Fantasy Sex Story
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I was about half-way home from work, thinking about how nice it was that spring was finally coming--I could drive with the window open, it was staying light longer, and maybe I'd have some time to clear the debris from some of our flower beds--when the sleek black sedan in front of me did a little swerve... for a scary second it looked like it was going into on-coming traffic, and my first thought—maybe the driver was avoiding something in the road, a hubcap, a deer, a child. My foot was on the brake, not pressing, not jamming down, but about to... as an adrenaline rush surged through me. But then the sedan tucked itself safely back into the left lane of the suburban highway, and everything was OK--no obstacle. The panic subsided. I had that slightly hollow feeling in my tummy, an emptiness, a pang not unlike what follows disappointment in love. Was I too close? Traffic was light for a five o'clock afternoon, but this car in front of me wasn't keeping up with the flow. I looked through the sedan's rear window. A woman with dark curly hair nestled against the driver's shoulder. She was doing something. Moving slightly, regularly. Maybe she was fondling him. I drove behind them contemplating the woman's touch. Were her fingers outside his clothes? I thought back to that jerk he did in the road—was that the moment her hand went inside? At the next intersection, the sedan eased into the left-turn lane. I stayed in my lane--now I was right next to them as we waited for the light to change. Normally I'm a shy person. My husband claims there's a bold spot deep inside, but I don't believe him. In any event, I'm not one to stare. But I couldn't help but look over. Earlier I would have guessed these to be high school honeys, but they were clearly a little older than that. The woman might have been my age--young twenties, and the guy maybe 19, a tidy, stone-gray man. He wore short hair, rimless glasses and a blank expression. The bold black ringlets of the girl's hair danced on the shoulder of her leather jacket as she moved her arm. I couldn't see her hands--his lap. If I'd had a mini-van, I thought, I could see what was happening down there. The urge to see surprised me. I had both a desire and an understanding of what the woman was feeling. I could sense the heat and weight of the man's poise, the pulse of his control, and I was wondering whether its color was stone-gray, too, when the man turned slightly. He was looking right at me. His expression didn't change. We looked at each other. He must have said something to the woman, for she turned her head, regarded me for a moment, and then, an instant before turning back to her boyfriend, but without the slightest hint of insult, she pressed her lips together, and she blew me a soft, ultra-serious kiss. I was trying to make sense of the kiss, if a kiss can be made sense of, when I heard a crescendo of car horns, urgently bare noise: the left-turn traffic signal had come on, but the sedan next to me had taken no heed of it. "Oh oh," I thought, " Maybe he's stalled." I felt a tender thrill as I waited for my green. Suddenly, the sedan screeched forward, jabbed itself into my lane, and sped off straight down my road. I noticed something new: a passenger in the back seat. It was a young woman. It was me. "Nice ride, huh?" the girl said. She snuggled against the gray man, her hand still working, delving, but she turned her head so she could see me, and something about her expression made me feel what her fingers were feeling. I could smell her coat--wicked leather. "It's the seats," she said, apparently able to read my thought. "You should take off your panties. But don't leave any wet spots." She laughed, and I could feel myself open, close, open--the hot wet seep of sex. Abruptly, the car swung into a small park, a place with a single picnic table and several tall trees just beginning to bud. There were no other cars, but we were clearly visible from the highway. Anyone driving by could look over and see... The man was standing up, his head poking through the sun roof. Carefully the woman put the man's cock in my mouth. She didn't let go of it. She had her fingers around it, and she eased her hand back and forth, bringing the ruffle of penis skin against my lips, the knuckle of her slim forefinger caressing my nose, and then she stretched him out, and then she brought him back. She varied the rhythm, never hurrying, drawing out the moments. Smut Erotica
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