Road Maps

We are riding in the car back to my house from your college. It is a long ride, up two 4 lane highways nearly deserted at this hour, save for the behemoth piloted by an insomniac trucker or a Mercedes sedan driven by a man rushing back from his lover's house in the city before his wife notices he is gone. Developments dot the hills on the west side of the highway; they flicker like little candles as their lights and flicked on an off. Whenever there is silence, I think of what they are doing up there, wonder how they can possibly live up there when everything beautiful in the world is currently curled up in the passenger seat. We are headed back at 90, then 95—I accelerate so as not to scare you, for I must get you home as soon as I can, I cannot bear it, cannot tolerate the pent up two weeks of desire.

You notice. You always notice. You unfurl your frame, arching your back like a cat, smiling, reaching out to my crotch and rubbing the hardness you feel with your soft palm.

"My my, is this all for me?" you laugh.

I continue to drive, hands gripping the cracked leather of the steering wheel, foot pushing harder on the accelerator. We hit 100 as you unhook my belt with a deft movement, twisting your wrist to grab a firm hold of my cock. I shudder, and one drip of pre-cum leaks out of me. You pull your hand back, and lick the back of it.

"Aw, someone can't wait," you say.

I take a moment to look at you. They are quick glances, I cannot keep my eyes away from the road too long, but even in snatches you are breathtaking. You are dressed in a sheer black dress, it clings to your breasts, still wet from a recent shower. A golden necklace looks like a flame against your dark brown skin—I follow the chain up to your neck, from your neck to your chin, to your soft lips, to your slender nose, to your brown eyes, to the jet black hair carelessly swept behind the seat rest. As I look at you, you push up your dress, and show me your panties quickly—they are pink, and I want nothing more to rip them off, with both hands, to tear them apart, to make sure that they never separate my body from yours ever again.

I nearly miss the exit. My car accelerates out of the semicircle on ramp, and I hammer on the gas. You gasp as it leaps forward, and I take a left out of town.

"Sweetie, you wanted to take the next left, this one goes..."

"Shut up," I say, not taking my eyes off the wheel. Even I am surprised by the coarseness of my voice; but you merely laugh, the sound of a thousand toy bells shining.

"Of course, darling," you say, with a touch of sarcasm, and you settle against your seat.

I pull into a residential road, and then another, until the distance between street lights is nearly half a mile. I wait until a man drinking a nightcap on the closest house's porch retreats inside, and I pull you into the back of the car.

You try to speak but I press my mouth against yours, drowning your protests with deep, voracious kisses. I pin your wrists together above your head as our tongues dart into each other's mouth. You taste warm, shockingly so; it is the taste of rushing into your house after 2 hours in snow. It is terrifyingly erotic, and before I know it I have pushed off my jeans and pushed up your skirt.

I kiss your neck now, each side, pressing against the veins up and down, biting down hard enough to make you cry out but soft enough so that you forget it moments later. I kiss down to your cleavage, to your two soft breasts—one hand cups them, one mouth devours them, they are hot and warm and urgent and lovely. It is not long before you are topless, and my hand moves from your breasts to the space between your legs.

"You're like a furnace," I mutter, and you laugh again. For a moment, I am mad—is this funny—but when I look back you panties are dangling around your wrist and you push my head down. I kiss the strip of hair you have left unshaved, and then I kiss the inside of your thighs. They are a lighter brown than the rest of you; I always thought that that meant that you tasted sweeter there. I alternate kisses and bites, nibbling and biting with ferocity until I reach your beautiful pussy. I place one kiss on your clit.

"Please..." is all you can manage, and I press my tongue into your folds. You buck your hips, but I push you back down, you are sweating and sliding against the seat as my tongue pushes into you. I can taste you, salty and sweet, and I keep licking and kissing and nibbling until I drive my tongue into you, rhythmically, and you shudder, thrusting my face deeper into your crotch as you ride your orgasm to completion. Anyway walking by the car now would see it gently rocking and foggy; as if the entire cabin were covered with cloud cover.

You climb on top of me. It is from this angle that I truly appreciate your beauty, that I realize that thousands of events had to come together to create something so beautiful. Your nose is crooked, the result of running into a piece of furniture when you were a child. There is a roadmap of burns and scars on your south Indian skin; I can navigate them like the streets and alleys of my childhood. You are beautiful, and then you are naked, your dress pulled up over your head. Soon I am naked too, your hands unbuttoning my shirt and pressing against my abdomen, grabbing my calf muscles, ripping off my dress shoes and shirt, my pants long since discarded.

Your mouth wraps around my long cock; two, three pumps with your hands and then you are gagging on it. It is quick, just an introduction—you are just making it as wet as you can. Sure enough, soon you crawl on top of me, and slide onto me.

The moment of entrance is impossible to describe—I have to clench my eyes not to cum on contact as your legs and ass rock against my hips, I pull you deeper in, forcing your chest against mine. I rock into you, sliding my entire length in and out, clawing your back, and making new scars that I will travel later tonight. Harder, you whisper and then I am lifting my hips and slamming into you, I remember that you begin to moan and scream and then I feel your warm cum run down my cock. You fall down onto me, with one move I slide you over without removing myself from you, now I am on top and your hands grab my biceps, forcing me into you at your pace. I start slowly, but then I pick up speed, we rock with the car and I can feel it straining against the E-Brake. You cum again, and then again when I slide you onto your side, rubbing your clit while I pound into you.

I look out the windows, can barely make out a point of light far away representing a streetlight—and I unlock the doors. Your eyes widen in fear; I slide out of the door and drag you out. Before you can protest, I fling your body against the cold aluminum of the car, your ass is covered bite and scratch marks red against the cold autumn air.

I slide into you, and you scream this time—a light goes on across the street. I continue to pound you, grabbing your hips, forcing you to beg for me to enter before I continue. I increase speed, the head of my cock passing the lips of your pussy each time I rock back and forth. I give your ass a quick slap, hold on to your breasts and rock the entirety of my body as hard as I can against you. You cum once, then twice, three times, four times in as many minutes before you nearly pass out.

It is almost time now; I know I can't bear it any longer. I pick you up, easily, and lay you across the hood of the car. My bare ass between the headlights, I slide into your wet pussy. It is truly a sight to behold—your hair splayed out behind you, fingers pinching your own nipples, you flat stomach contracted and hard, your legs wrapped around me, drawing me in. I pump in and out.

"Are you close?" I ask, and you nod, biting your lip, moaning my name in my ear.

I drive faster, just as you reach the brink I feel a pressure building in my cock—I hold as long as I can, but soon I am exploding, emptying everything into you. IT lasts a few moments, but it feels like I could live a lifetime while I shoot my cum deep inside you. As I pull out, my full load of cum rolls down the side of your legs.

I kiss your lips, whisper that I love you, and ask you to get into the car. You open the seat, and as you slip on your dress and I my jeans, I look out of the window.

There is a man enjoying his nightcap, and I as I look, he raises his hand, two fingers pressed against his head, as if to salute us for a job well done.