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In which some girls enjoy being broken more than others.
She lowered the window a bit to enjoy the cool air, lit a smoke and settled back. Rolling along with the stop-and-go, listening to a familiar CD, she thought about another time she'd been caught in traffic, this time on a drowsy summer day with her boyfriend. That day she was the passenger, and she'd decided to pass the time by leaning down into his lap, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. For 20 minutes she'd lost herself in slurping, gurgling and long, languid licks, leaving him to hang onto the wheel as best he could. She smiled at the memory -- it was fun to think how excited she could make him -- but then she noticed she was getting excited herself.
That didn't always happen. She was pretty widely experienced, and tended to think about sex with a healthy dose of humor, but tonight she was feeling a little randy, and she was headed home where she knew she had erotic attention on demand. Besides, the chain on that g-string was riding right on her clit.
She decided to help it along. She hitched up her skirt, letting her thighs and her ass rub against the sticky-slick vinyl of the car seat. It was a little cooler than the leather strapped around her pussy, and the combination had her shifting and squirming to get just the right feel.
When she hit the exit she accelerated. She had a hot little sports car -- her first, after a lifetime of clunkers -- and she enjoyed the still-new feeling of being able to beat the traffic. Besides, she was in something of a hurry. She liked the sexual thrill she'd been cultivating, and she didn't want to lose it.
She made the familiar turns through her downtown neighborhood, past the market, onto a side street, then up the twisting slope to the tall palm that stood in front of her home. She had expected her boyfriend would be home, but she was glad to see the lights on anyway. She was in no mood to be disappointed.
She pulled into the driveway, pulled her skirt back into place and headed in. As she entered the front door she was met by the familiar smell of the place, and by her old dog, who offered his usual tail-wagging greeting. Her boyfriend hollered from the rear office.
She went down a short hallway to find him at his keyboard. "Hello, darling." He lifted his face as she approached and offered his mouth for a kiss. She complied, and he was surprised when she lingered, her full lips soft and slightly parted.
"Ummmm," he said. Then he added a gentle kiss on her neck.
"Been to the pool?"
"You can tell?"
"Yeah, that chlorine doesn't wash off."
"Yes, the pool was great today." She swung her bag to the floor and strolled back toward the living room. "And now I could use a martini."
That got him out of his seat. She was always game for a drink after work, but straight gin was a little unusual. Still, he knew she liked his martinis, and he'd been looking forward to one of their few nights alone together. He headed to the kitchen and set about cracking ice and pouring liquor.
While he took care of business, she spotted the tin box where they liked to keep a ready stash of marijuana. She packed a fresh bowl, took a deep hit, and studied him. He was strong and tall -- much too big for her, you might think, but both liked to remark how in bed, their bodies seemed to meld together, as if they were made for each other. If love conquers all, they figured, that may as well include physics.
She crossed the room and took a seat on the couch. It was soft, smooth vinyl, like her car, and without missing a beat she hiked up her skirt the way she had on the freeway. The hemline crossed her torso just at the top of her thighs, exposing the leather patch of her g-string, and just a glint of the chain nestled between the lips of her pussy.
Her boyfriend approached with a frosty pitcher of gin and two glasses. He set them on the table in front of her, poured her drink, and looked up as he handed it to her. It was only then he noticed her pose.
"Wow," he said.
She reached for her drink, then leaned back deep into the sofa.