The Unknown Commuter:

Geschreven door: Sailor
Categorie: Fictie
Label(s): Reguliere sex



Everyday the daily grind eats into our all too short day, an hour in the morning, then when your as tired as a beaten rug, an hour and a half back the other way. The daily commute has its everyday collection of disgruntle jerks, at both ends of the day, a large assortment of pretty women and pretty shitty women for my voyeuristic eyes to consume as we sit in traffic, they in their metallic phallic symbols, and me in my towering SUV. Sometimes as we sit in traffic they’ll offer me an interesting show, I often wonder if the show was intentional or accidental or just another commuter, bored to tears, fingering her slot to gain some nervous relief in the secret privacy of her car.
One day a rather cute, pageboy cut dirty blond drove defiantly up the right shoulder, a bad risk here-about, our local interstates have a rather large collection of nasty trash lying around. Several miles later I could see her pulled off onto the grass, squatted down behind her fender, since no one else seemed inclined to offer assistance I stopped behind her and walked up to squat beside her to observe a perfectly good tire, only then did I notice the curious way she held her skirt. When I took a better look at her I realized that I’d screwed up but determined to make the best of things, including the special view she offered me.
Now I regard my personal endowments as nothing extraordinary, my penis is about eight inches in a detumescent state, about ten or twelve inches when erect and slightly more than three inches in diameter. Several partners have told me that it fit very nicely, and it surely felt really good when properly sheathed.
Examining the proffered view was pleasant; she was squatting with her knees about a foot apart, sans culottes (Without Panties), as the French might say, an intensely attractive woman, carefully groomed, well dressed, except for those naked parts, a handsome swell to her bosom, but not over developed, slinky, sexy calves and smooth thighs clad in the finest hosiery and tightly gartered, all highlighting her protrudent, hirsute blond mons and fleshy parted labial portal that was partially concealed by a burgeoning clitoris. Her eyes were in turn on the engrossing shaft tunneling down the left thigh of my trousers.
“Can I help?” I asked softly.
“I doubt it,” she offered, “Unless you can pee for me.”
“Can I watch?” I asked stupidly, because it was a stupid question, I already was.
She shrugged her shoulders and squatted a little lower, dark yellow, sharply odiferous piss trickled, then stopped, then jetted and stopped, beginning to flow strongly as she relaxed, some splattering on her hose and thighs. As her urine ran freely she said, “That really turns you on! Your face is glowing and your cock is wetting your pants.” Then pausing as her flow ceased, she whispered, “Oh drat! I don’t have any tissues!”
“Come sit in my truck,” I said, “I have tissues, but I can think of a better way to dry you off.” I said as I seated her in my SUV and she swiveled to face me on the seat as I stood in the door. I lifted her leg, carefully addressing each damp spot on her stocking as I sucked the essence of her flavors from them. Slowly I worked my way up the leg until, on her bare flesh, at the turn of her torso I started down the other leg. When I had suckled her urine from her hosiery, only then did I turn to the pleasure of her pissy vulva. She groaned ecstatically as my winnowing tongue wiped every drop of delicious urine from her fragrant, now engorged sex, wet with the erotic flower I’d opened.
“Get out that big cock and fuck me with it!” She charged roughly, “Fuck me hard!”
I dropped my trousers and lowered her to the door sill, just the right height for fucking, after all, who am I to refuse a reasonable request from a beautiful woman am.
Taking my relentless penetrator to hand, guiding it to her grasping nest, working the nozzle of it up and down the gate of humanity to lubricate its intensity, then pressing into the treasured depths, watching her tightness furl the foreskin on the shaft as her juices surged to ease the fulfilling combat as inch after steely inch slipped within her. Nudging gently against her cervix, relishing the fierce tightness of her lubricity, then withdrawing to fuck her again and again as she groaned, pinned on my shaft as a candy apple on its stick, we writhed together as one driving intransitive effort. Then we were coming, the ultimate effort, signing our significance in the blasting exchange of fluids, the abundant liquors of our colitis blended seamlessly in the pool of life as we slowly descended from St. Peter’s Gates.
I withdrew the now eased tool with a soft plop as a rush of our commingled cums drained on my running board, looking at the now disheveled loveliness, holding her to me as I helped her down from the door sill of the truck; we exchanged our first kiss, whispering “Thank you.” To her in the now warm dark night, “Thank you.” She responded, holding my tool as I fastened my pants, helping her to her car, realizing that I didn’t even know her name as she drove away.





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