Across the Breezeway Pt. 01

Vincent has shown how cool he thinks the images she posts are because now he helps her with the photography, shooting pics of her rather than her doing it. They're nicer pics than her selfies because he has an artist's eye, and because now she doesn't have to sometimes use a mirror or that camera app timer on her phone. He poses her in positions that best display her curves and takes nice full body pics of her. He gives her copies of the pics to post or not if she wants to. If she selects an image that shows her face he edits it and blurs it out for her before she posts it. When posing for Vincent she isn't the least bit self-conscious about her body because he makes her look beautiful. He makes her feel beautiful.

Darla is a sexual being. Had she been willing to show her face to a bunch of thirsty strangers online around the world, she would have posted the pics she has that show her with Vincent's cock in her mouth, or with his cum on her tongue, or on her face or her breasts. Had she been bold enough, she would have posted the videos of them having sex. Vincent has a camcorder and a tripod. They've made some nice home movies. Vincent said they could be nicer if the camera wasn't stationary. He's hinted that maybe one day he'll hire a professional photographer or videographer to capture him using her mouth, pussy, and ass. The thought of somebody being in the room watching them have sex terrifies her. And thrills her.

Thinking about the pics and video she's made with Victor makes her pussy throb and gush, dampening the driver's seat.

Damn it, she needs to get home.

Or to his place.

"Panties are off," she says.

"When you get a chance, send me a picture."

"Of?"

"You need to ask? Be careful."

Darla steals a guilty look around and can see only the ghostly hulks of vehicles in the adjacent lanes like ships on a thick-fogged ocean, curtained by thick-falling snow. She cannot see the occupants of those vehicles, which means they can't see her. Right now traffic creeps along, but by carefully lifting her bottom off the pussy-dampened seat she is able to tug the bottom of Vincent's football jersey up around her waist while he Santa Fe inches forward.

The sight of her nakedness from the waist down, out here on the busy Capital Beltway with hundreds of people around her, the knowing that she is so close to all these strangers who have no idea that her bald pussy is exposed, is throbbing, and leaking, leaves her breathless with excitement. Right hand on the steering wheel, she slips her left hand between her thighs. Though the heater has the inside of her car comfortably warm, she shivers as she grazes her fingertips over her silky-smooth mound and then lower. She whimpers when her fingers contact the passion-parted lips of her pussy and discovers her wetness. She is so ripe.

She needs to come.

She needs Vincent.

That reminds her of what she's supposed to be doing. She takes her left hand off her pussy and grabs the steering wheel. With her right hand she removes her phone from the cupholder. With her eyes darting back and forth between the SUV in front of her and her phone, she opens its camera app. She spreads her legs as wide as she can with her socked foot on the accelerator, lowers her phone between her knees, and hoping she has a good enough angle, takes a picture.

It's an okay pic, showing shadowy image her plump, bald pussy nestled between her thighs, but she thinks she can do better. "I took one," she says to Vincent. "I can do better when traffic stops."

"Okay." He sounds distracted.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a pot of chili. It's perfect for this weather. I figure when you get here we can have the chili and drink a gallon of beer and hibernate while we're snowed in."

A man who can cook is sext as hell. She likes the idea of being snowed in with him but doesn't want to hibernate. She wants to fuck.

The traffic stops. Darla slams the transmission into park, slides her seat all the way back, and lowers the seat back. She can't do much with her left leg against the door, but she lifts her right foot over the center console to spread her legs as wide as she can get them, then takes a better pic of her pussy for Vincent. She notices her bare leg over the console looks kind of hot, so she takes a pic. Then she decides a pic would look hotter with her sock off and showing no clothing at all. She pulls her right sock off, rests her heel atop the dashboard, arches her foot and takes another pic.

Without even seeing the results she knows the photo will be hot, because as Vincent has said, she has nice legs. And the foot fetish crowd will love it.

But her legs aren't her only nice feature.

Darla tugs Vincent's football jersey up over her breasts and tucks it under her chin to keep it up. She angles her phone so that she is capturing her titties and her stiff nipples in the foreground and her legs and arched foot in the midground, and snow falling outside her car in the background and takes a few shots.

Nice. Definitely post-worthy.

The blaring horn of the vehicle behind her scares the shit out of her.

Her heart jackhammering, Darla sits up in a hurry, drops her phone in the cupholder, adjusts her seat back to where it's supposed to be, puts the transmission in drive, mutters "Sorry" to whoever is behind her and starts moving forward again.

She is exposed from her collarbone down, practically naked in her Hyundai Santa Fe on the 495 Capital Beltway, driving with dozens, maybe hundreds of people in the vehicles around her, and the only thing that prevents them from seeing her is the thick falling snow.

When her heartbeat slows enough for her to focus she sends the pics she took of her pussy, breasts, legs, and feet to Vincent. She imagines him in his kitchen, making chili and looking at these new pics of her. "I just sent you a gift," she says.

