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Subject: {ASSM} Story: A deer in the headlights - 3 parts (MF, F/car, BDSM, rom) - deer01.txt [1/1]
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THE USUAL WARNINGS:
This is a work of fiction by a twisted mind. If you are
offended by graphic descriptions of natural and/or unnatural
sexual acts, if you are underage, or if this type of
material is illegal where you are, don't read any further.
This is a fantasy. You will have to loosen your clench on
reality a little when you read it. This is a tale in which
physical acts and human responses are not limited to, nor
necessarily based in, reality. Some acts and responses in
this story may be physically impossible and/or
physiologically improbable.
Also, as is the case with most of the stories in this
newsgroup, all the women in this story are beautiful;
gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused their breasts to
droop nor have wrinkles creased their unblemished faces.
The men (the leading men, at least) are hung like bulls.
They can get it up and keep it up often and at will. In
this special little fantasyland, there are no STDs, morals,
or unwanted pregnancies; and guilt is a four-letter word.
But most important of all, no amount of strength of
character, courage of convictions or moral beliefs stand a
chance against an erotic stimulus. This can be as benign as
an accidental glimpse of a bared ankle or as stimulating as
a whipping on the genitals.
For those of you who didn’t understand the preceding
statements, GO AWAY!
This story is intended for the salacious entertainment of
consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the things
described in this story. You will injure yourself or your
partner. Or be arrested, or shot by her father....
If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This story will
burn your eyeballs and fry your brain.
If material of a strong sexual nature is prohibited where
you are, GO AWAY!
By continuing, the reader accepts all responsibility for any
disgust, revulsion, jail sentences, or pleasure that results
from reading this story. If you don’t, GO AWAY!
You have been warned!
If you enjoy this story and feel the urge to post it on a
<free> site, at least give me (NightShade) credit for it.
So, stick your tongue firmly in your cheek and enjoy the
story!....:)
NightShade
A Deer in the Headlights (MF, F/car, BDSM)
Chapter 01
by NightShade
11/99
“A deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing truck.”
That was the image that stuck in my mind like Alabama clay
sticks to a clean car.
Actually, Alabama clay is what started it all, now that I
think of it. We were short-handed at the office, and I had
been working double shifts, managing both the regional
office and doing a lot of the fieldwork for a nation-wide
insurance agency. One of the suspicious claims I had to
investigate was way the Hell out in the Northeast corner of
Alabama near the headwaters of the Cache River. That
doesn’t have anything to do with the rest of the story,
other than the fact that it had been raining steadily up
there for about a week. The mud on what passed as roads
into the area was thick and sticky.
Of course, it worked out that I had to take my personal car.
The only functioning company car had been totaled by a herd
of stampeding chickens (the honest to God’s truth, I swear.
But then, Headquarters didn’t believe me, either…) earlier
in the week, another reason I was short handed. Worse, I
could only get up there on my one day off for the month.
When I did get there and finally find the “client,” the
claim was bogus, to top it all off. The guy filing the
claim couldn’t have kept his facts straight if he had a
ruler to help him. Not that he would have known what all
the little numbers on it were for…
Not being native born, I did know enough about the area to
understand that if you left that sticky clay on the car, it
would soon become a permanent part of the vehicle. So as
soon as I got home, I immediately washed and waxed my
‘baby,’ paying particular attention to the undercarriage and
wheel wells, a dirty job without the clay. My baby was a
mint condition classic Jaguar. Low and sleek, a car with
character. A car with a real hood ornament, not some wimpy
plastic stick-on.
Perhaps now you could understand why it was so easy for me
to be in a really piss-poor mood. Besides, as much as I
love my car, washing and waxing it is not something I
particularly like to do. When I spend that much time
rubbing anything, I prefer it to be a certain part of my own
body. Or better yet, someone else’s.
To further set the stage, when I had arrived back home, I
found that my wife of 25 years had left a cryptic note on
the table for me to find upon my return. In it she informed
me that Momma needed her, and she didn’t know when she would
be back. ‘Momma’ lived four states away in the panhandle.
She was the single most demanding person I had ever known
and was only woman I knew who made my wife seem pleasant.
Oh yeah, there was not a scrap of food left in the house.
She thought Momma might need something, so she had taken
everything with her, right down to the salt shakers and dish
soap. She must have needed a fucking moving van to get all
that shit to Momma.
