Sexy Erotica
"Pennsylvania Wild," a sex story by Sadie J.
Three or so miles from the theater, he lifted the console between them so that his hand could easily part her knees. Ashlen was telling him about thrift store shopping that afternoon and how her friend had bought nothing during the entire excursion. "She never does, dude."
At the words, "We're there for twenty-five minutes, eh -" the northern lilt of her voice held still.
She watched Micah's fingerpads - rugged with scars of paper-cuts - rub her thigh until they could see the parking lot that shelved a hundred cars the shade of M & Ms. Then, his hand trailed upward, stopping to squeeze her just inside the secret of her hem-line. He played there: lightly, lackadaisically scratching the warm inside of her thigh with his cropped fingernails. She found herself not giving a right or left damn about her earlier failed shopping, though he said, "Yeah?" and waited to hear the end of the story.
He waited to hear her, anxiously, often; not for the words, but for the Canadian roundness. Her voice reminded him of fall, of walking in between trees in Swatara, Pennsylvania before the weather went icy and white on him. That was Micah's favorite time of year, and he smelled it and shivered now, inside his Jeep Cherokee in the late part of May.
Part of her lip rose in a tickled crest. "What's this, can I ask?" It was his brazen hand on the fleshy soft of her thigh, near her pelvis, kneading. It was strange to feel chill and warmth from her at the same time. Her mouth dipped into a smile, which he imagined edging open, tasting to its depth.
She had come to him about a year ago, obviously adjusting to a departure from a life slightly wilder than the one he led three miles away from green-and-gold stripes of farmland, silver silos, cows on the roam. Her breezy, summer-time layers were wild; the chime of her brass-and-blue earrings was wild; the movie she had egged him into driving 45 minutes to see, because it wouldn't play in their local theaters, was sure to be wild.
His kiss was thirsty, as the tips of his fingers seemed to be.
In the theater, after he bought the tickets, he asked, "You want a drink, candy, popcorn?
She said "No" defiantly, almost gruff with him for asking ordinary questions when she felt the vine-like wild twirling up her thighs and tickling that even wilder spot between. Her "no" still came out curved and honey and laughter.
He said, "Okay. Well, get me, ah . . . a Coke and I'll find our seats."
"Why don't ya just wait -"
He was back, the vibration of his lips in her right ear. "'Cause I've got to find a place I can fuck you without people seeing."
She didn't notice whether they had given her the right soda, even as she tasted the fizzy upshot of it while she navigated the dimness of the theater, her eyes bobbing from row to row.
Once she had staked him out, she set the effervescent drink in the cup holder on his left side, not in the one that would make a futile attempt to partition him from her.
He waited until the acid-pastel flashes of previews subsided, at that point deciding that the stragglers were in place and that he would be alone with her. Then, he raised the arm rest so that he could stretch over her scantily clad lap and grab the sleek, slim outcropping of her ankle, elevate her foot so that the sole of her ink-black, ink-shiny heel planted on the back of the chair in front of her. He manipulated the left foot as well, stamping it where he wanted it, a tempting peak that bent away from the other, styling a subtly curved slice between her legs. He avoided looking directly into her sex-addled eyes, even as she petitioned him, "You're not gonna do me here, are ya?"
He slid two fingers underneath her panties and rubbed there on the humid swell of the hills and the dips of her pussy. He nudged her panties to the side. The tip of his middle finger faintly graced her main furrow.
Her panting dried the slickness off her lips. She always enjoyed his hands and his liquid mouth and that Other slice of him, all of which he used respectfully, properly. She'd never responded to him like this before.
The head of his finger edged just between her lips, meeting the resistance, immediately, from the snugness of her walls. As he pressed, he felt that desperate slit joining the strawberry walls within her quake with her effort to object, to block him out. She did object, because she felt he had pushed her manually to the acme go-point of a roller coaster, and was now rocking her car back and forth, teasing her with the thought of that steep drop into the thrill and chaos of the ride.
He tapped on the fissure, harder, and a little harder.
His eyes, hue of a sea-storm, pierced hers and held them almost threateningly still.
