture-stained, white cotton panties.

I slumped a bit in my seat. My head rested against the headrest. I tilted my mirror down so I could keep an eye out for cars trying to pass. The truck and my car were blocking anyone wanting to go faster than 75. But there was no one behind me. I put two fingers in the side of my panties, and pulled them out glossy with my juices. The driver wouldn’t be able to see me stick them in my mouth and suck them clean. But I was pretty sure he knew that was what I did next.

I like my flavor. I’m salty and taste faintly of roasted chicken and fresh water. My mind returned to
Bryan. He’d love to hear this story - his shy girl exploring her exhibitionist side. He always said I had it in me. Another blast of the truck’s horn shook me from my reverie. They were pulling ahead and signaling right. Did they expect me to follow? My heart raced. That was not in my plan. I signalled and move into the right lane behind them. An orange sign announced, “Weigh Station OPEN”. My audience veered off to join a line of big rigs and I drove on.

There must have been a hold-up at the weigh station, because Flex (I’d begun calling them after their container brand) did not catch up to me again until my next rest stop, more than an hour later. I’d tired of snacks and wanted something resembling real food. I sat down for a sandwich. 
Bryan had texted me about where I wanted to go to dinner the next night. “In your bed,” I texted back, smiling. My phone buzzed with a response, but I felt eyes on me. I looked up. There was Blue Eyes, grinning and waving like we were old friends. Next to him, hand on his shoulder, was the invisible driver. She was a woman. And she was beautiful.

I blushed again, despite trying for self control. They walked over to me and I reflexively stood up. Maybe  I meant to run, I don’t know. But the woman held out her hand and I shook it. “I’m Sarah,” she said.

“I’m Bruce,” said Blue-Eyes, taking my hand next. He shook it but didn’t let go. “Did you wash that hand?” he asked, and brought it to his nose.

I admit I completely lost my composure. I’m sure I was beet red. “Yes,” I said, trying to pull away. He held me a moment longer.

“What’s your name, Rosebud?” he asked.

“She doesn’t have to tell you,” Sarah interjected, laying her cool hand on top of ours. He let me go. I sat down and then wished I hadn’t. They towered over me, Sarah dark and trim and smiling entrancingly, Bruce full of mischief and clearly not done with me. They sat down too, one on either side of me, so that we filled three sides of the small, square table.

Bruce started to say something but Sarah shot him a look. “Eat your sandwich,” she said to me. I took a bite and began to chew.  “I like your panties,” she said.  My bite stuck in my throat. Bruce pounded me on the back.

“She doesn’t like compliments,” he said to Sarah.

“Aww,” Sarah replied, “She’s just shy.” I felt her hand on my knee. I gripped my sandwich in both hands. I needed to be cool. I needed to get a grip on myself. Bruce pulled his chair in a bit, until his knee pressed warmly against mine. I looked back and forth between them. Their eyes were fixed on me. I felt my heart racing and for the second time that day, what I’d thought was panic flip flopped into electricity. I sat up in my seat. I put down my sandwich.

“I’d really like to see your truck,” I said. There was a silence. Sarah took her hand away. The two of them looked at each other. And then all three of us leaned back in our plastic rest-station seats and laughed.

I ate my sandwich. We talked easily. They took my hands as we walked to their rig.

Monday, February 4, 2013

The Drive

It was a long drive. I knew that setting out, but I didn’t mind. Bryan was at the end of it. After months of teasing, talking, fantasies, love letters, and long-distance kisses, I would finally be next to him again. We could stop sketching out song ideas through the crappy sound of video chat and start making real music. We would make love and make our album. Two days of driving was nothing compared to the anticipation I’d already endured.

I started out early, coffee in my cup holder and an energetic playlist cued up. The highway was empty, and I was soon out of city limits. I sang and sipped and enjoyed the spring sunshine. After an hour I turned off the music and started making up my own songs. I get silly when I’m by myself too long. Every tune turned into a dorky love song about Bryan. I thought about recording them on my phone, or at least jotting down lyrics, but I felt too light-hearted to put any work into song-writing.

