Slipping Into Depravity Ch 03

By Eve St. Albert

SAM

The next morning, we went down for the STD test. And it turned out, we had to wait about a week. And then, even afterwards, we'd have to wait at least a week for results.

"Pooh!" Kayley complained, as we drove home.

"Makes you almost not want to have dirty bathroom sex with complete strangers, if we have to go through all this trouble afterwards," I commented.

Kayley turned to me and stuck out her tongue. She kicked off one of her runners and twisted around in her seat until her back was against the passenger door and lifted one leg over my stick shift to work the heel of her bare foot into my crotch.

I'm always impressed by just how flexible she is.

My body reacted, as it always did, to anything Kayley did. She could make me hard by saying 'Hello.'

"Well," I said, not looking down. She moved her heel back and forth across my crotch, and I could feel the weight of it on my rapidly growing erection, awkwardly trapped in the folds of my boxers. "Have I ever mentioned, I'm not a foot fetishist?"

"Really?" she teased, her voice almost sing song. "I bet I could make you suck my toes!"

"I bet you could, but not while I'm driving. That could be embarrassing if we get stopped."

"Pooh," she said again. "I wouldn't make you. I just said that to get your attention."

"I guarantee," I said, "You have it. What do you want it for?"

"I need to tell you something important."

"Yes."

"I'm not wearing panties."

"No?"

"It's true. I didn't put any on, because we were going for the test, so I thought that was the safe thing to do. And now here we are, and my skirt has ridden right up while sitting in the car, and you can see everything."

"Everything?"

"Oh everything!" she said. "I'm trying to be modest and cover myself with my hand, but it's no use, my fingers keep slipping."

"Like it's wet?"

"That must be it. Every time I try, my fingers slip and they end up inside or sliding around. It's awful. Anyway, you can see everything, my smooth bare creamy thighs, my flat belly, my pubic mound. My pussy lips. Oh this is so awkward, it's like my pussy lips are pulled apart, and you can see my pink. You can even see my clit. It's soooo explicit."

"I'm driving," I smiled. "I can't look."

"I know, that's why I'm describing it for you, in juicy wet detail. So you know exactly what you're missing."

"You're so caring," I said.

"I am," she agreed. There was a brief pause. "I don't know what's wrong with my clit, I keep stroking and stroking it, but it's just so hard and swollen, like a little bump. Do you think it needs medical attention?"

"A careful examination is indicated."

"Oral exam."

"I was thinking that."

"Really? That's a wonderful idea," she said, digging her heel into my crotch, I was fully rigid now, but somehow, she'd worked my throbbing member loose from the folds of my boxer, and it was moving more loosely in there. She moved her foot up and down, the heel dragging from one side to the other.

"You know," she said, "this is awful. I mean, if someone in an SUV or a truck or something pulled up beside you and looked down into your window at just the right angle, it would seem like I was showing you my pussy."

"I suppose that they might make that mistake," I conceded.

"Why," she said, "I would just die of embarrassment. I mean, what would they think. They'd think I was a slut. A cheap exhibitionist. A woman of loose morals."

"The sort of girl who has unprotected sex in public mens rooms with complete strangers?"

"Exactly! I would totally die. We both know, I'm a good girl!"

"I've always thought so."

"It's not my fault I am without panties," she sighed.

"I guess you'll have to go commando," I replied.

"What a male thing to say!" she replied, all mock horror. "I thought you were a feminist."

"Sorry."

"The problem," she said, "is I'm short of panties."

"That is a problem," I agreed.

"It is," she said. "It's a missing panties problem. Once, I had all the panties I needed. Now, I don't. I have a panty shortage!"

"A panty deficit!"

"A panty famine."

"Panty deprivation! I'm deprived. Forlorn. Without panties, anyone, why everyone, can gaze upon my glistening smooth vagina, my exquisite pussy lips, this perfect little clit."

"If they happen to be looking through the right window, from the right angle, and the right time," I agreed.

"Exactly," she said. "EVERYONE!!!"

"Well," I told her, "if it's any consolation, I won't look."

"Because you're a gentleman!"

