Transportation ChallengebyComing Together©
“If you do what I ask.”
“Leave your skirt and blouse on the bar stool and come with me.”
“I can’t do that! There are people here. They’d see.”
“Then no drink, no fuck.”
She slid off the barstool, slowly unbuttoned her blouse and hung it on the back of the stool. She undid the zipper of her skirt and slowly let it fall to the floor. I bent and picked it up, placing it on the seat of the stool. Brazen bitch. No panties.
I smiled as I put one hand behind her, found her pussy, and inserted a finger, then two, and then a third.. My other hand pulled her bra straps down, exposing her succulent breasts to the world around us. I took a nipple between my thumb and finger and led her from the club car to my private car. I had chosen well. She was left only with a garter belt, stockings, and heels and walked proudly as I anticipated my helping of pussy.
The Road to Nowhere
“So how long have you known Max and Flora then?” asked Lucy, trying to break through the thick silence in the car.
“I went to school with Max.”
There were more questions she could have asked as follow-ons to his reply, but somehow she got the sense the conversation wouldn’t really go anywhere even if she talked ‘til the wheels came off the car.
She was only giving him a lift because Flora had begged her. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to another sodding wedding and having to go forty minutes out of her way (yeah, thanks Flora, not quite as nearby as you implied) did not help.
Now she was having to share the intimate space of a car with a taciturn man in dirty jeans who gave her directions as brief as they were sullen. She honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him, unless he was sulking because he’d had his license taken away for speeding and wanted to take over the driving. What is wrong with men?
She was really fuming inside her head, rehearsing an argument with him and mentally venting all the things she wanted to say, starting with, “oh don’t worry about saying ‘thank you,’ or offering to pay the fucking petrol or anything.”
“Right here!” He said abruptly as a turning came up.
She slammed down on the brakes, indicated and wrenched the wheel around to make the turning.
“I meant the next one.”
“Oh fantastic. Thank you. You couldn’t have made that more clear?” She snapped.
All she got in reply was a shrug. Git.
Slowly she drove down the twisty, narrow road, looking for a convenient place to turn the car around. Ahead she saw a gated entrance to a field with enough room in front of it to manoeuvre. She pulled in, turned the wheel as hard as she could and moved forward, then she put the car in reverse and … nothing.
She swore as she tried to rev the engine, but still no result.
Silently Dave got out of the car, wheeled it back so that it was off the road and popped the bonnet open. Lucy sat in the car, her arms folded, listening to the grunts and clanks as he played around with the engine.
After a while she got out and went to see what he was doing. He was topless and had his t-shirt wrapped around his hand as he struggled with something.
“How handy to have a mechanic with me when my car breaks down,” she said.
“Shame you haven’t got the fucking tools with you when your car breaks down,” came the surly reply.
So that’s what he’d been doing rummaging around in the boot.
“Can’t you fix it without?” She asked… somewhat extraneously as it seemed, judging by the look he gave her.
He flung the filthy t-shirt aside and slammed the bonnet down disgustedly, turning round to lean against it.
Lucy walked round to lean next to him, perching her bottom on the warm plastic of the bumper and folding her arms across her chest. They stood like that for some time, listening to the gentle shush of wind through the trees, watching the flickering evening sunlight that filtered down through the leaves and becoming aware of the peaceful chirruping of crickets and birds hidden in the greenery all around them.
“I used to go out with Flora.” Dave said in a quiet voice. “She dumped me for Max. I… we managed to stay friends, but I suppose I always hoped.”
His voice trailed off until it was hidden by the singing of the birds.
Softly Lucy laid her hand on his bare shoulder: a gesture of compassion that bypassed words. He turned his head then and looked at her, a long look that crystallised into a frozen moment between two people.
The peace was broken by the roar of a tractor ploughing over the field towards them. The beam from the headlights picked out the two figures standing there and the tractor came to a trundling halt.
The driver got down and came over to the gate and leaned there to talk to them.