I never realized how much noise my wife made around the
house until the silence slammed into me. I was getting out
of the shower, had slipped into a pair of old boxers and an
even older T-shirt, and was sitting on the edge of the bed.
I had my Dockers shorts in one hand and my belt in the
other, but I just couldn’t bring myself to finish dressing.
I was weary, tired of the rat race at work, tired of the
traffic, tired of the responsibilities that come with the
middle-class lifestyle. A mortgage, car payments,
insurance. When you think about it, all you do is work to
buy things. Then you worry yourself to death that someone
will take them from you. When do you ever really get a
chance to enjoy them, anyway? I sure as Hell didn’t know.
I was still waiting! I let the silence wash over me,
comforting me in its solid embrace.
It took a while before I realized there was something wrong.
The silence wasn’t silent. I was almost too tired to care,
but there was a nagging alarm going off in the back of my
head. I tried to listen carefully, but the sound was too
faint. I collapsed back onto the bed and was almost asleep.
Then I heard it. Psst-psst …. psst-psst. Water-sounds.
They came and went, and it took me a while to identify them
and then even longer to realize the potential danger they
represented. There shouldn’t have been any water-sounds in
the house with just me there. God help me if a pipe broke.
I was hoping for a stuck toilet, but it didn’t sound like
that was it.
I was rousted out of my near-catatonic state by the
possibility of having to explain any spurious stains to my
in-house inquisitor. She considered her precious wallpaper
and other what nots as national treasures. A fast, but
thorough search of the house revealed nothing, much to my
relief.
The sounds were still there, however, coming and going with
an almost recognizable rhythm. It bugged the shit out of
me, not being able to place the pattern. I knew I was
tired, but I prided myself on being pretty damn sharp and
being able to figure things out. This simple little noise
eluded definition and it was not making my foul mood any
better.
I went into the kitchen in search of a possible leak in the
plumbing in that room – although it was hardly ever used.
My wife only seemed to use those facilities to celebrate
presidential elections and lunar eclipses. Something caught
my eye and I glanced out the window.
I totally fucking lost it.
Some idiot – my neighbor idiot, specifically – had turned on
a lawn sprinkler and aimed it right at my freshly washed and
waxed car.
A little background might help here. We, my neighbor and I,
were the only two dupes unfortunate enough to have purchased
houses in this particular development before the developer
went bankrupt. Actually, the builder had gambled the town
would grow out this way, but, lucky guy that he was, it
didn’t. So my neighbor and I were the only ones in this
secluded cul-de-sac. And I mean secluded. The nearest
buildings, other than the odd farmer’s outhouse or hunting
cabin, were 6 miles away.
As part of the developer’s bankruptcy, I was able to quietly
pick up all the other lots in the development using a dummy
corporation. That little tidbit has nothing to do with the
story, either, but, hey, I got a deal on the land, and if I
can’t brag about it every anonymous chance I get, it would
be worth less than it actually is, which is almost nothing.
We had electricity and telephone, but there were no other
utilities out this far. That meant we used well water to do
everything, like water the lawn and wash the car. The water
that came out of the ground around here may not have been
toxic, but it was damn close. The shit was so laden with
minerals, it could spot a leopard, not to mention what it
would do to my freshly waxed car. So when I say I lost it,
you can understand why. Right, guys?
I didn’t even think about what I was doing. I charged over
to my neighbor’s front door and started pounding on it with
both fists. I know now I must have been a frightful visage
– half dressed, bare foot, uncombed hair still plastered
down from my shower, my belt in one hand, red-faced, angry,
yelling and pounding on the door. I’m surprised she opened
it at all.
I was so mad, I didn’t even notice her then. I couldn’t
even speak coherently. I remember looking past her for her
prick of a husband. Somehow she communicated that he wasn’t
home, so grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out into the
middle of their front yard. I was gesticulating, waving my
arms like a madman, and grunting like an enraged elephant.
Eventually she understood what had enraged me. She walked
over to the sprinkler and reversed the setting of the sweep
to properly cover their yard. Which promptly soaked me, as
I was still standing in the middle of their yard.
It’s funny now, looking back, but then, well, then I did
something that changed my life – and hers. I don’t remember
it as clearly as she does, but if she can laugh about it
now, I suppose I can, too. It would be nice to say I had
stayed in control of myself, that I was calm and cool, and
made a joke out of getting sprayed by the sprinkler. Big
deal, right? It’s just water….
