My Hairy Stud Bear's Monte Carlo SS

You had to take a pen or screwdriver and stick it down into the carburetor air intake to open the flap up wide and then crank the crap out of it for a long time to clear out the flooded gas float chamber. Then it would cough, reluctantly turn over and idle roughly for you.
It was usually a two man job ... one guy messing with the air intake flap, leaning in under the hood and bending over in front of the car, while the other guy planted his ass in the driver's seat and pumped and cranked the living shit out of it.

The poor stud was so proud of his first set of new wheels. He was my hairy, masculine, tasty piece of stud bear man candy back in those days. It totally emasculated him when his prized SS wouldn't start for him when he was somewhere … either with me in the front seat beside him or when he was out somewhere on his own in public.

I loved my butch, sweaty, masculine hunk of a man. And I came to eventually accept ‘Darryl.’ I understood both of their secrets, intimacies, needs and quirks.

After several years, his beloved Monte SS took on the savoury essence of his unmistakeable masculine man scent and carried his strong pheromone odor inside. You could feel and smell it when you got into his car. It was his pervasive, intimate, deeply personal man space. His ride was an intense, private sensual thrill for me when I was in it without him knowing.

The driver's seat had worn down over the course of the years he drove his wheels until it fit the contours of his chiselled, hairy, masculine ass like a tight, well-worn glove. Two hollowed out deep ass cheek imprints where the upholstery fabric was slightly faded and worn out and some unidentifiable mysterious dark stains where his hot crotch would have been spread out. Jeezus I thought … he must be jerking off his big dick in ‘Darryl’ himself when I’m not around to take care of his big, juicy, big bear boner. Just fucking fantastic! That was a realization that totally blew my mind and made my own dick twitch when I thought about it. I felt like I was sitting in his funky pube forest with his muscular, brawny, grizzly bear thighs straddling me whenever I sat in his driver's seat.

The blue and grey colour upholstery in his wheels was a durable, touchy-feely textured kind of fabric. It was soft and velvet smooth to the touch when you rubbed it one way, and then rough and scratchy when you rubbed it back in the other direction. It always managed to give off the distinctive, faint manly aroma of his unique male crotch scent and body odor, mingled with the stale cloying lingering essence of his signature ‘Joop!’ brand of cologne.

I used to have fun at times going down on his thick tool when we cruised around in his prized SS. He'd give me an amused sideways look and smug little grin while reclining back fully in his driver's seat with one hand on the wheel and one arm draped over the seat back to let me unzip his pants and give him road head any time I told him I wanted his cock and just had to blow him. I'd rub my face against the grain of the driver's seat fabric and drive myself crazy feeling the coarse, rough texture of his trousers. My eager tongue and lips would go down on his musky, male-smelling, hard man shaft, teasing his foreskin and tasting his pre-cum leaking cock head until he would groan with intense pleasure and shoot a big wad of his thick, tasty spunk down my throat.

I was convinced that on some days he would deliberately take the long and roundabout way to get somewhere just so I would have enough time to service his dick and suck the last bit of tasty creamy pre-cum and cock juice from that throbbing tool. Not that I ever complained about it at the time.

He really seemed to get off on car sex and road head with me in the car snuggled up tight beside him.

I secretly nicknamed his big bulging cock ‘the ever ready sweaty energizer’ because it never failed to respond and get rock hard for me while he slouched down, spread his legs wide, unzipped his pants to expose himself and drove the piss out of his ride.

Too bad his beloved SS turned out to be anything but ‘ever ready.’ Seemed to me like a lot of the time it was like, ‘never’ ready in fact.

His temperamental wheels sometimes just flat out refused to turn over for him in the winter. Especially when he pumped it too much and managed to flood it. I always got half hard when I was with him in his ride and had to get out and fool with the carb and air intake while he hunched over his steering wheel and muttered and swore in angry frustration ... cranking his car relentlessly and coming close to burning out his starter at times.

He parked his ride in our apartment building's underground garage where we lived in those days. At rare times, early in the morning before he was getting ready for work and with him still innocently asleep and lazily slumbering in bed, I would sneak down into the dark concrete parking garage and pump his gas pedal for the longest time until his choke completely flooded out. He always looked dejected and frustrated when his prized wheels refused to start for him on those early work day mornings. He'd plead, curse and beg his pride and joy Monte to turn over for him ... mercilessly cranking the crap out of it ... draining the battery right down and hopelessly flooding it.