“S’lucky I came along,” he said gruffly when they’d explained their situation. “Nobody ever comes along this way. The road comes out only 100 yards along from where it turns in. They call it the road to nowhere.”
"Already past Sinaia."
Raluca sighed, staring out the window at the familiar mountains. They reminded her of trips with her family, wonderful walks in summer, social gatherings in the casino. How she would miss all this.
Her friends, of course, envied her: Going to Paris, and learning to be a proper young lady there, that was something they all dreamed of. Elena, her best friend, almost spoke more often to her in French than in Romanian.
She, Raluca, loved her own language though. It was like the landscape, somehow. Like the rugged rock face and the softer green hills she saw, looking out the window. With herds of sheep and goats, that fled as the train noisily rushed past them. With green trees and yellow of the little plums on them. She wished she could get off the train and pick some of them, walk up one of these little paths into the mountains. Barefoot, preferably. Not like a lady at all. Let her feet hang into the cold water of a small mountain stream, when she got tired. And fall asleep under the neverending blue sky.
Instead she had to go to that city, where she knew no one, where no one spoke her language, where she had to learn to be someone she did not want to be. Again she sighed.
Brian entered the restaurant car deep in thought. Since he had left Egypt the pendant had occupied his mind and he could not wait to be back to London to analyse his discovery with Dr Tobbs. He almost did not notice the dark-haired stranger sitting opposite his customary seat, which he had occupied since his journey with the Orient Express had started in Istanbul.
He chided himself for being so churlish and rose immediately from his seat again to greet her when he became aware of his ungentlemanly behaviour.
"Forgive me madam, I don't believe we have met. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Saunders, Brian Saunders. Delighted to make your acquaintance."
"I am Raluca Marinescu." She searched for the right English words. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Saunders."
"Pleasure, yes, indeed. Will you allow me to sit with you?"
Again, she smiled. "Yes, of course. You must apologise my English, though."
"Oh, well, yes, Marinescu, that is Romanian, is it not? And no need to apologise, I believe it really is quite excellent, quite excellent," he stammered, desperately avoiding to peer at her neckline, where something had caught his attention.
That was... impossible... what were the odds? He just couldn't desist and stared right at her, at what looked like the second half of his precious acquisition, taunting him right above her cleavage.
Raluca blushed, noticing his stare. She was about to excuse herself, when she noticed the man's hand opening – and in it, a pendant that looked just like hers.
"Remarkable, isn't it," he exclaimed when putting the pieces together. "We are made for each other. Let's go and fuck."
The door slammed shut as Rica stabbed her finger onto the engine start button. The powerful engine fired on the first revolution and Rica dropped the automatic transmission into reverse. She whipped the big BMW coupe out of her reserved parking spot just as the guard that had been chasing her came bursting through the doorway from the lobby. She caught sight of him yelling into his radio as she selected Drive and mashed the accelerator into the floorboards.
The rear tires howled as the big sport coupe leapt off through the parking garage like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. The cars parked in neat rows became a multicolored blur in her peripheral vision as she headed to the exit ramp that lead down to street level.
Being a ranking executive, Rica had a reserved parking spot near the main entrance to the lobby. Normally she loved the short walk and prestige the reserved spot gave her. However, the downside to the spot in her current situation was that the exit of the parking garage was one level down and all the way at the far end of the garage.
The screech of tires and howl of the engine was muted by the car's heavy soundproofing as Rica threw the car around a corner and down the twisting ramp to the main level. She managed to fasten her seatbelt just as the exit came into view at the end of a long row of parked cars. Her hands clenched the wheel as she saw two security guards pull up in one of the small electric carts that they used to patrol the lot and grounds. They parked the electric cat directly across the exit ramp in front of the ticket booth and got out, pulling their handguns.
Rica steeled herself and pushed the accelerator to the floor with grim determination. The car responded immediately and she was forced back into her seat as the numbers on the speedometer increased at a terrifying rate.
