I Like to Drive
Originally published on Literotica.
I like to drive. I like to leave the overcast and lonely city full of fast going people in their obscuring beige and gray trench coats. All of them blending together and yet ignoring one another, like pigeons milling about. There, in the city, I despise driving. It is stop and go, a jilting journey of endless lights in which I never actually enjoy going anywhere That final release of arrival is unsatisfying after the staccato actions of getting there.
I allow my desire to leave build over days and weeks, a pent up restlessness. And then I let myself go. I drive south, the ocean to my right, and am liberated from the road blocks; the pearl string of traffic lights; the un-desirous tonations of cars and sighing, depressed bridges.
When I pass the final light onto the old freeway, I flow unobstructed on the gray winding pavement amongst the beautiful and verdant giant trees. Slowly and languorously I direct my car, as if the road to getting to a place is the pleasure itself. I hum lowly and small sighs and gasps escape across my warm, damp tongue. My soft belly moves out, sucking my breath in more deeply and more slowly with each breath. As I take the winding turns and my hands slip gently over the cool wheel, my muscles loosen and my eyes droop into a half gaze. My neck gently gives and my head rolls minutely from side to side with the curves of the road. I am like the tiny apex of a redwood just moving slightly as if aroused by a small breeze.
When I come deep into the valley just before it climbs up again to the last hill that then drops to the ocean, I do not often see another driver. But I have encountered one from time to time.
A man sometime comes up behind me slowly and quietly from long distances. He comes on a matte black Ducati, his face and skull covered in an iridescent black helmet with no seams. His limbs look as if flat black leather has been melted onto them.
He will tail me for miles and miles. I never can even estimate how long he has been there because I am so engaged in the round voluptuousness of the road. When I finally do notice, I watch his body fluidly bob to the left and then to the right as he balances the curves of the road. Sometimes I will catch him leisurely let a knee fall to the side, opening the groin of that side of his body into an exposed triangle. Sometimes, he will even lean back—almost upright—and carefully but fearlessly take one hand to a hip, sitting up right on the forward sloped bike. What skill he shows, in these moments of leisurely bravery, I admire.
I slowly lick my lips after he finally begins to pass. When he does pass, it is not fast. The velocity is just slightly faster than my own. It is only as he slowly but deliberately cuts in front of the hood of my car that he will finally bolt forward. He may wave at this point, a quick flip of his wrist and then a finger pointed to the sky. Then the leather above his wrist will slide down, exposing a slim line of skin. I lean forward and smile lightly, secretly, as if I am conspiring with myself. The hidden dimples of my cheeks come out, which only appear when I am aroused and my mouth sets into this very specific pose.
On this particular day, I am spontaneously drawn from the city for a drive and my body is more on edge. My fingers tingle when I touch the wheel and the sun is pressing through the grayness of the sky. My heart is rambunctious beneath my rib cage and I swear I hear the small crescendo of waves as my blood moves to the many small crevices of my lower body. I am enlivened and irritated on my ride that usually softens and relaxes my muscles.
I have passed through the triad of valleys that lead to the greenest and most remote part of my drive. I begin to think how I have never stopped to look closely at the stream that runs along this deepest valley. So I stop, confident I am safe on this narrow path of road from which I have never ventured.
The car door thumps closed satisfyingly behind me. I am engulfed in the quietness of the running stream and the soft crunch of moss as I step on the mounds of rock lining the clear creek. I close my eyes. I sit. My mind empties whiles the stream continues its own long road past.
At some point, I feel a hand on my shoulder. It alights softly but firmly. I am brave though and remain unsurprised by this intrusion. All day, my body has known something. I am sure now that when I open my eyes and turn, I will find the man who has travelled behind me many times.
