Drive
She was driving back from college in her dinky little car when she first saw him in the rear-view mirror. He was on a motorcycle, one of those large, “manly”-looking pieces of equipment. She saw brown hair blowing in the wind and a soft, dear face that looked like it could belong to a 16-year old. He caught her looking and before he could smile or acknowledge her in any manner, she quickly looked away.
She’d felt the heat pool in between her legs when he looked right at her. This sudden burst of arousal – it was something that didn’t happen often, but she knew the feeling well enough to try and stare it down and tell it to back off and sit quietly in its corner. It didn’t work. She chanced another quick glance in her mirror. He looked right back. She clenched her thighs together, and her panties grew damp as she creamed all over them.
He should have overtaken her car by now – that beast of a machine he was riding could surely do better than tamely putter along behind her. Anyway, the best part of her everyday commute was over – to reach her house all she had to do now was turn from the highway into a lane a few hundred feet ahead. As it drew nearer, she bit her lip and felt how her nipples scratched against her kurta. She straightened her spine and kept driving straight ahead.
Another look in her mirror and she almost groaned. How could someone with a face like a cherub arouse her so madly? She kept her right hand on the wheel and fumbled for the opening of her salwar with her left. When she found her clitoris, she realized foggily that she’d better give up any pretense of sane driving, and she found a little by-lane to her left where she swerved to a stop under a cluster of trees. A cow sleepily assessed her and she narrowed her eyes back at it. It was mid-day. They were at the outskirts of a small, small town. The roads were deserted.
She’d known he would stop too. And he did. With a growing feeling of dread and incredible lust, she waited for him to come up to her. After a minute or so (which she spent slowly dragging her finger along her inflamed sex from over her panties), she frowned back into the mirror and realized he probably wasn’t going to make the first move. “Idiot”, she thought, “Young, horny idiot”, not quite sure just who she talking about.
She clumsily fixed her dress and got out of the car. He was stopped right there, right behind her car, and she saw his cheeks were flushed red, one hand groping himself through his awesomely tight jeans. She looked pointedly at his hand, which made him pull it back like it’d been burned. She dragged her eyes up to his face and was rewarded with an even darker blush. He was delightful.
“How old are you?”, she asked him sternly, thinking, please, please don’t say 16. “N-n-nineteen”, he stammered, “I’m a junior from college”. “And why are you following me?” “I’m not! I’m just…”, she saw his thighs clench and could see him outlined against the denim he was wearing. “I think you’re so hot”, he said finally. “I… I love how you sit bent forward in the canteen. I think about the way your hips swing when you walk and I don’t even know if you do it on purpose but I think about your hips and your legs and I get so hard. You get me so hard. I know you don’t wear a bra most days. Do you think your breasts are small? I don’t. They’re… they’re not”, he finished lamely and flamed red, but kept looking straight at her.
She closed her eyes as her eyelids suddenly grew very heavy. It’s true, she did think her breasts were too small to merit any kind of confinement, plus she’d always thought her trusty dupatta would be defense enough for anyone who thought otherwise. She looked down now to see it skewed and her nipples poking obscenely through the kurta she was wearing. She reached up and rubbed one nipple with the flat of her thumb. “You’re saying I need to start wearing a bra?”. He smiled shyly. “No”, he said, “that’s not something I would ever say”. She watched as his hand went almost unthinkingly towards his crotch. “Unzip”, she said.
His fly was down faster than she thought was possible and his cock happily sprang out, almost singing with relief. He groaned and she saw him grit his teeth as he gripped himself at the base. It was a nice cock – it had a broad head and girth enough to make a girl giddy. She felt something sticky start to trickle down her leg as a sudden surge of wetness flooded her pussy. Now gently pinching her nipple, she said (in a voice she thought remarkably steady), “Stroke yourself, I want to watch you come.”
His cock twitched. He started to stroke himself then, slowly first and then in earnest. She thought her heart would stop, she’d never been this aroused before. Still looking down at him, she sucked two fingers into her mouth and imagined it was him there instead. He would be so much thicker, he’d fill her mouth so completely. She was imagining his hands in her hair and her mouth stretched around him when she heard a strangled voice say, “Please, let me see your tits”.
