Climbing Afton Mountain

A five hour drive home from a week visiting my parents. It was his first meeting with them, and he'd done well. He'd ignored my dad's jibes, and attended to my mom's interminable stories. We'd stayed at my sister's house. She's a prude, and while she didn't object to us sharing her guest bedroom, if she'd caught wind of any sex there would have been no end of snide comments and disapproving glares. Suffice to say, we were both randy and more than anxious to get home.

The day was clear and dry. The traffic was lighter than usual and we were making good time. I leaned back in the passenger seat with my hand on his knee. I glanced over and saw we were clocking a steady eighty miles an hour. I glanced up at his face, then down at his crotch.

I wiggled in my seat, struck with the strongest sense memory of his cock in my mouth, of the taste of his cum, of the smell of him, deep in his crotch, when he's sweaty, hard and my nose is buried in his pubes. My pussy clenched hard; I shivered.

"You İzmir Escort alright, babe?" he asked

"Yeah," I responded while watching him watch the road, and squeezing his knee.

I think it was the absurdity of the idea that made it so appealing. The sheer stupidity and the enormity of the potential consequences that made it intoxicating. I slipped out from under the shoulder strap of the seat belt and twisted to face him more fully. I moved my hand to his center, and massaged his balls.

"What're you doing?" he asked, shifting.

"This," I said in my best sultry voice, as I cupped him again and felt him start to thicken under my hand.

I lowered his zipper a half inch and he glanced at me.

"Are you serious?"

"Oh, yeah." I unzipped him fully and started to lower myself. I heard the turn signal and felt the car moving to the right lane.

With my head on his knee I said, "No, stay in the left lane. You're almost İzmir Escort at Afton Mountain. You don't want to get stuck behind the trucks, crawling at fifty."

I looked up and saw skepticism. "Trust me, you'll have less to think about if you stay in the left lane."

Then I buried my head in his lap.

His cock got hard as soon as I touched my lips to his head. I licked around it and gripped his base with one hand, tugging and stroking gently. I licked a line around the top of his shaft. I felt his thigh tighten as he pressed the accelerator. I felt the car climbing up, the change in air pressure more pronounced due to my position. I bobbed my head up and down, sucking him in on the up stroke and opening wide to take him as far back as I could manage on the down stroke. The car slowed, probably as he caught up to someone with less horsepower, having a hard time maintaining the speed on the straight steep upslope. A rumble of the engine as I kept working, laving Escort İzmir him, sucking, humming along to the song playing.

He groaned. His hips shifted. His left foot tapping violently on the space between the brake and the car door. I kept working. I let my drool coat him, and moved my mouth and hand together, moved them faster. The car sped up again, and he shuddered under me. He grunted and I felt his hand on my back, stroking, diving under the back of my jeans, not quite able to reach my ass.

I sucked and hummed and swirled my tongue, and he gasped. I pulled off so just his head and the very tip of his shaft were in my mouth, sucking hard and pumping his shaft with my hand. That's his favorite. I swallowed, my ears popping from the change in elevation.

He erupted in my mouth, with a loud shout and his heel beating a tattoo on the floorboard. His right leg twitched, and the car lost speed. We crested the mountain as I put him away. I sat up, and heard the unmistakable air horn of an approving truck driver as I zipped his fly.

I showed him his handiwork before I swallowed it down.

"You are the best kind of pervert," he said.

"Don't I know it," I said. He kissed my hand, and we drove on.