The guards eyes widened in shock at the sight of the black BMW, not slowing as they had assumed it would but rather, bearing down on them at close to sixty miles per hour and still accelerating. In unison raised their guns and snapped off two quick shots before diving out of the way.
Rica ducked instinctively as a round hole appeared in the windshield just below the rear view mirror and the rear window dissolved into a shower of glass fragments. Before she could really comprehend what had happened, her car slammed into the immobile electric cart.
The battle between the lightweight plastic and aluminum of the small electric cart and the high tensile steel of the big BMW wasn't even close. The electric car dissolved into a shower of shattered plastic scraps and mangled aluminum tubing as Rica's BMW blasted through it. The ticket booth passed in a blink then she was clear, heading for the main road and what she hoped was freedom.
You know how I hate riding in taxicabs, but you insist we ride in one to the theater. I see you hand the driver something when you thought I wasn't looking. What mischief have you planned?
The odors in the cab make me wince, but your perfume overwhelms them. It is my favorite on you, White Diamonds. You snuggle close to me, your skirt riding up your thighs, stockings shining in the passing lights. I see you are wearing the necklace and earrings I gave you for your birthday and I smile.
Traffic is heavy this evening, so we edge along in fits and starts. I wonder if we will arrive on time, but you laugh and tell me not to worry. The scent of your perfume is intoxicating and your body is oh, so warm.
Then your hand is on my knee, sliding under my dress, your breath hot on my ear. I look towards the driver. Can he see what you are doing? Your fingers creep along my inner thigh and I open my legs to you. Your lips brush mine as your fingers stroke my silk covered pussy. Ohhhh, what are you doing? The driver will see. Passers by will see. Why is it taking so long to reach the theater?
I open my mouth to speak, but you place a finger on my lips and kiss me softly. You lean against me, fueling my urge to feel your warm skin on mine. Your knee parts my legs as you push my panties aside, fingers slipping between my soaked pussy lips.
Your mouth is on my neck, licking the hollow of my throat. I quiver as your fingers twirl inside me, caressing the slick flesh, mewling as your thumb finds my throbbing clit. Your tongue skims the edge of my aureole, seeking my stiff nipple. I moan and pull my dress aside. Your hot mouth engulfs my pink nub and your fingers dance in my pussy.
I feel exquisite pleasure rising in my body, suffusing me with warmth. I am cumming for you as I have always cum for you, fast and hard. I forget everything, the driver, the taxi, the city... I live only for your lips, your tongue, your fingers...ohhhh... so good...oh yesssss...
Your mouth grinds against mine, smearing our lipstick as you muffle my scream of pleasure. You bring me to the edge once more and I moan in your mouth, cumming again on your marvelous fingers.
I gasp for breath as you take my hand and place it between your spread legs. We share a burning kiss as I cup your bare pussy. You have gone commando, you sexy slut! I plunge my fingers in your gooey folds, stroking the velvet walls, my thumb rubbing your erect clit. Then you are bucking against me, our tongues dueling, my fingers drenched with your juices.
You squeal in delight against my mouth, body jerking, cumming in waves on my hand. You slump against me and we share a tender kiss. The taxicab stops and I am surprised to see we are back at our apartment building. We are home. What about the theater?
You see the questioning look in my eyes and you whisper, "We'll see the play next week, love. I've always wanted to fuck in a taxicab." Laughing, we tip the driver and head for our apartment and our soft bed. The night isn't over yet, and you are all mine.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" the stewardess asked Pat as he lounged as best he could in the usual uncomfortable airline seat. He looked up from the novel he'd been trying to read as a distraction from the motion beneath him. She had a rather typical cart of drinks and bagged snacks; several different cans of soda and juice were open right before her, and Pat could spy a wide variety of liquor and even wine bottles tucked on the shelves below.
"Um," Pat hesitated as he tried to imagine what would be more likely to stay in his stomach; or, at any rate, hurt the least on its way back up his throat. Definitely not OJ…maybe the apple juice…yeah "Could I get a mix of apple juice and vodka?" he asked. "And perhaps a bag or three of peanuts?"
