The Hayride

Mony tumbled onto the wagon willy-nilly and ended up between Tom's legs. He sat with his back against the sideboard, his legs on either side of her. She tried to give him a little room, but the crush of people pushed her back. Still, she hugged her knees rather than lean against him. In the dark, she could see very little. The straw smelled clean and fresh. Laughter wafted over them as the driver slapped the reins, and the horses began to pull. The wagon jerked, and Mony felt Tom's hands on her sides, steadying her. Although he quickly removed his hands, she was disappointed. His touch felt...sensual.

The wagon rocked side to side. Mony leaned back to gaze at the expanse of stars above her head. She recognized a few--Orion, Scorpio, Gemini--remnants from her university astronomy class. The stars twinkled with intensity in the clear, chilled October air. She thought of Jiminy Cricket and his hit song, but what would she wish for? What did she want? a new car? a vacation to Acapulco? a new man? Her "man" had skipped the hayride and bonfire. Gary opted for a football game with his buddies, leaving Mony the choice of an unescorted hayride or a lonely evening at home. Well, if Gary could run of with his buds, she would have fun without him. Her life didn't revolve around Gary despite what he might think.

Tom leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. She half turned, and he laughed. "I couldn't resist," he explained.

Mony was far from displeased. She liked the idea that Tom couldn't resist, that her beauty granted her some unnamed powers over him. She ;smiled coyly and turned back to the others. Someone passed her a bottle of peppermint Schnapps, and she took a drink, feeling the liquor warm her throat. Across the wagon someone began to sing. The wagon bucked through a hole, and Mony deliberately backed into Tom, rubbing her bottom on his jeans.

"Sorry," she giggled and pulled away.

She could almost hear Tom's mine awaken, feel the blood surging through his veins. She wanted to laugh, but she didn't. She hugged her knees and smelled the sweet straw and listened to the clop of the horses, the creak of the wagon. Mony had never been an outrageous flirt, but she felt feisty, neglected. If Gary was away, Mony could splay. Next to her, Marsha gasped, and Larry laughed, and Mony could guess what Larry had touched.

When the wagon bounced again, Tome grabbed her hips and rubbed her on his crotch. She felt the hard lump, and this time he didn't let her pull away. Her tush rubbed and slide across him as the wagon shifted. Not hard, not tight, a sensual slide of denim on denim. Mony felt a glow inside, not just the flush of being desired but the glow of her own need. When Tom leaned forward to kiss the nape of her neck, she relaxed, letting herself melt into his hard chest.

The horses turned left into the pumpkin patch, silvery pumpkins dotting the ground. Someone told a blue joke, and everyone laughed. Mony felt Tom's hand creep beneath her sweatshirt and crawl spiderlike up her side. Mony could have protested but instead she rubbed her bottom across Tom's crotch. The fingers found the underside of her breast and tripped along its curve, tantalizing fingers that cupped her and gently squeezed. Mony reached down and grabbed the thigh on her right. The fingers flitted across her breast, bumping her hardening nipple. She felt a warm, moist tongue dance across her neck.

The pumpkin patch was rougher than the trail, and Mony jounced deliciously against Tom whose breath caught on every hard bounce. Inside, her glow deepened and spread. She liked the touch of his hand, his lips, so she didn't protest when he pulled her blouse out of her jeans and slipped warm fingers against her skin. The fingers flitted across her belly, and she shivered before they trickled to her silky bra, touching and tracing across her breast, seeking and finding her nipple, playing and frolicking on her. His touch was gentle yet provocative, writing desire on her, scribbling passion. With Gary, foreplay consisted of a few wet kisses and some hugs, and Mony had forgotten how erotic heavy petting could be. It seemed to her, familiarity bred consideration out of men. When Tom squeezed her nipple, Mony fought the moan in her throat.

The Schnapps bottle passed a second time, and Mony added fuel to the flame that burned inside. Tom's ministrations fanned the fire, and her breast seemed to drink his touch. She felt him rubbing himself on her, not waiting for the wagon, and his desire delighted her. She squeezed his thighs, reaching back as far as she could, her fingers sensing the heat from his groin. His fingers pulled her bra off her breast, and stroked her bare skin, circling her raised nipple like a puppy worrying a rubber ball. The fire inside Mony brightened and leaped; a smile spread her face. The hay ride was turning into an erotic thrill.

The wagon bumped out of the pumpkin patch and into the woods. A canopy of limbs and leaves hit the stars; darkness seemed to have a texture she could feel. Tom twisted her nipple, and she buried her fingers in his thigh. His other hand snaked across her waist, unsnapped her jeans, and crawled inside.

Mony spread her legs and discreetly pulled her blousy sweatshirt down over Tom's hand. She felt his fingers slid down her hip, over her bikini briefs. A finger fan the length of her and grooved her panties, and she felt the first blush of wetness. The fingers stoked her fire as it rubbed slowly, up and down, pushing the silk inside, stimulating her with slick panty. Mony felt an urge to thrust against his hand, but she resisted. Next to her, Marsha turned to kiss her date. A small group across the wagon struck up a song, and the finger rubbing her moved in rhythm. Tom's hand squeezed her breast, and she felt wetter than ever.

The wagon clattered over a wooden bridge. Tom's fingers pushed aside her panties and slipped into her warm moistness. He thrust against her, and she felt his fingers worm inside. A wave of burning desire broke over her, a gush of need wetted his hand. Mony bit her lip as Tom caught a fingernail on her most sensitive area. Desire flamed inside her, and she hardly noticed they had left the woods. Tom thrust against her while his fingers pranced on her, sliding in and out, feeding the molten frenzy between her legs. Mony wondered how long the ride would last, how hot she might burn.

