My Hairy Stud Bear's Monte Carlo SS

I sat there for a few minutes, playing with myself through the warm, sticky, moist fabric of his trousers until I could feel my cock head start to ooze more pre-cum. It was time to finish what I'd intended to do from the start. I slowly unzipped his worn old suit pants. Hearing the sound of that zipper and feeling the heat between my hard-on and the inside moist crotch of his office clothes ... these sensations were highly sensual and erotic as I pulled my stiff, straining, eager hot dick out to play.

My nose at once picked up the horny fragrance of his unmistakable pheromone man spice from earlier on in the work day when he was at the office mingling now with my own strong, sex-induced cock sweat. I thought to myself, Funny thing. I'd know his unique scent anywhere. Amazing how we get to intuitively recognize our lover's unique male cock essence ... yup ... I'd know the horny, intimate smell of his hot, ripe man basket in the pitch black dark.

I started to finish myself off, every now and then letting my sensitive, hard cock head rub against the worn fabric of his driver's seat where I knew his low-hanging testicles and thick shaft had been earlier in the day. Every thirty seconds or so I'd pump his gas pedal, crank his starter and curse and command his stubborn, shitty old Monte to turn over. On the eighth try I kept up with the brutal cranking with my ass raised right up out of his seat ... jerking his car key forcibly forward and holding it in the ‘start’ position.

I kept my foot mashed down firmly to the floor on his worn gas pedal and sank back down into the hollowed-out ass imprint impression he'd made in his seat.

His old SS protested and shuddered violently as I cranked it relentlessly and continuously with single-minded obsession. My ass could feel every vibration running through me like an electric current until his stubborn old car started to sputter and stumble. I moaned loudly and rubbed out one man-sized load of juicy cum once that son of a bitch finally fired up for me.

My creamy jizz blasted out of my sensitized, throbbing dick and splattered all over my partner's steering wheel and gear shift lever and then dripped down onto his carpeted SS logo floor mat and the front of his driver’s seat. All the while I was flooring and gunning the shit out of his precious wheels ... managing to synchronize the struggling, shaking movements of his protesting ride with the powerful cum shots blasting out of my cock.

Afterward, the smell of me inside his wheels was overpowering.

I took some of my cum load and rubbed it between my legs onto his driver’s seat. The feeling of having my bare butt sitting directly on the upholstery fabric without a towel down there was amazing! I wanted to know his sexy, hard butt would be sitting on some of my dried-up, crusty spunk load every time he planted his chiselled man ass and furry pube forest in his seat and drove the shit out of his ride from that moment on.

Then I pulled his keys out of the ignition and with sudden inspiration took his leather key fob with the metal Monte Carlo SS logo on it and rubbed it back and forth across my leaking spent cock head, making sure some of my jizz was coating it. This was the most perverted thing I had ever done in my life up to that point. It was a totally uninhibited, inspired and shocking thing to do and made me smile ... such a dirty-minded, fetishistic, perverted little cock-sucker I could be at times.

The last thing I did before shoving his key back into his ignition switch, starting his old car up and driving away was to take off his suit coat and wipe what was left of the last wads of cum remaining on my cock head, his steering wheel and his trousers onto the inside lining and arm pit of his sleeve and onto the back of his favorite tie.

After I took his tightie whiteies and stuffed them under the passenger side seat on my side I got comfortable and silently drove my stud bear’s old Monte SS home, not quite believing I had just done what I did ... both to his rusting old SS coupe and the wrinkled, sweaty clothes he had worn in to his office that day. Once parked in the garage again I killed the engine and then aggressively stomped up and down hard on his worn gas pedal for the longest time. I got out quietly, hoping and praying that his fucking, non-descript ‘Darryl’ would be a stubborn son of a bitch and refuse to turn over for him the next morning. I was thinking and wishing, Yup ... hopefully ... a hot and messy blow job with your head buried in his furry crotch with his big tool gagging you ... erupting and shooting his thick, creamy spunk load all over your face and down your throat tomorrow morning.

