memory

The Infamous Car Story, Part 1

Standard

It was the weekend I invited my boyfriend – at the time – to my home to meet my mother. It was summertime, a few weeks before I had to return to campus to start up sophomore year. He had made a good impression on my family and I had set about introducing him to whichever friends still remained in my hometown. One of them was her. 

I was a bit reticent to introduce him to Elle. She and I were certainly now on a friendly basis, sometimes a bit too friendly. I was worried they wouldn’t get along. I thought she would bite his face off, frankly. She’s a bit of a spitfire. But, she had heard that he was in town and offered to have the three of us go out to dinner.

They hit it off almost instantly. They just jived so well with each other. I just sat there breathing this huge sigh of relief as they laughed up a storm. I was content to take the third wheel on this one. It was almost comforting.

She had driven to reduce gas and I had left my car at her place. As set off to head back after a really pleasant dinner, I elected to take the backseat with my boyfriend. We all kept up conversation as she drove towards the highway and stopped at a stoplight. This was when the trouble started.

He and I had been planning a game all that weekend where he would reach down and rub me whenever we hit a red light. This was pretty normal in the car just the two of us and I could manage to keep a poker-face as I waited for the light to change. Confessedly, I almost drove right off the road when the light changed during a drive to get lunch earlier that day, but it was mostly a fairly “safe” endeavor. 

But in the car with my ex-girlfriend? I tensed up when I felt his hand snake over to me. My eyes begged him not to. It was too weird. She would kick us out of the car. Why had I worn a skirt that day?

I went to slap his hand away and tried to keep quiet until I noticed she was tilting her rearview mirror in order to be able to see what was going on in the back. I caught her face in it. She was smiling. Oh no. This was worse than the awkward interaction that I had predicted would come about at dinner. Her dominant instincts were coming out and she was getting such a kick out of this.

The light changed and he moved his hand away. She chuckled, merging onto the highway and heading back toward our town. “Sorry, dear,” she cooed into the back.

I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest in mock upset. I was trying to keep this cheeky, funny. I was hoping the joke was over and that we wouldn’t be getting into anything too…weird.  

He laughed and put his hand back down, starting to rub at my clit through my panties. I looked up at him and shook my head, pleading with my eyes for him to just stop. I knew if I opened my mouth to talk to him, I’d just start moaning. He had a way with his hands. It was astounding. 

“I don’t know why you’re so ungrateful, Ivy,” Elle said from the front seat, “I seem to remember a certain girl who begged for it all the time in the car.” She glanced back quickly at my boyfriend, “she once got herself off with my vibrator while I drove her home. I wouldn’t drop her off until she came." 

To say that I have trouble orgasming when I have a goal is an understatement. Any metaphor that I could make for how much I was blushing would also probably be an understatement. 

He was beaming like a champ. My legs were shaking, my body was responding eagerly to his touch. I was so humiliated, yet so aroused from it. I couldn’t believe she was playing along with him and vice-versa. I didn’t expect them to hit it off socially. But sexually? This was almost porno-level interaction. 

He stopped before I came and gave my pussy a little pat. It was a typical gloating move of his and I groaned in frustration. I realized my back had sunk down in the seat and I was basically spread out. I was covered in goosebumps, I was embarrassed, I just wanted to orgasm. 

I noticed Elle was taking the long way home and huffed. "May I please cum?” I couldn’t believe I was saying it in her car.

“What do you think?” he asked, looking up at Elle. Suddenly, she veered off course and pulled into the parking lot of a playground we were about to pass. It was dark out and no one was there, thankfully. 

She pulled the car in a way that it faced the road and the other vehicles that sped by. I instinctively reached to pull my skirt back down and he slapped my hand away. 

“Nah,” she smirked as she turned off the car. “I think someone has miles to go.”

To be continued.

Gallery

A very good friend of mine in high school got himself a flatbed when we all got fairly standard “first cars”. It was mostly because he worked for his fathers’ landscaping company, but he often used it to have a host of us sit up in it and hang out. At one point, I think he even had a rug in there.

We used to hang around all the time in it. I’m sure we looked ridiculous, parked in the lots of gas stations or out in front of each others’ houses. We would bring food in there, stereos, just about everything. One of my friends liked to sit up on the wheels, I usually preferred the corners. 

I’m sure you were waiting for the part where I explained that the flatbed sort of became a bit orgiastic. No, we didn’t have orgies. Yes, a bunch of us “played a little baseball” in it. 

Now, whenever I see a flatbed, I have a host of fond memories. And when I come home, we all hang out on it and catch up. I know, I know, how American apple pie of me.

Gallery

He brought me flowers when he came to see me on Valentine’s Day. I insisted upon cutting them myself before putting them in water. When I was younger, one of my close relatives was a florist and I absolutely relished taking the time to cut the flowers the way I had been taught: with scissors, on an angle.

He sat down at my desk while I stood, working at cutting each end smoothly. As I picked up maybe the fourth flower, I felt his hand trace up the inside of one of my thighs, barely even grazing the skin. I looked over my shoulder at him, but he just nodded for me to keep going. 

I continued to cut the flowers, having to pause every few seconds as his hands continued to wander over my body to give a light shiver. I felt my trembles building as he went down my arms, up my legs, over my stomach, never once touching anything remotely erogenous but getting me fired up all the same.

He started to remove my clothing, causing me to pause between flowers to lift my arms and my feet. Now nude save for my panties, my body was even more receptive to his touch. I slammed my hands down on the desk when his finger traced over the line of my slit through my panties, gasping audibly. I couldn’t remember a time I had been this worked up from just having my skin touched, but there was something about the quality of his hands that made just one sweep over my sex near electric, practically orgasmic.

“Hm?” I could hear his smirk, “what’s wrong?” He pulled the panties to one side and ran his finger over my slit once more. I probably died about six times. “You’re soaked. Now how is that?” He spread my lips with his fingers and chuckled, “I haven’t even touched you here much until now. And still you’re wet. Explain to me why that is.”

My cheeks reddened and I shook my head, “I…I don’t know.” I practically screamed when he flicked his thumb over my clit. He just laughed.

“Finish the flowers,” he ordered and went back to running his hands over my legs. I pouted and picked the scissors back up. The back and forth continued for a few more minutes. I would get too overwhelmed and drop everything, he’d tease me and make me pick it back up. 

I finally filled the vase and went to put the scissors away when he started to rub my clit. I froze before setting the scissors back on the table, dipping my head back and letting out a gratified moan. He pulled me into him, tracing slow circles over my clit. “Look at you,” he teased, “all I have to do is rub your clit and everything else just fades away. That’s all that matters to your little one-track mind. What a simple little whore.”

I cried out as he sped up the circles and he just laughed. “Can’t even argue, can you? Thoughtless little girl.” Suddenly, he stopped and pushed me forward. I stumbled toward the middle of the room and looked back to him. My legs were threatening to give way. I could feel my thighs soaked with myself. My hands were shaking.

“Take off my shoes,” he ordered. “Take off my shoes and set them aside.” I sank to my knees and crawled over to him. I untied one after the other, tugging them off and setting them down side by side before looking up at him expectantly. It was always shocking to me how docile I could become from being reduced to some moaning, bucking creature. 

We continued on this way. I removed his shirt, his pants, everything before I was brought over to the bed. I was his simple little whore. I had that one-track mind. I was focused only on pleasing him. And in this way, I was undeniably content.