Wrong. I went berserk. She told me later that I got this
strange, maniacal look in my eyes. She admitted she was
truly frightened for her safety, as well she should have
been. I stood there for several seconds, head-cocked,
staring at her with this wild look in my eyes, a bloodlust
coursing through me that I had never experienced previous.
I wanted some serious revenge, I wanted a serious response.
I was deadly serious.
She giggled. That part I remember, only to me it seemed
more like a guffaw, a taunt. It was a big mistake. It was
the last straw, apparently.
I charged at her faster than my wife with a new credit card.
She was totally unprepared for my on-rush, and that’s the
picture I remember to this day. A deer caught in the
headlights of an on-coming vehicle. It knows it’s dead, and
it just sort of gives up and stands there. Like she did.
I’m not a big man when you compare me to some of the bubbas
we have up here in the backwoods, but I hold my own. At
just over 6 feet, I towered over her 5’1” stature. The
adrenaline was flowing as I grabbed her, sat down on the
grass, flung her across my lap, and proceeded to raise my
hand. It still held my belt, and it was poised to strike,
held up over my head.
“Please, sir, not the belt. Please don’t use your belt.”
Those were the only words she spoke, and somehow, they
penetrated the denseness of my bloodlust. I dropped the
belt and proceeded to beat the tar out of her ass.
Somewhere between when my hand was over my head and the time
it landed solidly on her tight little butt, the old memory
cells in my brain kicked back in. Apparently this was one
of life’s little episodes they wanted to be conscious of for
a long time. To be able to replay over and over.
I remember she struggled as best she could until that first
blow landed. Between the surprise and my size I was too
much for her, though. I don’t know what I intended to do,
but I felt as if the dam had burst and she was going to get
the benefit of every frustration in my life up that point.
I didn’t hold back on that first strike. The sound of my
hand colliding with her gluteus maximus sounded like a rifle
shot. In the amount of time it took for the pain from my
hand to reach my brain, the fight was gone from her. She
stiffened slightly, I heard an infuriatingly soft
“Oooooh!” and then she just relaxed.
Well, relaxed isn’t quite the word. She sort of wedged her
ass up in the air, like she was begging for more. I know
it’s impossible, but that tight little butt was looking at
me with an attitude that said, “Go ahead. Give me your
best shot.” She swears she didn’t say anything. But her
pert little ass was speaking for her, and it really ticked
me off.
I lit into her behind like there were fire-ants on a baby.
I hit my target fast, hard, often and everywhere. It must
have been around the fifteenth or sixteenth swat that I felt
something spray me in the face when my hand connected. At
first I thought it was piss, but a quick investigation of my
boxers told me it wasn’t mine. There was a distinctly musky
metallic odor wafting up from her upended bottom. I was not
totally unfamiliar with that smell nor its origins, but I
was totally unprepared for her to be enjoying this. The
little minx had climaxed on my lap.
As I continued to paddle her resilient cheeks with my bare
hand, she shifted slightly, managing to massage the outside
of my thigh with her tits. With every squirm she made as I
walloped her butt, she ground her nipples into the bare skin
of my leg and rubbed her upper arm against my cock. Which
was, by this point, extremely hard. She continued to cum
about every ten or so swats, and her shorts were by now so
dripping wet that the spray was flying with each blow. This
woman was cumming like a river. And the smell that filled
the immediate area of their front lawn was like a fine
perfume.
Pausing, I rested my hand on her warmed ass cheeks. When I
pressed down a certain way, I could hear her juices make a
squishing noise. I felt along the leg openings of her
shorts, running my finger through the rivulets of cum
trickling down onto the grass.
I wasn’t totally immune to the sexual connotations of the
situation, nor was I totally ignorant that this type of
thing could happen on those rare occasions. I had always
thought it was pretty well limited to the realm of fantasy
and the outrageous stories I read on the Internet news
groups. Having something like this drop into my lap (pun
intended) was completely unexpected and I really wasn’t sure
what to do next. Honest!
You have to understand something at this point. My wife had
retired from a professional position at a large bank five
years after we were married so she could raise the kids.