He'd eventually head back up to our apartment, pouting, muttering and petulant, sadly admitting to me, "Well Cookie kid, the god-damned thing won't fuckin’ start for me again this morning". Then he would angrily exclaim, "That god-damned shit box! How in the fucking Hell am I gonna’ to get in to the office today with no wheels?"

“You’ve probably flooded it again. You really seem to have a special talent that way with ‘Darryl’… errr … rather your Monte Carlo. Just wait for a while and go back down then and try it again in a half hour or so.”

Then I’d tell him that was perfect because I really wanted him and needed to blow him and was glad he wasn't leaving so early ... to call in late to the office so we could have some boned up, cock-sucking, big boy play time together. Then I’d fondle his dick and offer to go down on him to service his stiffening cock. If he said yes (... which was almost always ...) I'd bury my face deep into his hot, furry crotch to bring his big, hairy tool with its perfectly shaped mushroom head to full standing attention. It never took long to get him fully aroused when I offered to suck his dick on those occasional rare mornings.

It was always incredible to feel the masculine heat radiating from the cloying crotch of his suit pants. I'd unbutton his shirt to expose his torso, undo his belt and the top button of his trousers so I could tease his hairy pleasure trail and stiff thick shaft with my tongue and lick and suck it through the coarse fabric until he'd unzip his pants, pull his fully aroused dick out and force it deep down my throat to help relieve his disappointment and frustration over his beloved car letting him down once again. Every once in a while just to shake things up a bit and give him a special thrill, I’d pull his suit trousers down around his knees to feel the beat of his strong pulse between the base of his testicles and his anus. I’d play with his ass crack and use my fingers to tease and play with his throbbing, twitching sphincter muscle and tight male butt hole to really get him off and have him shoot a huge load of his thick, creamy man juice in my face and down my throat. That really managed to arouse him to the point of mindless, wild, thrusting, loud orgasm. Those times were just fucking amazing. I can still remember and imagine the heat emanating from his fragrant crotch now as I’m thinking about it.

After he shot his spunk load, he'd head back down to his ‘big stud, bear man SS coupe’ and crank it repeatedly until the damned thing finally fired up for him. Once he left, I'd fantasize about his fuzzy, chiselled man ass in his driver's seat with his muscular thighs spread wide to give his low hanger balls some room ... adjusting his furry pube package to get comfortable ... my sexy, mature, confident stud man cruising on down the highway.

I remember one night I was bored, boned up and super horny.

He was physically and mentally exhausted after a particularly long and stressful day at work and had gone to bed earlier. I was feeling lonely, neglected and frankly, more than a little frustrated sexually by having been abandoned by him and left alone. So I started to fantasize and decided I just had to have some private time in his car.

It was perverted and kinky of me. We all have our particular takes on our kinky fetish fantasies and what gets us off.

I stealthily snuck into the bedroom to grab the white cotton underwear briefs he had worn earlier in to the office lying on the floor beside where he was sleeping and lightly snoring away. He was totally naked on top of the covers with his hairy chest and body fully exposed and lying there on his back with one leg curled up and an arm stretched out on his pillow. His limp cock and hairy pleasure trail were in plain sight and I just had to bend down and inhale deeply to get a good strong whiff … both of his warm, savoury armpit and what was tantalizing and teasing me in his sweaty, hairy crotch. He’d hadn’t showered before falling into bed. It was at times like this I wished I could have been a pair of his bulging undies and ride around all day in his heady crotch at work. His man smell was intoxicating to me. I bent down to inhale his cock scent and run my tongue along his furry inner thigh. Then I took the blanket on the bed and gently covered him with it. He sighed with pleasure and shifted position while continuing to snore and dream. I was obsessed now with wanting to have some private hot fetish play time in his cranky shitbox of a car so I backed off slowly and reached down for his briefs and brought them out in to the living room where his office clothes had been carelessly hung in the closet when he got home from work earlier that afternoon.

