The Car 3

THE CAR

I have to thank my editor Wildsweetone for all her help, especially her assistance with punctuation and grammar, not to forget her Eagle eyes spot the silly mistakes that both I and the spell-check have missed.

If you just want to read about sex, either look elsewhere or skip the first fifteen hundred words. If you want a good story I hope you enjoy this one.

Laura thought her world had come to an end when Josh packed his bags and moved out to live with his new secretary, who was nearly thirty years his junior.

When Josh returned to collect his property Laura was in a vindictive mood. She allowed him to collect his clothes, she had resisted the temptation to hack them into ribbons. She even let him have his collection of vinyl records of sixties and seventies Rock, and his prized Bang and Olfsen hi-fi system. She felt physically sick as she watched as he carried them out to his Jeep.

She, the other woman, was sitting at the wheel.

It was when Josh turned to go into the garage that she launched her bombshell. “The garage is locked.”

“Can I have the keys – please?"

“No Josh. What is in the garage is staying. I'm keeping the car.”

“Dammit Laura that's my car. I built it with my own hands.”

“We built this marriage and you took it apart. You've got your records, you've got your hi-fi, and you’ve got all your other possessions. You've got your whore – see if she'll make you coffee all night when you're up to your elbows in grease while you build another car.”

Josh raged and stormed before he eventually left. When the Jeep turned out of sight Laura opened the garage. The little car sat in the center of the garage where it had been built. Laura walked around the car, its aluminum side panels glinted invitingly in the sunlight. The long hood, the fat open wheels, and the rollover bar over the cockpit, which did not even come up to her waist, all combined to give an impression of speed, fun and power. Laura had fallen in love with the car from the minute Josh showed her the pictures in the catalogue.

Building the car had taken all one winter, during which every spare moment of their lives had revolved around the garage. It had been fall when a collection of components had arrived in shipping crates and in the spring a little European sports car had emerged. Her fingers had bled when she had sewn the roof and the seats – the car was as much her creation as his and she was not relinquishing it.

Hiking up her skirt she stepped over the side and slid down in the driver's seat. She sat for a few moments acclimatizing herself, in ten years she had not driven the car more than five or six times – the driver’s seat had been Josh’s seat by right. She began to put the five-point seat harness on, she recalled why she had always worn pants when she rode in this car. She lifted her butt and tugged up her skirt and pulled up the crotch belt.

When she thumbed the starter button the engine coughed then caught, it began to die away, she recalled it had a manual choke. The side muffler emitted a steady meaty beat that boomed around the garage. She dipped the clutch put the manual shifter into first gear, raised the engine revs. The little car fishtailed, its rear wheels spinning when she let out the clutch.

She scarcely lifted her foot off the gas pedal, when with the tires squealing a tortured protest, like a rocket the car shot out of the driveway onto the road. Laura roared along the Sunday quiet suburban streets, fortunately there were no cops around. By the time she had reached the freeway her anger had dissipated to some extent. As she slowed the car to the speed limit she castigated herself.

Laura what the hell has got into you – you’re a fifty-five year old woman and you’re driving like a teenager.

Even though she had slowed down the little car still felt good. The harness straps rubbed her breasts and her nipples had hardened in response. The wind blew through her hair and she felt free. She glanced at the gauge, the gas tank was three-quarters full. She did a quick calculation there was at least six gallons in the ten gallon tank, and at twenty-five to the gallon that was a hundred and fifty miles.

She had to brake hard when a truck pulled out in front of her. The belt between her legs halted her slide forward. She felt herself become wet as the webbing ground into her crotch.

This damn car is sexing me up!

She thought, angry that an inanimate object could arouse her desire. Yet even as she was thinking, her hand was caressing the smooth phallic knob of the gearshift.

She had been driving for nearly an hour when she decided that it was time to return home. She was going to turn off at the next interchange, but then the black drop-head 911 roared past her. Without a second’s hesitation she floored the gas pedal, the little car leapt forward responsively. As she came up along side the Porsche the driver looked across and sped up. They were running side-by-side, the cars seemed to be evenly matched and neither driver was willing to give way. Laura took a quick glance at the speedometer, one hundred and thirty-five miles an hour; she didn’t think Josh had ever driven the car this fast.

