Goode Vibrations

by Jasinda Wilder

  I smirked at him before letting go of my tits and taking his erection in my hand again. Stroked him, slow, twisting motions with my hand on the way down, thumb rubbing over the tip at the top. He began huffing, hips lifting, and my mouth was watering for him.

  Once I had him in my mouth, though, it was my eyes that were watering—so fucking big, I couldn’t get even barely half of him in. My jaws couldn’t go that wide; my throat couldn’t take that much. Didn’t try, and wasn’t about gagging myself. Not sexy, and if I was going to go down, I was going to do it in a way that I enjoyed too.

  His flesh was hot, tasted salty, and the precum on my tongue was tangy, musky, a foretaste of what was to…come. Pun intended.

  Stroked him, bobbing my head to take just enough of him. The head, and a few inches. Tongue slurping, swirling, flicking.

  “Ohhh fuck, oh fuck,” he snarled.

  “Mmm.”

  His hand halted on my back, between my shoulder blades. Hovered, as if considering a move up to my hair, the back of my head. With one hand I guided his hand to my neck, the loose floppy bun of my hair, and then used both hands on him. He applied pressure, just enough to let me know how close he was, but not trying to force me to gag. How polite. It’d have been game over if he had, but no need to tell him that. I just focused on him, on the thickness of his cock in my mouth, the hot pulse of his flesh and veins against my taut lips, which stuttered over him as I raised and lowered.

  “Poppy,” he groaned, guttural. “Oh fuck. I’m about to go, Poppy.”

  “Mmm...” I moaned around him. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

  The vibrations are what did him in, I think. And the ragged, wordless groan he made as he held back, that was what did me in. My sex ached, and I let go of him with one hand. Hiked my skirt up over my ass and shoved my fingers between my thighs, to my clit. He watched that, and if he was holding back, he lost it when I started touching myself. I circled my clit and timed it to the rhythm of my bobbing head as I took his cock between my lips, and he matched the rhythms with his thrusts, and it took me sixty seconds at most to reach climax, already halfway to a second orgasm before we were caught earlier and now turned on AF by the feel of Errol and his sexy, ragged, broken, masculine groans of pleasure and his hand on my back and now on my head encouraging me with careful, polite pressure. I hummed my scream around him, had to let him out of my mouth to gasp for breath and bite down hard as the orgasm clashed and thrashed through me, and then I buried him in my mouth again and touched myself and stroked him and sucked him and licked him and swirled my tongue around the fat plump soft head of his gorgeous, throbbing magnificent cock.

  My tongue was still swirling when he yanked on my hair twice, but the warning was too late, and one I wouldn’t have heeded but appreciated all the same. He filled my mouth, shouting, and I heard the steering wheel creak under the crushing power of his grip, and he thrust, and filled my mouth even as I fought to swallow the first shot. Tangy, musky, almost sweet—cum I wouldn’t mind tasting again. He gripped my bun as if for dear life, hips lifting, shoving his cock into my mouth hard enough that I backed away. I was jerking the base of his shaft with one hand, twisting and pumping as fast as I could, mouth bobbing rapidly, throat working to swallow and swallow as the man came and came and came, god, so fucking virile. The only word for it—monstrously virile. Months of pent-up cum, all blasting into my mouth in a hot, tangy, pulsing rush after rush.

  Finally, my sex clenching with aftershocks, tits swaying, I awkwardly let go of him and lifted up onto my knees, hair drifting loose from the messy bun, a dribble of his cum on the corner of my mouth.

  Smiled at him, somewhere between shy and proud. “Hi.”

  He couldn’t catch his breath, and his expression as he looked at me, eventually, was one of shell-shocked, incredulous awe.

  He’d stopped driving entirely, halted right in the middle of the lane, foot on the brake, one hand white-knuckle clutching the steering wheel, the other slack and listless on his bare thigh. His monster cock was still semi-hard, leaking post-drips of cum. I gathered him into my hand, slowly twisting my fist downward, bending over him to lick away the last drops, which made him shudder, groaning.