I couldn’t figure out where he had tossed his car keys earlier. I went through all of his pockets …. nope … not in any of them. Now where the fuck did he put them? I finally found them hiding under the newspaper he’d left on the coffee table, after five long minutes of a frustrating search.

I’m going to pay him back big time and make him have to look all over for them tomorrow morning, I thought to myself and smiled.

I took his sweat-stained underwear and shoved them into the pocket of his suit jacket. Then I got dressed in his office clothes consisting of the wrinkled, pit-stained pale blue oxford cloth dress shirt he'd worn earlier in the day to work, along with his favorite sky blue and navy silk striped tie, his worn black and white wool ‘birdseye’ pattern suit jacket and trousers with discoloured, yellowed sweat and urine stains along the front waistband and white cotton lining around the fly.

Before I slipped into them though, I noticed that the crotch of them was looking a bit worn and threadbare where his thick, beefy thighs were rubbing together in them. Also that the seams running up the insides of his upper thighs and the crack of his hard ass looked like the fabric was really beginning to pill and the thread stitching was starting to visibly strain and look like it just might split and give out on him sometime when he was spreading his legs wide or when bending over too far in them. That particular sight though was something reserved just for my private entertainment and pleasure. No one gets to have a peak at his fuzzy hairy man ass and perineum … his extra super-sensitive area between his ball sack and butt hole but me. Fuck! I would live down there if I could. I made a mental note to tell him to take them in to the tailor to see if those seams could be reinforced before his trousers split on him completely. Might as well have the tailor take care of those loose threads hanging down from the sleeves and side vents of his suit coat at the same time. Jeezus … He really needs to take better care of his stuff. He should go out and buy himself a new suit.

I went full commando in his pants and reached down with my middle finger to feel my pulse at the base of my scrotum through the fabric. I just had to feel where his hot, sweaty balls had been all day. The friction of that coarse, fragrant fabric riding against my cock made me half hard in the elevator as I rode down to the dimly lit P2 parking garage. His pants were so big on me I had to cinch them up super tight with his belt so they wouldn’t slip down. Thank the fucking lord no one else got on to the elevator on the way down. I didn’t want anyone to interrupt this late night fantasy for me.

His prized SS was sitting there just begging for some torture and abuse.

I slowly walked over to the secluded far corner where his non-descript, white ‘Darryl’ was hidden away, forgotten and parked all on its own in that dark garage. I pulled his car keys out of the pocket of his pants making sure they slowly rubbed against my stiffening bulge in the process. I found the key I needed and slowly opened his creaking driver's side door. Finally, I stared down at his sagging and stained, ass-imprinted driver's seat that the dim interior dome light had weakly illuminated. I slowly slid into his driver's seat, fantasizing I was sitting right on top of him … just like the times when he got super horny and took me out for drives to go parking in secluded places and fuck me up the ass with me settled in his lap there.

Once comfortable, I used my left hand to slowly feel the rough, masculine texture of his suit jacket sleeve. Then I put my right hand between my legs to feel the upholstery fabric. A final gesture was me taking his crusty, stained underwear, holding them up to my nose and rubbing my face with them to get one strong trace of his cloying, heady crotch smell and tasty thick dick juice from his work day while seated behind his big desk at the office. These sequential actions almost made me shoot my cum load inside his trousers right then and there.

I took my time and gripped his steering wheel, imagining his strong hands doing the same when he was tooling around in his ride. Then I adjusted his driver's seat and reclined back so I could stretch my legs and pump his worn gas pedal. With a final gesture, I boldly stuck his key in the ignition and turned it to see the orange “check engine” light come on. I checked his gas gauge and made a quick mental note it was almost on empty with the red warning light for reminding the driver to add fuel faintly illuminated. I sure wasn’t going to be taking any long trips in ‘Darryl’ tonight. Running out of gas somewhere sure would have been fun. But not tonight as I had other plans for my stud man’s temperamental ride.

I didn't want to flood and stall his wheels out while still in the parking garage, so I only gave it three or four deliberate, long pedal pumps. I knew this would be enough so the bastard wouldn't start for me on the first turn of his key in the ignition.

