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Limo Chat

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I had been married for 36 years when Covid began to change lives, and ours was no exception. While my husband proceeded to deepen his relationship with alcohol, passing out in his lazy-boy by 7 every evening, I found a new and arguably just as dangerous interest – chatting online. At first, I used it as a research tool – well, that’s what I told myself; it made sense since I write erotic fiction. But soon I found myself making friends – friends with benefits.

There was a particular fellow, a Canadian, who I found to be a good match, and not just sexually. He was intelligent, accomplished, and he had a great sense of humor; an attentive husband and father who, like myself, was missing the passion he had once enjoyed with his spouse. He lived about a 3-hour drive from my childhood home – a home I hadn’t been able to visit due to the virus.

A couple months into our tenuous relationship, we began to ask “what-if?” What-if, after this pandemic, I returned to Ontario and the two of us could actually meet? Would it be a friendly hug, then lunch and a few laughs? Maybe a kiss goodbye? Or would we cross that proverbial line? The virtual back and forth had been hot, and the way he whispered, the things he said he would do to me, things my husband didn’t want to do. It was thrilling to think about a face-to-face being a real possibility, although I wasn’t 100% sure I could go through with it.

The months ticked by, with every week or so punctuated by a late night text from him accompanied by a notably artful photograph; one delicate iridescent drop slipping from the slit in his soft pink tip, coaxed from the compression of his hand around his shaft. I never got tired of looking at it; I wanted to frame it. And the anticipation of our co-masturbation was almost as good as the resulting orgasm itself.

And then, finally, the Canadian travel restrictions lifted, and I was on my way back to Ontario, and the “what-if” question became a “now-how?”

I was happy when he agreed a hotel room would be too high pressure – I mean there’s a bed in there for God’s sake! And what if we were seen? It was a definite no. Instead, we decided to meet at a truck stop on some lonely highway northwest of Toronto. We’d have a beer and a bite to eat and see where it led. But at the last minute, I changed my mind without telling him, deciding the best option would be a limousine. I’d stock it with food and drink and we would have real privacy. And if we wanted to take it to its logical conclusion, there was plenty of room in there to get busy.

The big day finally arrived, and as the limo almanbahis yeni giriş rolled up to the diner, I saw him get out of his car. I opened the side door and invited him in; he was more than surprised. After instructing Lawrence the driver to cruise around the countryside, I pressed a button on the cabin control panel, and the blacked-out window separating Lawrence from me and my mister, lifted to a secure close.

We hugged each other, tight; it felt so good, we didn’t want to let go, but when we finally did, I noticed he was nervous. Interestingly, I wasn’t. I guess because I had orchestrated this event. I suggested we drink and kiss. I wanted to taste the champagne on his lips, and I thought maybe that would get the first kiss thing over with and calm him down.

It didn’t.

His lips were shaking when they briefly brushed mine, and strangely, his anxiety emboldened me. I placed my palm on his zipper, and he jumped. And then he said something quite unexpected. He couldn’t go through with it; he would feel too guilty.

I moved away and across from him. I said I understood; he was probably right. I had guessed this might happen, although I thought I would be the one to chicken out. But not ready to give up completely on my limo fantasy, I asked if he would like to masturbate with me, like we do online. It wouldn’t really be intercourse, so we wouldn’t really be cheating, at least no more than we already had been. I could tell he was mulling it over. He said no, he didn’t think he could trust himself, but if it would make me happy, he would watch.

I was disappointed at this second detour from my script, but I’d invested so much of myself in this moment; I had to get something out of it. And maybe, just maybe, he’d change his mind.

“Umm OK,” I said.

He appeared to relax. He pulled a cold beer from the cooler, crossed one leg over his knee, sunk back into the seat, and smiled.

Show time.

I worked my skirt up my bare tan thighs, then slowly lowered my powder blue lace panties to my ankles and kicked them off. I unbuttoned my shirt and took that off too, exposing a white camisole. The air blew cool against my shoulders and I felt my nipples contract and push against the soft cotton. He noticed and twitched a little in his seat; that motivated me to soldier on.

