She Got Wet Just Remembering It

She Talked the Whole Way Home

Blondie’s in the back of the Lyft, legs spread just wide enough that the black skirt’s basically a suggestion. Pink crop top’s losing the fight with her tits, that little flower doing nothing. Thigh-highs are cutting into her soft thighs, boots planted, one hand in her messy bun like she knows exactly how she looks in the rearview. Sunset’s hitting her just right. She’s tipsy and smiling, and the driver’s already sweating.

“Isn’t it so fucking funny?” she says, loud enough that he hears every word. “I had to wait till tonight to buy a drink, but I’ve been getting fucked in parking garages and sucking dick under tables since I was eighteen. The state was cool with all that. A vodka soda though? Instant crime. Make it make sense.”

He keeps his eyes on the road. Doesn’t help. He can still see her in the mirror—shirt riding up, stomach soft, stockings dark against her skin. She’s shifting and the skirt keeps sliding higher. His cock is already half-hard against his zipper and he hates himself for it.

“Wanna hear the best one?” she goes on. “Junior year I let this guy and his roommate double-team me in the back of his dad’s truck after a game. Both of them came in me. I didn’t even make them pull out. Just laid there with my legs open while they high-fived. Totally legal. But if I’d tried to buy a beer after? Felony. Hilarious.”

His brain shorts out. He’s picturing her exactly like she is right now—skirt shoved up, stockings framing her thighs, two guys taking turns while she just takes it. He almost misses the light. Adjusts himself and hopes she doesn’t notice. She does.

“You okay up there?” she teases, catching his eye. “You’re real quiet. Am I making you nervous?”

“No,” he says too fast. “Just driving.”

“Mmm. You sure? ’Cause I’m pretty drunk and I’ve been talking about getting fucked all night. You look like you’re about two seconds from pulling over.” She laughs, soft and mean. “Relax. I’m not gonna. …Unless you ask nicely.”

He swallows. The car smells like her perfume and whatever fruity shit she was drinking. Every time she moves he gets a better look at the shadow between her thighs. He’s fully hard now.

“Last one,” she says, voice dropping. “This guy I was seeing used to make me sit on his face in the car while he drove. I’d climb over the console, knees on the headrest, panties pulled to the side, and just drop my pussy right on his mouth. He’d try to keep the car straight with his arms under my thighs. One hand on the wheel, the other gripping my ass so I’d grind harder. He couldn’t see shit. Had to drive by feel while I rode his tongue and told him when to brake. Spit and drool all down his chin. I’d come so hard I’d leave wet spots on the seat. Did it like six times. All legal. Buying the drinks we had before? Nope.”

His grip on the wheel tightens. He’s seeing it—her weight on his face, thighs shaking, the car drifting every time he got too into it. The way she’d have to watch the road for both of them while he licked her. He’s so hard it hurts. He doesn’t look back again. Can’t.

She hums, pleased, and stretches so the crop top rides even higher. “Anyway. Thanks for the ride. You’re a good listener.”

He doesn’t trust himself to answer.