He Said, She Said Ch. 03

I am trying something different with these stories. Instead of writing a single narrative, I have written 10 vignettes from a relationship. Each chapter alternates between the point of view of the two main characters and is written as if talking to the other person.

In addition, I have written each chapter as a quickie; all of the stories are 1,000 words or less, which is something of a challenge for me. They take place in chronological order, although there may be days, weeks or months between chapters.

Please let me know what you think of this style by leaving a comment or send me feedback via email.

Enjoy!

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He said

"Do you remember what happened when we drove to Disney World back in college?"

You know what I'm getting at, but you play coy. "You mean when your tire blew out on I-4?"

I give you the "WTF, Really?" look. You giggle innocently.

Our arms are intertwined even though we don't hold hands. You're wearing a low-cut sundress that is perfect for sailing away on a cruise ship. It shows off your big tits, your round hips and your shapely thighs.

You are thick with three C's and a Q.

And for this weekend, it's just the two of us.

"The GPS says we've got an hour and eight minutes. One of us needs to cum before we get to the dock," I say after a couple of miles pass.

"Both of us need to cum," you purr in my ear.

My cock is already half-hard as you begin stroking me over my cargo shorts.

"You first," I run my hand up your thigh. Your panties have disappeared, if you were even wearing any when I picked you up at your apartment.

I spread your labia with my fingers. Thank heavens for smart cruise control and lane keep assist!

You shudder when I slip a fingertip inside you. Then two.

"Recline your seat," I tell you. "Unbutton your dress. Pull your bra down. I want your tits out."

Under the Florida sun, your body is splayed out in the passenger's seat of my car. Your neatly-trimmed pussy is on display, as are those nipples that just beg to be suckled.

Still fingering you, I approach a big rig in the right lane.

"Touch your breasts," I breathe, mesmerised as always by your tits.

I cut off the cruise control as we pull up next to the semi in the middle lane.

"Is he looking at you?"

"It's a woman," you whisper as I continue to finger your pussy. Even with the air conditioning on, the car is starting to smell of your sweet sex.

"Does she see you?"

"Yes," you smile. "She's staring at my tits."

"Suck on them." I glance over and try not to drift out of my lane.

The trucker sounds her horn a couple of times. You blow the driver a kiss as I speed up.

By now, you're soaked. My fingers are coated in your juices.

I pull up next to another eighteen-wheeler. I see the driver is an old man with a long white beard and ponytail.

Matching his speed, I continue to fondle you. You spread your legs wider for me.

Alternating between rubbing your clit and penetrating you with my fingers, you moan enthusiastically.

I hear the truck's horn sound twice. Your head has fallen to the side. Your jaw is slack.

Behind your sunglasses, your eyes are glazed over.

Your delicate hands cup your breasts. You pinch your nipples indulgently.

"Harder," you gasp.

"How do you ask?" I tease.

"Please fuck me harder!"

I press a little harder, but not too much. I know just how you like it.

After all of the fucking we've done over the years, I can tell exactly what you like.

Faster.

Your legs start to shake. I see you pull on your nipples and twist.

"Fuck!" you shout as the orgasm overtakes you.

My hand continues at the same pace and intensity that brought you to this point, and I don't stop until your screams subside.

I take my hand from the sodden space between your legs and cup your breasts, so you'll definitely smell like sex when we go to check in at the cruise ship.

You touch yourself to see how wet you are before bringing your fingers to my lips. I suck on your fingertips, savouring your taste.

The trucker lets out a long blast from his horn. You roll your head towards the trucker and smile contentedly before blowing him a kiss, too.

I speed up to the regular flow of traffic as you recover.

When you tilt your seat back up, you push your skirt down and pull your sundress over your breasts, but you don't set your wonderful big tits back in the bra cups or button up.

We drive in silence for a few minutes until your breathing becomes regular.

"Helluva way to start a cruise vacation. Thanks for inviting me," I smile sardonically. "Even if I wasn't your first choice."

"You're not a lying sack of shit," you snort. "At least you're up front about who else you're fucking."

"His loss, my gain."

"Just remember our deal: you're my boy-toy this weekend. You don't get to tell me 'no' to anything."

"I never tell you 'no' anyway," which is one hundred percent true. We both know each others's limits and seem content with our arrangements.

After our break-up followed by an awkward year or so, the terms of our relationship have always been fairly straight-forward. And consistent.

A part of me wonders if we made a mistake. Actually, I know we made mistakes. A lot of them.

And they're mostly my fault.

But I wonder which ones are fixable and which ones are beyond repair.

Most of our hookups are spontaneous or just about the fucking.

This weekend away, though . . . could it be something more?

Do I want more? From you? For us?

Your hand on my crotch brings me out of my reverie. The desire is back in your eyes.

We kiss as intensely as I can while keeping one eye on the road.

You open my belt and zipper. My cock springs free in your able grasp.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

I glance up at the GPS. "Thirty-seven minutes."

"I'll bet I can make you cum twice before we get to the dock."

"What's the bet?"

"I win and I get that spit-roast you keep promising me."

"And if I win?"

"Three-way with my friend Katrina."

"You're on!"

I lost.

But I'm not really upset about that.