Pandemic Desperation

Author's Note: All sexual acts are performed by characters 18 years of age or older. This story is set in the first wave of the COVID pandemic, so in March of 2020. This is purely fantasy and any reference to real places is coincidental. Thank you to fellow author

Thatsbogus

for inspiration and feedback in the creation of this story.

Pandemic Desperation

It was a warm summer's evening when I let in a huff to pick up the grocery order that sat waiting for me one town over at the supermarket. Since the state-imposed quarantine to combat the spread of the COVID-19 virus was put into full effect in March, my house had been overrun by my husband and two nearly grown children. There hadn't been a moment of peace and quiet for three months now. Not that I minded my family, I loved them. I loved my husband and our two wonderful children, both of whom were in those beautiful care and conflict free teenage years (haha). No, it wasn't love that had me running from the place with a barely restrained scream... it was the complete lack of privacy.

There are things that moms need, ok? Special things,

alone

things that just weren't happening anymore. Usually my husband worked his 9-5 job and I worked mine and between the two of us there were hours to be together and hours to be apart. It was the apart hours that were in desperately short supply. After 18 years of dating and marriage, our sex life had settled into a comfortable routine of weekly sex with each other and weekly sex with ourselves. Not that my husband didn't tick all the boxes. I loved sex with my husband. He had a nice fat dick with a beautiful curve that hit just right each and every time he thrust.... Man... so right. And he knew exactly where stuff was and how to press and lick all the right buttons and he had been pressing and licking all those same buttons since high school, but... some buttons needed an extra press every now and again in a different order entirely and there was no way to find time alone to press them.

I might have been ok if my husband and I had at least our full weekly sessions without interruption, but even those had been shortened to the quickest of quickies leaving much to be desired on my end. Our kids normally had a routine too of after school practices and games, but now in our three bedroom, two bath home set in the middle of town, we were finding it practically impossible for any lengthy, satisfying fucks. We were both finding it hard to dive into each other and really get into it amidst the sounds of angry teenage ranting, annoying thumping music, or constant knocks on the door needing this, that, or the other. I mean the door is locked for a reason - figure it out kids. And while I was thankful for the quick sex we were able to have as it allowed me to stay connected to my husband, each session left me hungry and wet, aching for the real thing. There was either someone always awake, or always around, and I have never been one to orgasm quietly, at least not in the way that I craved.

So I left the house with that antsy frustrated feeling, that feeling crawling beneath my skin to get out; the buildup of a many-months long denied deep orgasm. Not the internal kind you can get from your husband pounding your pussy for fifteen minutes that ends after an internal clench or two and takes one breath for the feeling to dissipate. No, I'm talking about the kind that makes your heart thud and pussy clench so hard it could snap a cock in half if it had one in it. The soul touching kind, the kind that my husband could give me with a prolonged fuck session or the kind I knew I could give to myself with a favorite toy or if the moment was right with even just my fingers. The only problem with those kinds of orgasms was that they had never occurred with simply a whimper. They came over me with no less than a desperate scream of release and in a full house, there was no way to hide what exactly mommy was doing in the bathtub or what daddy was doing to her in the locked bedroom.

The evening was warm and sticky as I climbed into my hot car, blasting the AC as soon as I turned the key. I was thankful again for the grocery ordering system as it allowed me to keep on the simple dark gray cotton tank sheath dress which breathed so easily. When my kids were younger, I used to call these quick runs to the story "mommy vacations" because you got to leave the kids with dad while you escaped, kid free, to the store to browse for an hour among the product lined shelves for dinner inspiration. That single solitary hour was all I had needed at times to recenter myself and prepare to head back into the toddler kingdom at home. Even now, the pandemic stripped me of that mini-vacation as I had opted for the much safer online ordering feature where I picked up my groceries at a pre-scheduled time. Still, this was a brief escape and I welcomed it with open arms and skin heated by more than the sticky summer evening.

