Addicted

I knew I was addicted. I knew it was wrong. I knew that it was dangerous. But when I was horny I just didn't care. I needed to be used. I needed to be used hard. I needed to switch off my brain, to switch off my controlling personality. I needed to switch it off and live instead through my body. And my body craved sweat and dirt and pain and cum. My body betrayed me as the slut that I am.

I knew as I drove home from my office job that I wouldn't be turning into the underground parking at my condo. I knew that I would keep driving until I found satisfaction. I didn't have a particular place in mind. I just knew that I would drive to another town and then give myself away.

As I left the city limits I reached under my dressy little jacket and pinched my nipple through my bra. I kept right on pinching and turned slowly to the car beside me. No luck, the guy didn't even notice. If he only knew how his life could have been different!

I let go of my nipple and took a handful of my small breast. I slowly squeezed the whole thing until the pressure was almost too much, then I twisted and squeezed some more. I was just beginning. I licked my lips as my breathing got heavier. I knew I was going to go through with it. I wasn't going to chicken out.

I only give in to this addiction once or twice a year—when it becomes too much to resist. I know that each time I am jeopardizing my career and the life that I have built up for myself, but I just can't help it. I don't know how to explain it, but it keeps me sane.

I let go of my breast, grabbed the lapel of my jacket and also my blouse and I pulled hard. Buttons flew. My bra was open for any to see. I moved from the middle to the slow lane. I was getting too excited to drive. But I also wanted to prolong this time. Now that I knew I was going to let my self go, I wanted to savor the last vestiges of control. I wanted to languish in giving myself away. I grabbed my bra and yanked down. The straps hurt my shoulders but my firm breasts spilled free. I stuck my thumb and two fingers in my mouth—imagining it to be a cock. I slobbered over them and then twisted my saliva into my nipples. I felt myself slide forward on the car seat. I was trying to get some pressure on my cunt by getting my panties to ride up. It wasn't enough, but for now it served to keep my arousal simmering as I drove away from home.

From past experience I knew where this would end up. What I didn't know was the path that I would take to get to the bottom. This was maybe my fifth or sixth time doing this over the past few years. Once I hit thirty and was still single I just decided to give in and do what I wanted. It always ended with me feeling hurt and scared, guilty and even a little foolish. But while I was falling I felt so alive. I knew this time would be the same. I would get progressively more daring and slutty. I would go to dangerous places, and above all I would follow my one rule, the one constant in each of these outings: no matter what, and I mean no matter what, obey everyone. I know this path may get me killed, either outright or by catching some disease, but I am addicted to it. I am addicted to the rush, to the feeling that my entire being centers on my uterus as it orgasms, and orgasming through the danger, because of the danger.

My hand was back in my mouth. I pushed two fingers down my throat until I gagged. I trailed the slime out, along my neck and back to my breasts. My hips were thrusting as I tried to generate more pressure on my clit. I had to pull over.

I made it to the shoulder of the freeway. I was about fifteen minutes outside of my hometown. I had much more distance to travel tonight, but I needed another little flash. The man in the car didn't see me pinch my nipples. My next stunt would be a little more daring, and I knew I would keep upping the ante until I got caught.

With the car stopped I reclined the seat all the way back. I kicked off my pumps and placed my stockinged feet on the dash. I knew what my next stunt would be. I would do what I call a "two hundred".

A two hundred means that I would plunge my fingers deep into my pussy two hundred times—and I would not stop for any reason. If anyone approached I would continue until I finished.

I reached up and pinched both of my exposed nipples, sending a jolt to my pussy. With that I began. I pushed my fingers in without removing my panties or hose. I pushed the material inside me as deep as I could. With my other hand I alternatively deep-throated my fingers and coated my breasts with saliva. My toes curled along the dash. I could here cars go by and I could see the reflections of headlights on my shiny hose.

When I got to fifty I had my first orgasm. I shoved my fingers inside me and kept them there through my throes. My other hand was pushing itself down my throat. I came hard, and I should tell you, I am a squirter. As I came liquid gushed out of my pussy and splattered up into my panties and hose, running up my back as I kicked my legs higher, my feet on the ceiling.

I resumed my two hundred after the orgasm. Now I was rushing, my desire ebbing in the aftermath of my come. The liquid pooled on the leather seat. I could feel it squishing in the small of my back. My slick panties and hose rubbed uncomfortably along my sensitive labia.

As I approached one hundred I had a wicked thought. I reached under my hose and grabbed the front of the thong panties that I was wearing. I could feel the liquid squeeze out as I pulled up, harder, harder until they gave way with a snap. The straps dug a little into my hips but I didn't care. I brought the panties up to my mouth and stuffed them in. They tasted like sex. I wanted more so I turned around and put my face directly on the seat with my belly button on the headrest and my knees on the back seat, baring my ass to the world. I wanted to keep my hose for now so I pulled them back up, reached between my legs and started the next hundred. My face was inhaling my musk from the seat—a combination of come and sweat. I stuck my tongue out around the thong and licked the leather. Now the headlight illuminated my ass as my fingers pumped my pantyhose inside of me.

Would I make it through the next one hundred without anyone approaching? I didn't know. But I was already at twenty and no one had stopped so far. I pumped slowly, drawing out the hundred, increasing the chances of getting caught. I think part of me slowed down because I knew I wasn't going to get caught yet. I was cheating in a strange way. I picked up the pace and finished the second hundred.

As I rolled back over I could feel the sweat and sin on my chin. My body felt alive, and I had passed the first little test. I did it again. I put myself out there. Had anyone stopped I would have been there's. I felt pleased that I didn't chicken out, that I took to another level. My mind hadn't totally given up control yet, but I was glad that it was taking a back seat.

I slipped my pumps back on, raised the seat back and merged back into traffic. I was happy to get a little further away from home.

My breasts were still slightly exposed. My blouse had lost the top half of its buttons, and my jacket only had one button left. No one would notice from a distance, but any one close up would see my pert breasts highlighted by the bra that sat useless, pulled down across the top of my abdomen. I kept my panties in my mouth, leaving a one of the strings dangling down my chin. I was ready for the next test.

Author's note:

If this character strikes a chord within you, please let me know. I find pleasure in exploring what we usually keep hidden.

kurious