Stories, Stereotypes & Superlatives

"Thanks, you're not too bad yourself, stud," she said to him as he lowered his mouth over hers once again, slowly passing himself against her, their tongues entwining again. There was no rush or hurried feeling that new lovers often feel, they were moving naturally, and calmly.

Wyatt moved down, hooking his fingers around the sides of her thong style panties, but not pulling them down. Instead, he began trailing small kisses from her mouth, down her neck, to her breasts, slowly pulling back, away from her. She followed his movements like he dictated ahead of time, arching her back and thrusting a nipple into his mouth in tempo.

He engulfed it the moment she offered it, licking her nipple with his tongue at a frantic pace while slowly kissing with his lips. She let out a small mew as he moved to the other and began to pull her panties down her legs. She found his push-rod long ago, stroking in the same loving motion as she had before, from the base, to the tip, before twisting her palm and moving back down.

"I am going to eat you now," he said aloud, deeply, as he trailed kisses to her ever-so-slightly-red brown pubic hair, trimmed into a small line above her clit. His tongue was dancing on the larger freckles as he went. He dipped his tongue into her belly button for just a moment as he passed it, making Guinevere giggle.

When he began to kiss her upper thighs, exposed clit, and outer lips, she moaned long and low, shivering. Her hands flew to his hair and defined shoulders, scrambling for a hold. He was good, better than she thought he would be. Wyatt was hitting places with his tongue that she didn't know she had, and when he separated her folds with his fingers, but totally skipped her clit, she came in gushes, almost squirting. Guinevere was humping herself against his face, she was in heaven she came so hard.

He moved his free hand to her channel, using one finger to slowly pump in and out as his tongue worked its revolutions. He could feel her clamping down on his finger with each thrust, and she was tight, virgin tight, but the wetness was spilling out, easing his way. Finally, he began to attack her clit with his teeth and tongue, a finger still pumping, but no longer holding her open. Those wet fingers were tickling her nipples instead, first one, and then the other.

"Oh my god! Wyaaaat!" Guinivere was screaming as she came, her eyes clamped shut. Her fluids were forming a puddle on his bedspread. She was pushing on him with her hands and feet, begging him to stop his master craft. He didn't stop until she came again, this time in a silent yell with only a small whimper escaping. She was lying on the bed, perfect womanly body heaving for breath. Wyatt took a step back and began to stroke himself, mimicking her model while studying her form.

"You taste like peaches, lover," he was staring at her with a broad grin as he watched her slowly squirm on the bed enjoying the sensations he had given. His comment brought a bigger smile to her face, as her glassy, sparkling eyes opened most of the way. She started playing with herself again as she watched him stroke, matching his even strides.

"I want you inside me," she was looking to his penis instead of his face -- the shifter instead of the windshield, "don't worry I'm on the pill." Wyatt was more than happy to agree, with a simple nod, moving over top of her and steering their bodies so that her head was on the pillows. She pulled his face to hers and they began to kiss once more.

Moments later, her hand was on him again, slowly sliding the large tip back and forth across her soaked opening. She was trying to get him as wet as possible, before pulling him by his pipe, into her oiled pan. Guinevere kept her hand on Wyatt until she felt a pelvis on both sides of her palm, and he began to pull out.

"Go slow, as slow as you can stand," She said to him when he had just the tip left in her, and he overtly obliged. Her hands were on his chest as he entered her fully for the first time, and she felt the vibration of his moan, twice, when his pelvis hit her clit. He began the slow pace, in and out, and he could feel her milking him as he went either way. The muscles she had inside squeezing him in a way he never felt before, well engineered.

Guinevere whimpered every time he was almost fully out, and moaned every time he was almost fully in. Time passed beyond their comprehension and into relativity, as he would randomly lick and bite her nipples, and as she would randomly bite his shoulder or claw his back. The second time she came from the stimulation of their lovemaking, she knew she needed more.

"Faster," was the only thing she said, one of her hands on his chest, the other on his hip, as if they were dancing once again. Looking into her wide, glossy brown eyes with the flecks of green, he pulled out as far as he could without leaving her warmth, then began the new pace.

He was swinging his hips as he now drove into her with a strength and speed she had not anticipated, rubbing her clit with the top of his shaft each time he pulled out. Her senses overload. Guinevere screamed and came again, hands flying to her breasts, palms on her nipples, squeezing herself as hard as she could stand. Wyatt was not letting up, his stunning speed unwavering, and her groove continued to squeeze him harder and harder each time.

He was lasting longer than she dreamed, but her next climax broke his stride, as it idled slightly erratic. His juices had built long ago; held by his sheer strength and forge of the retainer; but when her climax caused every muscle she had to go taut, he lost control and pushed into her as hard as he could, going deeper than he had so far. He was hugging her body with all of his strength and roaring out loud.