When he woke up the next morning and looked down on the floor beside the bed he rolled over to face me and said, “Ummm… cookie kid where did my underwear go to from yesterday? My briefs were lying on the floor right down there when I went to sleep. Where are they now baby?”

I had to think quickly and responded, “Oh yeah … I forgot … put them into the laundry basket last night. And I’ll take care of all your stuff later when I get home from school.”

“Mmmm … OK. Thanks baby. You’re good to me. I appreciate that.” And then he cuddled up close, spooning me while he deeply sighed and closed his eyes for a few more minutes of shut eye.

Eventually he rolled out of bed, showered and went to the closet to put on his suit before heading in to work.

“Ahhh, honey … my suit pants are smelling kinda’ reeky and raunchy and I only just had them dry cleaned last week. Could you smell me yesterday when I got home from work?”

“Well, you know I get off on your man smell all the time and am used to it so I wouldn’t really have noticed anything different yesterday.”

‘Damn it all! I’ll have to put on something else for work today.” Then he looked at me with a speculative, thoughtful look on his face and said, “Well honey, don’t you be wearing and playing with yourself in them today cookie butt. We can play your favorite kinky fetish game of ‘what’s inside my pants’ later when I get home for dinner. OK kid?

A couple of minutes later he calls out to me, “Ummm, cookie honey ... where the fuck are my god damned keys? I don’t know where I left them. Have ya’ seen them lying around here somewhere?”

“Nope. Sorry … no idea where you left them.”

“Well, fuck! Isn’t that just like … too fucking marvellous!”

Finally, five minutes later he found them under an oven mitt on the counter in the kitchen. “Like how in the fuck did I manage to leave them there?” He muttered to himself. Then he gave me a tight head lock and quick kiss and groped my ass as he headed out the door and down to his old car in the parking garage.

I grinned and reached down to grab his big bulge and said to him, “Keep that monster dick in your pants today and we’ll play when you get home later this afternoon.”

“It’s there for you any time you want it my sexy tight butt boy. It’s always ready to bury itself inside you to tease your prostate. I’ll see you when you get home from school. Love ya’ baby.”

“Love you too.”

Once down in the garage, he stopped for a moment to look over at ‘Darryl.’ Hmmm … I don’t remember parking it that way when I got home yesterday. Jeezus! I must have been way more tired than I thought.

Once comfortable in his seat, he turned his ignition key and pumped the bastard to coax it to turn over for him. Ironically it did manage to eventually start up for him. Such a temperamental, unreliable piece of crap it was by that point.

But once he backed out of his parking space and started to drive out of the garage, his old Monte SS managed to hesitate, falter, then stall out completely and die on the exit ramp up out of the building’s parking garage. He swore and forcibly jerked the transmission shift lever into park and kept pumping and cranking away, only to realise when he looked down at his gas gauge he had run out of gas. By then there were a couple of cars right behind him trying to exit the garage and one of the drivers started to honk her horn. He swore and angrily gestured for her to drive around him, while sitting and looking very dejected and embarrassed inside his old ‘Darryl.’

The poor stud had to shift into neutral and roll back down the ramp, get out and wrestle his old shitbox SS off to the side in the garage while he realised he’d have to walk five blocks over to the nearest gas station with his gas can in the trunk in order to feed ‘Darryl’ to hopefully get him to start and eventually make it in to work. I stealthily spied on him from the bedroom window as he strode up the garage ramp with the gas can in hand and wondered whether he was suspicious at all as to why his gas tank was totally bone dry that morning.

I played in his old SS heap a few more times until he had to get rid of his old Chevrolet aka ‘Darryl’ in the winter of 1995. By then I'd left plenty of shot spots inside his old ride.

Over time, ‘Darryl’ just got more and more unreliable.

