For the Stranger in 6B Ch. 03

The following weeks seem to flow by in a dream. I've never felt time seem to move so swiftly, and stand still at the same time. You and Ivan become best of friends, spending much of your waking time together - much of your sleeping time together as well, as we three always seem to be together. I have no complaints - I am getting at least twice as much great sex as I ever have before - and opportunities for fun and adventure seem boundless. Ivan trusts me with you as though I were, in fact, with him. Whatever one or the other of you dream of to do, already knowing I am game, is planned and implemented. And when he has to leave town, which is fairly frequently as usual, he knows that I am 'in good hands' as it were.

I have to admit, I enjoy being around you, Curt Warren. You are both intelligent and street smart, qualities not always found together, but ones that had initially drawn me to Ivan. You think fast and have a dry, somewhat twisted sense of humor, something I always find personally appealing working in the medical field as I do. Your tastes in music are similar to Ivan and mine, and we three are not incompatible, as we found out that moonless night, in the bedchamber. You are developing an appreciation for fuller figured women, learning that we can be as sexy and exciting, in and out of bed, as the more socially accepted Paris Hilton types. You are clean in your body, always a necessity in my mind when planning to share myself, and perhaps best of all, you can cook. That restaurant that you own isn't simply there as investment or income, you actually work there too-donning your chef's coat, creating menu, training chefs, circulating among the clientele. Le Cuisinier Amoureux (I always get a silent giggle over the name, "The Amorous Cook") is a very quiet, not hideously expensive French restaurant, specializing in more traditional, hearty French fare - and most infamous for its cassoulet with white beans, a hint of roasted garlic and truffles, but using venison sausage rather than the more traditional pork. My personal favorite however was the coq au vin blanc...perhaps because you created it for me, but also because I loved the clean, summery flavors of the white wine and tarragon.

One of the things, which I personally am most in awe of, is your ability to stand in my open refrigerator door, hips swathed in a bath towel (if that), and to take whatever you find available and make a meal for two or three. And tonight, if I am not mistaken, on exiting the shower I am smelling sautéed onions, peppers, hmmm, zucchini perhaps, with garlic, basil and something unidentifiable but mouthwatering. Wrapping a towel around my dripping locks I head for the bedroom where Ivan is packing to leave on another "business" trip.

"Baby, check and make sure the gun is unloaded and locked and get it in it's case for me would you while I grab some clothes." As I nod and proceed to dismantle his weapon as instructed, fitting it with the lock and nestling it into the locking gun case, Ivan continues, "Joy baby, have you checked the weather in Mexico City today?"

"Yes love, it's hot. It's always hot in Mexico City. And this time of year it may rain, a lot."

He pauses in his packing to tilt up my chin and kiss me deeply. "All right, Joyous, out with it. What's wrong?"

"I'm just going to miss you, that's all. You've been gone a lot this year..." I trail off, knowing that even to myself I sound whiny and pitiful, which I hate.

Ivan chuckles as he resumes his packing. "So, even your new 'boy toy' isn't keeping you busy enough when I'm gone?"

I had to laugh too at that comment, "Puhleez, sugar, Curt is what, a year and a half younger than I am...hardly makes me a cougar...or him a 'boy toy'. And yes, I love being with him, it's just......"

"Just what, baby?" Ivan comes to stand between my legs, tilting my chin to look up at him and taking the towel off my hair so he can wrap his hands in it.

"Just...not the same," I said as I rub my face against his crotch. "I love you, Ivan Hawkens, madly, passionately, and admittedly insanely." I was smiling at him now, behind the tangled wet mass of my hair, feeling the stirring below my cheek that indicates perhaps I can get another short 'farewell' before he has to finish packing and leave. However, at that moment I heard the banging of a wooden spoon against a pot along with the announcement from the kitchen that you are planning to 'slop the hogs with it' if we don't come and eat immediately.

"Son of a.........."

Ivan laughs pulling me off the edge of the bed and smacking my ass, "C'mon, Mrs. Hawkens, you know how 'the amorous cook' gets if we're not immediate and appreciative of his efforts!"

Laughing again I have to admit, "Well, appreciative is NEVER the problem. You could die happy just smelling that kitchen!"

As the three of us eat dinner, chatting over the day just past, the evening yet to come and the week ahead with our plans for getting Ivan to the airport in time for his flight tonight and then to pick him up again when notified, there is a great deal of laughter and joking. Singing along with whatever "oldie" is playing on the CD mix and poking fun at each other for alternately forgetting and remembering lyrics from hits of eras before any of us were born. I love seeing your chin drop when I grab a wooden spoon to use as a mock microphone and belt out "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B", but you got me back when you retrieve it for a Tom Cruise-"Risky Business" version of "Old Time Rock and Roll". I am laughing so hard my sides hurt while Ivan continues to eat, all the while muttering about "crazy white folks" under his breath...until "Heard it Through the Grapevine" comes on and he immediately wants the two of us to not only sing back up for him but also to shadow his choreography...our laughing collapse on various pieces of furniture is inevitable at that point.