As I turn my head slightly to look at my shoulder, I find the familiar slim line of elegant wrist skin and my tongue immediately begins to water as the scent of leather, fresh tobacco and the sweetness of redwoods come to me. I am not afraid as his other hand molds to my spine between my shoulder blades. The mound of his thumb joint presses into the protruding bone at the base of my neck. Like pushing a lever, my head falls back and my neck lengthens. His hand surrounds my throat from behind firmly, but with the distinct pressure that exists just before any of your air is occluded from your windpipe. He strokes my neck deeply with a leather covered thumb.
He stays behind me massaging my neck with gentle roughness and I realize only my breath is audible as it starts to come faster. I turn fully around to look at him and stare into the black opalescent glass of his helmet. I reach forward, toward his helmet. He stops my hands, gathers them behind me and holds them there. He drags his hand to the v at the neck of my dress. He palms my breast over the grey translucent dress beneath my tan coat, and then pushes his thumbs over my nipples. Rubbing up and down against my agitated nipples, I begin to make long “yes” noises over and over. My warm cunt drips thick moisture already.
With a knee, he spreads my bent knees and quickly brings a hand under my dress and between my thighs. He stops at the top of my legs, deeply massaging the tendons of my groin. He lightly drags his covered, soft fingers down the inside of my legs. This likely lasts a matter of seconds but I want his leather hands to fuck me so bad it seems like hours have passed in which I have been denied something like water or air. “Please touch me,” I beg, my tone serious.
Obligingly, he lays a leather-gloved thumb over my clit and begins to circle around and around. Pushing back the swollen hood of my clit, he intermittently stops and puts pressure on my erect bulb of nerves. Silently, I mouth deep unknown words over and over and begin to shake in my lower legs from flexing onto the balls of my feet so strongly. Just before I come to the place where I will stop existing anywhere but deep in my body, his fingers slowly halt to a stop.
He brings his hands to the back of my dress and brings the zipper down one tooth at a time. I am looking into the black globe of his helmet wondering what color his eyes are. My mouth salivates at the black hairs pushing through to top of his skin at the junction of his jaw and neck. I bend forward and sink my teeth softly into his neck so that I might feel his stubble on my tongue.
When my zipper is half down, he pulls the front of my dress forward so that my cream lace bra is exposed. Looking down, I am excited even more by the brownish red skin pushing at the holes of the lace. He moves the straps of my bra down my shoulders just enough, and my breasts are fully visible.
He puts his leather arm behind my back and brings me down against the mossy rocks. My flushed skin is soothed as he rubs himself, fully clothed, against the naked skin of my chest.
He plunges two gloved fingers into my swollen cunt and pulls his fingers forward. I silently scream as I stiffen my entire body, arch my back and come. The sky above, through the canopy of the redwoods, is infinitely blue and the corners begin to buzz golden. As I continue to come with him caressing and caressing that spot deep inside me, he lays the side of his hand across my mouth and I bite hard, tasting the flat hide of his gloves.
After returning, I sit up onto my elbows. He is on his hands and knees in front of me and raises himself to sitting, placing his hands gently on his reinforced leather knees. His cock is pushing against his black leather pants. I continue to lean forward until I am on hands and knees in front of him. I lay my tongue on his neck as I solemnly unbutton his pants and pull them down. From his pocket he retrieves a condom and I suck his neck as I roll it down his cock. I do this so slowly and so controlled, that I have the feeling of near explosion or near sobbing as I continue to devour his neck.
He startles me by pushing me forward. He flips me unceremoniously around and onto my hands and knees. My belly drops, my heart pushes forward, and my pelvis tilts back as an invitation to his cock. He holds his dick right at my entrance and my belly pushes down and down as my breathing speeds with anticipation. He wraps his leather glove around my face and I bite down onto my own metallic taste.
Then he places his hand on the small of my back and grips my hip with the other. My body fills with the pressure of his cock in me. I am so lost in embodiment and the deep release of my small pelvic muscles that tears come down my cheeks. I am so joyous at being fucked on my hands and knees in the serene forest. I go somewhere deep inside myself and all sound stops except the slap of his groin to my pelvis as he rubs himself over and over into me.