Auto-Erotic

Author's Note:

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached, as long as no charge is made for it and it isn't changed in any way. If it is archived or displayed, it is done so with the understanding that the author will have unrestricted access to the archive or posting. Additional stories can be found at www.literotica.com. Just go to the Stories section, select Indexed By Author, and look for Bob Peale. While you're at it, check out some of the other great stories posted by other authors!

Please address all feedback, inquiries, marriage proposals, etc. to the author at mischief1@bigfoot.com.

Disclaimer:

This story is a work fiction. None of the characters or events herein are based on real people, either living or dead. It was produced for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or if reading stories of a sexual nature upsets you, do not read any further! By reading further, you certify that you have accessed/requested access to this material willfully, and that you are an adult 21 years of age or older. You also certify that you are NOT a city, county, state, or federal law enforcement officer, official of the United States Postal Service, acting in the capacity of a representative of a telecommunications firm, and that, to your knowledge, this material does not offend the standards in your area, nor is it in violation of any of local, state, or federal law.

No animals were harmed in the manufacture of this product.

*******

I know it's a bad idea, even as I settle onto my seat, but I also knew it was probably going to happen when I got dressed this morning, otherwise I wouldn't have worn loafers; I hate slip on shoes, even the expensive Italian pair my wife bought me for my last birthday. It's been 3 days since I last had sex, and it'll probably be another 2 or 3 before I have it again. And I don't know what I was thinking when I let myself be talked into wearing this cock ring (metal, no less!), dare or no dare. In the best, oversexed conditions it's a bit snug, but on a day like today it feels like a fucking boa constrictor has a hold of me.

I tried to take the damned thing off around lunchtime, after sitting at my desk with a hard on for the better part of the morning. When the floor thinned out, I snuck into the restroom (I didn't want to draw too much attention to the tent sticking out in front of me). Hustling into the first stall, I dropped my pants and threw myself of the toilet, my cock waving stiffly in the air. I snapped a quick pic for Talia (my online friend who was nice enough to come up with this bit of torture), as proof of my distress, with the hope that she'll take my condition into consideration as she's meting out her punishment for not completing the dare.

A pleasing/painful ache assaulted me when I grabbed myself to take the photo, and all thoughts of removing the restraint melted away in the face of the sensations my warm, strong hand encircling my engorged, tortured cock caused. I sighed contentedly, slowly pumping my hand, head back, legs splayed so wide they touched the cool metal sides of the stall. I was well on my way to a teeth chattering orgasm when the door to the men's room door crashed open noisily. I froze, gripping my cock tightly and holding my breath, listening for some identifying sound that might give me a clue about who'd just joined me. Reflexively, my eyes crawled along my body, taking note of the hurried, careless way that my pants had pooled around my ankles. I also noticed that my ID lay face up on the floor near the wall of the stall, in plain view of anyone using the adjoining urinals. Shit! I couldn't continue; the chances of being caught were too high. There was no mistaking the sounds of self-pleasuring.

I released myself reluctantly, any thought of satiation OR removing the cock ring banished; the former was simply too risky, the latter next to impossible given how thick I was from almost continuous excitement. It took a few minutes for me to get my breathing under control and for me to soften enough to get my cock back in my pants with minimal discomfort. Irritably, I returned to my desk, the friction between my hypersensitive cock and the rough material of my underwear causing me to stiffen before I was safely back in my seat.

So now, having left the office an hour early in desperation, I slip off my socks and shoes, tossing them over on the passenger seat and swinging my legs around so I can close the car door. As soon as my feet touch the pedals I shudder, an icy hot spike of arousal overtaking me. I suppose this sounds a little kinky, and I don't consider myself a fetishist, but the feeling of rough, tread covered metal under my bare feet almost always triggers an intense reaction. My cock is instantly harder and thicker than it has been all day, something I would have thought impossible moments before.

Gathering my wits shakily about me, I fasten my seat belt, depress the brake and clutch, and start the car. An involuntary moan escapes me as the gentle vibrations of the Japanese sedan wind their way through me, beginning at the balls of my feet, emanating up my legs, and caressing my groin. I look guiltily around the garage as I ease the car into reverse and pull out of my space, the oscillating tremors simultaneously soothing and stimulating. I pick a route that is more circuitous than normal, anything to prolong my mounting pleasure. I wind my way through the city and out toward the suburbs with dreamy focus, hurtling toward an outcome I still will not acknowledge to myself.

My balls sit heavily between my legs, the cock ring mercilessly holding them away from my body, their girth and volume expanding steadily as I continue to drive. Subtle movement between the brake and gas pedals squeezes them uncomfortably between the muscles of my thighs, and I feel my heart hammer dully in my chest. My head is swimming with need and desire, and during the next few lights I strip off my pants, freeing my cock and balls from the first layer of confinement. I desperately want to remove my boxer-briefs as well, but somewhere in a far off corner of reality my rational mind restrains me. This is an affluent little slice of the cosmos, where SUVs and minivans are the norm (especially for official police vehicles). I'm not sure if driving barefoot is illegal, but driving with your cock waving about most certainly is. Not to mention the fact that the silk/linen blend t-shirt I chose for work today is probably more appropriate for the dance club than the office. While it does an excellent job of showcasing the results of endless repetitions of exercises and countless miles of roadwork, it barely extends past my upper torso and provides no coverage from prying eyes sitting up high.

