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Parking
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Archive-name: Parking
So it's about this here story.
This story is not for everyone. It contains no bestiality, no bondage, no
incest, no artificial sweeteners or preservatives, and no parking.
Well, all right--just a little bit of parking.
Hee.
The following is a first effort. I hope you like it. I enjoyed writing it,
and it is my fondest hope that its intended audience enjoys reading it as well.
With my thesaurus at hand,
Saltgirl
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My darling--I'm thinking of you.
I'm thinking of what a delightful evening we spent together last Friday. Do
you remember it? I do--I remember every delicious detail. But then my memory
has a habit of gripping the particulars of such events and keeping them safe.
Shall I refresh your memory?
I believe I shall.
A movie, we decided. A movie at the neighborhood art cinema. With nowhere
else to go, we arrived at the theater an hour early. Were you joking when you
suggested that we find a "nice warm parking lot" for the wait? I suppose you
weren't, since that's exactly what we did.
And we had been apart for a few weeks, not a great length of time, but long
enough to make your nearness new. Long enough to make the warmth of your hand,
casually resting on my thigh as you drove, more stirring than usual.
As you will recall, we arrived at our designated parking lot, pulled into a
spot that was, as you playfully remarked, "right under a light!", and, rather
like the libidinous high-schoolers that we used to be, climbed into the back
seat. More precisely, we used the doors.
Much more sophisticated, yes.
A few weeks had seemed like such a long time. Though we began with friendly
words, very soon those friendly words were supplanted by a warm kiss or two,
a few exploratory caresses. You know how it excites me to feel your warm,
slow breath down along my neck, followed leisurely by the very tip of your
tongue and an unexpected nibble every now and then on the sensitive tendons
along the sides there. The way you draw your teeth lightly across the delicate
skin--well, you must know. I remember it.
And then to my mouth, your lips soft and gentle at first, mouth open. I remem-
ber lifting my hand to brush back your hair, getting caught up in the silky
feel of its length. I remember my surprise as your tongue began to stroke the
roof of my mouth, lightly, playing along the tender skin there.
And then the feel of your mouth changed as I moved closer, and your arms came
up around me, hands resting on my back, occasionally meandering up or down,
agonizingly slowly. Your kiss became more demanding as I pulled myself closer
to you and our bodies came into contact. Deeper, longer--you were the one who
broke the kiss, though I think I had something to do with it, because I touched
you then, drew my hand down your chest. The way you started when my fingers
brushed down across your nipple was enough to separate us.
But I remember that we weren't apart for long. I had enjoyed your reaction, so
I continued, concentrating on your left nipple, the more sensitive one. I
could feel it harden through the fabric of your shirt as I rubbed it lightly,
could hear the small sounds of pleasure you made as I squeezed it between my
fingers. Now under your shirt, stroking your smooth skin with my palms, up
your sides until my fingers had found you once more. Gently rubbing with my
thumbs in a definite rhythm, one that was echoed by the way you began to move
your hips as I touched you. Very soon both of your nipples were stiff and your
breath was coming hard and deep. Now--drawing my fingernails across such
tender skin, hearing the soft cry you gave, feeling the effect I was having on
you--lovely.
You pushed me back against the seat then, smiling at me in a wonderfully wanton
way. You pushed my skirt up, and I felt your hands on my thighs. You traced
down with your palms, I remember, then up with the tips of your fingers, but
slowly now. Further up--mmm--and what ridiculous disappointment when you
withdrew your hands!
For I needn't have worried. You brought your hands up then to cup my breasts,
caressing them slowly through my blouse. As exciting as your touch was, it
wasn't enough. When you unbuttoned my blouse and slipped your hand inside--
well, that was enough. As soon as I felt your fingertip brush my nipple
through the lace of my bra, I felt a rush of heat through my entire body. You
teased me just as I had teased you, my dear. Just as I had wanted to lick
your nipples, to take them in my mouth, to hear your sharp intake of breath--
I wanted the same.
I had no complaints about what happened instead. I didn't protest at all, did
I, when you reached under my skirt once more, this time removing the lace
panties I wore. "They're in the way," you explained.
My thoughts exactly.