Later...as we drop Ivan off at the terminal and you move to the back of the car to get his bag out of the trunk, Ivan pins me against the car door, running his large, warm hands up under my shirt...mostly out of sight of passing strangers and baggage handlers. I press my face to his chest briefly, kissing the area over his heart and laying my hand there, then tilt my chin up to give him my best, most loving smile -

"Safe journey, safe return beloved!"

"Don't worry, Joy," he says before smothering my lips with his own, one hand holding me warmly against him while his other tweaks my nipple boldly, stirring a fire he won't put out till his return.

As you hand him his bag, he grips your forearm and pulls you close for a briefly whispered conversation. You nod once, your eyes flicking unconsciously toward me and I know that whatever he's said, the conversation was about me. I keep my smile constant, waving, even as you settle me back into the passenger seat of the car and shut the door. My chin never even quivers until the car has pulled out of sight around the bend in the terminal road and back onto the highway. I'm not sure when you realize I'm not holding up my end of the conversation and look over to find tears running down my face.

"Isabelle, what's... My God, Joy!"

You start to pull the car off the highway, even as I lay a hand on your leg, shaking my head negatively -

"Don't, Curt, I'll be alright in a minute, really. It's just, as often as this happens it never gets any easier, knowing that one of these days, he could get hurt," I catch my breath in a futile attempt not to sob, "or worse, not come back from one of these little trips of his."

"Isabelle, Ivan will come back! He will ALWAYS come back! He's very good at what he does and he's also very careful. We've talked about it a little. He knows I've got my pilot's license and there might come a day when he might need my help with something." You reach out, pulling my chin toward you, glancing at me briefly then focusing back on the traffic, you brush my cheek with the knuckles of your hand, wiping my tears away. "If he needs my help he WILL have it! He's become like a brother to me...and we both love you, baby girl, we are NOT going to leave you alone."

Grasping your hand briefly I lean into your touch, kissing your knuckles and soundlessly whispering a 'thank you' against your skin, then placing your hand firmly in my lap I command -

"Open the moon roof and take my mind off my troubles!"

I see the flash of your teeth behind the newly grown moustache and goatee that match Ivan's, as the moon roof slides soundlessly back and my seat also powers down and back until I am nearly lying down. Pulling my skirt up around my waist I reveal my pantiless state and sliding one leg carefully into your lap, so as not to jostle the steering wheel, I prop my other booted foot against the dashboard, opening myself as widely as possible to your questing fingers. Pulling my sweater up as well, I take the matter of my nipples into my own hands, lifting my breasts free of the confinement of bra cups, and sucking on my fingers to moisten them I begin stroking and tweaking my nipples. The cool night breeze blowing in through the moon roof causes them to instantly harden and pebble and brings a rush of moisture to my lower lips as well. You take your hand from me briefly to unzip your slacks, freeing your hardening cock from its confinement. My hands are a little cool and I hear your hiss of surprise as I wrap my left hand around your shaft. Rather than deflating, however, your erection immediately stretches and firms in my hand.

"Mmmmmmmmm," I murmur. "I think he likes it cold!"

Grinning at me again you briefly suck your fingers and hold them out the moon roof, exposing them to the night air and causing them to cool rapidly from your normal body heat. Then clapping them immediately to my wet pussy you enter me, stroking me long and hard, and once your fingers are wet and well, lubricated with my juices you move them to my clit. I am thrashing in the seat from the stimulus of the cold and the fast rhythm you are playing against me, like a guitar chord I don't quite recognize. I feel the car's engine speed up as you pull up to get next to a semi, rolling the tinted window down on my side. Realizing the driver can not quite see what is going on, much as he tries to, and is drifting into our lane in his attempts to watch, I remove my seat belt and turn in the seat, sticking my ass up, and nearly out the window. The draft of cool air causes a definite thrill, and now I am in the perfect position to give a little mouth-to-rod resuscitation. You power your seat back slightly, allowing for a little more 'head' room between you and the steering wheel. The semi driver now has an excellent view of my open, wet pussy, with my fingers working industriously away. Sometimes having two or even 3 fingers up my aching cunt, fucking myself hard while my thumb rubs feverishly at the spot of my most intense pleasure - at other times using my whole hand to stroke and even lightly smack my pudendum, rubbing and applying pressure until I come dripping against my hand. The trucker keeps pace with us through it all and at your murmured comment -

"Looks like he's stroking off."

I not only can't help moaning, sending the vibration straight into your groin, but as I come again against my hand and fingers I shove a well-lubed finger up my ass, causing an immediate doubling of my orgasm, as well as increasingly frenzied moaning and sucking of your cock. Suddenly, I seem to become aware of the car slowing and turning. Lifting my head I see you have pulled into a roadside park and look at you quizzically

"I need to cum too, but NOT driving. And I want to be inside you," you say.

