I'm not saying that coffee is always code for sex, but I am saying that there were plenty of java shops between my place and hers that wouldn't require two tanks of gas and an overnight bag.
Everything was packed and loaded. Under my comfortable road clothes was my skankiest lingerie. Under that was a very pale and nervous me. To say I'd never done anything like this before would be the understatement of the year. But I was recklessly restless and she was terribly tantalizing.
I was locking my apartment door when I got her message. I had told her I was ready to hit the road. I was expecting a "drive safe," or a "call me when you get here." I was not expecting instructions
Once every hour, pull over and play with yourself for five minutes: no more and no less. You do not have permission to cum. You may be ready for the drive, but I want you ready for me.
And just like that, my nerves melted. So did my pussy. How could a girl say no to orders like those?
The first hour flew by so quickly I almost missed my cue. I slid into the shaded corner of a rest-stop parking lot and slid my hand under my dress. I thanked the fine folks at Mazda for tinting my windows as the skirt slid up my thighs.
My eyes were glued to the clock as five minutes ticked by in slowly. I was wet and eager, but there was no risk of cumming against her wishes. I just wanted to get back on the road.
The second hour went smoothly until it found me feeling myself up in a gas station bathroom.
The third hour ended between a huge truck and a minivan in a Walmart parking lot.
Driving became a bit more complicated after that. I found I was watching the clock as much as the road. I needed to stop for lunch, but my time was precious. I spent four minutes dripping behind the drive-thru and 60 anxious seconds in line hoping the car in front of me would take long enough so I wouldn't get caught diddling myself on camera or moaning into the speaker.
At the end of the fifth hour, I stopped looking for exits and parked on the shoulder of the deserted highway. My panties were soaked and I wasn't sure I'd be able to continue driving with such dampness taunting me. After the five minutes was up but before continuing my commute, I sent a desperate text begging to cum. I couldn't wait for a reply, so it wasn't until the sixth hour I saw her terse No.
I'll be damned if that didn't make me fuck myself a bit more vigorously on the side of the off ramp.
I got back on the road, six stops behind me. Long before stop number seven the straps of my dress were sliding down my shoulders as my fingers pinched my nipples. I had no idea how many weary road warriors saw me grope myself the last few miles. Actually, I kind of liked the idea. Five minutes flew by far too quickly in another rest stop lot.
Hour eight found me 30 miles from our designated rendezvous. With two fingers inside myself I told her as much. In minute four she said she would be waiting for me. I barely kept myself from cumming.
I pulled into the parking lot outside the coffee house before hour nine. A glance in the rear view mirror showed me a disheveled stranger with wanton eyes. I had wanted to meet her with confidence and composure, but she wanted to meet me like this.
"I'm here," I typed into my phone. It seemed anticlimactic after the miles and trials of my journey, but I didn't know what else to say.
A moment later there was a knock on my passenger-side window. I jumped.
She smiled and waved. I hit unlock. The door opened and she sat, and for a moment I couldn't breathe. She seemed amused by the myriad emotions running across my face and the way my thighs were clenched together. I tugged at the edge of my skirt and let my hair fall in my eyes before I managed what I hoped was a coy, "Hey there, stranger."
Before I finished the sentence her hand was on the back of my neck.
Before I articulated a question her lips were on mine.
Before I realized that my legs were parting her fingers were gripping my bare thigh.
Before I could stop myself my hand was guiding her fingers higher.
A moan escaped my lips as she reached the sopping barrier of my panties. When she nudged them aside and ran a single gentle finger along the slick cleft I pulled away from her lips to gasp, "Please..."
She fell on my lips again and continued her patient stroking. My hips rose to meet her of their own accord, trying their best to force that teasing finger in or on something that would appreciate the attention. She took her time. I don't know how many times I expressed myself with desperate pleas before she finally cut me off by pushing inside me. I moaned into her mouth while her thumb circled my clit. It felt so good to have her close that it brought me too close to resist.
Just as I was about to rip her hand away, her breath was against my ear instead of filling my lungs.
"Cum for me," she said.
With a whimper, I did.
"Good girl."
Her fingers slid gently away from the mess she had made. They glistened in the afternoon light, reminding me that I had been putting on this show in a parking lot nearly 500 miles from home with a complete stranger. Those thoughts were interrupted by the way she pressed her wet fingers against my lips.
I opened wide and licked her fingers clean. Her eyes never left mine.
She replaced her fingers with her tongue, and the taste of her mingled with the taste of me like dark chocolate and red wine.
We broke apart after hours or minutes.
Then she said, "Hi. I'm Gwen."
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