  Finally, he was limp and draped in a comma to one side, and I moved up onto my seat. Smirked at him as I wiped at the corner of my mouth with my thumb, which came away glistening with that droplet—I popped my thumb into my mouth, my eyes on his.

  He seemed incapable of words.

  His mouth moved, working silently. He let out a harsh breath, head slamming back against the headrest. “Hi,” he said, eventually, as if his search for words had come up empty.

  Errol

  Brain short-circuited, I could only stare at her—a goddess made flesh, a wild creature from some seductive mythology, a sexual siren. Perhaps a succubus…no, those were demons, I think, and she was more angel than demon.

  She was still topless, her tank top around her midsection, and fuck me those bare tits were my undoing as a man. Words fail to capture their glory, but damn if I’m not keen to try.

  With her arms resting naturally at her sides, palms on her lap, her breasts pressed outward against her biceps and were squished together, her cleavage where they met and began at her breastbone a gap so narrow barely a sheet of paper could fit between them. Teardrop shaped, they were wide and round at the bottom and draped nearly to her midriff, with long wide slopes upward from nipple centerline. Her areolae were wide, larger than an American silver dollar each, and a dark brown shade somewhere between caramel and milk chocolate. Her nipples were dead center in the middle of each breast, thick plump cylindrical nubs turned ever so slightly upward, as if looking up at me and begging me to kiss them. Each nipple was pierced horizontally through with a silver bar, each end capped with large pink diamonds—almost certainly cubic zirconium or glass, but a woman of Poppy’s beauty, and breasts of her lush perfection absolutely deserved to have real pink diamonds.

  I just stared, openmouthed, still fighting for breath, for composure, for words to express what I was thinking. I hadn’t a clue what I was thinking or feeling, so I had nothing to say just yet. I just wanted to stare at her tits. Forever, if I could, but I’d settle for another minute or two.

  “Um, Errol? You…gonna, like, drive?”

  I shook my head. “Can’t. You broke me. Error four-oh-four, page not found.”

  She laughed, a tinkle of music that set her tits to ever-so-subtly shaking. Keep her topless and I’ll say and do anything to make her laugh, just to see what it does to those incredible, glorious, magnificent, perfect breasts.

  “Fine. Switch, and I’ll drive.”

  “Okay,” I said, but didn’t move, just sat, life drained clean out of me, mesmerized.

  She tugged at my arm. “Errol.” Snapped her fingers in front of me. “They’re just tits. Wake up, dude.” She was laughing, still amused, and also, unless I was mistaken, somewhat proud of how shell-shocked she’d left me.

  I tugged my shorts up awkwardly, shoved the stick shift into neutral and set the parking brake, and then slid over toward the middle—Poppy moved out of the way into the space between the seats so I could take the passenger seat, and then she plopped into the driver’s seat.

  Still topless.

  Maybe if I was quiet and a good boy, she’d leave her top off. That would be nice.

  She glanced at me, smirking. “Okay, say goodbye to the boobies for now.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Much better if we just…let them be. They need sunshine and fresh air.”

  Another of those amused tinkles of laughter. “Good try.”

  Alas, she slid her arms into the straps and tugged the shirt into place, and behold, the sun lost its brightness.

  I had to say something meaningful. “Poppy.”

  She pressed the brake, set the clutch, wiggled the stick, and pushed it up into third. “Yes?”

  “Um. Number one, you’re in third.”

  She bit her lip. “Oh.” Down into sec
ond. “That one?”

  I eyed her. “Do you know how to drive a manual?”

  “Um. Sort of? I watched Dad a few times. Years ago.”

  “So, no.”

  “No, not really.” A snicker of laughter. “I do have my license, though. I promise.”

  I frowned. “Why d’you make that sound like a lie?”

  “I swear, I have my license. I just…haven’t exactly driven in…a while.”

  “In how long?”

  “Since I took the test?”

  “And you can’t drive a manual?”

  She shrugged. “How hard can it be? I know the basics. Clutch on the left, and you use your left foot for that. Push it in while holding the brake, let it out and press the gas.”

  I checked our mirrors—it was just past six thirty in the morning, and the road was deserted. “Well, now’s as good a time as any, and this is as good a place as any. Give it a go, then.”