Problem was, she seemed to forget that in order to have
kids, you have to have sex. To fuck and be fucked. Somehow
that small detail seems to have escaped her notice. It
ended up that the only one getting screwed at our house was
I.
For years I tried. God knows I tried. Everything. I was
loving, I was tender, whatever. Hell, I was young, horny
and desperate. I would have done anything and probably did.
But after a while, it became clear that the pearly gates
were closed forever. After five years, she was done. My
constant desperation for sex changed to an occasional urge
and then morphed into the quiet bitterness of the last 15 or
so years.
Yes, you got that right. I hadn’t had sex for going on
twenty years. I knew my right hand really well, but other
than that, I was celibate.
In the space of a week after her ‘retirement,’ my wife had
changed from the beautiful woman I had married into a
younger spitting image of Momma. Almost. Momma was still
uglier. I swear, the little button nose I had planted so
many kisses upon actually hooked out and down. It scared
the shit out of me for months when I woke up in the
mornings. Her tits – I distinctly remember she had a very
nice pair when we married – now applauded when she did
aerobics. They lay flat on her chest, thinner than my
wallet the day before payday. She had somehow managed to
suck the life out of them just as she had our marriage.
When she did aerobics, you could hear them clapping and
flapping up and down as she did her workout.
She had a pair of purple lycra bicycle shorts she loved to
wear around the house. I do not exaggerate when I say that
those shorts made her butt look like a giant California
prune, complete with wrinkles and the crease. It didn’t
tighten up when she bent over, either. I still shudder when
I picture her in those shorts.
Like I said, I did my best for a while to please her,
thinking if she were satisfied she would reciprocate. I
never found out if that theory was true or not, as, try as I
might, I never heard the slightest moan or even flinch from
that corpse-like body that lay beside me in bed. I probed
and prodded with fingers and tongue for months in search of
her magic button, but I never did find it. I would lay odds
that if she ever had one, Momma had it cut off for her.
The odor drifting up from the squirming woman on my lap was
nothing like the smell I remembered emanating from my wife.
What came from her was more like swamp gas when the skunks
are mating, not to mention the revolting taste. It tasted
like she wiped her ass the wrong direction, not that I
actually knew what shit tasted like.
I was not surprised to learn later that she did wipe the
wrong way. Surprisingly, she never got a vaginal infection
that I can recollect. Apparently, all the noxious germs
declared her cunt a hostile environment and stayed the Hell
away. Eventually, I did the same, as well. Of course when
I learned later of her poor hygiene, that helped explain the
painful burning sensations I had had for the first five
years of our wedded bliss and the bouts of projectile
vomiting I experienced the day after sticking my tongue into
that cesspool….
So, you may well ask, as I often did myself, why did I stay
with that horrid woman? That’s an easy question to answer.
Fear.
Total abject fear that comes from knowing with certainty the
horrible consequences of divorcing or even separating from
her.
You see, Momma had three children: Two sons and my wife.
Momma had made her fortune early and often by gutting and
filleting a series of foolish, rich husbands. Two died
paupers, one died mysteriously, and the other three were
still in the loony bin. At the state’s expense, of course.
Momma cleaned them all out, then dumped them, if they were
still alive. My wife had learned her lessons well, she had
just picked the wrong horse. For all practical appearances,
I was in no hurry to get rich, dead or crazy. It was just
about the only method of revenge I had. Not to mention
survival.
Her two brothers were the only men I knew who considered the
institution of marriage a legitimate profit center for their
business. Well, other than the Catholic Church. They were
divorce lawyers. Figures, right? Pain and suffering only
meant higher fees, and Heaven help the other side. They
were vicious, cutthroat amoral assholes. But I already told
you they were lawyers, didn’t I. Sorry to repeat myself.
With those two and Momma backing her, my wife, in her
delicate manner, informed me on the day after our wedding
night that any attempt to divorce her would result in my
instantaneous transportation to the state of abject poverty.
The same went for philandering and debauchery. Now, while I
was in no apparent hurry to get rich, I was in even less of
a hurry to be poor. That sucks, big time! Been there, done
that, so to speak.
There were too many raucous tales of their vicious courtroom
battles that were told in gruesome detail around the annual
Christmas dinner for me to doubt the outcome of any
proceedings I might undertake against her and them. Those
haunting images of eviscerated marriages were just too real
to afford me any hope for a way out prior to death doing us
part. So I took the small revenges I could. I refused
promotions at my job and I hid my investments in dummy
corporations, mostly out of state or off shore. Shit, I’m
not stupid, just trapped!