As soon as night follows day, and with the certainty that water flows downhill, so speeding on the freeway for prolonged periods has a certain consequence. Sirens wailed, lights flashed, the driver of the Porsche and Laura pulled over and stopped.

Once the tickets had been issued the cops clustered around the car. The hood was raised and they all gazed with awe at the little Pinto based Ford Cosworth motor.

“Mam did ya say this little mill is only two liters?” Asked a gum-chewing cop for the third time.

When eventually they were allowed to go on their way, it was the driver of the Porsche who suggested they go for a coffee, he had nodded his head in the direction of a roadside MacDonald’s.

When they were seated at a table the young Porsche driver smiled at her, “That’s sure some machine and cost a heck of a lot less than my Porsche. Did you really build it yourself?”

“Josh did. I supplied coffee, sympathy and stitched the upholstery.”

“Josh?”

“My husband, ex-husband.” She frowned

what was Josh?

sketched a gesture. “I’m not sure of how to describe his status or mine?”

“Not sure?”

“Well he’s moved out – traded me in for a younger model. I suppose a divorce will be the next step. I really haven’t thought about what comes next.”

A typical male reaction

Laura thought when the young man whistled.

Although his assumption angered her she smiled when he said. “Wow and he left the car too.”

“No I kept the car. It’s my self respect I know without the car he’ll hurt and I want him to hurt as much as I hurt.”

“Maybe I can help.” As if by magic he flipped a card onto the table ‘Simon Lampeter Attorney at Law’ it had printed on it along with an address and phone number.

“Mister Lampeter we have an attorney.” Laura said abruptly, she did not trust lawyers.

Was this a new twist on ambulance chasing?

“That’s good because it is unethical to be involved with a client. In that case will you come with me next weekend to the Sportscar races?”

“I’m not sure. I mean I hardly know you.”

“You know me well enough to get arrested with me. Read the ticket, as an attorney I’ll read it for you, and without billing you but don’t tell my partners. It says that we are jointly charged with racing on the highway. And if you bring your car you’ll enjoy it if we stop an extra day they have a “Run-what-you-brung” you can take your car on the track.”

Josh will be totally pissed,

she thought. “Fine next weekend it’s a date.”

On Monday morning Laura picked up Simon’s card and went to the phone to call him and cancel. The service man arrived to give the boiler its annual service.

On Tuesday morning, she intended to call Simon but her neighbor Marjory called for coffee and to commiserate with her.

On Wednesday, she called. “Sorry Mr. Lampeter’s in a conference may I take a message,” the receptionist said. Her voice sounded like Josh’s secretary’s voice the woman she had dubbed, ‘the whore’. Laura dropped the phone.

On Thursday morning she did not call.

On Thursday evening she rang Amy, her daughter, to tell her that she would be away that weekend. Amy was preoccupied, she had only just got home with the twins from a Little League game, “That’s nice mom. Have a nice time and call me when you get back.” Laura put the phone down relieved that her daughter had not asked where she was going or who she was going with.

On Friday still wondering what she was doing and why she crammed some clothes into a hold-all, she put the bag on the passenger seat and drove off to meet Simon. ‘A hundred miles drive, to watch motor racing with a man I’ve only met once, I must be crazy!’

As she was driving Simon called on his mobile to check that she was on route and to give her the details of the motel where they would be staying. She nearly turned around to drive back home, when she reflected that staying in a motel with a man she hardly knew sounded distinctly sleazy. However the idea of a weekend at the Sportscar Races and an opportunity to run her own car on the track sounded too tempting.

The Motel parking lot was like an informal sports car fest, there were some small European kit cars like her own, many other British and European sports cars; including two blood red Ferrari Testerosas, and a number of the ubiquitous Porsche 911’s both drop-head and fixed-head; of course there were also a number of Thunderbirds, Corvettes and Dodge Vipers.

She only located Simon by calling him on his mobile. She was reassured about his intentions when he showed her the two-bedroom suite with a shared bathroom. Once she had freshened up they went in her car to the track.