  She hesitated. “Which gear is which?”

  I laughed, tapped the top of the shifter knob. “It’s written on there.” I held her hand, helped her push it up into first. “First.” Down. “Second.” Up and to the right. “Third.” Down. “Fourth.” Back to far left, and up. “Reverse.”

  She nodded. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” She went through the gears on her own, naming them as she moved through them. “How do I know when to switch?”

  I pointed at the tachy. “That gauge. See where it’s red? Switch when the needle gets close. But really, you’ll hear it in the motor, and feel it as well. It’ll speed up and the motor will sound higher, and then it’ll sort of go…sludgy and stop accelerating. That’s when you kick off the gas, push in the clutch, switch gears, then hit the gas again.”

  “Oh. Makes sense.”

  “But all that’s the easy part. Getting started is the hard part to learn. Once you figure out how to get into first, the rest’ll be easy.”

  She glanced at me. “You, um, gonna tie up your shorts?”

  I realized they were still only half on, and untied. “Oh. Yeah, right.” I fixed it. “Why, was it a distraction?”

  She shrugged, hiding a grin. “I mean, yeah. A non-erect penis has always been funny and fascinating to me.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, smacking her mouth as if at a bad taste. “I need to brush my teeth.”

  I chuckled. “Need a rinse? I’ve got some mouthwash.”

  She smirked, quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’d be good. I’ve got this…musky aftertaste. Must be from something I swallowed recently.”

  I clambered into the back, found my toiletries and my bottle of mouth rinse. Brought it forward to her, and she made as if to pour it into the cap rather than sip from the bottle.

  “No need to be weird about germs at this point, yeah? Considering where your mouth just was, it’s not gonna bother me if you go right from the bottle.”

  She gave me a sideways glance and a grin as she swigged from the bottle, capped it, handed it back. Swished it around for a good half-minute, then rolled down the window and spat it out.

  “Considering where my mouth just was, huh?” She realized the parking brake was still engaged, and released it—good thing, too, because I’d forgotten. “You were going to say something, before the driving lesson thing.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, well, I’m still working out what to say. All that comes to mind at the moment is…dear god, woman. And close second to that, thank you. Maybe thank you is first. My blood is still making its way into my brain, I think, so sorting out normal operations might take a minute or two, or five. Because Poppy, you sucked the smart right out of me.”

  She blew on her fingernails, buffed them on her shirt front. “Well, you know what they say, right? Men think with their dicks, which means I just blew…your…mind.” She mimed her brain exploding, both hands bursting from closed fist to open beside each temple.

  I laughed. “I’ve not actually heard that one.”

  “No? Where do you get your memes, bro?”

  “I’m either traveling or off-grid eighty percent of my life. Haven’t got time for memes.”

  “Oh, well I guess that’s a reasonable excuse.” She put the shifter into first, let out a breath. “Here we go.”

  “Gently. Let out the accelerator, and when it starts to get close to almost all the way out, start pressing the gas pedal so you sort of meet in the middle. Give it a go; you’ll see what I mean. And you will stall out first few times, so don’t worry about it.”

  She gave it a shot, and the motor revved, we lurched forward, and then abruptly and jerkily halted. “Wow. Okay. That was rough.”

  “Nah, she’ll be right. Try again. Gas sooner, clutch out more slowly at the end.”

  She tried again, with better success, but we still stalled out after ten feet. A third and fourth try, and then the gear caught and we were rolling.

  “You got it!” I said. “Good job!”

  She pumped a fist. “Working the stick, baby!”

  I snorted. “Yeah nah, that was what you did a few minutes ago, babe.”

  That got a laugh from her, but then the motor started to protest as the RPMs grew. “So I should switch now?”

  “Too right—let off the gas, push in the clutch, pull the shifter straight back to second, let out the clutch, and go on the gas again.”

  We lurched and the gears crunched painfully, and then she hit the gas a little too hard and we bolted forward, the speedo needle climbing rapidly until she regained control.

  She socked my arm. “You said that would be easy!”

  “It was easier than learning to start, though, wasn’t it?”

