Car Show Slut

What a strange day that had been! It was almost surreal; Wendy, and Roger, for that matter, acting in such an overtly sexual way in my presence. Well, they weren't when we were in the car, because they had no idea I wasn't asleep when she was going down on him, but still... Maybe they'd always been like that and I'd never noticed? Whatever, as odd a day as it had been, I'd really had a great time, and I didn't think I was likely to forget what happened in the car in a very long time! Mmm, yes, that was hot! But then, afterwards, Wendy kissed me – on the mouth, with her tongue! What was that all about? And I could taste Roger's cock on her lips...

I wasn't sure which was hotter, the forbidden nature of the fact that I tasted Roger's cum via the lips of his fiancé, the fact that she had virtually kissed me like a lover, or the fact that I watched her suck his cock and make him cum in her mouth. Replaying all this in my mind as I went to bed, I reached for my vibrator and rubbed it up and down my swollen lips. Mmm, yes...

Nothing like going to sleep on a nice self-induced orgasm. I woke up feeling wonderful, and still a little bit horny as I lay in the bed, the sun beginning to peek in through the window.

I rubbed eyes and got out of bed. I slipped into my underwear – my nice black g-string and low cut matching bra. I was about to put on my skirt when I remembered about my yoga and the chat with Mr Darcy. I hadn't done my morning yoga. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. A bit risqué to be doing it in your underwear, I thought, especially with the old man from next door probably watching. Oh, what the heck, it's not like I'm naked.

I opened the balcony doors and felt the cool morning air against my skin as I stepped outside. Laying my mat down, I began, as I normally did, laying on my back, feet together, legs arched. Laying out like this for a few minutes was a good way to relax the abdominals. If I'd thought more about it, I'd have faced the other way, away from Mr Darcy's apartment, because as it was I was laying there virtually with my legs spread wide right before him. That's if he was even there. But I noticed, as I looked up, that his trees looked different. There were less of them – the sly old fox no doubt had moved some of them away, so as not to impede his view. But was he even out on his balcony at all, I thought, as I moved into a different pose, the vasisthasanana, or 'side plank' – legs together, balancing on your side, but upper body supported with a straight arm, the top arm raised high. I did this both sides, then some dog poses – upward facing, downward – some upper body twists and standing poses. My favorite is the Warrior III – it's hard to keep your balance, but when you get it right, it almost feels like you're as light as a feather. It's not what one might call a modest pose, especially with what I was wearing, but I was really into the swing of my routine now, and I didn't know for certain that my 'secret' admirer was even there admiring me. If he was, I thought to myself, he was about to get quite a show. The Warrior III starts as a regular standing pose, but then you lean forward on the one leg and place all your weight on that leg. You then straighten the leg and balance on it, shifting your upper body down, bending over at the pelvis so that your upper body is right-angles to the straight leg. Then your other leg extends out the other way, in the same plane as your upper body (if you've got the flexibility) so you make a kind of t-shape, arms stretched out at the horizontal, above your head. I shouldn't really be doing this in a g-string! If old Mr Darcy was watching me now, I mused as I concentrated on keeping my balance in Warrior III, oh my...

A few more poses and I felt I was done. Physically tuned up and ready to go, I threw on my skirt and blouse and was on my way to work.

I had to drop the car into the shop this morning – someone had kindly reversed into me at the mall carpark and damaged a fender. The man in the shop told me it would be about a week to fix. No, they didn't have a courtesy car to offer me. Great. I would have to take the train all week. I hate trains. Crowds of sweaty people, and more often than not the odd mad person you get stuck sitting next to. I thought about getting a rental for the week, but then it was only for a week. Public transit is not that bad; live with it.

The boss at the shop got one of his juniors to drive me to the train station. It felt strange to be sitting on the right, the first time I'd ever been driven anywhere in my own car.

'Nice car," he said as he pulled out of the shop.

"Thanks," I said. "It is a great car, I love it."

He was not a bad looking kid. All of 18, I figured, with very well defined muscles that come with that kind of physical work, auto repairs. I watched his arm muscles flex as he worked the steering wheel. Nice looking kid. Very nice.