When I got to the grocery store, I pulled up and parked in the designated zones for delivery. It was a madhouse, just nuts. Every spot was full despite the lateness of the evening. I logged into the app and checked in, declaring my arrival. It shouldn't be long before someone arrived with my order, I hoped. For now, I would sit in blissful silence, letting the cool wash of the car's AC roll over and through me, slip under the gray sheath with a sigh and whisper against my heated skin.

The AC molded the dress to my figure and I couldn't help glancing down at my mom body. Yes it had birthed two nearly grown children, but it wasn't that bad. In my heightened state of need, I felt tempted to cup my large DD breasts and give them a squeeze and test the allure my husband claimed they still held. He always said they had stayed full and round despite the two rounds of breast feeding. Just the thought of giving them a squeeze while parked in this line of cars had my insides squirming with an internal swoop of arousal. All at once I heard my mother's voice in the back of my head scolding me for even thinking such a daring thought.

What if I were seen?! The shame!

My cheeks flooded with color and I looked quickly to my left and right at the other waiting cars. No one was glancing in my direction, in fact the man on the left of me was staring into his phone, the little screen lighting up the two square inches of face it could reach.

I shook myself. What did I have to be ashamed of? It wasn't like I had actually touched my breasts, for goodness sakes, just

thought

of it is all. A thought couldn't hurt anyone could it? Again came that swooping feeling, that deep internal clench of arousal that starts at your naval and spasms down into your pussy and I felt my walls clench at the thought of stroking my plush breasts in the middle of this parking lot with row-to-row cars and people sitting waiting beside me. What if I did it? What if I could?

As if a mind of their own, my hands reached up quickly and cupped my breasts. They felt heavy and full in my palms. I hefted them slightly, running my palms along the undersides of them and up towards the tips until I could pinch my nipples between thumb and forefinger. They instantly hardened between my fingers and I gasped out loud, my face flaming in the dark car and my head snapping back. It felt so good to be touched there... even by myself, so good to pinch and pull on the aching nipples. I wanted more than anything to reach underneath my top and free them from the bralette beneath - one of my husband's favorites; a concoction of creamy soft satin and lace that played peekaboo with my nipples. I scratched at that lace now, felt it roll and scrape over the sensitive skin and felt an answering wetness in my matching panties.

A knock on the window had me jumping out of my skin and I instantly dropped my breasts and lowered my gaze to my lap, my breath rushing in gasps.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god

. I took a deep steadying breath and raised my head to meet the eyes of the person at the window. It was the grocery clerk with my groceries, what looked to be a young man in his mid-twenties with soft brown hair and kind eyes, half his face hidden beneath a medical face mask, but with a trim manly figure.

Son of a bitch

. Had he seen? He had to have seen. A wave of shame broke over me, but hidden underneath was a tiny hint of thrill which shocked me even more.

My hands were shaking as I hastily covered my face with a mask from the side console and lowered the window.

"Order for last name 'Clark,'?" He asked and I let go of the breath I was holding.

"Yes, thank you." I nodded, proud my voice had held and wasn't a shaking mess. He tapped something on his handheld tablet.

"Want me to load these in the trunk?"

"Yes please." I popped the trunk on my Crossover and he began loading the groceries into the back. In just a few, agonizing, anxiety filled minutes he was back at the window.

"Some of these bags won't fit in the back, is it ok if I put these in the back seat?"

"Oh sure, please." He opened the side door behind the driver's seat, flooding the interior with the answering dome light and that wicked piece of me, that little thrill that stole over me at being discovered groping myself in a crowded parking lot, popped its head up again and I got the sinful temptation to do something else while he was there minding his own business and doing his job. What would happen if I touched myself

there

, in that wet heat down below? He couldn't tell, he wouldn't know. How could he? It was dark and my full pussy lips were so slick with eagerness at just the thought that I found it increasingly difficult to resist.