You, however, are probably thinking about now that I sure
the fuck am too stupid. Here I am, in a sex-charged
situation the likes of which will probably never happen to
me again, and I’m telling you about California prunes. So
why the hell didn’t I just fuck her right then and there on
the front lawn? I hear what you’re thinking.
Well, two reasons, asshole. One, it would make a really
short, predictable story. You can get that anywhere else in
this newsgroup. Two, I really was serious when I said I
didn’t know what to do next. I was scared to continue, and
petrified not to.
She felt me feeling her wetness and became a little shy, I
guess. She put her hands back to push mine away from her,
but I would have none of that. For one, I wasn’t quite done
wailing on her butt, yet. Secondly, her upper arm moved
away from my cock, and I missed the warm fuzzy feelings it
had been giving me. That pissed me off all over again, but
as you have probably figured out by now, it was just that
kind of a day for me. Everything pissed me off.
I snagged my belt from where it had fallen when I dropped it
and looped it around both her forearms. I cinched it tight,
looped it twice more and tied off the end. It was a pretty
thick belt so it wasn’t a great tie job. She could have
been loose in three seconds if she wanted. It’s hard to tie
a knot in a good belt, so the end of it was just sort of
tucked under and folded over. It would hold, but only for
as long as she cooperated.
Tying her arms like that moved her biceps back into contact
with my own hard muscle. When she realized I had tied her
arms behind her back, it was as if a switch had been thrown.
I thought she had been sexually aroused before. Shit, now I
could literally feel her quivering with sexual energy as she
lay across my legs. It was as if, by tying her up, she
could let it all loose. She had no option left to resist,
and I was free to do to her and with her whatever I chose.
I don’t think she exactly understood that at the time. I
sure as Hell didn’t, but that didn’t stop me from taking
advantage of the situation.
I started spanking her again, this time with slow
deliberation. My frenzy was passed. When my hand would get
tired, I would rub her thighs, feeling and marveling at the
silky smoothness of her skin and the continued wetness of
her sex. At first she resisted the insertion of my hand in
between her legs, but soon she allowed me to feel her
freely, wherever I wanted. And I wanted a lot!
When I couldn’t lift my hand anymore, I stopped her
punishment. We were both breathing hard, and I sat there
for a while getting my breath back. My anger was sated and
my hand throbbed. So did my cock. I can only imagine what
her ass felt like. It must have been hotter than a two-
dollar pistol. The color of the skin I could see below the
bottoms of her shorts was a deep red and radiated heat. Her
breathing made her tits, still hard-pressed against my
thigh, massage her erect nipples into my skin. I could feel
their hardness through her thin shirt.
I don’t recall her crying out or screaming throughout the
entire spanking. I do remember hearing groaning and panting
and the tiny little gasps of ‘Oh-Oh-Oh!’ I had read about
those sounds women make in the newsgroup stories as
signifying an orgasm in progress. What I do remember, and I
find this the most amazing part, was that I had not
ejaculated during all of this. Maybe it was that fact that
pushed me to do what I did next. I truly don’t know why I
did something so out of character. But I did, and it turned
out to be the most memorable thing I had ever witnessed in
my life.
Leaving her arms tied behind her back, I leveraged her
backwards so she was on her knees. Standing up, I helped
her up onto her own feet. I started leading her over to my
property. When she realized where I was taking her, she
suddenly stiffened in fear. Somehow being tied up in the
open with a strange man was OK, but going over to his house
scared her? Huh? I don’t pretend to understand ‘em, it
confuses the Hell out of me…
I turned and glared at her, not saying a word. The wild
look came back to me easily as I still did not have a firm
grip on my sanity. She lowered her gaze in resignation and
sighed. I led her like a lamb to the slaughter over to the
door to my garage. In the cupboard just inside the door, I
located a large beach towel and held it up to her mouth.
“Open!”
She opened her mouth with a startled look and took the
towel. I think she was expecting to get fucked.
I pointed to the car. “Dry it off!”
She protested. With her mouth full, however, it was
difficult for her to talk. That was something I would have
to remember in the future! When I continued to glare at her
and point at the car, she finally turned around and made
motions for me to release her hands. I wasn’t quite ready
to do that yet.
