I parked at her parents, and rolled the passenger window down.
That summer breeze-that sweet, warm treat, passed through. Sunset was soon, so I set my sunglasses on the dash and squinted at the treeline, shadier and deeper the more I looked at it. We wouldn't be out late.
A door shut, a pat-pat-pat on the gravel...her tight, tanned legs in white sneakers and jean shorts rounded the corner of the garage. Christa, my wife-girlfriend then-well, her strut hasn't changed; still calm, still walks with a little hip shake...if we weren't fooling around so much I'd have checked her out more often.
"And you're going where?" boomed her mother. I waved; she cocked her head for a nod. Something gold-a crucifix-twinkled against her white turtleneck.
"To the pub mum, to meet his friends...won't be late!" she said without turning her head. As a grin spread under her sunglasses, her teeth beamed through those small red lips.
Christa closed the door too hard, and hadn't finished buckling in when I started rolling to the road. She patted my knee, then clasped her hands so I could shift into forward gear.
"Pub's the other way," said Christa, then nodded at a cyclist in a flat cap.
"Who's he?" I asked.
With a shrug, she said, "A neighbor, he lives somewhere down here," and for the seconds she faced me in response offered, "Water?"
I gripped the bottle, sipped, and handed it back. Christa popped the nozzle and pumped the water out in loud squirts. Her mouth was so full she had to seal her lips to wipe her mouth. As she swallowed, I traced my fingers, moist from the condensation, up her inner thigh. Goosebumps budded on the cool trail as quickly as she squeezed her knees together.
I took the first right, through a wood. Out of the sun the car cooled. Christa placed her glasses beside the bottle and stroked the back of my head.
"A lot of dog walkers come here, but I suppose it's late now," she said.
"Mhmm," I said. Had I another plan?
Notes of wet wood and leaves coupled with her mild, floral perfume--sweat too-teased me; everything about that night would be fresh, I thought, electrified with possibility...what if her mother knew?
Another turn, a dirt road-only someone with a wolf for a pet would've been dog-walking at that hour. I parked at a service clearing.
"So...where's the pub?" she asked with a smirk. Click, and my buckle was off; I covered hers though. Moving my mouth to hers, puffs of her breath rolled off my lower lip as she asked with a laugh, "Hmm? Now what's this about?"
Her hips slid toward the edge of the seat-I was supporting myself on an arm for a pillar, with a fist between her legs. Can you picture those firm, tanned thighs? Christa's shorts were hot from her cunt; the crotch seam was rubbing my knuckles when we kissed; she wore that berry lip balm until her early 20's.
With a hand on my shoulder, Christa said, "Let's go to the back."
As dark as it was, I could still marvel her red cheeks and firm lips, that naughty evidence, when she stood and checked the wood for movement. We closed the rear doors gently, windows opened halfway.
Leaning into the corner between the door and the seat, Christa watched my hands undo the buttons on her black vest. I didn't notice her tiny, silver crucifix until then; should I've slowed down?
With hands folded as if in prayer I parted her vest; no bra, and the tits she had then-tanlined, round with large, pink areolas for a small cup, well, you'd have helped yourself like I did, sucking their small nips before kissing her on the lips, before tonguing again.
Sitting the way I was, my shorts bunched up. Christa couldn't find my fly zipper quickly. Her kisses became passive, withdrawn; she arched her neck onto the headrest while her hands prodded my balls, shaft, cockhead...they were getting so close to finding it. That my smallest finger was probing her arse crack wasn't helping, I'm sure. But, I was throbbing now-she could have used my shorts to jerk me off.
She popped that cock out, and, what a tease she was...always keeping her mouth just above its little hole. I couldn't help it: by flexing my cock when she squeezed it at the balls, my precum just grazed her chin.
"Want my mother to see you came all over yourself?" Christa wiped her chin while jerking me so hard and fast my wet cock made plip-plip-plip sounds when her fist rammed its cock head folds. So intense-so numbing.
No, nothing would wash the cum she could squeeze out of me.
Christa tired, and by watching her now patient, heavy strokes peel my foreskin and half-roll it up, I provided lip service to her ear, her moist neck, to all those tender, immaculate folds along her collar...to what inevitably slopes into those tits-rose-budded and blessed with a cup too large for my mouth but too small to stretch my grip.
"It's too hot like this," she said, her forehead pooling a shiny, delta of sweat above her cleavage. Who could cum in this heat?
Rubbing my face with my shirt, I pulled away, and while blind, felt the tip of her sneaker graze my abs. That made me curious-was she going to lie on her tummy?
No, she opened the car door.
"Finish it," I said, motioning to the water bottle. Christa blew me a kiss before saving the last two fingers of water to rinse her face and tits-you should've seen the droplets dripping from her nips making spots all over her shorts.
What would her mother say?
Well, I'd never tell her that her daughter was so moist I couldn't hear her shorts and black lace knickers slither down to her knees. Oh yes-Christa was only wearing socks and sneakers now, and yes-those were her wet, cummy panties tossed on the top of the car.
My grin must've twisted wickedly-my ears were burning and cocked to listen for cars. Her eyes didn't follow me when I walked behind her-Christa just stood with her hands on her hips, legs spread-airing out that moist, trimmed and burly-brown cunt hair. And, what an arse-I mean, I'll never tire of telling you how lean and tight she was. She had these narrow hips, but those cheeks, tanlined of course, bubbled out...were made for a two-handed grip.