My fingers started to tremble and my hips squirmed in my seat as a fantasy stole over my mind of hiking up my cotton dress and sliding my hot fingers into my wet crease to flick and tease my aching clit right there in front of everyone. The wrongness of the fantasy made me nearly weep at my depravity. I clenched my legs together and rested my head against the seat. What was happening to me? I wasn't like this, was I? I was the good Christian girl my mother taught me to be, raised me to be. I didn't go rubbing my pussy in front of innocent strangers.

I was bouncing my head against the seat with my fists clenched in my lap when the young man was back at my window, holding the tablet out for my signature.

"You can just use your finger," he said softly. Was I imagining the tone in his voice, the hint of desire? Of course I was. I was at least ten years older than this man and despite my lovely breasts, my mom tummy and thighs left much to be desired, I'm sure. Especially since the weekly trips to the gym had been completely stopped in the lockdown. Not that he could see them in the darkened car, or my face with its covered mask anyway.

Cheeks flaming at my runaway imagination, I slid my trembling finger swiftly over his tablet in a signature.

"Thank you," I said demurely.

"You're welcome, gorgeous," and there was no mistaking the husky desire in his voice this time. I looked up in shock, catching his eye and he winked at me before walking away, trailing his empty cart behind him.

Oh fuck

... he had seen.

The disembodied voice of my mother and pastor chastised me the whole drive home as I wrestled with my body's inflamed need and the chaste teachings I had been brought up with. Who even was I? How could I have found such pleasure in touching my breasts in a crowded parking lot, in even thinking of touching my pussy? And the thrill of being discovered? Was it just that I was so hard up that anything would soak my panties? That had to be it.

This line of thinking had me feeling so dejected by the time I got home. I parked and turned off the car. I couldn't bring myself to get out and face the noisy house without the space to think through everything I was feeling, so I sat in the darkened driveway at the back of the house, watching the branches of the tall oaks in my backyard and the neighbor's backyards sway slightly with a light breeze.

I've always enjoyed the layout of our house with its secluded back entry. The front of the house faced the main street, but our garage was at the back of the house opening up to an alley that ran between the main streets. This meant our garage and backyard was cooler than the front year-round as it was sandwiched between the fenced backyards of our neighbors with all their lovely shade trees because the front of their houses faced the main streets to the front and right of us.

We never saw the neighbors on the left, the Masons. They were an older retired couple that rarely made an appearance. Their front door faced the main street like ours did, which also meant that our backyards were just that, backyard to one another and not much was visible over the tall fence between. The neighbors to the right, the Johnsons, lived in a two-story home with the front of their house facing the street to the right of us. They were a young married couple in their early twenties without children and during the pandemic they had many noisy nights with friends despite the lock-down and quarantine orders. Tonight though, their upstairs windows were dark and the backyard quiet. Must be a non-party night, I mused.

The car was getting unpleasantly warm without the AC running, but I didn't quite feel like going into the noise just yet, so I turned the key long enough to roll all the windows down in order to coax whatever breeze there was into the car. The warm, muggy night didn't disappoint as a slight breeze blew through enough to stir the sweaty tendrils of hair that had escaped from my high lazy-day ponytail.

As the quiet of the night rushed in with the wind, it dawned on me that here I was,

alone

. For the first time in months. Granted I was sitting parked in a car full of groceries in front of my garage, but the backyard was dark and secluded, the upstairs windows of the couple next door also dark....

That rush of desire, the pulse of

what if

came flooding back all in an instant. What if I touched myself here, in this dark car on this dark night. What if I did it, what if I just pulled my little dress up and let the soft breeze floating in through the open windows tickle the wetness between my soft, hot thighs?

My face flamed once again and I looked quickly to my left and right for what felt like the hundredth time. All was still dark and quiet. As if of their own accord, my fingertips began inching their way down my thighs, gathering the thin gray material of my dress as they went until the material was bunched around my hips, exposing my thighs and wet panties to the night air. I opened my thighs and shuddered as the breeze swept over the gusset of my panties, teasing my engorged lips and hard little clit. A low moan escaped me as I followed the path of the breeze, teasing those lips over the top of my panties.

