AMATEUR XXX STORIES
-
ALPHABETICAL SEX STORY LISTINGS:
A -
B -
C -
D -
E -
F -
G -
H -
I -
J -
K -
L -
M -
N -
O -
P -
Q -
R -
S -
T -
U -
V -
W -
X -
Y -
Z
DEER01 camera and and just began
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 in
which physical acts and human responses are not limited
to, nor necessarily based in, reality. Some acts and
responses in this may be physically impossible
and/or physiologically improbable.
Also, as is the case with most of the in this
newsgroup, all the women in this are beautiful -
gorgeous, even. Gravity has not caused to
droop nor have wrinkles creased 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. Guilt is a four-
letter word. Most important of all, neither strength
of character, courage of convictions, nor moral belief
stand a chance against any 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 is intended for the salacious entertainment
of consenting adults. Do not try to do any of the
things described in this story. You could injure
yourself or your partner, be arrested, or shot by her
father....
If you are under 18 years of age, GO AWAY! This
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 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
the clay of Alabama 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 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 located 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...
Although not 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 even
without the clay that was caked into every nook and
cranny. My baby, my jewel 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 can understand why it was so easy for
me to be in a really piss-poor mood that day. 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 who
is also rubbing mine.
To further set the stage, when I had arrived back home,
I found that my 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 Texas panhandle. She was the single most
demanding person I had ever known in my life and was
only woman I knew who made my seem pleasant by
comparison. Oh yeah, there was not a scrap of food
left in the house, either. 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's house.
I never realized how much noise my made around the
house until the silence slammed into me that evening.
I was getting out of the shower, had slipped into a
pair of torn boxers and an even 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 was
so weary, I just couldn't bring myself to finish
dressing. I was 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 to pin down. 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 dangers 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 water
stains to my in-house inquisitor. She considered her
precious wallpaper and other whatnots more valuable
than 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 on being able to figure most things out
faster than most other folks. 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 only seemed to use those facilities to
celebrate presidential elections and lunar eclipses.
Then 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 fucking lawn sprinkler and aimed it right
smack dab at my freshly washed and waxed car.
A little background here might help. 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 wasn't, 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 over 6 miles away.
As part of the developer's bankruptcy, I had been 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, my pants in the other, 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 I 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.
For some unknown and still unexplained reason, 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 with a new credit
card. She was totally unprepared for my on-rush, and
that's the 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 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
over my lap.
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 of
hers 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, loud and clear, 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 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 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 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 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 craving for sex
changed to an occasional urge and then morphed into the
quiet bitterness of life that I had known 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' from
sexual activity, my had changed from the beautiful
woman I had into a younger spitting image of
Momma. Well, 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 after when I woke up in
the morning. Her - I distinctly remember she had
a very nice pair when we - now applauded when
she did aerobics. When she did aerobics, you could
hear them clapping and flapping up and down as she did
her workout. Otherwise, they laid flat on her chest,
two empty bags 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.
She had a pair of purple Lycrar 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 down the middle. It didn't tighten up when she
bent over, either. I still shudder when I 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 catatonic body that
lay beside me in bed at night. 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 stench I remembered emanating from
my wife. What emanated 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 in her bowel had declared her 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 the
Fuck did I stay with that horrid woman? That's an easy
question to answer.
Fear.
Total abject fear that came 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 had 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 means of I had. Not to mention
survival.
Her two brothers were the only 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? More pain and suffering only meant higher fees
for them, 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
oh-so-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 had been re-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 of this marriage prior to death
doing us part. So I took the small revenges I could.
I refused promotions at my job and carefully hid my
investments in dummy corporations, mostly out of state
or off shore. Like the land I mentioned earlier.
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 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 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 was OK,
but going over to his house scared her? Huh? I don't
even pretend to understand `em, women confuse 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 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 her when I hauled her around so
roughly.
Her 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
then some, 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 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 torn 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 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 be as hot. She saw the 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 to draw the water
onto her own body. The part of her she used to
soak up the water was that part which was directly over
her left breast. As any red-blooded Southern
knows, thin cotton T-shirts, water and were one
of God's greatest combinations. I could see her
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 one 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 about half of 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 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 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 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 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 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 widespread legs and
her 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. I was wrong. She had other
plans. She used her ass and to dry the grill and
headlamps. The collected water kept the cotton of her
tight 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 hood ornament 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 after
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 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 bat peering at her erotic
performance through the upstairs window and that she
would be critiquing her technique 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. :)
I hope you enjoyed it.... :)
All my published works are archived and can be read or
downloaded free. The archive is located at:
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/NightShade
Comments to: i_m_nightshade@hotmail.com