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I looked up and tried to fixate on that tear in the roof of her ’06 Civic, imagining the material stretching and tightening in response to penetration. I tried to resist the urge to push my hips upward, and squeeze on her three fingers carefully gliding inside me. Her lips and tongue teased my labia and hood, ringing the proverbial doorbell to gain entrance. I squinted at the digital kitchen timer balanced between the sunshade and the dash…6:08, 6:07, 6:06. I could never last as long as I wanted to. I caressed her cheek, and she moaned in response, briefly looking up at me and meeting my gaze. She smiled, slipping her fingers out and inserting her tongue. I pushed back against the corner of the seat and door, trying to part my legs as wide as possible to let her in and in and in. Her fingers made their way to my mouth, eagerly received and suckled. My heels pressed against her back, the sound of her gently sucking and slurping my pussy lips made me climax completely. I touched her soft hair, trying in vain to discern its color in the darkness, but focused on her soft moans and caresses as I came.
Two minutes were left on the timer. We kissed intermittently, moving slow as turtles as bras were fastened, wet panties donned, dressing ourselves and one another with clothing that had been lying wrinkled on the floor of the backseat. I looked out the windows and didn’t see anyone around. We softly giggled as we clambered over one another, slowly as not to rock the car. One last kiss was exchanged (I lingered a bit more), with comments on a future reunion — west side of Willow park at 8pm on Saturday. I put on my mask and got out of the passenger side of the car, as if it was completely natural to do so at 11:53pm on a Thursday evening.
I walked along the sidewalk outside the condo development–every parking space was taken. I saw her car pull away slowly, then noticed slight but rhythmic movement from a car parked two ahead. As I walked by I could hear the familiar moans of pleasure; I diverted my eyes. I walked the few blocks home with a paranoid hypervigilance, and a greater sense of longing for that oxytocin-releasing cuddle time after sex. A police car passed slowly as I neared my street. They made the rounds more regularly now, especially in areas where many cars were parked. Perhaps another spot next time. Would there be a next time?
Once home, I unlocked the door and set down my bag. It was the same bag I started to carry each time–a generic tote with a bottle of water, a roach half smoked long ago, pack of ramen, and a pack of Twinkies. I chose things that one would purchase during a late-night high and would not spoil. As I crossed the threshold, the familiar chime sounded as my ankle bracelet registered my return on the sensor. I walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. As I undressed I could smell her perfume integrated with our sex. The perfume (or maybe it was just a scented lotion?) bothered me when we first started this. But when something novel and perhaps even noxious is meshed with warmth and happiness, it takes on new meaning.
The warm water felt good as I rubbed peppermint soap all over my arms, breasts, abdomen. My pussy was still sensitive from her thorough attention but the tingle of the soap made its presence felt. I stood under the water, allowing the warmth to run all over my face. Opening my mouth, the water diluted the taste I had been savoring but was fading anyway. Women must really be from Venus–as in Aphrodite. We have those emotional snares that insist on balancing the pleasures of sex. Men have it much easier in their carnal aggression that can stand on its own.
I shaved my legs, which I maintain quite smooth during the majority of the month, for the benefit of any encounter I may have. With the way things are now, who wants a scruffy lover to boot? The shaving cream clumped briefly over the ankle bracelet, which blinked its insistent presence in any environment, wet or dry.
As I toweled off in the bedroom, I switched on the radio just to hear escort kocaeli the current statistics. The variants were still the major news of the day, with cases and deaths offered in questionable numbers. Lotteries were once all the rage to encourage compliance and an odd “patriotism,” but life without “vaxcom” (vaccine compliant) consisted of a rearrangement of one’s entire world. The ankle bracelet was the wearable “big brother,” whose GPS monitoring capabilities could document one’s whereabouts for the benefit of contact tracing. If you didn’t opt for vaxcom, the bracelet became the mandate. Any contact with anyone for more than 15 minutes could put your already mangled world into greater disarray.
I switched off the radio and the light and crawled into bed, pulling the billowy duvet over my warm, naked body. If I were to look under the duvet, I would see the soft green eye of the bracelet blinking its happy surveillance. I pushed at it with my left heel, a kind of futile rebellion before going to sleep.
Work the next day began early. My employer accommodated my status by allowing me to work at home. Much of my time was spent working solo on a project, and occasionally networking online for collaborative meetings. My time was largely my own, but I made good use of the day. For lunch I would often take a walk in the park. I’d meet up with friends occasionally for a meal or coffee, though going over the 15 minute contact parameter would change my green light to yellow, that brief vibratory warning at 14:30 before turning red at 15:00. With a red light I would likely get a call asking where I was, who I was with, and why I was in that situation. For some friends it just wasn’t worth the hassle, as they received the calls as well, and it could jeopardize their situations with their families. If caught lying about your whereabouts, life became even more complicated. So I took a lot of walks alone.
