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Wicked Wheels
by Chris Skilbeck © 2004

This surely is a wicked set of wheels! We even found some decent music.

We're tooling out of the Smoke at seventy, 'Feuer Frei!' blasting from the speakers.  Carole passes me a joint and takes off her bra.

Out past Reading, we hit eighty and she opens my fly, pulls it out to play.

Ninety and she goes down on me.  We pass the occasional tail lights like they were standing still.

Ninety-five, one hand steering, one gripping Carole's tit, her head bumping the wheel, my eyes are wide with excitement, fear, what a fucking buzz!

ONE TON! Oh, Jesus! Yes! I'm yelling and shaking; Carole's swallowing and laughing.

I ease it back to seventy, we're somewhere out past Swindon; Carole sits up smiling and starts fixing her hair and make-up.

We've already decided on the spot; I take a down-ramp onto a roundabout with four minor road exits, a quiet spot.  We kiss the steering wheel goodbye.

Off with the filler cap, we place the little sparker and timer and walk back up the ramp, giggling, legs wobbly.

Carole leans on the parapet, watching those wicked wheels sitting quietly in the moonlight.  We've left the internal light on; she can see the soft leather upholstery as I lift her short skirt.

She's wet.  She likes it when I push in hard from behind; I find her clit with my fingertips.

She checks her watch, sighs, one minute.  I thrust into her so hard I mash the back of my hand against the concrete.

The car sits waiting for Carole to come.  She tightens and clenches around my cock; her body lifts with each stroke like she wants to fly out over the edge.  Her sighs become cries.

As the fierce blossom booms and flashes across the night, heating our faces, her cries become a long scream.  We pant and laugh together as we watch the roiling fuel-fire.

Carole's body droops and relaxes; I turn her from the fading flames, hold her face to my chest, letting her keep the memory of the eruption at its height.

We walk along the carriageway for a while, then start to thumb the occasional passing car, heading home.

Some time soon, Carole says, she wants to do two in one night.  She surely is a wicked girl.

© 2004 Chris Skilbeck. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Chris Skilbeck is a 50-year-old Englishman who lives in the country in West Wales.  He has had dozens of jobs, has been married twice and has seen something of the world. He is an anarchist, a wiccan, a gardener and a would-be writer.

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