I shook my head. “No hands. Now get busy!” I barked the
words like I was giving instructions on a noisy construction
site.
She turned and looked at me. Again with those eyes! I
almost gave in but I held firm. She made her way slowly
over to my car. She looked back a couple of times to see if
I would give in, but I just stood there, glaring.
Suddenly I gasped, short of breath, but this time not from
exertion. My neighbor’s wife looked better the farther away
she got from me. That had nothing to do with her beauty,
but rather with my eyesight at my age. She had just moved
into clear focus. I had recently hit that age where my arms
were no longer long enough to read the newspaper. I had
glasses, but detested wearing them for around the house
stuff. It wasn’t vanity. I could never keep them clean.
Now I wished I had them on.
She stood about 5’1”, like I said before. She was a
brunette, with wavy shoulder length hair. Even after all
she had been through being over my lap, her hair just seemed
to be perfectly in place. If she weighed 105 lbs., she
would have to have been holding sack of groceries while
standing on the scale. It was no wonder I could manhandle
her so easily. I began to worry if I had hurt her when I
hauled her around so roughly.
Her breasts were pushed forward by the position of her arms,
but what I could see would have been ample for a woman with
a larger frame. With them jutting out like they were,
young, firm and high on her chest, it looked almost
cartoonish. Each was a good hand’s full, and she had great
nipples. That I could see clearly. Her hips flared
slightly in a girlish fashion, as if she had not fully
matured. But her magnificent ass, the one I had just
pulverized, was exactly that. Magnificent. High, firm,
rounded nicely and it had a great jiggle as she walked. The
kind of ass that could get a man fired for pinching it if it
were on a co-worker. Or rubbing it. Or just having to
worship it. Truly a great ass.
I had already spent a great deal of time caressing the
smooth skin of her thighs, but seeing them under her,
supporting her, put them in a whole new perspective. They
really did go from here to there. The proverbial never-
ending legs. And each one ended in what the Victorians
would have called a ‘well-turned ankle.’ (That’s not a
sports medicine term for an injury, by the way.) Even her
toes looked suckable, and I had never, ever understood that
particular fetish. Then again, you’ve never seen what grew
in between my wife’s toes….
She must have heard me gasp, as she had stopped and was
watching me stare at her. She seemed pleased with my
reaction, or perhaps that I had finally noticed her at all.
I motioned for her stop where she was and to wait. I dashed
into the house and grabbed my glasses and one of the pieces
of office equipment I have to keep with me.
She blushed when she saw me coming back out of the house
with my glasses on. It was very becoming. I moved closer –
now that I could see her clearly! – and noticed she had
beautiful expressive brown eyes. I motioned for her to go
ahead and start drying off my car. She pleaded with me with
those eyes…. Damn those eyes. I almost gave in.
When I didn’t, she carefully laid the towel down on the hood
(the bonnet, for our UK readers) of the car. At first she
used her forehead to rub the towel over the surface of the
metal, but the folds in the large towel thwarted her
efforts. However, I wasn’t paying much attention to how
good a job she was doing on the car. My attention was
riveted to her luscious body. When she bent over to press
her forehead to the towel, gravity exerted its own forces on
her tits, making them hang down to the full extent of their
magnificence. They were each a hands full, but only if you
could palm a basketball. Well, maybe a volleyball. OK, OK.
Croquet ball. But that’s the absolute truth. Nice tits and
a great firm jello-like action when she tried to rub the
car.
My own reaction was painfully evident as it was sticking out
of the fly of the boxers. I still had not cum, and I knew
the slightest touch would make me erupt. My terrible mood
had evaporated in the heat of my burning lust. I hadn’t
noticed her looking back at me from her bent over position,
but I did notice she suddenly got very involved with rubbing
the car, using her whole body to try to move that towel. It
was at that point that I guess she decided to get a little
back at me. She really started to put on a show for me.
She started by grasping an edge of the towel and standing up
straight, so that the cloth fell down and unfolded along her
body in a single thickness. That towel had never looked so
good.
