Distant Echoes

Sitting in my car.

A non-descript supermarket carpark adjacent a sports centre. Impatiently waiting, listening to the shouts and calls of would-be Ronaldo or Beckham as they run helter-skelter across the 5-a-side pitches in the cold drizzle of an autumn evening. Eyes wandering to the Netball pitches, not quite as busy as the football and although beneath cover almost all of the participants dressed practically and not particularly attractively for the cold evening. The sensible exercise freaks walk past less than ten yards away, hunched against the rain on the way to their neon gyms and climbing walls. I’m waiting for one of them though tonight she’ll only use the facilities to shower cleansing the evidence of unfaithfulness.mysterious stranger

I can almost hear my heart beating in anticipation. I can definitely feel the pulse in my erection waiting for her wet quim or warm mouth. The button on my jeans is already undone and the zip lowered an inch as my fingers drum a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel; my eyes on the rear view mirror looking for the bright red raincoat she wears. I pop a mint into my mouth as I watch a couple loaded down with their weekly shop load the car in front.

The ‘wife’ is wearing five inch heels stretching her black nylon clad calves. I wonder what she looks like, what she tastes like beneath the layers of waterproofs. The reversing lights briefly flare and my finger slides over the horn symbol on the wheel in front of me before the ‘husband’ selects a forward gear.

 “Dick head” I mutter as he pulls away.

My car returns to darkness, the nearest light over twenty metres away and once again I wonder will she want to go elsewhere. If her pussy is as wet as my cock is hard and she is feeling only half as badly behaved as me I won’t be re-starting the engine. I think about pulling my zipper all the way down and freeing my erection from its internment.

I imagine the car door opening and watching her slide into the seat before turning to face me and her eyes dropping to my lap to be closely followed by her head and open mouth. All ten of my fingers threaded through her dark hair urging her lips further down my length, one of her hands massaging my heavy sac while the other is between her legs, the sound and aroma of her fingers sliding in and out of her soaking wet slit filling the car.in my car

I rack my seat back to its fullest extent and twist the knob on the side tilting it back a little further. I ease my zip down another inch, the angry, pre-cum soaked head poking up from behind my boxers.

“Come on” I urge my lover as I reach across the dashboard and activate the clock display.

There’s still five minutes till our rendezvous and my cock throbs as the clear viscous fluid about its eye cools. I know that if she does take me in her mouth I won’t last very long but if we remain here in the carpark I’ll be hard again in no time especially if I bring her off with my fingers as we watch the people go by. I know some of them will be fellow gym members and even friends and I’ll ask her what they’d think if they knew she was mere yards away with a cunt full of fingers. Would they be shocked or jealous? I can imagine that maybe the words alone will be enough to bring her to orgasm but if she should see someone she knows she’ll cum so hard I may have to put my hand over her mouth.    

I think about how wet she can get normally and I pull the picnic blanket from the back and drape it over the passenger seat. Placing my hands back on the steering wheel, even in the dim light I can see my knuckles whiten as I grip the faux-leather tightly.

“How would you feel, having an audience?” I ask myself. I rack my distracted brain till I remember the deadovercum-end country road a couple of miles away where like-minded, sexually exhibitionist partners gather. “Would you… would I?” I look down at my aching member wishing these last few frustrating minutes would pass quicker. I’ve never liked the term ‘dogging’ but I can see the appeal of it and she has fantasised about involving another person, male or female, and the image of her leaning out of the car window and bringing a random spectator to fulfilment excites me further.

The nature of our relationship has meant that we rarely fuck in a bed and so can often be found in woodlands, carparks or seldom used roads. Part of it has to be the thrill in getting caught, trying to keep an eye out for passers-by or the illuminating effect of car headlights as grab our stolen moments. We’re lucky that we both have large family run-arounds which accommodate our illicit activities providing plenty of space for most positions. Of course our partners might comment if either of us decided that tinted windows would enhance our vehicles but that would lessen the thrill.

Once again I check the rear-view as my hand gives into temptation and lightly runs the pad of my thumb across the slippery head of my cock. I moan quietly as it twitches in response and lift the slick fluid to my lips tasting my saltiness. A figure in red approaches along the footpath but they pass by without looking up and I’m left feeling even more frustrated and give in to my urges and push my zipper all the way own, reaching into my boxers and squeezing my erection tightly.

“Hurry the fuck up” I complain to the empty car as I reluctantly pull my hand away and once again. My eneed a handyes return to the women playing netball, searching the players for a brave soul more concerned with looking good than staying warm but my wishes are unsatisfied by their attire. I reckon she’d be turned on by the idea of me watching, ’peeping’, and wanking myself off, she’d happily sit there for a while and watch me stroke my erection, one of her hands idly caressing her nipple through her top till the desire for the feel of skin becomes too much and it would disappear up under her clothes.

Once her own sensations rise to a level needing further satisfaction she’d politely ask “Do you need a hand with that?” and being a gentleman I’d smile and reply only if it wasn’t too much trouble.

I twist the wheel on the seat and drop it back further; my chin just above the edge of the car window, still able to scan the surrounding area and a further adjustment of the rear-view allows me to see the footpath still with no red raincoat walking along it.

The heat is starting to bleed from the car and I think about turning on the engine but instead I slowly stroke my length, squeezing it hard each time my hand rises and caressing it softly as it descends. I laugh quietly as I wonder what I’d say if someone else (and it being a fairly local gym, not beyond possibility) happened to recognise the car and seedriving in my car me within it and come over for a chat. I can think of at least three female friends that may not react as social niceties dictate but the odds are if they actually saw my hand sliding up and down my cock without me knowing I imagine they’d probably turn tail.

Probably, although one of them after a few drinks has always been very flirty and overly tactile and has kissed me farewell with a little too much enthusiasm and intimacy.

I lean forwards and re-activate the clock to see that only a minute has passed since the arranged time of our assignation and my cock twitched hard in my hand in hope that it’ll soon be satisfied.

I slow my rising and falling hand further, closing my eyes as I imagine her hot wet pussy sliding down it, her hands resting on my chest, her nails digging through the fabric of my shirt scratching at my flesh beneath as she grinds down on top of me pressing her clit against my pubic bone, grunting loudly. I imagine my hands on her bare flesh, beneath her skirt, thumbs pressed into the crease where her thighs meet her hips encouraging her to roll her ass back and forth harder and faster, driving her closer and closer to orgasm.lots of leg room

“Fuck me” I breathe.


The car door opens and a cold breeze blows in as the overhead light comes on and I open my eyes…

~ by ftfagos on February 14, 2013.

2 Responses to “Distant Echoes”

  1. Delicious foreplay.

  2. The question of Heads or Tails…Heads is recursive, Tails is a 404 event!

    I’m sure it is a slip of a keyboard; no need to keep this comment.

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