The Long Boring Highway

We’d been driving for hours on a calm stretch of interstate through flat, uninteresting terrain. My very bored wife turned belly-down on our old car’s bench seat. She balanced her head on one hand. In lazy merriment, she reached over my thigh and dragged her fingernails across the material covering my crotch. With her index finger she gave me a couple light taps. Tap… tap… tap-tap-tap, pause… tap-tap. As her sporadic drumming continued, she lifted her head, and we locked eyes. Her face held the look of purest innocence.

“Having fun?” I asked.

“Actually, yes!” she smiled with her endearingly crinkled eyes.

She turned her attention to the front of my pants again. A new contour arose beneath the fabric as she toyed and tinkered there for some time. That contour seemed to interest her to no end. (Mmmm – playful, something I have ALWAYS loved in our sexual adventures.)

She traced the contour with her fingertips. Traced meant felt it all around, squeezed it, and slid up to its end. Then she went low to where its thick shape disappeared between my thighs.

“Oh MY!” thought I. “She never did this before!”

I kept my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road, not daring to believe her boldness. I also did not want to dissuade her with any hint of erratic driving on my part.

A bit hesitantly, she unzipped my pants. Like a careful archaeologist on a dig, she sorted through the layers of shirttails, tucked tee, seams, and hems. She then went fly-fishing in my briefs until she managed to work her hand under the fabric. (HOO-HAH, it was CROWDED in there!)

“I found the cause of your pants bulge!” I imagine her thinking.

“No kidding!” I answered, also in my imagination.

She wiggled her hand back out of my underwear but not her hand alone. With it came the warm pink broomstick she’d found therein. After pulling it out, she wiggled it one way, and then another. This loosened some material that was binding, and soon she could toggle me as freely as a joystick. Truly, my member WAS a JOY-stick by then, I must report.

On her stomach now, Miz Pants Excavator doubled her legs back, so her heels rested against her bottom. She planted both elbows against my thigh, her head on her hands. She studied my pulsing member as if a thing of wonder. It was like she’d never seen such a sight before. She puzzled over why this odd spire of flesh with its taut, shiny, saddle-shaped head was joined to my body.

“What’s THIS?” she asked, feigning bewilderment.

“Guess you’ll have to find out,” I mumbled, not wanting to disturb the arcing sexual juju.

My hands were steady on the wheel, as was only prudent. Apart from that, it seemed as if my body’s nerve endings migrated to the bottom of my abdomen. From there, they flowed out to congregate in its stiff curving peninsula like honking geese flying south for the winter. My geese were certainly honking.

Mrs. Curious hunched closer until her head filled the space between my belly and the wheel. I lifted my right elbow so that she could maneuver better in the narrow space. Directly overtop the messy crater of fabric folds and loose ends that surrounded my pulsing knob, her face hovered.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, “This thing GROWS!!”

“Yes, it DOES,” admitted I. Keeping my eyes on the road, I determined to simply FEEL what was doing, and not look. Which actually made it all the more exciting. And oh my, FEEL, I DID! Without a word, she dropped an open mouth over my waving ween and closed her lips around it loosely. She remained perfectly still in that position and tongued me vigorously to let her saliva warm and wet me. She lifted her head, and I slipped out into the cool air once more.

“That felt AMAZING,” I breathed out quietly.

After consideration, she lowered her mouth, closed her lips around the middle of my kicked-bee’s-nest of synapses, and rested. There was no bobbing or sucking, no head movements at all. She just mouthed my penis softly, wetly, and teased my standing flesh with her tongue alone.

I knew her deliberate, measured movements signaled concern about my driving concentration as we cruised along. Once again, she lifted her head, and I slipped out. She wiggled from her position over the crater of clothing exploded on my lap and its very pink center stalk. Reflecting for a few moments, she mused, (reluctantly – for both of us), “It’s probably not safe to do any more.”

Much as I wanted her bold play to continue, I agreed with her. Just behind us our beautiful baby slept in her car seat. I knew that prudence must prevail over prurience under the circumstances. (We also knew how loud and spasmodic I can get in the throes of an orgasm. And we were still cruising at highway speeds.)

*SIGH*

“I know,” said I. “But THANK you for the foretaste, sweetheart! I must say, you surprised me. I LIKED that!”

She tilted her head back, caught my eye, and grinned sheepishly. (Oh what a sexy girl she is!) What now? I was still as horny as a Texas cattle lot at feed time, so I countered.

“Why don’t you roll over on your back. This is a straight, wide-open highway and there’s little traffic. If you loosen your pants I can pleasure YOU safely while I drive. That won’t interfere with my steering in any way.” (My hopes were high because I had pleasured her in that position before.)