Popping the trunk as you exit the car you grab an emergency blanket, then come around to pull me from the car. Looking around briefly we realize the parking lot is nearly empty, except for a couple of cars with steamed up windows, whose occupants are probably doing inside the car what we are preparing to do outside. In the truck lot there are some semi's parked with their motors running while the occupants sleep and in the distance oncoming lights indicate another semi just pulling off the highway.

"Is that...?" I ask.

"Probably," you nod, pulling me toward a picnic table, just outside the ring of light caused by the halogen parking lights. As you open the blanket up and drape it over the table I realize this is perfect. A place where we can see each other, and be seen by those actually looking, however not visible to a casual glance. I also realize you have chosen the uphill end of this particular table to place the blanket on.

"Table, Isabelle!" you order peremptorily.

"Dressed or un," I ask, pretending to a coyness I do not feel in the least, and batting my eyes at you.

"Lady's choice, but make it quick," your teeth flash again in the near darkness.

Pulling off my sweater and tossing it on the table bench I unzip my skirt, letting it fall to the ground and step out of it, leaving me in just calf-high boots. The chill night air causes immediate gooseflesh, bringing my nipples up to hard raspberry points. You lend me a hand, helping me step up onto the bench seat and from there onto the blanket-cushioned table. I kneel in front of you briefly as we kiss. You stroke my hair back from my face and over my shoulders, using one long strand to tie it off, like a ponytail. Your hands move to my breasts followed swiftly by your lips. The tickle and brush of your facial hair is particularly erotic against my skin and I arch my back, trying to force my tits deeper into your mouth. But you are leaning me backward now, mouth against the rise of my belly and moving further south. My hips have developed a mind of their own and are rising to meet you. You pause for a moment, breathing deeply and I see your nostrils flare in an almost primitive movement as you catch my scent. Then, eyes twinkling lustfully at me, you bury your lips against my pussy, hardened tongue piercing me to the core while your front teeth and lip work over my little hooded man. My juices have been draining for quite some time and I am wet and sticky to my spine, so it is not perhaps, a total surprise, when I feel first one, then the second finger, smoothly enter my puckered anus. Pressing inward as far as possible you begin fucking my ass in counterpoint rhythm to what you are using with your lips and tongue, and it doesn't take long for me to orgasm lustily and wetly against your mouth.

Standing up and backhanding my drippings from your moustache and beard, you press your still hard cock against my pulsing vagina, wetting the head thoroughly. Pushing my legs up toward my chest you press inward against my rim with slow and steady pressure until the head pops in. Pausing briefly to give me a moment to breathe through the stretch, you then continue pressing steadily forward until your entire shaft is contained in my ass. Closing my eyes for a moment I relish the differences in size and technique between you and Ivan, knowing I have never been quite so full as now. In my opinion, nothing ever brings a man and woman as close as anal sex, even oral sex with its imminent danger of teeth pressed against fragile anatomical parts, does not require the willingness, cooperation, gentleness and submission that anal sex does. Yes, you can have anal sex without those elements, but with the risk of inflicting not only terrible physical and mental harm on the recipient, but if she fights, potentially on the male as well. Despite those thoughts flitting through my mind, one hand is seeking out the heat of my sex, as my hips begin a slow rise and fall to match your movements, while the other hand snakes underneath me to cup and fondle your balls. At that your back arches, head thrown back as you groan your passion to the night and the stars.

I think I hear a rustling noise in the bushes to one side. It could be the wind, or a small animal, but I see your head come down, eyes searching the darkness. Whatever you see, or don't see must reassure you as you begin a more rhythmic pumping of my ass. I feel your balls contracting as your passion rises and I know you're not far from cuming now. The mere thought that our little truck driver has followed us and even now stands hiding in the dark, beating off, pushes me to the brink too and as my muscles begin to spasm around your shaft, I feel the contractions and spasms preceding the pulsing jets of your cum penetrating the depths of my belly.

You lean forward, kissing me deeply with lips and beard that taste and smell of me, and as we kiss I run my tongue over your lips, making you laugh out loud. As I start to laugh too it causes your deflated penis to fall from my ass. Wadding up an end of the blanket you thoughtfully tuck it between my legs before pulling me forward to sit up.

"I don't know about you, baby girl, but I could use another shower. Your place or mine?"

"Make it a long soak in a warm tub at my place?" I smile at you, thinking the warm water will feel good against my stretched bottom.

"Deal!" You say, pulling me to stand all the way up. "Legs steady?"

As I dress and we walk to the car, I pause by the bushes and say, "I just want to thank you, very much."

There is no answer, but as you hand me into the car, in the distance, the truck driver steps into the circle of light, still holding his dick in his hands...

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