So then your hands were on my thighs again, caressing the tender skin on the
insides, but also massaging the muscles there. Somewhere along the line you
also pulled my skirt up further, far enough so that any casual passerby could,
with a single glance, have become well-acquainted with my body. But I wanted
you to see me, and if they could, too--well, all right.
You make me do shameless things, darling.
I remember the exquisite sensation of your fingers twining in the soft triangle
of hair there, gently and suggestively. And I remember my moan as you traced
down with a fingertip over my outer lips; I remember the surge of warmth that
was now centered under your hands. Then very lightly, you drew your fingertip
from bottom to top, increasing the pressure as you stroked my clit, then down
again to slide your finger inside me, gathering some of the moisture that had
been there for most of the eveing, awaiting your kind attention. I soon became
slick with your caresses, and your touch was so very exciting, feeling your
fingertip slide down over me, then up again, finding a rhythm and a pressure
that made other concerns much less urgent all of a sudden.
Other concerns like passing pedestrians, walking by on their way into the
theater.
Do you remember what happened next, dear? I felt the incredibly soft, smooth
skin of your cheek--the skin I had wanted to touch since I saw you--against my
thigh as you moved in, positioning your mouth next to my cunt. Your warm
breath came fast, and the knowledge that I had excited you so was almost as
delicious as the feel of your tongue as it traced my sensitive lips. You moved
along the outside, as you had done before, then stroked me teasingly with your
tongue and your lips before devoting yourself to flicking my clit back and
forth, slowly at first, then faster.
And your finger was inside me again, increasing the pleasure I was feeling. As
you licked me and then, for a few heart-stopping seconds, gently sucked my
clit, I could feel you moving your finger in and out of me. I don't know how
you've always known just how I want to be touched; I haven't ever shown you. I
haven't needed to. And this was no exception. As you continued more deliber-
ately, I felt my whole body begin to tremble, felt a hard surge of some darkly
wonderful heat.
You must have known that I was almost there, because, although I'm not sure, I
think I was being rather vocal. I seem to remember that I spoke your name, and
I am almost certain that I cried out as I felt first the few seconds of utter
rigidity, then the fluttering pleasure that made my body convulse again and
again as I came. And you kissed my thigh once I was still, kissed my mouth as
I rested there, completely relaxed and absolutely alive.
But how to repay you, my dear, for such indescribable release?
My hands found your nipples again. I was hoping to bring you back to the state
of arousal you had felt before. But on further inspection, namely moving down
to touch your thighs, I found that you were still as ready as you had been
before, if not more so. And I've told you how it excites me to know that I
please you--well, inconvtrovertible evidence. Because I could feel your warmth
as I continued up until my hand brushed against the stiffness of your cock and
you moaned, one of your soft small sounds that I love to hear. More sounds
then, as I continued to stroke you, a slight bit of pressure now--
Not close enough. I couldn't get close enough to you. I will admit to a high
degree of impatience as I moved to unbutton your jeans; you know how my lapses
of dexterity can sometimes frustrate me. But finally you were in my hands, so
hard and hot and real. I love the way you feel, the smooth, taut skin there--
I held you for a moment, just to recall the shape of you, just to hear your
sigh as I moved my thumb over the sensitive ridges.
Still not close enough.
I bent down, then, so that my head rested in your lap, and I lay there enjoying
the sight of you--I love the way you look--and breathing in the warm scent of
your body. Then, not wanting to wait any longer, I ran my tongue down the
length of your cock, just the tip of my tongue at first, but then covering as
much of you as I could. Though I couldn't see your face, I imagined you, eyes
closed, with the helpless, almost dazed expression that you take on when we
come together like this. You're beautiful, my darling, and never more than
now, like this.
Our relationship is new enough that I still feel a bit uncertain about what
kind of touching will excite you most. Feeling experimental, I first stroked
the tip of your cock with my tongue, skirting around the small ridge that sets
it apart, and, my God, enjoying the feel of you in my mouth. I took you in
further then, closing my lips around the shaft and hearing your small gasp of
response. I began to suck you, first letting the head of your cock rest on my
tongue, then traveling down further, following the fingers I had clasped around
you down to the base.