And that’s how she and I met. In crowded outdoor areas the mask mandate was in effect for nonvaxcoms. I liked to walk along the pier at times, and donned my mask when doing so. Vaxcoms would eye me suspiciously, and visibly frown (as they did not have to wear masks at all). But I’ve long learned to live with it, and there were enough of us around that one didn’t feel so alone in her convictions. But I digress.
She was standing at the end of the pier watching a flock of ducks in the water. A young boy and his mother were feeding them from several feet away. I noticed the little rainbow heart on her mask almost immediately. She’s taller than I am, but softer in her composition, with large breasts and a smile that can be seen in her eyes. Was her hair naturally red? I don’t know. We made small talk about the ducks. Her bracelet was visible on her ankle, blinking the green I knew so well. We stood more than 6 feet apart, which made the conversation even more awkward than it was in my own mind. No ring on her finger, but that rarely meant anything these days.
The boy threw a large clump of bread into the flock, and they all scattered. She turned and voiced her opinion to his mother, who blew off her comment with a wave of the hand.
“I’m sure the ducks appreciate your advocacy,” I said.
“Well somebody should,” she replied. “We’re kind of marginalized.” She lifted her foot and glanced at her ankle bracelet, then at mine.
“The mask isn’t so bad though,” I said.
“How do you figure that?” she asked, her brow lowering.
“Well, it tells me a bit more about you,” I replied.
“What do you know about me?” she said in a questionable tone.
“I know you like ducks,” I said. “And I know you like chicks also.” I cringed inside at this comment, but held on to some sort of odd hope.
She giggled and eyed me over. And then she looked at her watch. “I should be going…” she began, but paused. “Maybe we can meet again sometime?” Her eyes smiled as she said it.
“And talk about chicks?” I asked. The cringe was there, but my libido had it in a headlock.
“I’m not much of gölcük escort a talker,” she replied seriously, meeting my gaze. She opened her purse and scribbled a note, folded it and placed it into the rear pocket of my jeans. I watched her walk away briefly before removing the note and reading it:
“10:30pm, Cavelli Market parking lot, silver Civic”
I chuckled in disbelief. I had read about these clandestine encounters as people had to get more creative with their liaisons. The vaxcon could meet in any location–all couples registered, of course. But the nonvaxcon had to be more intentional about it. Visitors in anyone’s home had to be submitted ahead of time, and could be questioned especially if it was an overnight stay. Was this really happening? Should I do this?
The rest of the workday passed by with a sublimated burst of creativity. My imagination relayed between my libido and my frontal lobe. I had one meeting that went overtime, which normally would have annoyed me. But I was playfully sarcastic and even asked after my colleagues’ families, patiently listening to the boring details of so-and-so’s graduation and Aunt Whoever’s recovery. The note sat next to my computer, and my libido played with its intimations as I sent a few more emails.
I worked out at 6pm and had a light dinner afterward, reading as usual during my meal. My imagination began rearing its head after dinner, and I lay down for what was intentioned to be a brief nap. I set my alarm for 9:30pm and lay down. I replayed the scene in my mind of seeing her on the pier, with a greater focus on her breasts. I imagined what they looked like beneath her green top…what color bra she was wearing, if her nipples were large or small, how hard they would get if I were to…
My hand slipped between my thighs shortly thereafter. I touched my pussy lips softly, gliding a finger along my surprisingly wet slit. I began to tease myself as I thought of her body in different positions, of me with her in different positions. I reached into my nightstand and took my vibrator out of its case, hoping for enough of a charge. I pressed it to my slit, the hardness of the shaft making my pussy hungrier. I pressed the button, but nothing happened. I don’t even know the last time I used it. I glided the static shaft along my wet slit, looking down at the head teasing my hood and slit. I brought it to my mouth and licked at it, moaning softy as I tasted my own wetness. I leaned back on my elbows and slid the length of it inside me, watching my pussy take the purple silicone inside. Gliding it back out I saw the sheen of my excitement. I licked my lips, and closed my eyes, thinking of her. I pumped the silicone cock inside me faster as my other hand began to tease my erect clit. I came hard, crying out in a pleasure I surprisingly couldn’t contain. Sleep came shortly.