A woman across the wagon screamed first. The headless horseman, cape billowing, chased down the wagon and swept past, an electric pumpkin in hi hand. Mony wanted Tom to use her, but she knew the ride would soon end. He sensed it too and removed his hands. She wanted to protest but she didn't dare. She rearranged herself while Tom kissed her neck. She felt cheated somehow. She was more than halfway to climax, a and everything was going to end. As the wagon stopped by the bonfire, Tom leaned forward.

"The van," he whispered.

Mony faced a moment of decision when she stepped off the wagon. She could ignore Tom and roast hot dogs over the fire, or she could slip off to Tom's van which was parked fifty yards away in the dark. Her mind told her that the van was crazy. Her wet panties bespoke a different logic her mind couldn't meet. Still, she might have heeded her mind if Marsha hadn't chosen that moment to speak.

"Too bad Gary didn't come," Marsha said. "You could have had some fun on the wagon."

"Yeah, too bad," Mony answered, but the mention of Gary reinforced the neglected feeling in her heart. Too bad Gary wasn't around because she was going to have some fun, some real fun. Mony glanced once around the fire before she edged out of the light.

The van door was unlocked. Mony had one foot inside before Tom grabbed her and pulled her into he dark. He locked the door behind her and pushed her toward the rear seat. His hands fumbled with her jeans.

"Slowly," she whispered as she sat down.

Tom panted as he first untied her Nikes and pulled them off. Then, he unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, wiggling them over her hips, burying his face in her silk panties. He pulled off her jeans and then grabbed her sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. He breached for her buttons, and she grabbed his hand.

"Use your teeth," Mony said.

Tom slid a hand between her legs, rubbing her with the heel of his hand, slow, hard circles. His teeth labored over the top button. Mony felt the fire inside bloom. She ran her hands over him and discovered his nakedness. Her hand found his stiff penis and squeezed. Tom moaned and managed to undo the first button. The second button proved easier, and the third was faster yet. Mony felt her body grow wet again. Tom moaned as she squeezed and stroked and teased his erection. She knew how badly he wanted her, and that knowledge fanned the fire inside. By the time he finished with the buttons Mony was beginning to breathe hard. Tome unhooked her bra to expose her breasts and immediately began to kiss them. While his tongue teased and flicked and grew her hardening nipples, his hand continued that hot pressure that was stoking her own fervent desire. She moaned as he nibbled on her. Then he licked a long, wet line down he body. Hooking his thumbs in her panties he pulled them off and allowed his tongue to lick her wet, silky, promise of Eden.

At the bonfire, someone had turned on a boom box, and rock music seeped into the van. Mony was aware of the music, but her burgeoning need negated all considerations except Tom's tongue which licked and probed and touched and played and swirled and twirled inside her slick heat. A wave undulated through her, and she thrust her hips on the tongue, rubbing herself on his face. He grabbed her ass and tilted her hips and licked with tantalizing slowness. Mony felt a scream building but fought the urge. She panted as the next surge of molten heat pulsed through her body, and she hunched his face again. A gush of wetness excited both of them. The clever tongue darted and tasted and stimulated. Mony thrust her hips, smearing herself all over him, feeling the bristly stimulation of his whiskers. It no longer mattered that anyone was close by. Mony existed for the tongue and her own undeniable lust. She had crossed the line from being laid to laying a man. Lava hot lust thrust her hips on him over and over again. Searing passion grabbed his hair and held him tight on her, fulfilling her needs. Her orgasm welled up inside her like some hungry monster she could no longer control. Pure human response wetted her, drover her, pushed perspiration out her pores. Gritting her teeth, she pushed harder, faster, stimulating herself on a toollike tongue. She had surpassed Tom's desire or need; her own lust dwarfed his. The fire he had started was burning out of control, and both of them were powerless in the face of the conflagration.

She pushed him away, onto his back. With quick need she mounted his hard cock, feeling the pulsating rod slide deep inside. Mony gasped once and moaned with pleasure and began the final sprint that would lead to complete release.

Harsh rasps escaped Mony as she worked herself on Tom. He gripped the seats on either side as she rode him, punishing him, punishing herself for her passion. Harder, faster, deeper, she thrust on him, hearing him grunt beneath her, wanting him to bellow with unmet desire. Great waves of lust roiled inside her, huge breakers driven by a storm of need, cresting and crashing with incredible force. She sank her nails into his chest. He stifled a scream. Did anyone hear? Mony no longer cared. Her body obeyed an ancient commandment, a law more powerful and valid than any divined by human mind. She was powerless in the face of her own fever. The last great weave gathered strength out over the ocean of desire. Mony felt the Tsunami lift and strengthen as it began its breakneck rush for the shore. The force of the wave almost scared Mony who had never felt anything so powerful. She gyrated on him, feeding the wave. Hard, harder, hardest, she clamped on his pulsating tool.

"Now," she gasped through clamped teeth. "Fuck me now!"

The wave crashed over her, and Mony lost all control of her body. The genetic response of ten thousand generations fueled an orgasm that swept away consciousness. She was aware of her body squeezing and contracting and milking, and she felt hot streams of seed shooting deep inside, but she was no longer in control. The release was total and complete. For some small, blissful time, she was lost in the nether world. The estactic joy of climax inundated her brain, sweetening her vision. She couldn't tell how long the orgasm lasted, but when her spasm subsided, she fell on top him, feeling his arms hug her, his quivering, quieting desire still inside her.

"Hold me," she whispered.

He kissed her neck. She knew they couldn't lay together long; they had already taken too much time. But she wanted a moment of comfort after the surrender, a time to calm the tempest of passion that had tossed her body about. A moment. He stroked her back. A moment.