We didn't speak much beyond that; it was kind of like being in a taxi, except it was my car and I was in the front seat. I thought I noticed him glance across at my legs a few times. Yes, I did notice it. I was wearing one of my shorter skirts today, and sitting in the car, well, I guess I was showing a little bit of leg.

He dropped me off at the train terminal and I watched my BMW drive away. I bought my ticket and waited on the platform with all the other commuters. It was about a half-hour trip to the office, so I was glad I'd brought a book to read to help pass the time. Tomorrow I might even bring my laptop, get a bit of work done on the way.

Work, by the time I got there via public transit, was a drag. I had to work on the revamped project for Ron and Darren, but all the time it just reminded me of that late night with the two of them. Still, by the end of the day I had it in some sort of shape, so that probably some time the next day I'd been able to sign off on it and put it all aside.

The trip home reminded of the old days – when I used to take the subway every day. Not that it was that bad; but it's just the waiting, standing around waiting for the damned train, having to rely on it to get anywhere. God, I'd have been half way home in my car by now, and the damned train hasn't even arrived yet.

At least the train travel gave one time to relax. Luckily I was able to find a seat, and soon I became immersed in my book, one of those trash pulp fiction novels. This one was quite raunchy; a rather steamy scene in a barn between the heroine of the story and a young farm boy. I found myself becoming quite flushed as I read, so much so that I felt a little self conscious - I was careful to ensure the man sitting next to me couldn't glance across and read the sordid contents of this little tale over my shoulder. Actually, the man was looking my way, but at my legs, not the pages I was reading. I noticed it a few times; he was checking out my legs, for sure. I was sitting cross-legged. My skirt was short, and the crossed leg was to his side. He must have been getting quite a view of my outer thing under my short skirt, I figured, and I thought about shifting my position. In truth, I didn't actually mind him giving me the occasional secretive glance. In truth, I was feeling horny. I liked it that he was watching.

I made it an early night. I was tired; I couldn't believe how long that trip had taken, by the time I finally got home. A couple of glasses of wine and I called it a night.

I had some strange dreams. Well, not so strange, but sexy. Weird sexy. Funny how odd, nondescript elements of your day often reoccur as part of the patchwork of surrealism in your dreams, and in this case it was the auto shop. I lay in bed, sun peaking through the blinds to announce the new day as I deliciously recounted my dream. I had gone back to the shop to complain that they hadn't been able to offer me a rental or courtesy car, and I was remonstrating with them, telling the manager in no uncertain terms that he was running a pretty sub-standard business when it came to customer relations. He was trying to pacify me, but I wasn't having it. Then I was over on the shop floor by my car, looking at the damaged fender, when I felt two rough hands grab me round the waist and spin me around forcefully like I was a little rag doll. It was the young auto worker who had driven me to the station. He was clearly pissed and he snarled at me, something like 'lady, we'll show you all about "customer relations"' and he pushed me back so that I fell back hard against the hood of my car. He leaned across my body, and I saw him grinning madly as he ran his hands up my hips, watching the curved trajectory they made as they went up my waist and then settled on my tits. He squeezed them hard, so hard it almost hurt. I was scared, but now there was another guy, a big man with huge muscles, overalls rolled down to his waist, climbing on top of me and ripping my blouse open, buttons flying, the grease from his hands soiling my clothes, grease all over my skin. Then another, his large rough, greasy hands on my legs, effortlessly spreading them wide apart and forcing my skirt up around my waist. The young guy was holding my head to the side, and he was naked now, his hard cock pointing right at my face. He had an angry look on his face as he bore down on me, holding my face as he brought his cock to my lips and forced it into my mouth. 'Suck it, slut,' he yelled, as he drove his cock into my mouth, holding my head as he fucked my face. Then someone else, there seemed to be so many of them now, had shoved his finger inside me, roughly fucking me with his finger. Then what I could feel inside me seemed to morph into a giant cock, and I looked up and saw the big guy was fucking me, driving into me with a cock that looked about a foot long. In out, in out, somehow it was going in all the way. Other men were holding me down now, forcing me against the cold steel of the car; all of them naked, huge cocks pointing to the sky. One of them grabbed the younger guy and threw him off, then replacing him in my mouth with his own cock, as the big guy continued to shove that enormous cock inside with such effortless ease. And on and on it went, till I woke up and realized I was in my bed, alone. My body was tingling. I lay there, thinking about the dream and reached for my vibrator...

