You are wearing a black cocktail dress; the neckline reveals your full bosom and it comes to a few inches above your knees. Seamed stockings, a garter belt, thigh high boots and an exquisite black lace bra and panty set from the finest lingerie shop in Paris complete your outfit. We have returned to the car after a cocktail party given in my honor by my publisher. You had two strong martinis.
“Take off your dress.”
“Right here, baby?” you reply with a sexy twinkle in your voice.
“Yes, do it, now!”
You pull the hem of the dress up your thighs, then scootch forward to bring it to your hips. You can feel the soft leather on your ass and thighs, and you pause to enjoy the sensation.
“Keep going.”
You pull the dress over your head, fold it and place it on the back seat. I look over and feast on you.
I put my right hand on your left thigh and barely, imperceptibly, tug it in my direction. You instinctively spread your legs open . We need no words, no urging, not even an insistent touch. We are fully present with each other.
“Kiss me, slut.”
We kiss passionately, our tongues dancing against each other. I move my hand up to your panties, feeling the heat and moistness of your pussy right through the lace. I rub your clit through the scratchy lace and you start moaning and writhing against the car seat. I flick your clit with my index finger, then rub it in circles pushing against it harder and harder. Your breath comes quickly, the little moans escaping from your lips. I get you close to orgasm, then slow down my caresses, not letting you cum yet
“Take off your panties,” I order.
You hook your thumbs into the sides of the underwear and slide them down your legs, lifting first one foot then the other until they are free from your body. You fold them and reach back to put them atop your dress. The streetlights illuminate your creamy white thighs. You rub your hands slowly down them from your hips to your knees, back and forth a few times.
“Spread your legs wider.”
You comply with my command and I can see your perfectly waxed cunt glistening. Do I see a drop of pussy juice on the edge of your lips, or is that wishful thinking? You run your fingertips up and down your slit. You are hungry, eager for sex.
The people walking by on the street can see us; you notice some of them glancing in and your hands move to your breasts. I pull your hands down.
“Let them see,” I say. “Get on your knees on the seat, slut, with your face to the passenger window.”
The great thing about these big old cars is that there is plenty of room for all kinds of sex. I remove my pants and get behind you. I run my hands across your back slowly and gently, reaching under to touch your breasts. I find your left nipple and squeeze it through your lace bra, softly at first but increasing the tension until I feel you shudder and a tiny gasp passes your lips. I push my right hand between your body and the seat back and grasp your other nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I pull on both of them and your ass pushes back against me, grinding slightly, eager for my cock.
I let go of your nipple and grab my cock in my left fist and rub the head up and down the length of your wet sex.
“Please fuck me, sir. Please shove that cock inside me.”
“Inside where?”
“Inside my cunt, please, oh please.”
I shove my cock roughly all the way into you. Moaning loudly with pleasure, you urge me to fuck you harder, deeper. I put my hands on your shoulders and fuck you with a steady rhythm, varying it periodically. When I sense you getting closer to orgasm, I slow down or stop. I will control when you cum.
After fucking you like this for five minutes or so, two men walk up to the car window and watch. You turn your head away, but I tell you to look up at them. I fuck you harder for our audience and you are quieter than usual. Don’t hold back your moans because they are there, I say, let them hear what a slut you are. I pull my cock out of your pussy and rub it on your clit, you moan and beg me to put it back in.