Then she moved to the driver’s side window. Keeping the
edge of the towel in her mouth, she pressed forward, forcing
her tits against the window, with that lucky towel trapped
between her body and the window. She then moved them over
and over and around and around the glass, again using her
whole body in a writhing motion. I noticed that she spent a
long time on the edges of the window, where they seated into
the weather-stripping. At first I thought she was being
careful, then I noticed she was using her nipples and
brushing them over and over the uneven surfaces, using the
edge to flip them back and forth. She was really getting
into – and off on – the job of drying my car. Well, two
could play that game.
I lifted the piece of office equipment I had brought out
with me and aimed it at her. I fired five shots at her
point-blank before she looked up and noticed. Those little
digital cameras don’t make much noise, but I was getting
into it now. Anyway, the shots I got of her were hot. She
came across through the lens like the sexiest vixen
imaginable. I only hoped the jpegs would as hot. She saw
the camera in my hand when she looked back at me. I saw a
brief flash of what could have been fear, quickly replaced
by one of defiance in those deep brown eyes of hers.
She spied a pool of water that had collected in the side
mirror. She bent down and used the surface tension of the
cloth of her shirt to draw the water onto her own body. The
part of her shirt she used to soak up the water was that
part which was directly over her left breast. As any red-
blooded Southern boy knows, thin cotton T-shirts, water and
boobs were one of God’s greatest gifts. I could see her
breast as clearly as if she were naked. Only this was
somehow sexier. She walked, hell, she sashayed, to the
other side of the car and soaked up the pooled water in the
other side mirror with her other tit. She came back and did
a shimmy-shimmy for me that nearly made me loose my load
right then and there.
As the windows on the driver’s side were done, she used her
toes of on foot to grasp the towel by one edge and lift it
over the rear side panel. I thought she would set it up
there and then use her body again. I was actually looking
forward to seeing that one more time. But she surprised me.
She kept her foot up and slid with the towel under her leg
up onto the car until she was kind of straddling the rear
fender, one foot on the ground, the other leg on the trunk
of the car, folded back a bit. She then proceeded to use
her inner thighs to rub the towel over the rear quarter-
panel of the car and the trunk. I think she surprised
herself a little, when she raised her foot that was next to
the tire and tried to use it to dry the chrome wheel. When
her foot came off the ground, her cunt came into close
personal contact with the slight ridge that ran from the
back window to the taillight. The look on her face was
priceless, and I captured it with the camera for posterity.
When she stopped cumming from that sudden assault on her
privates, she scooted her hot little body up and down that
fender like she was trying to sand it smooth. I think it
was at that point she completely forgot about the camera and
me and just began making love to my car. She did remember
to do the other side, and it was rubbed equally smooth. Her
face looked relaxed and satisfied when she finally opened
her eyes and remembered where she was. Looking at me with a
Mona Lisa grin, she got on with the rest of the job.
She propped her bare heels on the back bumper and used her
rubbery ass to rub out any imperfections in the finish of
that area. She breast rubbed the passenger windows and
then, using her teeth, dragged the towel to the roof of the
auto by climbing up on the back bumper and over the lid of
the trunk. I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t fall off
with her arms tied behind her like that.
She was very careful. Careful not to fall off the
precarious perch and careful to get every last drop of
moisture on that roof. You wouldn’t believe it if I told
you what she did up there to move that towel around, but
suffice it to say, I was ready to die a poor man. My wife
could have everything. This woman was phenomenal. I have
never seen a woman writhe and twist and squirm quite like
that before or since. The camera captured a lot of it, but
the stills, while stupendous, just didn’t do justice to the
motions she went through.
Then came the grand finale. Flushed and breathless, she
ended up sitting at the front of the roof, just over the
windshield. I was still snapping shots like crazy, swapping
disks as needed. I saw when the idea came to her. It was
those damned eyes, again. A mischievous gleam lit off
inside them that was noticeable even in the pictures. I saw
her rearrange the towel a bit, then she looked at the camera
and licked her lips as sensuously as possible.
She did the splits, spreading her long legs almost straight
out on each side of her body. Then, with a little scootch,
she launched her body off the edge of the roof and slid down
the windshield. Her widespread legs pressed the towel
against the window and dried it, but by that time, I
couldn’t have given a shit about the fucking car or the
water spots. By using some more little scootches with her
hips that made my cock ache with jealousy, she maneuvered
her wide-spread legs and tight little ass all the way down
to the front of the car. There she stopped, propped her
heels on the front bumper and leveraged herself off the hood
of the car.