Traffic comes to standstill as we wait for some jackass in a sports car (talk about glass houses!) to change a tire, the result of a too tight maneuver between him, a truck, and the curb. I look to my right and am instantly sorry I did. A college aged woman, miles from any beach I know of, is sitting there in a red and blue bikini who's purpose I'm certain is simply to torment me. She's driving a jeep without a roof or doors, and I can plainly see that the bottoms of her suit are cut so high that the butterfly etched on her hip is as visible as the nameplate on the side of her car. Her skin glistens with sweat and her brown hair is damp, pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her eyes. Her stomach is soft but smooth, much more enticing than the anemic, muscled caricatures so popular in men's magazines, and her breasts swell obscenely out of a top that would have to double in size just to qualify as too small.

They sway erotically as she talks agitatedly into a cell phone, her lips puckered sensually as she communicates her frustration. I sit entranced as a pregnant bead of sweat rolls seductively down her long, tanned neck, following the curve of her tit, and soaking the spot where her I guess her nipple must be. Unconsciously I reach down and rub my crotch, chewing on my lower lip as I slide my hand under the waistband to finger my cock head. I need to cum so bad, but I don't want to do it here, not like this. For the second time today, I tear my hand away, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckled determination, willing the traffic to move before my resolve crumbles.

I see an opening in the on coming traffic and I make a quick u-turn. I'm driving recklessly now, my sense of urgency near fever pitch. My foot miscalculates the transition between brake and accelerator and I catch the pedal with my toes instead of the ball of my foot, sending a sensation so overpowering to the pit of my balls that its strength causes me to swerve drunkenly. The dull roar that fills my head has nothing to do with the volume of the music playing or the rush of wind through the open window. I need release, and I need it quick, or I'm certain I'll damage something.

The drive lasts another agonizing 15 minutes because there is no way I can go home yet. I shoot past the turn off for my community, continuing down the road until I get to a series of low-rise office buildings that are usually pretty deserted at this time of day. I pull around back, parking unobtrusively under a tree in a far corner that will shield me from any of the windows that look out over the lot. After rolling up the windows and locking the doors I turn off the car and scramble out of my shirt and underwear. Totally nude now, I recline the seat as far back as it'll go. It feels so good to let my cock free, swinging ponderously, after more than eight hours of restriction. I scoot forward slightly, propping my feet up on the dashboard, and close my eyes. Unbidden, my thoughts turn to Kathy, a woman I work with. She is the talk of the water cooler, not because she is some colossal beauty or because she is a magnificent physical representation of all that is womanly, but because of her willingness to push the envelope in the name of flirtation. There is great speculation about whether or not she would ever follow through on her overtures, but if anyone knows for certain, they're not telling.

The specific image that flashes through my head is one of Kathy at her worst, not two days ago. She'd worn a sheer skirt to work that managed miraculously not to cross the line into bad taste despite the fact that if the light caught it right you could see right through it. The topic of the day was whether Kathy had bothered with underwear; the skirt was form fitting enough that there should have been panty lines in evidence, but none were. Later that afternoon, I found out why.

Under the guise of searching for a file in the lowest draw of a file cabinet directly across from my desk, Kathy bent over, her skirt rising up over her ass and revealing the flesh colored swatch of a thong struggling to cover her snatch. Gaping, I watched as she spread her legs slightly, trapping the thin material between the folds of her vulva. She repeated this motion several times, until the thong darkened noticeably. Rivulets of moisture clung to the pink puffy lips of her pussy. She was getting turned on flashing me, and I was enjoying the show immensely. As I sit here, I can feel the precum well up at the memory, spill out and slowly dribble down my shaft, and I'm not even touching myself.

I correct that, curling my hand around my thick hard shaft, my back arching with pleasure at making contact once again. There's no reason to stop now, and in truth I doubt that I could. The leather dashboard feels slightly clammy under my feet and the cloth of my seat is soaked with sweat and other secretions, but I'm in heaven. The cock ring has a vise like hold on my ball sac, so large and swollen now that even the sway caused by the motion of my hand is painful, but it also means that when I cum they'll be no stopping. My cock is leaking steadily now, slippery in my hand, and the smell of sex is thick in the tight space of the car. I reach up and pinch my nipples, and the additional stimulation makes me buck hard, but it's awkward given my position. My mind is whirling in a thousand places; I still see Kathy's dripping pussy in my mind's eye while the hand on my cock becomes a tight, muscular pussy, trying to coax my cum out of me with earnest determination, and the one running over my chest belongs to an unnamed lover, one that knows how sensitive I am, how much playing with my nipples gets me off.

I pump my cock at breakneck speed, wet slapping sounds echoing in my ears, until a hot burst of semen comes rushing out of the tip of my cock like it's a fire hose. This first stream feels endless, and at some level I'm amazed at how long it seems to last before I contract the muscle and shoot again. I drop my hand from my chest and fondle my balls as I continue to cum, smashing into the headrest repeatedly, caught in the grip of ecstasy.

When it's finally over I slump in the seat, spent, my legs still sprawled up in front of me, my cock leaking the last vestiges of a hard fought and well-earned orgasm. My breath is ragged and shallow, the level exertion associated with this far greater than any other physical activity I've ever undertaken. After awhile, I open my eyes. The first thing I notice is that almost all of my cum has splattered the inside of the windshield; the driver's side is coated. The second thing I notice is a clump of shiny material wedged between the glass and the wiper blade. I sit up and start the car so I can roll down the window and retrieve it.

It's a pair of panties, blue silk, wet with the intoxicating smell of a woman, with a hastily scribbled note on a piece of paper inside.

"You looked like you were having too much fun to disturb, so I didn't. But I'd like to show you how much I appreciated your little show. Meet me here tomorrow."

It was signed Alicia. I don't know anyone by that name, and I'm embarrassed that someone saw my performance. But I'll sure as hell be back tomorrow.

I may even drive here barefoot.