tagToys & MasturbationHigh Plains Drifter

High Plains Drifter

byFlynnMichaels©

It is late summer, the sun is hot, and you are behind the wheel. Your friend asked you to help move some furniture to her sister's place on the other side of the state yesterday; today you are making the return trip by yourself. The route is long and mostly on rural, two-lane state highways. The burnt gold of the prairie surrounds you. Once or twice an hour a truck (and it's almost always a truck) will appear on the horizon. As it passes, you and the other driver will exchange perfunctory waves, lifting two fingers off the steering wheel, acknowledging another human in the middle of nowhere.

More primer than paint, your car is something of an eyesore but you love it. The little 2-door hatchback doesn't look like much, but it has a newer engine and runs like a top. On the downside there is no AC. To deal with the heat the windows are down and you are wearing only your sneakers and a pair of shorts. Even if you were within the range of any radio stations you wouldn't be able to hear anything over the wind blasting through the windows. Your brain is getting a little fried from the monotony of the drive, the grey ribbon of the highway stretching to the horizon. You think about how far away you are from anyone or anything. You could do pretty much anything out here without anyone knowing...

You snap out of the haze you have been in for the last 20 miles, suddenly aware of the throbbing erection in your shorts. The car produces a constant low vibration as it tears along the old highway, and you can feel this subtle, thrumming agitation as it transfers from the old car's minimal suspension up through the driver's seat. The steady tremor vibrates up to your thighs, your ass, your balls, up into your cock. Without thinking about sex—or really anything at all—you have become very hard.

You drive on, thinking maybe it will go away, but instead your cock becomes more engorged. Again, you consider your remote location, how unlikely it is that anyone is within 50 miles in any direction. You feel a familiar quiver in your testicles as your hard-on strains against your shorts. You need release. For a brief moment you consider pulling over.

You do not pull over. "This is really stupid," you think to yourself as you undo your seatbelt.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, you slide your shorts and boxers down below your ass, a task complicated by the fact that your dick is like granite. You push the waistband of your boxers below your hot and aching testicles and settle back into the driver's seat, your erection pointing straight up. The head is practically glowing reddish-purple, contrasting with the deep tan of your stomach and the pale skin below your belt line. Every vein on your shaft bulges.

You try to concentrate on the road. An especially sensitive antenna, your cock seems to be stimulated by everything. You absorb the agitation as the car hums over the asphalt and every bump in the road sends a small jolt through your member. The entirely new sensation of the wind blowing over your penis is delicate and unusual. The road bends slightly and for a few minutes the sun's rays fall across your lap, the solar warmth arousing you even more.

Before, you could only think about how isolated you are. Now, you are fixated on the possibility that someone, anyone could travel down that road at any moment. You are suddenly aware that your automobile is smaller and closer to the ground than most others. If a car passed now, anyone—a trucker, a cop, a busload of cheerleaders—if they were sitting high enough could easily look down through your window to see the hard rod straining and twitching between your legs.

The situation has become urgent. You check the rear view mirror and squint to the horizon in front of you. Nobody.

You reach down and begin masturbating.

The moment you touch yourself, a small river of precum surges from the slot in your dick. Maybe the car's vibrating has been stimulating your prostate this entire time. Whatever the reason, more of the slick, sticky juice is seeping from you than ever before. You smooth the warm fluid along your shaft and rub it over your balls, as more of it continues to leak from the crown. Using your thumb and forefinger, you circle the base of your hard pipe and slap it several times against your lower stomach. Looking down, you see clear bands of precum stretching from the hair around your navel to the tip of your dick.

Steadying your right hand on the wheel, you start jacking off with your left. The feeling is incredible and you fight to keep your focus on the road. Normally, you fantasize about sex while jerking off. But this time you are completely turned on by the stimulation and recklessness of masturbating behind the wheel. Glancing at the speedometer you notice that you have crept up to 90 mph, and you ease off the gas. Over the roar of the wind and the sound of your own heartbeat, you are able to hear the wet, sticky noise of your fist pumping away.

You pick up the pace of your strokes, your hand pistoning over the contours of your pulsing cock, occasionally sliding down to rub the spot beneath your scrotum. Soon you feel your climax upon you. Your penis erupts, the first salvo a pearly while trail bisecting the steering wheel and landing somewhere on the dash. You adjust your dick as it continues to spasm, and it sprays hot loads of semen over your torso. You keep your eyes on the highway as you feel the molten cum splashing on your chest again and again. Fountains of white leap from your cock and you start to wonder when it is going to stop.

Just as you feel your orgasm finally subside, you see a pickup in the distance. There is no avoiding it. The truck closes the distance between you quickly and you can see the driver is a middle-aged woman with red hair and sunglasses. Surely at that speed there's no way she would be able to discern the thick lines of ejaculate coating your chest, or see your spent dick which you are still massaging with your left hand.

You both wave as she passes. Was that a grin?

You really need to clean up and that will require pulling over. The car rolls to a stop on the shoulder as you breathe deeply and consider the mess. There are only a few spots on your chest and belly that are not coated in sperm. The stray fast food napkins between the seats are clearly not sufficient for the task. Eventually, you strip off your shorts and underwear and, using your boxers and a bottle of water from the back seat, you clean off as much of your cum as possible. Pulling your shorts back on, you toss the sodden boxers out the window and get back on the road.

As the car accelerates, you notice that your cock is still feeling very sensitive, perhaps more so now that you're not wearing any underwear. Again you feel the car's faint vibration beneath you. Ahead, a sign tells you that you still have 115 miles to go.

You wonder if 115 miles is enough for you to cum one more time.

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byFlynnMichaels© 1 comments/ 12858 views/ 2 favorites

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