She looked at him. His mouth was open, his eyes half-closed. She leaned back against the car and lifted the top of her dress then, twisting her nipples, feeling them grow impossibly hard as she wet them with the fingers that had been in her mouth. His cock, she thought. My god, I want him to rub his cock all over my tits. The thought made her moan out loud and she realized she’d been rhythmically squeezing her thighs around some imaginary source of pleasure. A second later she saw his bike wobble as he gripped one handle so tight his knuckles grew pale. He came just as she realized he was about to come – he came in slow, long spurts that seemed to go on forever, that seemed as if they were being wrenched from some place deep within him. His eyes were squeezed shut and she almost cried looking at him. God, how she wanted him inside her.
When he finally stopped shuddering, she set herself to rights and – putting one foot in front of the other – walked towards him. He closed his mouth and gulped but all she did was hand him her handkerchief to help clean the (frankly delicious-looking) mess he’d made. Putting one hand on his shoulder, she reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. She lingered longer than was probably right for unmarried couples their age – but she grinned to herself and decided any lookers-on could go straight ahead and put this kiss right. in. context.
He sighed as she slowly pulled away. She smiled up at him before getting back in her car and turning it around to finally go home. She didn’t look back in her mirror this time.
Summer Lovin’
Latex Sex
Car
They did it in a car once. In fact, they did it on the driver’s seat of a brand new Tata Nano – so brand new, in fact, the plastic wrap was still on. Considering what a Tata Nano looks like, I wouldn’t be surprised if this makes you laugh. Later on, they found it funny too.
He picked her up from where she was out drinking with her friends. “Quick”, she’d said on the phone, “before I get really drunk and start singing Boyzone songs”. As he led her outside to the line of waiting cars, she looked around… remembering the large, shiny car he’d brought on previous occasion. This time however, his keys unlocked a tiny little yellow thing. Tipsy as she was, she clutched his arm and started to laugh. Loud. He grinned back. “Smallest car on Indian roads, baby.”
(We weren’t able to ascertain the complete veracity of that last, offhand statement but hell, she says, it sure felt that way)
They went first to the beach, sitting barefoot with their toes dug into the sand as they looked out towards the horizon, the only lights those of ships anchored at harbour (“Your father’s up there on one of those”, he joked, “with his cannons trained on me”). All they while they sat there, she had slowly, imperceptibly been raising her loose, knee-length skirt higher, and higher still, but in a manner that made sure (this she says she can only hope is true) no one else could see, so that when she took his hand and placed it on the inside of her thigh – her legs slightly parted, his large, dark hand on her pale thigh, so close to where she’d rather have it, but not quite there – she saw lust crowd his eyes, his eyelids grow heavy. He removed his hand, gently lowered her skirt and then stood up, offering his hand to her. On the long walk back to the car, his hand on her waist slid down to her bum, gently squeezing, and it took all she had to stop from breaking out into the widest of grins.
Back in the car, neither spoke for a very long time. She sat very straight, her legs on tiptoe and spread wide, her skirt raised and tucked around her waist, her fingers drawing wide, loose circles around her clitoris from over her panties. Head tilted back, eyelids heavy, she groaned out loud when she reached further down to slide her panties aside and slip a finger in. The car swerved into a narrow bylane.
Fifteen minutes later, a woman stepped out into her neat, manicured garden to investigate what sounded like a car pulling up outside their house. She saw a tiny automobile parked outside, and that tiny automobile was rocking, rather rhythmically. When further squinting into the dark indeed confirmed her risqué suspicions, she smiled softly to herself and went back inside. Her husband was going to get very lucky that night.
Smut/Love
A decidedly smutty one-off.
She wants him the way they were together last. In a hot, sweaty town in very, very small smalltown India. On that one single bed, with no fan, and in any case, there was a power cut.
She lies there in his shirt, on his bed, itching to take off her panties, the bed sheet, the shirt – the sun streaming in through the little window, it is so hot. But she also doesn’t want to move, so she lies on her side, sweating lightly, one arm dangling off the bed.
