Nails On The Paint Job

Once my hand grabs your panties from under your skirt and yanks them down your thighs, the blood rushes from your head and you exhale a deep, breathy, “Oooh.”

You dribble honey from the pure rush of it all, you bent over the cold hood. Light drizzle, halogen streetlamps. The buzz, the darkness, being handled, manhandled. If your pussy could squeal with giddy joy, it would.

Your tits press against the damp metal of the car, nipples hard enough to key the paint job. Cool air on the skin of your warm ass, your hot, hungry cunt. That fucking delicious moment of anticipation. Your body shakes, begging for it. The sopping wet heat between your legs, has drawn all your senses to it. To that spot. To that smooth, throbbing spot. It has drawn mine as well.

I undo my pants and free my smooth part, my throbbing heat, my hungry cock. There is no need for tease now, we’ve been cruel and vulgar and sexy and fresh enough tonight. This is when we get messy. This is when we get primal. This is when it gets loud.

I stand behind you, one hand on your streetlight lit ass and the other runs my cock up and down your slit, coating my head. You try to grip the flat surface of the car as the fires ignite from the carnal contact, so needed. As I push my hips forward, my cock meets the slight resistance of your tight hole, then you give way and I slide, slowly against your hot slick walls. You moan at my penetration and slap your hand against the hood. I like that, I like driving you mad.

As I push deeper, I can feel you grip and relax around my shaft, feel your wetness coat me, run down my sack, down my leg. I pull back now, slow as to feel every synapse, every nerve ending overload with pleasure. We both moan that time. I place one hand at the small of your back, holding you secure against the car, and my other hand soaks down on the hood, next to you, to hold me secure. You inhale sharply, hoping.

I slam my cock into you hard enough to shake the car, and again slam. My hardness finding purchase inside you deep with each vigorous plunge. My rough hand pinning you for each filling, every urgent, craven thrust. Each slap of skin, soaking our thighs. Your nails trying to dig into the enamel paint. Your cries and my snarls. Until I hear those words I fucking love fall from your lips…”Oh God! You’re making me cum!”

I feel you buck under my hand, I feel your legs kick and your cunt contract around me. I see you throw back your head and scream as the spectrum of fire envelops your flesh. I feel the flame rising inside my core. My hands suddenly grip your hips and one last plunge does me. I pump a stream of hot liquid into you. My cock twitches in tandem with your pussy. My legs, shaking, weak, my entire body sweaty.

Still inside you, I lean close and whisper in your ear, “That was wild! Thanks for letting me fuck you on your car.”

You smile, cooling your face against the cold hood, laugh that rummy, satisfied, post-cum laugh and confess, “It’s not my car.”




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