"Because I'm driving. If I wasn't driving, I'd definitely be looking. I'd be looking so carefully, I'd get up close so I could see perfectly. I'd have my face in there so close, you'd feel me. I'd be totally staring. I'd be memorizing that pussy."

"Really?"

"Totally, I'd want a very close up view. I wouldn't want to overlook a single detail."

"Well now I'm disappointed," she said. "You're not the gentleman I thought you were."

"Sorry."

"You should be!" She accused, "I see you now for the insatiable rampaging horndog with a nonstop erection and a libido that just won't quit, a beast of pure lust, who isn't even a little bit deterred by the fact that a complete stranger soiled my pure body and used me like kleenex, as a repository for both his massive thrusting cock and his copious load of semen. You're nothing but creature of pure lust, a walking erection. Why, my virtue is imperilled just by being near you!"

"Yes," I agreed. "That's me!"

"Good," she said.

We drove for a moment. She hummed. The heel of her foot slid back and forth across my pants, stroking my erection.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Noooooooothing," she lilted.

"Are you sure."

"Well..." she teased. "I might be trying to get this little button of a clit to go down, and deal with some of this wetness that seems to be all over down there."

"Any luck."

"No," she said. "It's just getting worse. I think maybe some of it is his semen. He left so much cum in me, it was like a firehose. It was just dripping out, running down my thighs. Some of it might still be up there in my newly stretched out pussy, leaking out, and that's why I'm so wet."

"I doubt it."

"Oh."

"It's probably mine," I said, "I left a lot of semen in you."

"You do, you do that a lot I notice. You're always putting it there."

"Nowhere else to put it."

"I should buy you a mason jar," she said. "A set. Maybe get you a subscription, a new box of mason jars delivered weekly."

"I'd just fill them up."

"You would!" she agreed. "It would be terrible, the house would be overflowing with all the mason jars full of your semen. After a while, we wouldn't even be able to move around. Anyway, I was just thinking, all this wetness, it could be his though, because his cock was so fucking big."

"Big?"

"Huge."

"You said last night it wasn't that big?"

"Did I?"

"You said he was hung like a weasel."

"Oh no," she corrected. "I said his cock was as big as a weasel."

"Are weasels the standard of measurement for cocks now?" I asked.

"Haven't you ever heard the song: Pop goes the weasel!"

"Suddenly, I understand the Mulberry Bush better now."

"I have a sweet little mulberry," she said, "it feels so good when I make little circles around it, like I'm doing now. Do you like my little mulberry?"

"Love it," I said. "I notice, it's a very smooth bush."

"You looked!!!"

"I might have snuck a peek."

"It's autumn, all the leaves have fallen off my mulberry bush, so it's cold and requires constant warming."

I chuckled.

"Anyway," she said, "he was huge. Gynormous. Like, walrus sized."

"Uh huh," I said.

Her foot dug in trying to toe my zipper, and she blew me a raspberry. I helped her by unzipping a little, just to get it started, and adjusting so my hard cock was a little more comfortable.

"Don't waste that tongue," I warned her. "I plan to use it later."

"Promises, promises," she pouted. "All you do is drive around and not even stare at a pulsing, wet smooth shaven vagina in desperate need of attention."

"You were saying, weasel or walrus?"

"Pooh," she complained. "You didn't even see it. So I can make it any size I want. Anyway," she said, "you weren't bothered by my fucking Leroy yesterday?"

"You're on a first name basis?" I asked. "Should I get out my wedding planner?"

Another raspberry.

"You're horrid," she told me.

And then her voice went sober.

"Seriously though, does it bother you at all that I had sex with man I literally just met, like literally, literally right away. Just some random person. Does it bother you at all?"

"It wasn't right away," I said. "You talked to him for twenty minutes. Fifteen at least."

"Was it that long?" she said thoughtfully. "I guess time flies when you're sizzling. It felt instant. Like I just sat down and he said hello, and the next thing I know we're off to the bathroom. Does it bother you? Seriously."

"I guess you never know how you'll feel until you're in the situation. But no, it didn't bother me. It was hot, I was really excited and amazed. Sexually excited, but also excited for you, like you were going skydiving or mountain climbing, like taking a big step. And I felt honoured, that I was your safety, your reassurance, that I could be there if needed, and that maybe somehow, I gave you permission and confidence to take a chance."