I continued my motions, first taking you in and then withdrawing, until I found
a rhythm that you started to follow, thrusting your hips up and back to guide
yourself in and out of my tightly-closed lips. My excitement grew as you
moved; I can't describe the agonizing, wonderful heat that I felt, hearing you
whisper my name and feeling your hands in my hair.
And I wanted you to come. I wanted to feel your growing excitement, then your
sounds of surprise, then the way your entire body begins to shake when you're
there. I've never told you this--I wanted to taste you.
But you stopped me. I was feeling disoriented, and I couldn't understand why
you hadn't let me finish, until you gently reminded me that we were in the
middle of a parking lot that was as bright as day, and pointed out several
passersby who could easily have turned such intimacy into a spectator sport.
"I'm sure the car was rocking," you laughed as we rearranged ourselves and
prepared to follow our audience into the theater. And I noticed a police car
which had pulled up at some point, unremarked by us. Perhaps you were right
to stop me--can you imagine the mortification of being caught in such a
position by a duly-appointed officer of the law?
Of course you can. How silly of me. Like horny teenagers.
But my excitement hadn't abated at all by the time we had seated ourselves at
the very back of the theater, in the uppermost row of seats that formed a
stairstep configuration; from where we sat we overlooked the entire theater.
No, if anything I was now more excited, feeling my bare thighs pressed together
under my skirt, no underwear still, knowing how easy it would be for you to
touch me and feel the warmth and the wetness that your earlier attentions had
caused.
At some point during the movie, you moved your hand to my thigh once more,
stroking me casually, almost absent-mindedly, it seemed. But then you were
slowly pushing my skirt up again, inch by inch, until your fingers rested on my
bare skin.
Now, I felt a moment of panic, but looking around, I realized that no one could
see us, and, as long as I was able to stay quiet, no one need know what was
going on. So I assented, even helping you to move my troublesome skirt out of
the way.
Once again your fingers met first the extra-sensitive skin of the insides of my
thighs, and I remember that I willingly spread my legs apart for you, wanting
you to feel my excitement.
And as befor, your touch soon had me shaking with the need to touch you. Even
as you thrust your fingers inside me, my hand moved to your erection, feeling
the immediacy of your response. Soon you stopped touching me, to yield, I
suppose, to my attentions.
And I stroked you as I had before, hearing your soft moans again. Do you re-
call what you said to me then? I don't see how you could have forgotten; you
told me, "I can't wait. I want to be inside you now."
Never mind the presence of a respectable crowd not fifty feet below us. I made
no protest at all, just as you must have known I wouldn't. I had wanted you
inside me all evening, wanted to feel myself being entered directly and deeply.
And you know that I, like you, have a hard time saying no.
"Sit on my lap," you instructed, as you unbuttoned your pants. As I positioned
myself above you and lifted my skirt, facing the screen as you were, I could
feel the head of your cock brushing against my moistened lips and my swollen
clit, and it felt so achingly good that I was almost ready to come before you
pulled me down onto you and I felt your cock pushing into me.
Your hands came around to unbutton the first few buttons of my blouse again,
and then you moved one hand inside to stroke my breasts. I love the way you
touch my nipples, and, though I really wanted to feel your lips there, the
gently insistent stroking of your fingertips was enough.
I began to move with you then, as you thrust inside me from behind. First in,
deep, then out, almost all the way, so that the tip of your cock was entering
me over and over. I had lost all touch with such details as time or place,
but I remember that I was honestly trying to be quiet, doing a pretty good job,
too, until your other hand came around and began to stroke my clit, stiff and
slick with my wetness. Then I think I made some sounds. Do you remember? I
don't.
And I came then--the sensation of your hardness so deep inside me combined with
your deliberate caresses brought me off almost right away. I felt you moving
harder then, and faster, and you stiffened, gasped, and started to tremble.
Then I felt more heat, more wetness, as you came inside me with a few final
thrusts. Your arms held me tight and close, and I felt the violence of your
heartbeat, felt your breath coming ragged and warm against my neck.
For the duration of the evening, I felt your wetness on my thighs, and I felt
so desirable, so feminine then--
I look forward to our next moviegoing expedition, my dear.
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