It was practice day. Laura watched enthralled as cars, some very like her own, howled around the road track. Tires smoked when they braked hard at the end of a straightaway before taking a sharp left-hand bend that was the first of a series of bends that snaked down the hill. A Viper overcooked the bend and spun onto the bumpy grass, leaving a trail of fiberglass body parts in its wake.

“Wow,” said Laura as the dust settled.

“He’ll soon get that fixed.”

Laura had not really believed Simon’s statement but sure enough before the session ended the same Viper howled past tires and engine screaming as it slewed into the bend. “He’s still got a handling problem, the rear end seems to be going light when he brakes.” Simon said knowledgably.

Laura enjoyed watching the practice, she had not realized how dusty she had got until they returned to the motel. She stood in the shower stall the warm water running softly over her body, swirling away in a brown eddy. Then she turned the showerhead to its power jet setting. No sooner had the jet struck her breast than she felt the tingle, the tingle of anticipation that she had not felt since Josh had left.

When she played the jet between her legs the sensation became intense. She had to satisfy her desire and there was no one to do it. She thrust one of her fingers into the yawning chasm that her pussy had become. Once her finger had entered there was no holding back, one finger was doing nothing, she thrust in three and began to finger-fuck herself.

Standing with her legs spread, bent at the knees she pressed her back against the cool tiles of the shower stall. As she fingered herself she kept getting near to an orgasm, then something would happen and frustratingly the feeling would fleet footed disappear. With her free hand she grasped her nipple viciously twisting it, as if trying to wring from her body the orgasm that eluded her.

It was when her palm pressed against her mons veneris that the moment of euphoria eventually arrived in a series of wet abdominal muscle contractions. Wanting to capture the ecstatic moment she closed her eyes, the face that appeared was Simon’s not Josh’s! The image was so lifelike that for a moment she thought he was really there with her, then she opened her eyes – she was alone in the shower stall and she knew that she had locked the door, although she wished that she had not.

She wished now that Simon had not been such a gentleman. Surely he wanted her why else had he asked her to come with him, unless he was gay. She played with that thought, if he were gay it would be the ultimate cruel joke. If only he had not taken a two room suite. At this moment she wished that he would metamorphose into a monster, a Werewolf and kick the door down to take her right there in the shower stall. She pressed her body harder against the tiles as she imagined the scenario.

By the time she had dried herself she had evolved a strategy that involved a jammed zipper. As she went out of the bathroom into the small lobby that divided the two rooms she abandoned the strategy. Instead of opening the door of her room, she knocked on Simon’s door.

Even as he opened the door, she could not believe that she was saying the words she was saying. “Simon let’s cut the crap – do you want me? Want me sexually I mean.” She let her bathrobe fall to the floor. “Do you like what you see?” She pushed him back into the room.

Simon was flabbergasted, he had planned to wine and dine her before seducing her and now she had transformed into a sexual predator. “Yes,” he stammered. “Yes I like what I see.”

“Well then do something. Please Simon don’t make me beg.”

What happened next could not be described, by any stretch of the imagination as lovemaking – it was the unleashing of two people’s raw animal lust. As Simon began to undo his belt Laura dropped to her knees. She pushed his hands aside scrabbled at the buckle. She tore down the zipper.

When she pulled down his pants and shorts the object of her desire confronted her. His cock was already rampant, the network of pumped up veins stood proud from its smooth surface, the exposed head purple and proud. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. She bobbed her head – he tasted sweet and salty, in her greed she had not even noticed the bead of pre-cum.

He groaned as she slid her slick lips over the head of his cock. It was too soon but already he could feel his balls tightening, drawing into him. He used her hair to pull her off his cock. “No not this way.” He lifted her to her feet whilst kicking off his pants and shorts.

“Pleease Simon plee …” Her pleas were terminated when Simon threw her onto the bed – she was lying crosswise her feet and legs over the edge. Simon lifted her feet, her calves rested on his shoulder. She was wide open to him. She came as his cock-head parted her swollen labia, and came for a second time as he drove the full length deep into her.

