Thrill Ride: High Gear Heat

With a mischievous smile, she slid her hand onto my upper thigh. My grip on the steering wheel tensed, and I squirmed as I became physically aroused while trying to keep the vehicle in our lane. The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt, baking the air, yet the heat only intensified the sensation crawling across my skin. The scent of pine needles and damp earth hung heavy in the air as we cruised down the winding backroads, a perfect escape from the stifling monotony of our everyday lives.

“What’s the matter?” she said teasingly, her voice a low purr against my ear. Her hand moved over to rest on my crotch as if to test her effect on me. Her touch was deliberate, a playful provocation that sent shivers down my spine and tightened the muscles in my legs. It was a familiar dance, this push and pull of desire, a silent conversation spoken through the language of touch.

“You know what the matter is,” I told her, squirming some more as my cock swelled even more under her touch. The heat intensified, a molten core building within me, threatening to spill over the edge. The steering wheel felt slick beneath my sweaty palms. I squeezed the steering wheel, fighting the urge to lose control, to succumb completely to the overwhelming pull of her presence.

She giggled slightly and began to rub my erect penis through my shorts. We had been married for about two years now and had, on occasion, enjoyed some of these “driving pleasures.” Most of them never went beyond the minor teasing we were currently engaged in. Several times, however, she had gone so far as to free my penis from the restrictions of my pants and give me a hand job, using a tissue to minimize the mess when I came. It would arouse her so much that she would masturbate herself or let me reach over and finger her some. And while these were certainly fun, today was to be something new and different. The anticipation hung thick in the air, a palpable tension that crackled between us.

“You know,” I said, half joking as she massaged my crotch, “if you keep this up we may have to stop on the way and finish this.” The thought hung in the air, a dangerous proposition that both terrified and thrilled me. It was a line that often pushed the boundaries of our comfortable intimacy, a step into a world of raw, unbridled desire.

“Maybe we should,” she said, the mischievous smile growing as she wiggled a little herself, letting me know that she too was becoming physically aroused. Her eyes met mine, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface. The scent of her perfume, a blend of jasmine and spice, filled my nostrils, intoxicating and overwhelming.

I was a little shocked at her response. My wife is a modest woman who would not normally risk having sex where people might discover. This sudden shift in her demeanor felt both thrilling and unsettling. It was as if a switch had been flipped, unleashing a torrent of pent-up passion that threatened to consume us both.

“Oh, really?” I said. “Maybe we should find an exit.” The suggestion hung in the air, a blatant invitation to abandon our carefully constructed facade of normalcy. The thought of a more secluded location, a place where we could indulge our desires without fear of judgment, was undeniably appealing.

She smiled and agreed. We passed several exits that led into towns before finding one that led to a state road with few houses along it. Shortly after, we followed an access road skirting the edge of a field that was hidden from the main highway by a stand of trees. Few people drove along the state road, and while someone could have seen our car, the angle was wrong to see into it. The feeling of being unseen, of existing outside the confines of society, was strangely liberating.

I threw the car into park and turned it off then began removing my clothes. While it had taken only a few minutes to find this spot, it had felt like an eternity with her hand fondling me through my shorts. The air grew heavier, hotter, as I shed the last vestiges of my clothing, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The sensation of her hand on my skin, now uninhibited, was an exquisite torment.

As I tossed the last of my clothes aside, my wife looked at my naked body as though I had lost my mind. Her eyes widened in a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The realization of what we were about to do, of the raw, primal act we were about to commit, seemed to weigh heavily on her. She shifted uncomfortably, pulling her legs closer to her body, attempting to create a sense of distance between us.

“What if someone comes by?” she asked, having only removed her own shorts and underwear. The question hung in the air, a desperate plea for reassurance. The thought of being discovered, of shattering the illusion of secrecy, sent a shiver of panic through me.