  “I mean, a little? It still sounded like I was breaking the transmission, though.”

  “A bit more practice and you’ll have it. No worries.” I gave a somewhat meaningless gesture, pointing at the road ahead of us. “Why don’t you stop and try going into first again.”

  She did, and it took another few tries to get going, but fewer than the first time. Up into second for a ways, and then she stopped, started, and had a go at first again. Within twenty minutes of taking the wheel, she had it down, if not smoothly, but there was no gear grinding or dangerous lurching.

  “I’m a bit envious of how fast you picked that up,” I said, once we were cruising, windows down, at a steady fifty-five. “Took me most of a day.”

  She looked pleased. “Well, you’re a good teacher.”

  “Yeah nah. Don’t really matter how you teach it, it’s more about whether you just…get it or not. Some people can, some can’t. You’re clearly one of the sort who gets it. Not much to do with me.”

  She smiled. “Well, I still think you’re a good teacher, and thank you for letting me learn on your van.” She eyed me. “If you’ve regained full use of your faculties, you can take over if you want.”

  I shrugged. “I mean, if you don’t like driving, I will. But otherwise, keep after it. No worries on my end.” I grinned at her. “But, yeah. I think I’ve mostly recovered. I’m still not entirely certain I didn’t actually die and go to heaven, and then get sent back to earth.”

  “They say if you get sent back, it’s because you’ve still got work to do.” A hot smirk, cocoa eyes mischievous, lascivious. “And buddy, I’ve got some pretty solid ideas as to the work you were sent back to do.”

  I played along. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  She tugged her skirt up, bared her upper thigh, her sex—dark fuzz, trimmed into a narrow line leading down to her slit; she obviously tended to keep it trimmed that way regularly, but hadn’t shaved recently. Meaning she hadn’t anticipated this encounter and hadn’t been planning anything with anyone. Why that made me feel a bizarre rush of…not gratitude, not pride, but…pleased-ness, that it was me? Something like that. Plump outer lips, taut and narrow slit, a keyhole of darker flesh where her clit was. Begging to be licked. Kissed. Touched, played with. Worshipped, teased…used roughly till she screamed herself hoarse and begged for a break.

 
“You,” she murmured to me, sliding a fingertip up and down her seam. “Here.”

  “Jesus,” I growled. “Pull over and I’ll eat you out till you forget your own fuckin’ name.”

  She bit her lip, slouching low in the seat. “Errol…”

  “You want to know what the single sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life is?”

  She slid her finger up and down, up and down, circling, up and down, up and down, circling. “What?”

  “You, touching yourself while going down on me.”

  “You thought that was sexy?”

  “Fuck yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Not everyone does. Had someone tell me it was selfish.”

  I snorted. “What a fuckwad he was, then. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re doing that, I want you to make yourself feel good at the same time. If I could have reached, I’d have done it for you. Alas, in my experience sixty-nine is more awkward than it is sexy.”

  She bit her lip, huffing a laugh. “Same.”

  Her hips flexed, pumped, and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Hands on the wheel, Poppy.”

  She grabbed the wheel in both hands, slid her thighs apart, one foot on the gas pedal. I leaned over, found her slit with two fingers, and she moaned. Leaned back, slouched low, head against the headrest, gripping the steering wheel in clenched fists, eyes darting from the road to my fingers to the road. Took my time, this time—teased her. Slow. A fingertip up, down. In, swirl and slide, out. Gathered her sweet juices—I pulled my fingers out of her and slipped them into my mouth, licked every last bit off while she watched, biting her lower lip, groaning. Smeared her essence all over her clit, swirled soft slow delicate barely-touching circles until she started bucking in her seat, against the seat belt.

  “Fuck…Errol, I’m so close,” she murmured. Louder, then: “Fuck it. I can’t take it anymore. I need your mouth on me.” She saw a dirt road ahead on our right, and jammed the brakes and yanked the wheel around, sending us into a sharp, tire-squealing, leaning turn, hitting dirt too fast so the back end skidded around, and then brought us to a jolting stop. Yanked her seat belt off, pivoted in her seat.