There was no answer.

"Thank you," she said, her voice quiet. "I think maybe it bothered me. That wasn't my image of myself, to just let a stranger have me like that, to get bent over in a men's room. We all have this idea of who we are, and of the things we'll do and we won't do. And I love you, and I keep thinking I didn't just do this, I did this to you, I did this to our relationship."

There was a long pause.

"I'm worried that I fucked up. That I fucked it up with us."

Her foot in my crotch stilled.

"I love you," I told her, "and nothing at all will ever change that. This didn't change us. This was you being bold and amazing and fearless."

"And slutty and horny."

Her toe worked its way into the small gap I'd unzipped and pushed the zipper all the way down.

"Definitely, slutty and horny. I love you slutty and horny," I paused. "How are you able to do that?"

The girl was definitely flexible.

"Even if another man is boning me?" she asked. "Even if my vagina is gaping from his big cock and his semen is leaking out in copious amounts."

"I'm hard now," I said.

"Yes, I know!" she said, trying to work her foot into my pants. Her heel slid across the fabric of my pants, working my cock. "It's totally disgusting! Seriously, what's wrong with you? It's like you're hard allllllll the time! Here I am trying to have a serious conversation about my mulberry and all this guy's semen which is still dripping from my well used vag from random casual sex with a perfect stranger... And all you care about is your boner? What about me? What about my needs? I have a life, aspirations, needs... It's been ten minutes and you haven't fucked me once."

"We've been driving for twenty minutes."

"Multitasking dammit!!!"

"The thought of your mulberry and all my semen oozing from you making me harder."

"You were already hard,"

"I'm harder."

"What if it was men, plural?"

"You mean a gangbang?"

She stuck her tongue out.

"Don't be gross," she said. "I'm talking serial promiscuity."

"How many are we talking?"

"The number matters?"

"The way you said it..."

"Let's say two or three, or you know... a dozen or so? Less than a hundred, probably. Definitely less than the male population of an urban metropolitan area... unless I'm really horny."

"Love you no matter what."

"What if one or more of them was black?"

"You want to have sex with a black man?"

"This is all hypothetical. But I could so do it. I'm not racist. I could do black. Or hispanic. Or Arab. Pakistani. Polynesian. Asian. Chinese, Japanese, Javanese, all the 'ese's."

"Not at all. Wouldn't matter to me. Love you."

"Would it turn you on?" she teased.

"The thought of you having sex with anyone turns me on. But yes, a black cock in you would be hot. Or Thai."

"Why Thai?"

"I figured you love the food, so you'd love the cocks."

'Are you making fun of me?" Her heel moved back and forth across my cock.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said. I took my right hand off the wheel, felt down along her calf. For a moment, I thought of taking her foot off my cock and getting some relieve. But instead, I slid my hand slowly up the inside of her calf, past her knee up, up the inside of her thigh.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously, her foot was still, resting in my crotch.

"Nothing," I said calmly, keeping my eyes on the road. My hand was on her upper thigh, moving in, finding her by touch. I felt soft lips and rotated my wrist, stiffening two fingers into a curving spear. I slid up, feeling tight wetness enfolding them.

Kayley gasped.

"You'll cause an accident!" she cried.

"Nope," I said, "eyes on the road."

"Another kind of accident!"

"I have no idea what you mean," I told her, flexing my wrist, sinking in and doubt. "Some other kind of accident? A wet accident? A squirting accident? I don't know how that could happen?"

As my fingers slipped deep, my thumb found her clitoris. I swept across it with each flex of my wrist.

"You're touching my mulberry!" she cried. "You shouldn't be touching my mulberry! You stop that. I'll tell! I'll call mom!"

"You'll tell your mom I'm touching your mulberry?" I asked.

"Oh you bet." She gaped. "I'll call her write now!" Gasp. "I'll call up and say..." Gasp. 'Mom, I'm trying to bake'" Gasp. "'... a mulberry pie, and Sam..." Gasp. "...keeps touching my mulberry!'" Gasp. "Tell him to stop!'" Gasp. "Then you'll be in trouble!" Gasp.