“I doubt anyone will come back here,” I reassured her. “And if they do, we will be able to see them coming before they see us.” With a little more reassurance, I convinced her to lift her shirt and sports bra up to leave her lovely boobs exposed. With nimble, cat-like grace (which my wife would contest), I crawled across the center console and kneeled between her legs. She leaned her seat back, and I kissed her while I first squeezed her breast then moved a hand down to her vagina. She was already wet from our foreplay on the way here, but due to her nervousness, she needed a little help restarting her self-lubrication. She writhed a little as my fingers gently rubbed her clitoris and probed the warm, moist opening of her vagina. Her breath caught in her throat, a silent testament to the pleasure she was experiencing.

“You had better make it quick, mister,” she demanded, grabbing my shaft. The urgency in her voice was unmistakable, a clear signal that she was ready for penetration. Despite her demands for immediate penetration, it proved a little more difficult than we had imagined. While we had made out and masturbated each other in a car, we had never had sex in one before. The angles were different, and like a giggling pair of newlyweds, we experimented.

She spread her legs and scooted back on the seat. I kneeled between her legs, and with some trial and error, we found a spot where I could enter her without falling off the seat. The feeling of her body arching against mine, the anticipation building with each movement, was almost unbearable. The scent of her arousal, a potent mix of sweat and desire, filled the air.

She gasped as I penetrated, and I leaned down to kiss her. Our lips parted as I began to thrust into her. Again, this took a little experimenting to get it right, but once we did, things progressed quickly. She braced her feet on the dashboard and moved her hips to match my thrusts, building in intensity until she was rocked by an orgasm. I slowed as she recovered, and we kissed again. Then, we resumed thrusting. Now that we had the hang of it, it wasn’t long until my climax, and her own sympathetic orgasm, struck. The release was explosive, a torrent of pleasure that washed over us both. We kissed again then I pulled out, cleaning off with a tissue.

“Clean up well,” she said as we pulled our clothes back on and started up the car. “We still have errands to run.” The mundane reality of our lives snapped back into focus, a stark contrast to the raw passion we had just experienced. But the memory of those stolen moments, the feeling of our bodies intertwined in the heat of the moment, would linger long after we had returned to our everyday routines.

Maybe six months later, we found ourselves in a similar situation. Her roving hands had me nearly bursting out of my pants and aching with desire. We drove around a number of back roads, looking for someplace to pull off and satisfy our mutual urges, but it was more difficult than we thought to find a quiet road with enough space to safely pull off that kept us out of sight of any houses.

“Here we go,” I said, pulling off onto the shoulder of a secluded stretch and setting the parking brake. “Finally,” my lovely wife said. “Now let’s do this before I drench my underwear.” We looked around in a sort of awkward way as though unsure of exactly how to begin until my wife suggested we move to the back seat. “There’s more room.”

We crawled into the rear bench seat and began kissing passionately. She reached down and grasped my penis through my pants, and I slid my hand under her shirt to grab her breast. A short time and several bumps and contortions later, our clothes were on the floor. My wife lay back onto the seat and spread her legs around me, keeping her knees bent to keep from kicking the door. Bracing myself with my knees and hands, I lowered my naked body onto hers and gently entered her moist vagina. She moaned and we kissed and began to make sweet love.

We had barely begun when we were interrupted by a distant noise. “Is that a car?” she asked, pausing to listen. Sure enough, the sound of a car approaching could be heard in the distance. There was no time to pull on clothes, so we hunkered down as low as we could. As the car drew nearer, we silently prayed that they wouldn’t see us and that they wouldn’t stop to see if we needed help.

The car passed without stopping and we laughed nervously with released tension. A quick check confirmed that we were once again secluded and we resumed our love making in earnest. In little time, our groans and thrusting reached a climax as we both came within moments of each other. “Well,” I said as we seaparted, cleaning up and starting to dress. “That was fun.”

“Yes, dear,” she said, a smile touching her lips, “it definitely was.”

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