I moved the seat farther back and leaned the seat back all the way so I was reclining in a way that just my head was visible above the door. I knew I shouldn't, really I shouldn't. It was so risky... My husband and kids might pop their head out of the back door any minute and I'd be caught, but if I gave myself any more time to think about it, I knew that I wouldn't take advantage of this small bit of privacy, so I turned off my brain and that inner consciousness and got comfortable. If I was going to do this, I was going to commit and give myself the pleasure I had been so thoroughly denied for months.

I pulled my satin panties off in a rush and stepped them down my legs until they lay on the floor of the car. That hot inner thrill swept through me again at the thought of being outdoors with no panties on, bared to the waist. In the grand scheme of things, I knew it wasn't that wild. I was in my car parked on my own property, not straddling the fence or splayed out on the lawn, but it was still the most exposed I'd ever been in my life and my head was swimming with a heady amount of shame at the surprising lasciviousness of the situation.

I spread my legs wide and let the air tickle and tease me while I pulled the stretchy neck of my top down below my breasts, pulling first one, then the other out over the top of my soft, cream and lace bralette. The breeze instantly pebbled my sensitive nipples and I whimpered at the feeling. My breasts were heavy and full, hungry for the mouths I conjured up in my mind. I tugged at the sensitive tips, my hips bucking in answer, driving me into an even more frenzied state.

Unable to wait any longer, I abandoned one breast and dropped my right hand onto my wet pussy, sighing deeply to finally be touched there, even if it was with my own trembling fingers. I was so wet it was difficult to get a good grip on my folds, but I tugged on my generous lips mimicking the way my husband would suckle them before getting down to the business of suckling my clit to climax. It felt so good to pull and tease at the thick folds because with every tug, I felt an answering tug in my clitoral hood, the skin sliding back and forth over my hard, protruding clit... it was heaven and hell, sinful and delicious all at once, as the night breeze added teasing touches to my thighs and hard nipples.

Just as I was reaching finally for my clit, the sound of feminie laughter trickled in through the open windows and I started upright, yanking my top up over my exposed breasts and slamming my thighs together, heart pounding. I looked around frantically, but couldn't spot the owner of the musical laughter. The laugh came again and I looked to my right. The upstairs window of the young couple to the right of me was on and the window was open. I could see the curtains catching the same evening breeze that had tickled and teased my wetness moments before.

Fuck!

I thought viciously. The same theme of interrupted orgasm that had been plaguing me for months was rearing its ugly head. Just when I thought I could find some release, I'd have to stop,

again

. From the angle of the window to my car parked below, they would for sure be able to see me from that window if they looked out.

So what

, came that secret inner voice.... Did it matter? Did it matter if I was seen? Was the risk worth what I knew would be an epic orgasm after so many months of what was basically a prolonged edging session?

I should be ashamed of these thoughts. I shouldn't even be contemplating touching myself much less doing so out in the open where the neighbors might see. What was I becoming in my desperation to cum?

A hussy, a slut

, that inner shame-filled voice spit out in my head. Why then was my heart pounding now not with the fear of discovery, but with something else, that same thick thrill of exposure, of playing the wanton, the slut out in the open for all eyes to see if they wished? Why?

The sounds coming from the open window began to take on a different tone and that lustful restless lasciviousness inside me perked up its head at the unmistakable sounds of sex. My face flamed instantly with heat to hear them. The hot wet sounds of a man hungrily eating a pussy and lust-filled feminine moans made my pussy clench painfully. Everything inside me screamed to get out of the car, to go in the house and give them their privacy, yet my gaping pussy - gasping hungrily at air - begged for release.

I felt as if I was on the verge of a precipice, my muscles tensing and heart pounding.

What's the difference?

That sinful voice inside asked, I've already touched myself, already exposed myself to the night and possible gazes. I've already sinned. What's another on top of what has already been done? Why not lend my own moans and sounds of my wet, sloppy pussy to their sounds? What's one more sin?