“I’m going to kiss and kiss and kiss you,” I sang, “Until your lips turn blue-oo-oo-oo-oo. I’m going to hug and lug and bug you--’till you do everything I want to do-oo-oo-oo-oo--” I deepened my voice for a bluesy, sultry sound- “Everything I want you to do to me.”

Yes indeed. Everything I wanted him to do. I thought about arriving at his house. It was the same fantasy I’d been indulging every night at bedtime, adding details, repeating over and over the imagined sensation of my arms around him, his skin against my lips. Despite having both hands on the wheel, my nipples pushed up hard against my tee shirt and my panties chafed against my thighs.

I was in the slow lane doing 65. Traffic was light, and no one had passed me in quite a while. What the hell. I pulled up my skirt and let my fingertips play over my panties. Bryan on the doorstep, bathed in afternoon sunlight. As we embrace our arms brush: the first touch of skin against skin. If I weren’t so overwhelmed with need to be closer I’d stop right there and savor the sensation. But there’d be time for that later.

My pussy tingled at the thought of our embrace. I planned to be wearing a thin summer dress--too thin, maybe, for the weather, but it would let me feel every nuance of his body against mine. Blue jeans. He’d be wearing blue jeans. I imagined the hard button against my pelvic bone. God I wanted him.

It took control, at this point in my fantasizing, not to skip ahead. It was so tempting to fast forward to us naked in the bedroom (or half-dressed in the hallway, or pushing clothes aside on the lawn) and his cock inside me, pounding into me, while I clung to him and screamed his name, orgasming over and over. It was all too easy to miss out on the irreplaceable pleasure of greetings, the last, melting, tortuously wonderful moments of waiting. But no. I had 8 more hours of driving today and another 5 tomorrow. I would drag out every second of our imagined meeting. I would make those minutes take an hour.

So I said to myself as my fingers crept inside my panties, already slick. I kept my eyes on the road but there wasn’t much out there. Sunlight, rocks, trees, highway. A truck in the middle distance. I let my fingers glide and rest, glide and rest. Bryan’s waistband against my pelvis. Bryan’s hands on my lower back, pulling me in close. Sweet golder shivers coursed through my body. I wanted more.

I lifted my hips and awkwardly attempted to steer with my knee while pulling my panties out from under myself. My right foot came down heavy on the accelerator and my knee swerved the car into the left lane. I grabbed the wheel and pulled right, cursing. The tires hit the raised pavement edge with an alarming noise but I didn’t fishtail. I straightened out again, going 50 instead of 85 while I caught my breath. My panties were halfway down my thighs but for the moment I had both hands on the wheel.

There was an 18 wheeler in rear view mirror, coming up fast. Their air horn blasted at me. A warning? Or had I broken something in my erratic swerve? I listened for a flat tire. No. Everything was fine. The horn must have been an acknowledgement of my idiocy, mocking or punitive. Not that the driver could know the reason. The truck pulled next to me and slowed a little. There was a man in the passenger seat, looking down at me and grinning. He looked left and must have said something to the driver, because they slowed a little more to match my speed. I realized from his leer he was looking at my lap, where my skirt was still lifted and my damp panties twisted around my legs. I hit the brakes to get behind them. He yelled something I couldn’t make out and gave me a thumbs up in the rear view mirror as the truck sped away.

Flexi, I read off the back of their container. How’s My Driving. I sighed and put the music back on.

About an hour later it was time for a pit stop. I pulled into the far end of the lot, hoping to pull up my panties with less drama than I’d experienced pulling them down. There was a pretty view of trees and grass at that end of the rest area. I rearranged my clothes without event, noting the cold of damp underwear against my skin. I still had that ache.

As I walked into the rest area building, a truck pulled past me heading out. I wouldn’t have recognized it but the man in the passenger seat waved and winked. He was young, younger than my stereotype of “truck driver”, and the blue of his eyes was visible even from our distance. I felt my cheeks flush. “God damn, can’t a girl catch a break?” I muttered, and headed to the bathrooms.

If I’d known then what kind of a break I was about to catch, I wouldn’t have bothered to pull my panties back up again in the bathroom stall. I would have balled them up and stuffed them in a trash bin and let myself drip. They were only going to be in my way from then on. be continued...