"So that whole night I feel like I'm just waiting for the dance with him. Everyone had been showering me with compliments, but there was something about the way he looked at me that was electric. I could almost feel his eyes on me, like a physical touch on my skin - it was that intense. I could sense him watching me the entire evening, while I danced with other guys, including my boyfriend. I was having a good time, and although I wouldn't have admitted it back then, I was loving all the attention I was getting. Still, I was just biding my time until he came over and said, 'How about that dance, then?'"
And I lose the thread of the story for a moment, remembering that dance, how - unlike all the other unpracticed boys that night - he had led me so surely, his hand firmly at the small of my back, how he whispered in my ear, making me shiver, and most of all how he practically gnawed on my bare shoulders, kissing and biting my neck until I worried my legs would give out. I had never, back then at sixteen, been brought to orgasm by anyone but myself, but that fully-clothed and public slow dance, with no nudity and no naughty bits involved, had brought me closer than anything else had. When the music stopped, I had walked away from him in an altered state, so flushed and turned on I was practically buzzing, but also fit to be tied because I knew I wasn't going to be getting off that night. (The mingled arousal and frustration I felt at that moment was a perfect instance of how completely adolescence had sucked...)
Anyway, Peter doesn't really need to hear the end of the story. He watches me remembering, sees the deepening pink of my skin and my breath quickening as I think of that night, and he's on his knees in front of me in a flash. Before I can say anything or stop him, he's got his nose rubbing up against those same panties whose presence had disappointed him so. "Oh!" I breathe out in a rush, and think about checking the driver again, but I don't look because I don't want to know, don't want Peter to stop even if the driver is looking. "No, Peter!" I chastise him half-heartedly, which I know will only spur him on further. He's touching me so gently I can barely feel it, just the way he knows will drive me up the wall, grazing his lips against my silk-covered labia and pushing my thighs apart even farther, which makes me gasp. "The driver, I don't think we should--," I swoon, as he hooks one finger inside the elastic and pulls the silky fabric aside, giving him full access to my pussy. I love it when he pulls my panties aside like that, that feeling of being clothed and exposed at the same time. And I'm dripping wet by now - the memories crossed with the present moment would have brought me to a fevered pitch even if his fingers weren't stroking me more firmly now, alternating with his tongue, and I've stopped protesting now because all I can do is moan, trying to keep my voice low but probably failing miserably. And his tongue starts rolling over my clit and his teeth are nibbling on the thick flesh of my outer lips and his fingers are parting me and I'm shivering and sweating at the same time and unlike that long-ago prom night, tonight I know I am going to get off, and good.
"What do you want, baby?" he whispers to me from his position below me. "Tell me what you want."
"I want... I want..." I'm having trouble completing a sentence, I'm so wrapped up in the sensations. He's teasing me now, making lazy circles around the threshold to my cunt with his tongue, then his fingers, then tongue again, and I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a treacherously tall drop and teetering, and I want to fall, fall in and never come back up, to get lost in it and drown in the swirling waters below. I finally find the words - "I want you inside me" - and with that, he plunges two fingers inside me at last and I am coming, coming so hard I'm not going to be able to not make noise, and I don't care about the driver or the windows or anything except the fingers inside me, curling and finding that spot, right where I need it, where I've been aching for it, and I am panting and shaking and he isn't stopping, he's pushing me further and further and I am raising my hips off the seat and coming in huge waves and I can tell Peter's shirt sleeves are getting soaked but I know he doesn't care, and I hear myself pleading "More, more!" and he's hastily undoing his belt and his pants and sliding inside me for real, filling me totally this time, and I'm scooching my ass down the seat to meet him more fully and he's pushing down the top of my dress to get at my nipples, sucking and biting until I can barely stand it.
And I push his shoulders away from me, confusing him for a second until he realizes what I mean. I want him down on the floor of the car, between the two bench seats, and I want to be riding him, and an instant later I am, grinding my hips down onto him over and over as hard and fast as I possibly can, and I've got my hands pressed up against the ceiling for leverage and I'm sure without a doubt now that the driver could easily glance in the mirror and see my breasts free of the dress, see my mouth open and my head back and see the rhythm I am pounding my man with, and hear me growling and cursing and finally crying out, every nerve in my whole body suffused with pleasure, and from the way he grabs my hips and slams me into him I can tell that Peter is about to come too and the two of us spiral up up and over and that's it, I'm slumping over his body and spent, and the intense pleasure ebbs into mellowness and as we're lying there recovering our wits the speaker clicks on and the driver's amused voice is saying, "Sir? We're here."