"Checking," Vincent replies. For what feels like too long there is silence on the phone. And then he says, "Damn, babe."

Smiling as she drives in the storm, Darla says, "You like?"

"Definitely. I wish you'd worked from home today. Right about now while the chili is simmering on the stove I'd be simmering in you."

Her pussy thrums at the notion, that while the chili is cooking Vincent takes her to bed and uses her. "I can't wait," she breathes. "I want you to stir in me like you're stirring that chili."

"We have all weekend," Vincent says. "We're not going anywhere. Once you get here, be ready to stay naked until you get ready to go to work Monday morning."

"Yes Daddy," Darla breathes. She is so ready now for this weekend.

She wants to send him more images to keep the mood hot. She wonders what other poses she can create within the confines of her vehicle while driving in traffic in a snowstorm on the Beltway.

The jersey has slipped from under her chin down to partially cover her breasts. Her throbbing nipples are still exposed. She thinks the contrast of the blue fabric, her creamy breasts and her rose petal pink nipples will make a nice image. As she creeps along the Beltway she lifts the jersey up again to fully expose her 40D goodies, smiles a bite-her-bottom-lip smile for the camera, and takes a few shots. She glances at the new pictures. She likes the way she looks in them, smiling a sexy smile above her exposed breasts. She wonders if she can get away posting a pic with her titties and her smile. Vincent is good with computer stuff. He can blur out her face above her mouth. Or would that be to risky? She sends the new pics to him.

"You know what Darla? You're fucking gorgeous."

Darla smiles so hard her cheeks hurt as she says, "Think I could post that if you blur out my face except for my mouth?"

"I could, but do you think anyone you know might recognize you? You've got a sexy mouth, a mouth people probably don't forget, like people at your job."

She knows he's right. It would be too risky to post a pic like that. But she imagines as she drives that she's posted a pic showing her face completely, showing her looking at the camera with Vincent's cock in her mouth...or maybe it's a video of her sucking his dick, taking him down her throat and worshiping him until he's ready to come, and then opening her mouth so the camera can catch his hot cum shooting onto her tongue. And when he's given her all of it, she'll look at the camera, which will look like she's looking at whoever's watching the video, and she'll close her mouth and smile as she swallows. She imagines that she's posted the video, and someone from work sees it and spreads the word, and the next time she's at work all eyes are on her, wondering, admiring, wanting her...

Except she'd probably get fired.

Oh well.

"You're right," she says to Vincent. "These will just be for us."

"Hey, in these leg pics that snow looks pretty thick," Vincent says. "I just went out on the balcony, and you can't even see the parking lot, it's coming down so hard. Be careful."

Vincent's balcony, at the front of their apartment building, overlooks the parking lot. Carla's balcony, at the back of the building, overlooks a stand of evergreens, through which she can just see the back side of another apartment in their complex, though apparently she wouldn't be able to today.

"I'm going really slow," Darla says. "It's bumper to bumper. I was actually stopped when I took most of these pics."

"Can you see people in the other cars?"

"No. It's crazy."

"Are you afraid to get naked the next time you're stopped?"

Darla's heart stumbles over its own beat. "Um..."

"Only if you want to."

On her own she would never have thought of getting naked while driving, especially on the Beltway in traffic. But a few months ago she would never have dreamed that she could walk around Vincent's apartment naked or be naked all the time when he visits her, or now, while they don't have neighbors in the other two apartments on the third floor, he requires that when she visits him in his apartment, she comes over naked. That had been terrifying yet exciting those first few times, to leave the privacy and safety of her place naked, to walk outside (well, down the breezeway) to Vincent's, and while she is in his place, to know that her clothes are nowhere close; everything she owns to wear is back at her place. She is no longer terrified of going to Vincent naked. Now she is only excited to do it. Now, rather than be even slightly embarrassed to be naked for Vincent all the time, the way he looks at her with admiration and desire, with his brown eyes burning and his handsome little "You look good, and I want to fuck you" smile, sometimes she thinks she needs to be undressed for him, all the time.

Her pussy thrums its agreement.

Traffic stops again. Somewhere out there the distant, snow-muffled sound of an emergency siren yowls. Traffic comes to a complete stop again. Though Darla knows the occupants of the vehicles around her can't see her, she takes a furtive look around. Seeing nothing that can see her, keeping her bare foot on the brake pedal, she works both her arms out of the New York Giants football jersey. Now the oversized garment hangs around her neck like a life preserver. She is otherwise wearing nothing. She lifts the jersey over her head, forms it so it will be easy to grab and put back on in a hurry if necessary, and places it on the lid of the center console storage compartment.

Now she is on the 495 Capital Beltway, just a few miles from the nation's capital city, surrounded by bumper-to-bumper traffic in a snowstorm, and she is as naked as the day she was born.

She is breathless as she grabs her phone and starts taking pictures for Vincent.

And for herself.

(To be continued)