Christening The Truck

I haven't seen you for days. I know you're busy, especially with other people being out of the office on vacation. This time of year, business starts picking up, and you are the "go-to" guy. It doesn't help. I still feel neglected. So, what's a girl to do?

Perfect. I call you up; tell you that there is something wrong with the truck. I know you don't believe me, but you hear me out with amused, weary, patience. It's only at high speeds, and I don't know what I'm hearing. You ask questions, trying to determine what is wrong, without the need for me to bring it in. I'm sure, it can only be figured out if you hear what I am. A whispered, "Please?" and I know I've got you hooked. You never can ignore a damsel in distress; it's your one weakness I will take advantage of.

Your lunch is around eleven, so I will be there around then...you can finish, and no one will say anything if you take a drive with a customer. If they only knew how much trouble you could get into...

I pull up to the building, and give you a call to let you know I am here. You saunter out the side door, grinning as you wonder what mayhem I am about to cause in your life. With a shake of your head, you jump into the passenger door. When you turn that grin my way, it falters, for a heartbeat, and my own grows in response.

While you always look handsome, in nice slacks (black works best, to hide certain things) usually white undershirt, and button-up shirt (personal favorite -- anything with green in it), that is comfortable and still looks perfect for work, salt and pepper hair short and neat, I have to work at it. I hope I succeeded today. Heeled, strappy sandals, in a dark color. White thigh high stockings, paler than my own skin, which has just a touch of gold. Blue skirt, riding dangerously high, while I'm driving. White button-up shirt, with the long sleeves rolled back to the elbows. White bra, not clearly visible under the shirt, but obviously there. Twin braids of red, hanging forward over my shoulders. I have been letting my hair grow, but still have a way to go before it is log enough.

Your gaze starts at my feet, travels up my legs, across my torso, and ends on my eyes, twinkling with mischief. Your own light up in response, and you settle back with a chuckle, shaking your head. This is going to be interesting.

We head out on the highway, and you glance at me. Noise? What noise? Hmmm. Found the flaw with the plan -- there really is no noise. Fortunately, the spot I have in mind is close, and you really can't do anything about it now, since I'm driving, and you don't have a way back to the shop. I would apologize, but I can't.

I pull off to the rest stop, release my seatbelt, and turn the truck off. You look a little annoyed, and I really am sorry about that, but I am about to make it worth your while. Lifting the center console, I remove the towel I set under there, for just this occurrence. Your eyebrows go up, just a little, but you are still not happy with me. I slip my shoes off, and roll onto my right knee. Imagine your surprise when you realize just how short the skirt really is! I flip the towel across your lap, and settle across your lap.

It's a touch awkward, this position, and you are not helping. I stop, cross my arms over my chest, and glare at you for a second. The corner of your mouth quirks up and you sigh heavily. You reach down, and adjust the seat back, making it a little more comfortable for both of us. You had a good idea what you were getting into -- I usually have a minor clue about what is going on with the truck.

When I see your smile, I lean forward, and gently brush your lips with my own. You are not yielding to me...still aggravated? I shrug, and unbutton my shirt. "I have something to show you." No response. As I release the clasp on my bra, you inhale sharply...there are rings attached to perky nipples! Your eyes get big, and you look at my face. "Did you get pierced??!!" you almost yell. With a laugh, I explain the dynamics to the nipple clamp jewelry I have on, including the minor, dull pain that helps keep me focused, for lack of a better term.

With a gesture, I let you know I want you to play with them. You reach up a tentative hand, and touch my right nipple, almost as if you are afraid to hurt me. You get a little bolder, gently pulling the ring, and unconsciously smile at my gasp. Remembering how the left nipple is so highly neglected, you decide to abuse that one first. Lips and tongue and suction create an instant response. My hand finds the back of your head, as I arch into your mouth. Your left hand continues to pull on the ring on the right, and squeeze the abused nipple there. Your right hand goes to my shoulders, to hold me in place, so you can use me at your pleasure.

Now alternating between right and left, I moan at the pleasure you are causing, the feel of you getting hard. I reach down, and move the towel enough to get to the button and zipper on your pants. The boxers are not doing much to keep you contained, and hardly provide any resistance when I pull you out. You shift, just enough to pull them down, so they will stay out of the way, and don't get anything on them. That is also what I brought the towel for. I don't want you in trouble. Trying to not make a mess when not wearing underwear is extremely difficult!

Your dick is now pointed at your belly button, sandwiched between our bodies. Not completely hard, I position you so as you get harder, you will hit my clit. While you continue to abuse my nipples, and wrap your free hand in my hair, I slowly rock my hips back and forth over the rapidly growing length. I want this to last, but I do need to get you back to work.

Leaning back, causing me to stretch my nipple firmly clamped in your teeth, I reach behind me, and open the glove compartment. There is a little packet there, which I picked up specifically for this encounter. Recognizing the label, and the size (extra large, of course), you nod just a little, and let me roll the condom on. Before I can move and further, you grab the back of my head, and pull me close, kissing me, exploring, plundering my mouth. Hard teeth, soft lips and tongue, tasting, testing, teasing...

Shifting quickly, I make sure there are no clothes in the way, and guide you to me. Holding just the tip of you at the warm opening, I pause, rolling my hips back and forth, teasing us both. It's too much. Grabbing my hips, you yank me down the rock-hard length of your dick, and then hold me there for a moment. It is enough to send me over the edge, causing me to whimper, moan, clench, and generally orgasm all over you. As I come down, I see you with your eyes closed, teeth clenched, and the muscles in your forearms standing out. "Don't. Move," you manage to whisper.

Feeling you quiver, deep inside me, against my cervix, I couldn't if I wanted to. I can hardly breathe as it is, and that is just from the orgasm.

You start to relax your arms, and flex, just a little. There is a flash of pain, followed by another orgasm, more intense that than the first, amplified by your renewed assault on my nipples. Your hands are controlling the rhythm, hard on my hips, forcing me down on you, giving me that flash of pain, of pleasure, with every thrust. Moans, groans, exclamations, hisses, and growls fill the cab of the truck. Ah, heaven! On more hard thrust, and you growl low in your throat, and I feel you ripple inside me, as you finally give in and come, which triggers my third.

As we start to relax, you give me a little shake. I know you really couldn't leave the shop, but I needed this. And, I think you did too, but I'm not going to press the issue. Reaching behind the seat, I pull out a package of baby wipes -- something to clean the mess, but scentless, to protect us both. Spreading the towel over the driver's seat, I readjust clothing and watch you do the same. On impulse, I lean over and kiss your cheek. "Thank you," I whisper. Rather than answer, you grasp my chin, and pull me in for a kiss, long, lingering.

Startled and languid, I sit back in my seat for a minute, before starting the truck, and heading back to the shop. We don't speak the short drive back, and you hesitate as you get out. "You're welcome," you answer, as you shut the door and walk away.