I thought she was done. She had other plans. She used her
ass and tits to dry the grill and headlamps. The collected
water kept the cotton of her tight shirt translucent. I was
breathing in short ragged gasps, as if I had just gone five
rounds with the WWF champions. Licking her lips again, she
bent over in the front of my car and gave the fucking hood
ornament a blow-job. That fucking lucky chrome Jag
ornament. I swear I heard the damn thing purring, but then
again, that may have been her.
After several minutes of mouthing the chrome ornament, she
stood up. I again thought she was done, but she did one
more thing. With her eyes firmly locked on mine, she stood
with her back to the car she had just so charmingly dried
off. With slow deliberation, she backed up, until her ass
touched the hood ornament. There she paused briefly, sort
of shifting her weight. Then she eased back further. As
she settled her ass on to the hood, her eyes closed and I
heard her groan.
I looked down at the juncture of her thighs, expecting to
see the tip of the Jag protruding from between them. I did
a double-take. No Jag! The slow rhythmic motions of her
hips left no doubt as to what was happening. My baby, my
pride and joy, my Jag had just bagged his first piece of
ass! My baby became a man that day– so to speak.
I continued to capture the entire event on disk, through her
gut-wrenching climax to her using her dainty tongue to clean
all of her fluids from the no longer virgin hood ornament.
When she was finished with the car, we both just kind of
stood there staring at each other. I don’t think either of
one us could believe what had just happened. Neither one of
us wanted to do or say anything to ruin the moment, either.
Finally, after what seemed like decades, she came over to
where I was standing.
“I’m sorry about the sprinkler. Will there be anything
else, sir?” Her gaze was directed not at my face, but at
my crotch – and my exposed cock – just so there would be no
misunderstanding what ‘else’ she was referring to.
“No, I don’t think we’d better do anything else.” It came
out as a cross between a croak and a groan. It was one of
the most painful sentences I have ever had to utter. Like I
said earlier, abject fear and total certainty of the
consequences. A man does strange and perverted things to
avoid pain and poverty. Her eyes whipped up to meet mine in
surprise.
“Don’t I please you, sir?”
“Oh, God, yes. Very, very, very, very much. But, well,
it’s complicated. I, well, I just can’t.”
“It sure looks like you can!” she quipped, with a nod of
her head at my crotch.
“No, not like that. It’s my wife.... Damnit all! I just
can’t. Not now.”
She misunderstood what I had been babbling about and got a
horrified look on her face. “She’s HERE?” I’m sure she
pictured the old bat peering at her performance through the
upstairs window and that she would be critiquing her
performance later. That thought made me shiver, too.
“No, she’s out of town for a while. But if she ever found
out, and believe me, she would, I stand to lose
everything.”
“Oh.” That concept she understood. Figures. “So
there’s nothing I can do for you?”
I thought about that for a moment. Then I grinned. “Yes
there is. Two things, in fact.”
Her face lit up and so did my heart. Her innocent joy was
so pure it was infectious.
“You can tell me your name…” her face fell “…and you can
make breakfast in the morning.” Her eyes turned into
saucers at that. I had just told her I couldn’t mess
around, and now I was talking about breakfast. “Come over
and knock on the door at 7:30. That is, if your husband is
out of the house.” I knew he was. He was almost always
gone on weekends.
The play of emotions across her face was delightful to watch
as she put the pieces together. She blushed at the trick I
had pulled on her, then burst out laughing.
When she calmed down, she grinned up at me. “It’s a
deal,” was all she said. She then stretched up and kissed
my cheek, turned and walked across my driveway and onto her
yard. Just as she stepped off the paved driveway, she
wiggled her arms and the belt came undone. She pulled her
arms free, and rubbed them to get the circulation going
again. With her hands free, she gave my belt a little
cowgirl whirl over her head and turned towards her house.
About halfway to her door she looked back over her shoulder
to see if I was still watching. I was. There was nothing
in the world I would ever want to look at again. It was
quite a distance, but I swear, when she saw me watching her
she stuck her tongue out at me, then turned and pulled her
shorts down and mooned me as she scurried the rest of the
way to her door. Bare-assed and laughing.
Just as the door closed I heard her call out, “Oh, yeah, my
name. It’s Janet.”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
End of Chapter
I hope you enjoyed it. :)
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