After our adventure at the beach Jim and I had sex two more time that evening. He had always been a good lover, but three times in one day was a new record! Usually after fucking me it takes a long time for him to get another hard-on. I knew that thinking about me exposing myself in the water and on the towel with that man watching us was the force that was driving him on, but for some reason neither one of us mentioned the incident. It was as if both of us were sorting things in our own minds and neither of us were willing to share our private feelings.
Two weeks went by and I was hoping that Jim would break the silence first and bring up the subject, but he never did. I was also reluctant to mention it. I guess it was because I knew that I had enjoyed it just a little too much, and bringing it up might make him think that I was it was on mind all the time. It scared me a little that I was becoming obsessed with what had happened and what was scaring me more was that I was thinking of what might have happened instead of what actually did.
Nevertheless, our lives went back to normal and we fell back into the routine of making love two or three times a week. There's a difference between making love and fucking. We made love. I longed to fuck. I wanted to feel the excitement again that I felt in the back of the van, there in the parking lot at the beach, on all fours with his cock slamming into my pussy doggy-style. Making love is tender caresses, moonlight, a glass or two of champagne, and satin sheets. Fucking is sucking cock, playing with dildoes, doing it on the ground in full daylight and abandoning yourself to your baser instincts. Making love is soft and natural. Fucking is hard core and dirty. What scared me the most with my obsession with the beach was that I now knew I was obsessed by, and longed for, the dirt.
Almost a month had passed when Jim came home late one Thursday evening with a package wrapped up with ribbons and a bow and asked if he thought my mother might be willing to watch Christine, our two year old daughter, for the weekend. If she could, he said, then maybe we could take the off and go to Las Vegas. One of his coworkers was getting married on Saturday afternoon and we were invited to the wedding, Jim had already cleared it with his boss and he was going to take off Friday. If my mother could watch her we could leave in the morning, drop her off on our way, and be back early Sunday afternoon so we could spend some time visiting with my her before heading for home.
To make it short, I called, she said yes, and by 8:00 Friday morning we were on our way to Grandma's house. I played patty-cake with Christine while Jim drove, but I detected a certain reserve on his part. Whereas he is usually talkative and cheerful, this morning he seemed quiet and reflective. Even the radio wasn't on. Jim likes to listen to talk radio, but today there was no conversation at all.
When we arrived at Mom's house I spent a few minutes giving her instructions on how to care for Christine (as if she needed them), told her we would call later with our hotel number in Vegas where we could be reached in case of emergency, kissed them both good-bye and got back on the Interstate.
Once again, on the road, Jim fell silent. The radio was off and the silence was overwhelming. I was tempted to ask if anything was wrong, but opted instead to sit in the silence and wait until Jim made the first move.
"I have a confession to make to you," he finally said. "There is no wedding."
"Then...what's the package for?" I responded.
"It's for you. Would you like to play a little game?" Whatever he had in mind, I could tell that he was having a hard time saying this, and I wondered what it was all about. The package, the lie about the wedding, the game, the way he had been silent for so long, it didn't add up.
"What kind of game?" I asked.
He looked at me sheepishly and answered "Open the package and maybe you'll know. I hope you enjoy it, but I'll understand if your answer is no." I reached back behind the seat and brought the package to my lap. Whatever it was it didn't weigh much and as I untied the ribbon and began removing the paper I could see Jim's anticipation. In the back of my mind I thought I knew what it might be, and I secretly hoped I was right, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. Besides, if it was what I hoped for, would I later regret having received it?
As I took off the lid to the box Jim said "I guess it's kind of a present for me too. I hope you like them."
There in the box lay the items Jim had bought me. The contents consisted of a sheer white cotton dress which buttoned all the way from the neckline down to the hem. It was full length and would reach down to my ankles. Besides the dress there were three pairs of thong panties, each in a different color, a pair of cut off jeans that was sliced high on the side and just a sliver of fabric between the legs, a white tube top with the nipples cut out, as well as a few other assorted "erotic" garments.
A few moments went by as I contemplated my treasure. It was exactly what I had thought it might be. It was what I wanted, and also what I feared. It was Jim's way of commenting, without using words, about our afternoon on the beach. It was his way of telling me how much he had enjoyed it and that he wanted some more of the same.
I waited a few more moments before responding. I wanted to make sure that what I said was to the point and reflected exactly what it was I wanted to say. If I said it poorly or made a mistake I might fuck things up. Finally I said "Well, I think you can take the bra back. My tits look just fine without it. Now what was this game we were going to play?" I said it laughingly with a glint in my eye, a raised eyebrow, and a leer on my lips.
My answer must have settled his nerves because he smiled for the first time since we had left home.
"I'm going to set the speed control at 65 miles an hour. We won't go faster and we won't go slower. When the speedometer turns 26,000 miles I want you to strip off everything, put on one of the panties and the tube top and I want you to ride like that for at least 20 miles. If someone sees you, then he's a lucky man. If they don't see you, then it's their fault they've missed out on seeing one of the most beautiful women in the world. After the 20 miles are up you can get dressed again, OK?"
I looked at the speedometer and noticed that it was at 25,982. He was giving me 18 miles in which to take him up on the game or not. He was giving me 18 miles in which to anticipate what might occur. I lit a cigarette and thought of the possibilities. I knew I would not hesitate. I would do anything and everything that Jim wanted me to do. I had been dreaming of this for almost four weeks and now that the opportunity was upon me I was not going to cheated out of it by giving in to fear. I could already feel my pussy already getting wet and I felt like masturbating.
"Do I have to wait for it turn 26,000?"
I think the question floored Jim. He was probably under the impression that I would have to be coerced. "Yes, you do," he said sternly.
"You're setting the cruise control for 65 miles an hour and your not going to speed up or slow down for anything, right? So, if we're going faster than someone and they see me they have to increase their speed if they want to continue the show, right? And if they're going faster than us and they see me they'll have to slow down if they want to continue the show right? And if they're going the same speed as us and they're enjoying the show then we're stuck with them since no one else will be able to see anything and we may not like the people we're stuck with. And what if the car that sees me is a cop or a highway patrolman, what then? And how about a car filled to the brim with a barrel full of kids, what then? And how about priests or nuns or old people who shouldn't drive anyway but do. Should I show them my tits as well? Do we keep it on 65 miles an hour anyway? A how about....."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU'RE DRIVING ME INSANE," Jim roared.