My cock started to twitch the second I turned his key to ‘start’ and his starter commenced to wail and grind with that familiar GM cranking noise. It took two long crank sessions to coax and convince that reluctant cock-sucker to turn over for me. When it finally coughed and started, I had to keep his worn and scuffed black dress shoe on the accelerator to keep it from stalling out. Then I waited thirty seconds or so until the cold engine light flickered and went out and the hesitant, uneven, rough idling and vibrating adjusted. Finally I stomped on the gas a couple of times to show my big, hairy, stud bear's baby who was boss.

I roughly shifted ‘Darryl’ into reverse and aggressively squealed the tires while driving it out of the parking garage. I felt so manly at that moment pretending to be my hot stud heading in to work for the day.

I drove along for a bit, revving the crap out of his ride every time I had to stop for a stop sign. The son of a bitch sputtered and stalled out on me a couple of times when I did this which just got me even hornier. I was so aroused and completely turned on by the abuse I was giving his rough-idling SS coupe.

After a couple of kilometers, I headed toward the place I was thinking about. I needed to find a private spot to have some fun with his temperamental, piece of shit old ride. Luckily, there were a few unlit and secluded parking lots not far from where we lived. I had an idea and was determined to do what I'd been fantasizing about for a long time My hot lover's old heap needed to be teased, tortured and taught a hard lesson. Hard being the operative word.

I kept mashing the gas pedal to the floor in his poorly tuned Chevy ... getting off on the loud, screaming protests it was making whenever I pounded on it … his Monte SS kept roaring, growling and shrieking while bucking, lurching and speeding down the dark deserted boulevard for another kilometer or so. Then, when I got to where I was headed I aggressively wrenched his steering wheel to the right, forcing a sudden, hard turn ... swerving with a tire-screeching cloud of gravel and dust into a deserted parking lot. I took my foot off the gas and turned his ignition key to the ACC position, letting his aging, rusting piece of GM metal coast along and pumping his gas pedal relentlessly until his old SS coupe came to a full stop. Then I started to pump and crank the living shit out of it.

The cock-sucking bastard wouldn't start for me of course.

I kept stomping down on his gas pedal aggressively while rubbing my left hand against the coarse tactile grain of his suit trousers. The visual of my forearm inside the sleeve of his favorite suit jacket was getting me extremely boned up. My cock was at full attention, with spots of my pre-cum branding the tent I was making in the warm, stained sticky crotch of his work pants. At the same time, watching my right hand holding his ignition key in the ‘start’ position made me so fucking horny I didn't care if I shot a big load of my cock juice in his office clothes or not. I was pretending to be my hot, masculine stud bear stranded alone by himself in an isolated spot somewhere in the dark. In that moment I was him in his wheels ... slouched down, beefy legs spread in his driver's seat with his foot planted firmly on the gas ... his muscular arm slung over his leather-wrapped steering wheel with his right hand jerking his ignition key all the way forward in the ‘start’ position.

I was him in that moment pleading for my unreliable Monte Carlo SS to start and coming to the dreaded realization it probably wasn't going to. I started shifting up and down in his driver's seat ... raising my hips and butt up ... pushing my back against his seat back and head rest to give my leg a chance to extend out fully and forcibly ram his worn gas pedal right down to the floor like I'd seen him do before.

I could feel the protesting vibrations of his old SS coupe right through his driver's seat as it cranked away. I was fantasizing and imagining him swearing softly and pleading with his precious wheels ... grabbing onto his hairy thigh with his left hand and coaxing it to start for him as it cranked away ...

" ... Ahhh fuckin’ come on baby ... Suck my big hairy boner man and turn over ... ahhh come on start for me ya’ bastard ... you can do it ... I know ya’ can ... ahhh fuck man … come on ... come on … come on … come on … come on … come on … ya’ fuckin’ son of a bitch … don't fuckin’ do this to me again today baby ... "

I was thinking to myself, yup ... sounds just like him when he gets super pissed off and totally frustrated.

After five or six ‘crankfest’ sessions, I became concerned about draining his battery. And all I could smell was gas from the carburetor inside the car and then I remembered it was almost on empty and most likely running on fumes at that point. I really didn't want to become stranded there and have to walk back home. The prospect of having to fess’ up to him what I'd done to his prized SS ride the next morning was not something I wanted to have to do … nope … no fucking way did I want to have to do that.