I laughed.

"I dare you," I replied. "I double dare you."

She moaned deeply squirming on my fingers.

"I will!" She writhed and gasped. "In a little while."

Her foot dug down into my crotch, grinding along the length of my cock. I struggled to keep my eyes on the road and my hand steady on the wheel.

"How many traffic laws are we breaking?" she gasped.

"I'd say... All of them."

"Maybe we should stop."

"Yes."

"Not just yet though." I could hear the arousal tightening her throat.

Her foot pushed, against my cock, but in a stiffening way.

"What about a fat guy?" she gasped. I could feel her hips rocking her pussy onto my fingers. Her hand closed down on my thumb, pressing it against her clit. "Like really fat? And hairy, I mean, like hairy all over, hairy back. Would it turn you on if I spread my legs for a fat, hairy guy with moles and a pug nose and missing teeth, one eyebow and receding hair, with three chins, and sausage fingers, and a thick slimy slab of a tongue, and balding."

"That's oddly specific," I said. "I'm starting to wonder about your fantasy life."

"Oh fuck," she moaned as my fingers flexed in her. She took a breath. "And sweaty, really sweaty, I mean sweat just dripping off him as he fucks me with his big fat cock, his rolls of fat all over me just dripping sweat, like slimy raindrops, while he licks my face with his slab of a tongue. Oh fuck, my pussy is just dripping."

I really hoped it was my fingers, and not the visualization of her dream date.

"Too much," I said.

"Yeah," she said breathily, "that teetered over into gross. Sorry. What about non-sweaty, ugly, hairy, balding fat guys. I think they're so hot."

"Ron Jeremy has a lot to answer for," I said. "Yeah, it would turn me on."

"The Jeremy?" she grunted.

"A Jeremy-type fucking you. I'm fine. It's still hot, in a weird beauty and the beast way."

"What about a really filthy, nasty, smelly, drunk homeless derelict..."

She moaned and squirmed against my fingers.

"I'd still love you, but I think I'd make you take a shower first."

She laughed. "I'm almost..."

I slid my fingers from her, returned to both hands on the steering wheel.

"You bastard!!!" she cried.

I smirked.

"I was so close!" she complained.

"You had it coming," I said. "Relax, the first parkade or underground parking I see, we're pulling in. You're going to suck my cock, you insane little mink. Then I'll finish you."

Her foot left my crotch, she twisted, trying to pull herself upright in the seat belt. She laughed.

"I love it. This is what comes of panty deprivation," she said. "Like a PSA."

"I will give generously," I told her.

We drove calmly for a few minutes. I wasn't fooled.

"If I looked," I said, "would I find you playing with your pussy."

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmaybe."

We both laughed.

"Okay, okay. Seriously, no bullshit, no playing," she told me. "Don't tell me what I want to hear. This is from you, this is truth. How would you feel if I did it again?"

Her voice had gone sober again.

"Same guy or different guy?" I asked.

"Doesn't matter. Truth," she demanded.

I almost glanced at her, I could feel how serious she was. I thought about it. Would I be jealous? I hadn't been so far. Instead...

"It would be hot. It would be fucking hot. My cock would be as hard as a steel bar. Seeing it, or listening in, or just imagining it, it would be mind blowing. The thought of you enjoying. The thought of wanting you in that moment. Of having you after. It would make me crazy. But it wouldn't change anything between us."

"It really gets you off? Huh?"

"Your turn," I said. "Would you do it again? With him? With someone else?"

She paused, thoughtfully.

"It's hard to explain," she said. "The actual sex was crap. I mean, the cock in me felt good, but five fucking minutes, its over before we started. I didn't come or anything. And he came in me - euhhh! But... the lead up, the flirting, committing, oh god that was so hot! The excitement, the spontaneity, the aggression. Just the idea of this impulsive sex."

"I was so ready," she went on. "Really, I have no idea how he didn't manage to give me an orgasm. I was practically there."

"But when you boil it all down, it was exciting, it was like jumping without a net. And knowing, you were there, keeping it safe for me, and my hoping you were getting off on it. Part of it for me, was the idea of you getting off."

There was a longer pause.

"I sort of want to do it again," she said quietly.