In the morning I was feeling very horny indeed. I got out of bed. Yoga time, I thought. I certainly felt like a good stretch. There was enough time for a short session. Then I thought of Mr Darcy. I should put my yoga gear on. I knew I should, because he would be watching. Well, I didn't know that for sure, but he might be watching. But I wanted to do it naked. I don't know why, but I just did. Oh, why not – it's my balcony, my space. And it's not like it's going to offend the old guy, and he's probably already seen me do it before. Why not? Give old Mr Darcy a thrill. I was sure he would love to see me do my yoga naked. I shouldn't do it. No, I really shouldn't do it, knowing that he would be almost certainly be watching. Oh damn it!

I was standing at the sliding doors inside my apartment, naked, watching the sun rise across the trees. I gently opened the doors, trying not to make too much noise, though I knew not why – it was as though I was a thief trying to escape the attention of the authorities. The clean, cool morning air felt lovely against my bare skin. I stepped out into the balcony and laid down my mat. I felt very exposed, but in an earthy, natural way. I laid down, legs arched, feet together, as I normally did, but facing away from Mr Darcy's apartment – if he was there, I didn't want to be spreading my legs wide like that right in front of him!

But the thought, the idea of doing so, hit me like a jolt. Ooh, how wicked that would be, to be laying out like this, legs spread wide, right in front of him, maybe not four or five feet away! But then I thought, Anne, don't be so slutty, and any case, you don't even know whether he is even there or not. He may not be. He may be tucked up in bed, sound asleep, and the only living things out here seeing you are the birds in the trees.

But the idea that he might be there dominated my thoughts. I couldn't relax, couldn't involve myself in the poses as I normally would. I went through my routine, conscious not of the normal relaxing effect it had, but rather the heat that seemed to be building inside me, the delicious tingling through my naked body. My nipples were stiffening, and it wasn't the cool air. I could feel myself becoming wet inside. The idea of showing myself to the old man, whether I was in fact doing it or not, was actually turning me on. It felt so wrong to be thinking these sorts of thoughts as a kind of interaction with such a sweet old man like Mr Darcy, and it made me feel depraved. But the more depraved it made me feel, the more turned on I became. Even so, some sense of modesty prevailed, and I mostly found myself facing in the opposite direction to Mr Darcy's apartment as I went through various poses. I was conscious of the time – that I would have to stop soon or I would be late for work: it takes so much longer on the train.

I turned around, to face Mr Darcy's apartment. I felt like I was looking straight at him through the clump of plants, but I couldn't see him. I had heard not a sound. Was he there? I couldn't be sure either way.

I stood on one leg, bending the other leg and lifting my foot high so I could wedge it against my inner thigh, to form the tree pose. Once I had my balance, I raised my hands together in prayer form. I stood there like that for maybe half a minute, facing Mr Darcy's apartment. I could feel my body shaking. I imagined him looking at me, feasting his tired old eyes on my young naked body, my naked shaved pussy, so exposed in this position. My dripping wet, depraved cunt.

When I finally started to lose my balance, I let my leg down. I went inside and got dressed for work.

Work was busy. The firm had attracted the interest of a big company to the east that was potentially worth millions. Mr Sheldon entrusted it to me: I'd be flying out to meet them in Chicago in a week or so. There was a lot of work involved, but it was a nice distraction from the Ron and Darren affair. It was good to be working on such an important project.

But it was a bit of a drag to be catching the train home after such a long day. I thought about getting a taxi, but while I could afford it, I felt it was way too much of an extravagance. And it's not as though I'm the richest woman in the world – millions use trains every day, so can you, I reminded myself. At least it was on time this evening.