Guinevere came again at the same time Wyatt did, the two mutually orgasmed (?) hard enough to see stars and white flashes as their engines burst. He was still compressing her close as her face buried in his neck. Biting down with her teeth on him, as hard as she could, Guinevere almost drew blood. She had marked the predator as her own.

They lay together for a long time, neither speaking. Wyatt was still hard inside her and he had not shrunk in the least, his drive for her at a level of precision, now, than few other men could know. As he tried to pull out though, her muscle wouldn't let him go, causing him to shiver and laugh. Guinevere joined in his laughter, she was the happiest, and most satisfied, she had ever been with a man as a lover.

"Lover, you're going to have to let go..., I... can't... take it..."

He was speaking through his teeth, stuttering as she continued to grip down.

Not on purpose.

"Please..."

Wyatt's mind was combusting with pleasure, he felt like he was going to pass out. Finally, he managed, pulling out and rolling onto his side to face her, stalled, in concept of her beauty and the pleasure she offered him.

"Sorry, that's, uh, that's never happened before..." Guinevere said before bursting into giggles again, shortly accompanied by Wyatt. They laughed and spoke for a long time, in happiness together, both having just made the best love of their lives, and this was just the short-drive review.

Guinevere was touching her nose, on and off, many times during their various humor fits while looking up at the framed copy of "Raceday News" and the signed words upon it. She repeated the words to herself, smiling, before she pulled Wyatt close, and the two began to make love again.

This time though, she was going for a ride, and she was going to grab the wheel.

***

Bart Hodges had just watched his beautiful wife and young daughter leave for the concession stands to grab a snack as he leaned back into the bleachers, waiting for the next heat to begin.

He had raced that day, coming in fifth place. One of his friends, a fellow racer, spun him off-track when he took the lead - no malice between them - causing Bart to fall behind. It was good racing, the atmosphere here friendly, glad to have placed anywhere better than a DNF or disqualified.

It was especially friendly considering the class he ran in was not the big trophy, prize class. He was a driver, prizes didn't matter to him as much as the enjoyment he felt behind the wheel. To Bart, nothing compared to the time with his family.

He was having one of the best days of his life, like he did every time they were here together. He hadn't noticed the man and his son, standing nearby, until they spoke.

"Excuse, Mr. Hodges?" The man was tall. He sort of looked like Steve Mcqueen with brown hair, same 'dreamy' look.

"Bart," he said, sticking out his hand, they shook, "hi there. What can I do for you fellows on this fine race day?"

"Name's Albert Billings, and my son, Wyatt here, thinks you're great. He keeps telling me how you're the best driver on the track, the best he's ever seen. So, I figured we'd come on over and introduce ourselves, since we only make it out here every once in a while." The man was smiling broadly, but his son was staring at the ground, kicking his feet. He was a chubby little kid, clutching the local racing paper in his hand but doing it no damage. He looked shy, but he spoke as soon as his father had finished.

"..I didn't, I didn't know cars could move that way..." the young boy said, almost in a whisper, still looking towards feet.

"Well it's great to meet you, Wyatt. Hey, you want to know a secret?" Bart was smiling at the child, mostly from the comment the young person had made.

"...ok..." the boy sheepishly returned, as his father smiled on with hand on the boys shoulder.

"They can do more if you treat them right." Bart's grin was ear to ear. The boy looked up at his statement, pondering it, and studying him, the quizzical look on the young boys face showing his wit.

"Really?" the boy was asking him as if he were lying, as if he was playing a joke like his own father always did.

"You betcha, kiddo, just remember, safety first whenever you can. Mind if I see that?" Bart was pointing to the paper the boy clutched, reaching for the marker in his own pocket with the other hand. Without a word, the little boy smiled, knowing what was about to happen, and handed the paper over to Bart.

Bart studied it for a moment; it was an issue from a few months previous, a picture of him, holding up his young daughter in one arm, a small trophy in the other. It was the only time he had finished first place. He smiled at it, signed it with the marker, and handed it back to the young boy.

"Wooow! Sleek! Thanks Mr. Hodges! Thanks you! Thank you!" The small boy was very excited, showing his black and white signed treasure to his father as if it were better than everything in the world. The father returned his son's smile for a moment, before nodding his head in an all knowing gesture towards Bart.

It was one father, thanking another.

"No problem, kiddo, you fellows have a great race day. Hope I see you again." Bart said, noticing his wife and daughter at the end of the bleachers, heading his way with arms full of snacks.

"Yeahyeah! See you later, Mr. Hodges! Thanks!" and the boy and his father walked off to their own seats, as the next heat was about to begin - never to meet the driver again. The rest of that day, and on the ride home, and for years to come, Wyatt Billings would read the words over and over.

"Be patient, be yourself, and good things will happen. --Bart Hodges"