She couldn't see his other four fingers curling firmly over her lips, but she could feel them. She couldn't break the grip of his stare. She wanted to let him in.
Fuck, she wanted him, but she didn't want to burst quickly after all this delicious
tension he'd inspired in her. She didn't want to give it to his probing fingers, but she did give in.
She rocked against the knuckles of his fingers prodding inside. She waited to see if he would look around and behind them to confirm that no one lurked nearby watching his arm snake under her skirt, breathing in that base, spicy aroma she made when he stirred her this way.
She saw none of this, only the burn licking up his neck, onto his jaw, into his cheeks. He couldn't keep his eyes distant from her, and his eyebrows pinched in a flicker indicative of the thin line laid out carelessly between pleasure and the pang of desperation.
She rubbed her hair against the heat and boy-softness of his neck, whispered, again, "Are ya gonna do me here?"
She felt the zinging cool of his nose; his chapping, tight lips on her ear.
"I think they'd probably kick me out, but I don't know -" his voice hopped, as though he were drinking her ear and had caught an air bubble "- if I can actually, physically not do you here."
She looked up. Their eyes blazed into each others, sapped their quips, their wits, muted the superfluous room. Though the want of his words set her flowing, enough to shove his narrow shoulders back and straddle him and take what she wanted, she found herself a tad let down that he was backing out. She knew he'd do her madly tonight, that it would feel great - they were both already gagged by the humid pulsation through their bodies. But, she'd been into the thrill that having him while strangers watched a dull foreign flick rows down would bring.
He said, "Let's go."
They made it into the columns of SUVs and pick-ups painted with mud, all the way to the Cherokee, before the lazy air carried the scent of her wowed cunt to his nose.When this happened, he sprung the back-seat door open and bent her over until her chest laid on the leather seat.
She normally caught a blanched smell of cleaning this-and-that in his car. He was fastidious about it, never letting a stray letter or french fry box ay on the floor of his car. She didn't catch it this time. This time, apparently, he'd been thinking about something other than order.
He flipped up her skirt. Rubbed his silver-gilded belt against the cotton bikini he'd exposed. As she lifted her head, her bottom lip dragged on the leather and shivered. This could be nice.
Photo by Bradley Thurber
She heard the clink of his belt buckle, ring of his zipper.
He folded her legs inside the Jeep, climbing onto the narrow seat with her and shutting the door behind them. He flipped her over, draped her left leg over the back of the seat, stared at that beautiful, wide arch of her legs. As he guided her hips up from the seat, he leaned into them, gently scraping his teeth along the cotton hiding her labia. Approving, she flexed into his mouth, up and down, moving the vent of his moist breath wherever she wanted.
Taking only a moment for it, he pushed her panties to the side so he could part her lips with his tongue and pump in the slick cleave of them and casually press on her tiny doorbell as he licked past it. Ashlen noticed, at the very moment Micah speared her, that he looked out the window behind him. And, sure, someone could see the shaking of his shoulders from outside, but she didn't understand why he was more conscientious now than he'd been while his fingers humped her in the theater.
"What are ya doin'?"
He looked down at her, widened his eyes flirtatiously and said, "Just making sure no one's coming for their car. If I see 'em, we should probably, you know, make a run for it."
She twisted her head to the side - earrings jangling. He didn't allow the break and kept drilling her cunt. There was a slurping from their union that leaked onto the cool seats, the seats that did not belong to Micah. Her eyes found the unfamiliar bobble head on the dashboard in the front, the crinkled hamburger wrapper on the console. The scar on the back of the passenger's seat headrest, when Micah's Jeep had no scars.
He tossed his head back and grinned, invigorated by this way she clenched him, wound her legs around and tightened him against her, lifted her hips to meet him. He raised her shirt and pulled down the cups of her bra to see her pretty, round tits jump in giggles. As he suckled her nipples, as he rammed obscenely into her wetness, as she started to spasm from her pelvis outward, Ashlen dug her fingernails deep into the leather seating of a total stranger -probably a man still in the screen room, almost bored to sleep by the movie, sipping Sprite, thinking about what time he'd have to get up in the morning to milk the cows.
Originally published April 2007 - "Dirty"