Rush Hour Rush

Her right hand is around her breast, her left between her legs, her eyes are caught by his. Faster, his mouth says and she wants to moan and complies readily, greedily, wants to scream with glee when his pokerface breaks and his lips say Oh shit, I'm gonna cum.

She is close, but not there yet. Not yet. She shakes her head.

He grabs his dick by the base as if to strangle it and it twitches like crazy, visibly shiny with pre-cum. Knowing just how close he was and that he stopped just because she said so makes her moan.

With his free hand, the man gestures at her to also stop and pull her hand out of her pants. Breathing hard, she complies, still feeling the ghost of her own finger inside of her pussy. At this rate, she assumes she might literally pass out from the orgasm that is currently building within her.

Then, he sticks his middle finger into his mouth and motions for her to do the same. Blushing again, she complies, smelling and tasting herself, feeling the strange consistency of her juice on her tongue and swallowing it down.

Delicious? he mouths and smirks. For some reason, that makes her feel embarrassed, and she giggles. Well, time to pay like with like. She flicks her now-clean fingers at his general direction in a 'well? What are you waiting for? Your turn!' type of motion.

He takes a moment to understand but finally drags his thumb up the side of his cock to collect some pre-cum and sticks it in his mouth, never breaking eye contact.

Oh, fuck. That sight goes straight to her clit again. She can't wait any longer. She puts her hand back onto her pussy just as he puts his back around his cock, and this time there is no holding back for either of them. It only seems to take a few seconds of frenzied touches for both of them to break and beg Now? and for each to give the other one permission.

Every cell in her body seems to sing and buzz with joy for a long moment that floats, suspended weightless in mid-air, and then her orgasm crashes through her with the force of a freight train, making her legs jerk like she's being electrocuted, driving sweat through each pore, actually blinding her eyes for a long second. Her pussy clenches and gushes more wetness into her panties. She bows off her seat, throws her head back and shouts a long, creative curse into her passenger cabin.

Time stands still for a blissful ten, fifteen seconds as the afterglow percolates through her.

Eventually, reality sets back in. Shivering a little, she collects herself.

Being sweaty and wet is not necessarily comfortable, so she gropes around for the pack of Kleenex she keeps in the door pocket and cleans herself up as much as possible, stuffing a tissue into her panties to soak up some of the, uh, spillage and putting her boobs back in place. In the other car, the man does the same, putting himself back together again although he does nothing about the big white stains on his dark shirt.

Just then, the brake lights of the big truck in front of his car come on and then go out again. The truck has moved a couple meters, then moves again. Apparently, the traffic jam is finally dissolving, one lane at a time. Behind them, the other drivers immediately start honking like mad, impatient for the man to get a move on.

Well. So much for not connecting with the cold Germans, she mutters as if he can hear her, smiles at the thought that her ex is really an ignoramus, then smiles as the man in the other car and gives him a little wave good-bye before he drives away.

The autobahn really is a somewhat magical place. And the fellow drivers... whew!

FIN