After these first two orgasms Laura could no longer identify when she was coming and when she was not. As he pounded his cock into her she was just a well-pool of wet ecstasy. This was an animal fuck, there was no technique, no practice of the arts of love, merely the act of two people relieving their lust. Laura’s hands were under Simon’s shirt clawing at his back, her long nails raked long grooves along his skin, spurring him to move faster and drive into her harder. No man, not even some porn star stud could keep up the furious motion and not come. Simon was no porn star and soon, too soon his body stiffened. He drove his cock into her as the sperm boiled from his pulsating balls.

She lowered her legs, wrapping them around his waist she held him inside her. Although she could feel his cock softening she still wanted, needed him to be in her, she did not want the act to end.

She felt a sense of loss, of emptiness when with a soft plop his shriveled cock slipped from her. This sense of loss was softened when he scooped her up in his arms lay her lengthwise on the bed and lay beside her, holding her in his arms.

As they lay together he began to make love to her. He snuggled up to her smelling her freshly washed hair and the scent of her shampoo. Gently he kissed her ear, his teeth nipping the lobe, she wriggled her hips in anticipation when his tongue explored her ear. Then the kisses fell on her face a gentle shower of butterfly kisses rained upon her eyelids, his lips brushed her cheeks, cooled her forehead. At last he allowed their lips to meet in a long lingering kiss, his tongue forced apart her teeth, upon entering her mouth it jousted with her tongue in a ritualistic combat.

They were breathless when their lips parted, he transferred his attentions to her neck. As his lips touched the sensitive areas of her throat she could feel herself getting wet again.

I hope he finishes me off,

she thought.

“This was how I intended to make love to you.” He murmured as he moved his attention to her breasts.

“I was an animal – a she wolf in season – I enjoyed the rutting – at that moment I did not want love. Just to be fucked.” she replied.

This cannot be!

She was coming again and he had not even touched her there! She had always enjoyed having her breasts played with. Even at High School she had allowed her dates to fondle her breasts. Although until she had married she had never allowed anyone to go any further – Josh had been her first lover and until today her only lover.

Surely not!

She was not sure but she was almost certain she could feel Simon’s flaccid cock twitching against her thigh. She reached down and her fingers encircled his cock. She gave a quiet chuckle.

“What’s the joke?” Simon asked. He thought that her chuckle had sounded amazingly sexy, it tinkled musically, sounding like water swirling over pebbles in a stream.

“It’s been so long, I’d forgotten how fast a young man’s cock recuperates. After a session like ours Josh would have taken days to revive. I was just thinking that maybe just maybe I ought to feel just a teensy, teensy little bit, sorry for the whore.”

Simon lifted his head from her breast. “The whore?”

“My name for the woman, girl really Josh has traded me in for. Simon just do what you were doing, don’t talk! Keep sucking my tits.”

Who’s the slut no?

she thought. Then she stopped thinking and surrendered herself to bliss as Simon nipped her nipples in the same fashion as he had nipped her earlobe. It was a sharp nip, hard, uncomfortable, but inducing pleasure: any harder and it would have been plain pain, any gentler and it would have been meaningless. Simon was fast discovering the secrets of her body.

She bent her legs, pushed her feet down on the mattress lifting her ass up as she moved her hips. One of his hands clamped on her Mons, the palm pushing the sensitive pad against the high arch of her pubic bone; his fingers curled around it, spreading the engorged lips entering her slit where one pressured against the hard bud of her clitoris. Now by using pressure he was controlling her body, increase the pressure. He held her hips still and she was trapped on the brink of coming but unable to come.

Just when she thought that she could take no more, he eased his grip allowing her to move her body. Her hips gyrated sensuously as she ground out yet another orgasm, this on heightened by the wait and his ever-present hand. There was a delicious sense of fear, fear that he would once again stop her before she had completed. Then there was the activity of one of his fingers that tapped gently along her clitoris. She came convulsively, her abdominal muscles tensing, as she drew her knees up to her breasts.

“Oh Simon you are so good for me.” She exclaimed then the moment of rapture passed and a melancholic thought entered her mind. “How old are you Simon?”