There were three or four times when it just flat out refused to start for him in the parking lot outside his building when he was leaving work at the end of the day. He was totally humiliated if any of his colleagues were leaving at the same time and noticed the problem he was having. Having to get old ‘Darryl’ either boosted or towed to the service station was getting to be an expensive and annoying pain in the ass. The worst times were late at night when he was working overtime and had to call for a cab to come and pick him up and drive him home … he never slept well those nights knowing he’d have to contend with his fucking unreliable Monte SS and smart-ass jokes about his shitty old car from his co-workers the next morning.

His old wheels kept hesitating, stalling and conking out on him at stoplights when he went to step on the gas to move forward on green lights and particularly embarrassingly when he was stuck in heavy stop and go rush hour traffic. One time in particular, I remember I was with him after my classes in the middle of heavy downtown Friday afternoon rush hour traffic. Poor ‘Darryl’ was acting up, vibrating roughly and shaking more than normal that day and as he stepped on the gas, his beloved Monte SS coughed, shuddered, back fired and then stalled out completely with the orange check engine light flickering and then coming on to mock him as he sat there staring back at it while slowly shaking his head in abject disbelief. He was mortified when he kept pumping and cranking it while a whole line of impatient drivers behind him were honking their horns and yelling at him to get his piece of shit out of their way. It took a good long minute or so before he could coax it to start up for him. That was a totally emasculating experience for the poor guy. I imagined his nuts shriveled up and hiding inside his scrotum … curled up tight inside his pants while he sat there in his drivers seat feeling totally humiliated. His old coupe by then needed a brand new Edelbrock high performance carburetor and god knows what else. A tune-up just wasn’t going to do it for his poor Monte SS by now.

The day his starter crapped out totally and kept squealing with ominous noises and blue acrid-smelling smoke seeping through the front dash vents while he was brutally cranking the son of a bitch and he had to call someone to have poor ‘Darryl’ towed out of the parking garage was the last straw for him. By that time, his prized big bear wheels was really rusted out and on its last legs, noisily vibrating and shaking and urgently reminding him it needed new dual mufflers and exhaust clamps to prevent his rusting tailpipes from falling down and dragging on the pavement.

‘Darryl’ sadly was dying a slow painful death and was not at all reliable, costing more than it was worth to keep it running and safely on the road. Not that it ever was dependable for him (... come to think of it ...) for the entire time he owned and drove his old Chevy SS. Especially when I just needed to keep him stranded at home for those rare early work day morning ‘cock-sucking, rub my face in the fusty crotch of his suit pants, blast a come load and eventually head in to the office with a big smile on his face blow job sessions.’

Ironically, I missed his old set of wheels for the longest time after it was gone. I wished we'd kept it. I was even thinking he might agree to let me hold onto it and buy himself a new car. However, it would have been just too weird trying to rationalise and convince him why I'd have wanted it.

I don't know if he ever figured out what was going on between me and his Monte Carlo. All I know is that he never ever got tired of having hot, sweaty sex with me in it. Having his right hand stroking my hard cock and giving me a hand job while cruising along was a real thing for him … not to mention what it did to me.

Holy fuck! I can still vividly remember those times with him.

If he ever did actually figure it out about me and his car, he never let on to me. Of course, he'd have lost his ‘cock-sucker service fringe benefits’ if he’d ever alluded to or mentioned it. I guess I'll never know for sure whether he did or didn't catch on eventually. Some secrets are best kept silent between intimate partners and their weird, unusual sexual fetishes and private, kinky little fantasies.

As a last reflection and admission here, I'll admit I do still hold on to that old brown and tan sports jacket and worsted wool trousers he had on that first day he picked me up in his brand spanking new Monte Carlo years ago They were now secretly stashed away in a garment bag unbeknownst to him in the dark depths of my closet.

When he isn't around to play with and I'm feeling really horny, needy and lonely, I sometimes bury my face in the worn threadbare crotch of those trousers and forcibly jerk off while wrapping myself inside his jacket, using it's well-christened fine wool and linen sleeve and aromatic stale sweat-smelling arm pit as a cum towel and fantasize about the secret, perverted, fetish-inspired dirty, private fun I used to have in his prized hot SS stud bear wheels … my partner's old … car.