My eyes fluttered at the sound of the alarm. 9:30pm. I felt well-rested and still tired, but calm. I got up from bed, taking my defunct vibrator to the sink. I started the shower, and cleaned the purple silicone, drying it and returning it, still uncharged into its case in the nightstand. In the shower I began to think of what I was doing. Cleaning myself meticulously, shaving everything smooth. What was I getting myself into? Even as I was somewhat worried about the encounter, it was as if my body was just going ahead without me. I dressed somewhat casually, put on minimal makeup, and was out of the house at 10:10. It was about a 10 minute drive to Cavelli’s. On the way there, I could feel my pulse racing, my sympathetic nervous system was in charge. People always say “fight or flight” but they forget the third ‘f’ that the sympathetic rules. I parked and my dilated pupils scanned the mostly empty parking lot. Cavelli’s was open til midnight. It was a place people would shop just to pick up a few things. Not a major chain.
I saw a silver Civic in the back row, no cars on either side but a few sprinkled around it. A sunshade was in the windshield. Maybe izmit sınırsız escort it belonged to someone who worked there? Maybe she worked there? I locked my car and walked cautiously by the car, unable to see much for the darkness and perhaps a tint on the windows. The back door then opened slightly and I heard a somewhat familiar voice say “get in.”
I looked around briefly, then opened the door and sat on the bench seat. She reached across me, pulling the door closed.
“Hi…” she said, and quickly set what appeared to be a digital kitchen timer and set it on the dash. I could see the barely lit 14:00 counting down. It was dark, she was in matching bra and panties. Her hands were pulling at my top, my hands pulling her closer to me, my mind again going to her breasts. I could smell lilac, or maybe lavender, which would usually bother me, but something in me didn’t care. I could feel her lips on mine as my fingers fiddled with her bra. My bra was already on the floor. Her lips were soft and sweet, her mouth warm. She kissed me assertively, but we learned one another quickly. We had to. I could feel her straddling my thighs, and the scent of her pussy gave me a hunger I hadn’t felt in a long time. I slipped my hand into her panties and cupped her smooth mound, moaning into her mouth at its silky wetness. My fingertips teased every surface, her labia, pussy lips, her slit slick with excitement. Her breasts were bared for me, as I kissed and licked tenderly around each nipple, looking up at her intermittently. Her eyes were in shadow, but I could see her teeth when her lips parted in pleasure, hear her moans when she enjoyed my touch. I pulled her to my thigh, cupping her ass briefly. She pulled back, her breathing labored.
“No, don’t do that. We cannot make the car move at all and draw attention to us.” I had stopped. I must have looked surprised or scolded because her caresses became much more loving, her voice soothing and coaxing, calling me “baby,” kissing my neck. I could see the timer as she kissed me….8:42, 8:41…
“You like my breasts, don’t you, baby?” She guided them to my mouth again and I kissed them eagerly, then giving attention to one nipple at a time with my lips and tongue. She moaned in response, guiding my hand into her panties again. She whispered more demanding encouragements: “touch my pussy, baby. I know you want to fuck me…” I concentrated on my movements–my mouth steadily kissing and sucking, and my fingers teasing then slipping into her, finding a slow rhythmic thrusting inside her. I could hear her wetness as I fucked her steadily. My head was spinning, my pussy wet and longing, yet I ached to please her. Her moans were intoxicating. I sucked more hungrily at her breasts, playfully pulling her nipples with my lips as her pussy sucked on my fingers.
Her breathing became more intense, and I could feel her clenching on my fingers. I instinctively pressed my palm to her now-hard clit as I continued to fuck her. I looked out the windows on either side of the car and didn’t see anyone in sight. Would I have cared if I did?
She took my face in her hands and kissed me, her pussy clenching on my fingers inside. My movement stopping as I felt her pussy pulse in orgasm, her wetness all over my hand, wrist and forearm. She moaned into my mouth as our tongues meshed and I held her close to me with my other hand. I watched her face as I slowly slipped my fingers from her, bringing them between our lips to share her taste. We licked and sucked at her juices and kissed again.
The timer was sounding before we knew it. It all stopped so fast, with clothing being passed to one another, turned inside out and put on as hastily as possible. She placed her hands on my cheeks and we kissed again and I realized it was ending. She was leaning over me, looking around through the window.
“Thursday night by the condos near the mission. Same time.” She opened the door and I got out.
I stood there a moment, looking around. A man was walking out of Cavelli’s, lighting a cigarette. I looked back at her car but then got my wits about me and walked to my own car and got in. I could see her tail lights in my rearview mirror as I started the car.
I didn’t even know her name. I still don’t.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32