Highway Skin, Slow Beat

The interstate stretched before us, a monotonous gray ribbon across the endless, flat landscape. Boredom hung heavy in the air, clinging to the worn upholstery of our old sedan like dust motes in a sunbeam. My wife, Sarah, slumped low in the bench seat, her head resting on her hand, her body a comfortable curve against the contours of the car. She’d been like this for a good hour, lost in a world of her own, a picture of languid repose. Then, without warning, she shifted, her hand sliding across my thigh, her fingertips tracing a slow, deliberate path across the fabric of my jeans. It wasn’t a demanding touch, just a casual, playful invitation. Then, a light tap, followed by another, and another – tap… tap… tap-tap-tap, pause… tap-tap. The rhythmic drumming continued, a strange, insistent pulse against my skin. As her sporadic drumming persisted, Sarah lifted her head, her eyes locking onto mine. They held an innocent, almost childlike quality, a complete lack of awareness of the escalating heat that was beginning to build within me.

“Having fun?” I asked, my voice a low rumble in my throat, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy as my body began to respond to her touch.

“Actually, yes!” she smiled, her crinkled eyes sparkling with amusement. She turned her attention back to my leg, resuming her playful assault. This time, she didn’t just trace the fabric; she dug her nails in, pulling slightly, as if searching for something beneath the denim. Then, she pressed her index finger against a particular spot, applying a firm, insistent pressure. A new, unmistakable outline began to emerge beneath the material, a subtle curve that drew her attention like a moth to a flame. (Mmmm – that playful teasing, the slow, deliberate torture, something I’ve always found utterly irresistible in our sexual encounters.)

She continued to toy with that growing outline, her fingertips exploring its contours, squeezing it, sliding up and down with a slow, sensual rhythm. It was clear she was intensely interested in whatever lay hidden beneath the denim, her focus unwavering, her movements precise and deliberate. My breath caught in my throat, a primal instinct taking over as the anticipation mounted. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, fighting the urge to react, to show her the depth of my desire.

As she traced the outline further, her fingers moved lower, descending toward the hidden depths between my legs. The feeling intensified, a burning heat spreading through my body, a delicious, forbidden pleasure. “Oh MY!” I thought, my heart pounding against my ribs. “She’s never done this before!”

I kept my hands steady on the wheel, my eyes fixed on the road, determined to remain composed, to not betray the turmoil raging beneath my skin. It was a dangerous game, pushing her boundaries, but the thought of her reaction, the look of surprise and delight, fueled my resolve. I didn’t want to discourage her, to send her away with a hint of disapproval. Maintaining a calm, confident facade was key to unlocking the full potential of this unexpected moment.

A bit hesitantly, she unzipped my jeans, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were carefully extracting a precious secret. Like a surgeon performing a delicate operation, she meticulously peeled back the layers of my clothing, separating the shirttails, tucking the tee, and pulling apart the seams of my trousers. Then, she began to meticulously pick at the fly of my briefs, her fingers expertly maneuvering beneath the fabric. (HOO-HAH, it was CROWDED in there!) The sheer volume of blood rushing through my veins felt like a torrent threatening to spill over.

“I found the cause of your pants bulge!” I imagined her thinking, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“No kidding!” I answered, my voice barely a whisper, unable to fully articulate the mounting excitement.

With a final tug, she pulled her hand free, but not before extracting something far more significant. She retrieved a vibrant pink, almost neon, vibrator from her purse, a small, unassuming device that held the promise of intense pleasure. After a moment of deliberation, she wiggled the device one way, and then another, loosening the binding fabric that held my member in place. Soon, she could manipulate it as freely as a joystick, transforming my own anatomy into a powerful tool of pleasure. Truly, my member WAS a JOY-STICK by then, I must report.

Now resting on her stomach, Sarah doubled her legs back, her heels resting against her bottom, her elbows braced firmly against my thigh, her head nestled comfortably in her hands. She studied my pulsing member with an almost clinical detachment, as if examining a particularly intriguing specimen. Her gaze was intense, unwavering, as if she were trying to understand the mechanics of my arousal. It was as if she’d never seen such a sight before, a strange, fleshy protrusion that held so much hidden potential. She puzzled over why this odd spire of flesh with its taut, shiny, saddle-shaped head was joined to my body, a fundamental element of my being.

“What’s THIS?” she asked, feigning bewilderment, her voice laced with a playful curiosity.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” I mumbled, maintaining my composure, determined to keep her guessing.

My hands remained steady on the wheel, my eyes focused on the road, as my body responded to her advances. Apart from that, it seemed as if my body’s nerve endings migrated to the bottom of my abdomen, flowing out to congregate in its stiff curving peninsula like honking geese flying south for the winter. My geese were certainly honking.

Mrs. Curious hunched closer, her head filling the space between my belly and the wheel. I lifted my right elbow so that she could maneuver better in the narrow confines, her face hovering directly overtop the messy crater of fabric folds and loose ends that surrounded my pulsing knob. I maintained my grip on the steering wheel, feeling the sweat bead on my palms, as she leaned in, her breath hot against my skin.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, her voice a breathless whisper. “This thing GROWS!!”

“Yes, it DOES,” admitted I, unable to resist a small, involuntary smile. Keeping my eyes on the road, I determined to simply FEEL what was doing, and not look. Which actually made it all the more exciting. And oh my, FEEL, I DID! Without a word, she dropped her mouth over my waving ween and closed her lips around it loosely. She remained perfectly still in that position, her body radiating heat, and tongued me vigorously to let her saliva warm and wet me. She lifted her head, and I slipped out into the cool air once more.