With an almost shy little grin, she rolled over on her back. From there she got comfortable, unbuttoned the top of her pants, and pulled the zipper all the way down. She tugged her opened pants side by side to just below her hips. The folded front panels left a neat triangle of material on each side. Now my right hand had relaxed access to her warmest parts without any garments restricting my movements.

I stretched my arm down over her body and slid my hand under the band of her panties. She snuggled her head against my arm and settled in for the fun. Her left foot dangled off the seat and onto the floor, and her right was tilted against the door. She welcomed my fingers with a slight pelvic move as I probed her warm folds. That confirmed what I’d guessed to be true. Her wrinkle was already wonderfully wet from the playful penis stim that she’d given me.

“Just be careful,” the dewy one said.

“Uh-huh, my eyes are on the road,” I assured her. “I often rest my arm along the window and steer with my left hand. I’ll be very careful.”

“OK, you better!” she warned as she relaxed and snuggled closer.

I reached into her panties to gather up her sweet flower parts. My pinkie and thumb cradled in her groin creases. I thrilled to feel her wet goods bunched under my middle digits. Ever so slowly, I compressed her parts with my curled fingers and teased her with a few pulses of pressure.

“Mmmm, I like thaaat!” she murmured.

“Good,” I answered quietly, but then had a thought.

“Remember when I used to do this?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Let me do something that we used to do – for old time’s sake,” I said with a grin.

I pulled my hand from under her panties then reached right back in to touch her. However now through the silky material of her underwear. Starting as far down between her legs as I could, I slid my fingertips up over her “front bottom” softness. From her depths to the crown of her mound. Back and forth, up then down, reversing and repeating, again and again. In this way, I invited her swelling wrinkle to widen, and felt her inner velvet valley slowly part for me.

As I stroked, and the minutes passed, her wetness seeped into the gusset of her panties. First, it dampening the cotton panel compressed under my fingers into her flesh, and then into the shiny outer fabric. Saturated with her slippery fluids, the panty material grew even silkier than normal as her fourfold lips parted and deepened. Soon the damp fabric of her underwear clung to the side walls of her vulva all on its own.

Truth be told, we waited until marriage for intercourse. But we petted each other to climax a few times before our wedding, beginning with touching outside our underclothing. Now, as then, the layered fabric against her crotch gradually sank into her swollen parts. My fingers fit within her warm ravine like a hot dog fills a bun.

The miles slipped by while I trembled in the pleasure of this leisurely and extended foreplay. My patient, repetitive stroking pleased us both. In time, her regular breathing gave way to deep sighs. Then to open-mouthed breathing. Finally to breaths that grew increasingly sharp, shallow, and quick. I quickly slipped INSIDE her panties and circled and swished around in the darkness. THAT set her hips to jerking and tilting in the way that has always driven me crazy with excitement.

“Go, Girl, GO-O-O-O!” I silently urged as I kept my eyes on the road, passing no car.

Her pelvis strained upward to intensify the pressure of my circling fingertips. Then, most abruptly, she grabbed my wrist and jerked my arm up and down, meaning, “Rub hard! Rub fast, NOW!”

I spun tight pressure circles around her hardened pearl. In seconds her hands flew to her crotch, clutching mine under hers. She clamped her thighs over my submerged fingers, twisted sideways and jackknifed her legs up close to her body. My buried digits had no choice but to go along for the ride and that was so-o-o-o fine with me! With her intensity climax, I’m sure my usual involuntary smile widened, as her climax drew near, then exploded in her.

I maintained the static pressure she wanted, while my recently busy fingers were locked deep in her genital clutch. Pleasure spasmed through her body with each blissful squeeze. She gasped and panted, uttered a deep Mmmmm… Uhhhhh… Huhhhhh! Ohhhhh! Whooo! Her sweet face flushed, and I thrilled to sense her heart racing, in clear sync with my own.

How many spasms? How long did it last? Who counts, who cares! As her thigh squeezes weakened, her breathing climbed down apace. From gasps, to pants, and finally, to deep and quieting sighs. Her endorphin-mellowed muscles relaxed, and she dozed dreamily. Her slacks remained pushed down with her velvety valley and wet panties slowly drying in the open air.
I glanced at her most lovely face – oxytocin-softened! – and smiled a grateful smile that she never saw.

Quickly, my gaze returned to that point where highway and horizon met. I continued cruising down the center of my lane. My left hand was firmly on the wheel, my right resting over hers, laying limply upon her expended lady parts. Along with hers, my racing heart and rapid breathing coasted into neutral. I let out a long, joy-filled sigh and a small, satisfied grin spread across my face. As it always appears after we’ve shared love with our bodies.

There were few cars in sight.

Postscript: Who enjoyed my youthful wife’s finger-danced orgasm the more that day – she or I? You know, I couldn’t say. We were BOTH so satisfied when it was over. I do know the memory of it still makes me smile—and a little bit hard even now.