She laughed and gave him a nod. Pat smiled back as he watched a few strands of hair slip from beneath the confines of hairspray and bobby pins on the attendant's head. Pat glanced at her chest to see what her name was. He had to squint to make out the word 'Janice' through the glare the lighting on the gold-toned pin from the angle he was sitting at. Janice looked down while he was doing so and sighed under her breath.
And he seemed so nice, too. Sometimes, she wasn't sure there were any nice passengers on the routes she flew these days. Between commuters wrapped up in their own little cocoons of stress and isolation, tourists who never quite appreciate why they have to go through the security precautions they did, and families of annoying children with overworked mothers and dads on the make, Janice seemed to question her career of choice more than a few times every week.
Pat cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at the slight sound Janice had made and his eyes widened. He realized where he was looking and that trying to read her name had probably looked very much like staring. Not that he wouldn't mind staring at Janice's chest under the right circumstances, mind you. It was full but not to the level of cliché when it came to stewardesses, and he got the feeling that she wore a bra and slip that supported everything but toned down the obvious curves to make her figure less prominent. Too many jerks, and I guess I just made the list.
He took the drink she made him with one hand, and the snacks in the other. "Janice?" he asked as she started to move on. "Thanks. Um..." Pat lost his train of thought as she stopped and met his gaze. Janice smiled at him. He smiled back and gave a little shrug. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I get it all the time," Janice told him. "Let me know what else you need, okay?" Pat nodded and cracked a grin that Janice had seen many times, but wasn't disappointed to see again.
"Too big for me," I smiled gently as the dining car waiter placed the Baba au Rhum in front of me.
"Pas pour moi." Abella de La Tour sung her words in an accent that veiled her life growing up in Indochine. My nostrils carnivorously opened to satiate my inner starvation as her arm brushed mine, but all I caught was the buttery rum filling as she reached in front of me and sunk her fork into my dessert. My eyes fell closed for a half a second longer than maybe they should have at a table where her father had just been sitting, but I wanted to devour her nuances, consume the breeze of her skin, or even the scent of her perfume might have stopped the painful desire I felt every moment she was in the same room.
"Êtes-vous malade?" Madeleine asked, mistaking my look of desire for the rattle of the train, which had earlier caused me trouble between Sirkeci Station in Istanbul and Kapikule on the Turkish/Bulgarian border.
"Non. Just full." I said still empty and aching as Abella moved her arm away and then eagerly swept the fork to her plum cherry lips before I could bottle the smell of her skin.
It had become almost unbearable to sit near her. Every moment of closeness tightened its grip at the base of my balls, yet no matter whether we shared the same table or house, we were always a thousand miles from each other.
"My sister says you were quite the Don Juan, Jean-Paul," Abella teasingly caressed her moist tongue around the cream smeared fork and then reached for another bite of my cake.
"Stop being such a vamp!" Madeleine snapped and I felt her leg kick past mine under the table.
"Ouch." Abella jumped with a laugh, and the morsel of pastry leapt from the silver onto my trousers between the flaps of my dinner jacket. "Mon dieu!" she said and instinctively scrambled to pluck it from my lap, only to turn a flush of rouge when her fingers brushed my hard on.
Her lips pursed into a smile as she looked up with a sluttish glimmer twinkling in the sultry blue between her half closed eyelids. It seemed she knew in that brief moment that my body was reacting to how I looked at her. Yet, I wondered if she knew that every time our eyes broke from a glance mine fell over the soft neckline of her evening gown to the well between her voluptuous breasts and then further to a fantasy of what lay hidden beneath her salmon coloured dress.
"I'm glad you didn't use your fork for that bite," I chuckled nervously, then felt the sting of my fiancée's jealousy kick into my shin and reluctantly moved away from Abella, dabbing the creamy smear with my napkin.