“That felt AMAZING,” I breathed out quietly, savoring the lingering pleasure, a wave of warmth spreading through my veins.

After a moment of contemplation, she lowered her mouth, closing her lips around the middle of my kicked-bee’s-nest of synapses, and rested. There was no bobbing or sucking, no head movements at all. She just mouthed my penis softly, wetly, and teased my standing flesh with her tongue alone. The sensation was exquisite, a slow, tantalizing dance of touch and pressure.

I knew her deliberate, measured movements signaled concern about my driving concentration as we cruised along. Once again, she lifted her head, and I slipped out. She wiggled from her position over the crater of clothing exploded on my lap and its very pink center stalk. Reflecting for a few moments, she mused, (reluctantly – for both of us), “It’s probably not safe to do any more.”

Much as I wanted her bold play to continue, I agreed with her. Just behind us our beautiful baby slept soundly in her car seat. I knew that prudence must prevail over prurience under the circumstances. (We also knew how loud and spasmodic I can get in the throes of an orgasm. And we were still cruising at highway speeds.)

*SIGH*

“I know,” said I. “But THANK you for the foretaste, sweetheart! I must say, you surprised me. I LIKED that!”

She tilted her head back, caught my eye, and grinned sheepishly. (Oh what a sexy girl she is!) What now? I was still as horny as a Texas cattle lot at feed time, so I countered.

“Why don’t you roll over on your back. This is a straight, wide-open highway and there’s little traffic. If you loosen your pants I can pleasure YOU safely while I drive. That won’t interfere with my steering in any way.” (My hopes were high because I had pleased her in that position before.)

With an almost shy little grin, she rolled over on her back. From there she got comfortable, unbuttoned the top of her pants, and pulled the zipper all the way down. She tugged her opened pants side by side to just below her hips. The folded front panels left a neat triangle of material on each side. Now my right hand had relaxed access to her warmest parts without any garments restricting my movements.

I stretched my arm down over her body and slid my hand under the band of her panties. She snuggled her head against my arm and settled in for the fun. Her left foot dangled off the seat and onto the floor, and her right was tilted against the door. She welcomed my fingers with a slight pelvic move as I probed her warm folds. That confirmed what I’d guessed to be true. Her wrinkle was already wonderfully wet from the playful penis stim that she’d given me.

“Just be careful,” the dewy one said.

“Uh-huh, my eyes are on the road,” I assured her. “I often rest my arm along the window and steer with my left hand. I’ll be very careful.”

I reached into her panties to gather up her sweet flower parts. My pinkie and thumb cradled in her groin creases. I thrilled to feel her wet goods bunched under my middle digits. Ever so slowly, I compressed her parts with my curled fingers and teased her with a few pulses of pressure.

“Mmmm, I like thaaat!” she murmured.

“Good,” I answered quietly, but then had a thought.

“Remember when I used to do this?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Let me do something that we used to do – for old time’s sake,” I said with a grin.

I pulled my hand from under her panties then reached right back in to touch her. However now through the silky material of her underwear. Starting as far down between her legs as I could, I slid my fingertips up over her “front bottom” softness. From her depths to the crown of her mound. Back and forth, up then down, reversing and repeating, again and again. In this way, I invited her swelling wrinkle to widen, and felt her inner velvet valley slowly part for me.

As I stroked, and the minutes passed, her regular breathing gave way to deep sighs. Then to open-mouthed breathing. Finally to breaths that grew increasingly sharp, shallow, and quick. I quickly slipped INSIDE her panties and circled and swished around in the darkness. THAT set her hips to jerking and tilting in the way that has always driven me crazy with excitement.

“Go, Girl, GO-O-O-O!” I silently urged as I kept my eyes on the road, passing no car.

Her pelvis strained upward to intensify the pressure of my circling fingertips. Then, most abruptly, she grabbed my wrist and jerked my arm up and down, meaning, “Rub hard! Rub fast, NOW!”

I spun tight pressure circles around her hardened pearl. In seconds her hands flew to her crotch, clutching mine under hers. She clamped her thighs over my submerged fingers, twisted sideways and jackknifed her legs up close to her body. My buried digits had no choice but to go along for the ride and that was so-o-o-o fine with me! With her intensity climax, I’m sure my usual involuntary smile widened, as her climax drew near, then exploded in her.

I maintained the static pressure she wanted, while my recently busy fingers were locked deep in her genital clutch. Pleasure spasmed through her body with each blissful squeeze. She gasped and panted, uttered a deep Mmmmm… Uhhhhh… Huhhhhh! Ohhhhh! Whooo! Her sweet face flushed, and I thrilled to sense her heart racing, in clear sync with my own.

How many spasms? How long did it last? Who counts, who cares! As her thigh squeezes weakened, her breathing climbed down apace. From gasps, to pants, and finally, to deep and quieting sighs. Her endorphin-mellowed muscles relaxed, and she dozed dreamily. Her slacks remained pushed down with her velvety valley and wet panties slowly drying in the open air. I glanced at her most lovely face – oxytocin-softened! – and smiled a grateful smile that she never saw.

Quickly, my gaze returned to that point where highway and horizon met. I continued cruising down the center of my lane. My left hand was firmly on the wheel, my right resting over hers, laying limply upon her expended lady parts. Along with hers, my racing heart and rapid breathing coasted into neutral. I let out a long, joy-filled sigh and a small, satisfied grin spread across my face. As it always appears after we’ve shared love with our bodies.

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