He steps in, shutting the door behind him and strips himself of his boxers as she watches, one eye lazily shut. He is glorious naked, and in bed. So… sure of everything he does. He sits at the edge of the bed and starts to draw circles with his fingers on her feet – her sole, her ankle, moving lightly up her calf. Her interest is piqued – his certainly is, she notices, and laughs out loud. He looks up at her from where he is now licking her calf and smiles. And she loves him then, when he ignores her protests and gently spreads her legs apart to lick, starting at her thighs and moving closer and closer till he is lapping at her wetness, stroking her in slow, firm circles and then faster and faster till she’s bucking and writhing and holding his head down, clutching at fistfuls of his hair – and biting her knuckles to keep from crying out loud.
He holds his fingers out to her lips, and she dutifully licks. The whole of Krishnagar knows when you come, he says. There’s trace of a grin in his voice, and she is indignant. She cannot possibly be that loud. But just then, she can never really hear herself except as if from really far away. In that instant, her whole world narrows down to him – his hands and his lips and his teeth and his tongue. Oh, his tongue.
She would like to stay like that forever then, sated and drowsy and still so wet – nay, wetter than possibly ever before, as delicious little aftershocks course through her. She bends his head down to hers to kiss him, and can taste herself on his tongue, so warm and tangy. But he has other plans. He is hard, and must take as good as he gives.
His friends have come to visit him, from Bombay. Such good friends. They have come to see him, because this town is dreary and life begins to get lonely, and because they love him. And they are outside, just outside this door (of frankly dubious quality), talking or eating or watching some match or all three at the same time, who cares.
But she feels decidedly wanton, thinking about his friends watching her, hearing her, when he orders her to get on all fours and spreads her knees apart. Further, and further still. He’s rubbing her now, spreading her juices (that she has quite liberally provided him with), pushing his finger in. One, and then two. She moans, and maybe she is too loud. Be quiet, he tells her, they’ll hear you. And so she buries her face in a pillow, and he’s still fucking her with two fingers. But it isn’t enough – she remembers how it is to have him in her, and she squirms a little, trying to make him give her what she wants so bad.
His fingers slip out of her, and she can feel herself dripping, dripping onto… You’ve ruined the covers, he says, and his voice is low. He’s running his hands down her back, and then down to her ass and all the while she can feel him, so hard and hot, brushing the inside of her thigh. He spanks her then, lightly first, and then harder, and then loud and hard till she cries into the pillow. He doesn’t seem very concerned any more about his friends being able to hear, because he spanks her again, and again and again till she is crying out loud and so on edge that she can feel tears come to her eyes.
And just like that, without warning or precedent, he rams into her. He is hard and fast and oh-so-deep, but it isn’t hard enough or fast enough for either of them and then he has her hair in his hands, pulling at her, riding her like you would a wild horse and she is coming, shaking madly, clenching around him… and she can suddenly take no more. She slumps down – too deep, too much, she manage to say in between breaths. (Only later does he tell her how much it turned him on, hearing her say that. But just then they are all about the action.)
His answer is a low growl and then he pushes into her again and she’s grinning in her head and thinking, someone’s at the end of their tether. His hands are on her hips now and as he picks up pace, she is surprised to discover it still feels sinfully good. I can never have my fill of this man, she thinks, and then laughs at the horrid pun.
She can tell he’s close now. He’s making noises that seem to come from deep in his throat, and his hands on her hips are sure to leave marks.
And then he pumps into her once, twice, thrusting so hard she skittered a foot away. He’s grunting out loud and his grip could crack walnuts, but she is luxuriating in how this is making her feel. Really, don’t laugh. Luxuriating. She loves him then, always, forever.
And she loves him when he slumps down… still not resting his whole weight on her. And a long while later when they’re facing each other and still sweaty and tired and so marvellously content, she pushes his sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead and kisses him. In that hot, sweaty room in namelesstown with no fan and no power, she finds that she has fallen in love.
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