The train was packed. No seats this time, I would just have to stand. And it was standing room only. I was not even near a hand rail, so what with trying to hold my bag – I wasn't prepared to put in on the floor between my legs, not in this town – I was struggling not to fall into the other people as the train rocked its way along. The woman right in front of me could just reach one of the rails, and as the train bounced along I could not help from bashing into her. I kept apologizing every time it happened, and she kept saying with a smile, 'it's fine'. I mean, she could see my predicament, it was plainly evident.

Then the train hit a big bump and I bashed into her again. Again, I apologized, and then she said, "here, just hold on to me," and she took my hand and placed it on her hip.

"Thank you," I said, and she smiled back. She was younger than me, a very attractive young woman, too, dressed in conservative business suit and skirt, much like myself. She was rather petite, with deep blue eyes and lovely soft blonde hair, cut in a kind of bob. We continued our journey like that, my body basically pressing up against her ass and back, and supporting myself with my hand on her hip against the movement of the train. My body pressing against hers, it was all rather embarrassingly intimate for such a public situation, but all of us in that damned carriage had to make the most of it. Others around me that I could see were also struggling to hold their balance. I guessed everyone was just waiting for the moment when the train stopped at their station, so they could escape this unpleasant sardine can.

I was aware of the warmth of her body, for how could I not, pressed up hard against her as I was, my breasts pushing into her back, my crotch against her ass, my hand on her hip. In fact, we were in a weird kind of embrace. My head was right over her shoulder. She smelled nice. I could also detect the faint odor of alcohol on her breath. I started to wonder about her: what she did for a job; where she lived; whether or not she was married. She had a nice, slender figure. I could tell that through the contact between our two bodies, and my hand on her hip. The curve of her hip felt nice in my hand. After a while, tired as I was from the effort of balancing on my feet in my heels, I felt myself slowly lean against her a little more, resting my body against hers. It felt comforting, snug. We weren't talking, and nor did I really want to open a conversation, partly because I was a little exhausted and not in the mood for idle chat, and partly because any conversation on this crowded train, even with the noise of the train, would have to be shared with so many other commuters.

The train's rocking motion seemed to have leveled out a bit now, and I just relaxed against her. She was so warm, and our bodies just seemed to fit so well together in this unorthodox embrace, if you could call it that. My station was not far away now. Soon I would be out of this tin can.

It occurred to me as the journey continued, as I continued to wonder about the woman I was crammed up against; who she was, what was she was like as a person, and the odd fact that we were having a kind of physical relationship of sorts – not a sexual one, but in the confined space of the train we were relating to one another solely through our bodies.

Well, sexuality did come into it, I had to concede. Because the truth was that I loved the feel of her body against mine; it was a lot more than simply comforting. I felt almost like I was hugging her, and in fact that basically was it: my arm was around her, my body pressed up against her. I felt the urge to grip her hip a little tighter. I repositioned my hand on her hip, wiggling my fingers a little, for they had become a bit cramped in the same position holding on tightly for so long. I could feel the shape of her hip bone clearly, as my fingers wrapped around the inner side of the bone, pushing against the fabric of her skirt, against her skin.

Suddenly the train jolted to the side, and everyone was thrown off balance for a moment. I was suddenly a bit scared, and you could sense the tension in the air – others were feeling the same way. The train seemed to have picked up speed; was this damn thing about to run off its tracks?

Then I felt her hand go round mine, clasping it tightly. She was obviously worried, too, and her hand was a comfort to me. But it was more than that; the feeling of her hand on mine, her skin against mine, was like an electrifying jolt through my body. I gripped her hip tightly; my heart was beating fast. She kept her hand on mine even after the train seemed to settle down. I felt myself starting to pant, the blood racing around my body.

"It's OK," she whispered into my ear. It surprised me – I thought she was scared and was holding on to me. Evidently she thought I was afraid and was trying to comfort me. But was it possibly also sexual? I didn't know. But it was for me. I felt her squeeze my hand and my pussy throbbed in response. My station was next stop, but now I almost didn't want to get off. I wanted to just stay like this, holding her, embracing her, feeling her hand on mine. I dug my fingers into the curve below her hip. I felt her fingers resting on mine, pushing tightly against me. She seemed to be responding to me. I was getting wet now, I could feel it.