I reached into my purse for my cocoa butter, then shifted my hips forward and fanned out just enough to make room for my left hand. He dragged his gaze down over my nipples until it rested on that hand, the hand that was spreading the thick cocoa almanbahis giriş butter down under, the fingers working their way inside my swollen center.

His breath accelerated, and I became hopeful he would join in.

But he didn’t.

I wrestled my big soft titties out of the cami. My pinkish nipples were already puckered and stiff, but I brushed my palm across them anyway so I could provoke that quiver in my quim, that ache, that swell, that rain. The smile on his face faded, his foot lowered to the floor and his right hand found his groin. He began a slow easy rhythmic rub.

I had him.

Lawrence was taking us through some pretty countryside: farmland, barns with hip roofs painted red, bales of hay. But I wasn’t really watching anything with interest other than my date’s hand; I wanted him to get his cock in it, but apparently I needed to take it up a notch to make that happen. I reached back into my purse and pulled out a glass butt plug. I licked and sucked it, then teased my entrance with it, coating it in cocoa butter before pressing it gently into my ass.

I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. He unzipped and brought forth that beautiful plump pink pistol and started stroking it, and my desire for him to get a shot off inside me jumped through the roof. I stood and turned my back to him, knelt on the seat and spread my knees, arching my back, wagging my tail, taunting him with that creamy goodness and the crystal handle of the anal plug. I could hear his labored breathing and I was sure any second he would rise and take me from behind.

But he didn’t.

I turned to look at him. His chest was heaving, his eyelids fluttering as he waxed his stony monument from stem to stern. He was letting out a sort of high pitched breathy squeal but there was something unreal about it. Have you ever watched a movie and the sound is not in sync with the person’s mouth? And it wasn’t just that; the sound was in stereo, almost in 3D. Then it hit me. Lawrence had pulled into a parking lot and stopped the limo. Apparently, he had been listening in. I could hear him beating off, his heavy breathing and occasional guttural gasp competing with my date’s.

Fuck that made me so horny.

Well, I thought, if my man won’t come to me, I’ll go to him. I stood and backed up towards him. I hiked my skirt to my waist and bent over until my big white ass was hovering right over his lap. I was fingering myself furiously, straightening and squatting, straightening and squatting, just missing the touch of his tip. I felt his fingers on that glass almanbahis adres butt plug, and slowly he twisted it, then teased it out. Glorious torture. This time I was positive he would put his hands on my hips and pull me down onto his lap and fill me.

He didn’t.

But just when I was about to give up on the reverse cowgirl, I heard him murmur, “Oh my God baby,” and I turned just in time to see his face flush, his eyes close, and his head fall back against the seat. He howled as he came hard, and I felt his hot jizz stripe my bare ass; it almost burned my skin. Some of it hit my hand as I rubbed myself to his moans and groans. I reached for the butt plug and coated it in his cum, then eased it once again past my shriveled shutter. It sent a wave of pleasure rippling back and forth across my wet velvet. I could hear Lawrence struggling to keep a lid on his Tourette-like outbursts. I knew he was close.

When I returned to the seat across from him and winked, my date winked back. Having unloaded, he was now at ease, beer back in hand, ready for me to show him what he had only seen and heard on camera, this time accompanied by the sweet smell of our commingled sweat and sex. I licked his liquid silk from my fingertips and laid back against the seat, and once again, I spread my legs for him, this time a little wider. My thumb entertaining my clit, the index and middle fingers deep inside that hungry cave, and that glass butt plug teasing the nerve endings surrounding it with every grind against the black leather seat; I was right there, right there.

“Cum for me baby,” he said, quiet but with intense concentration, and I wanted to respond, “Make me,” but I didn’t, because the rules had been established, and I didn’t want him to leave with any more guilt than he had already. Lawrence must have thought the directive was for him; his release came loud and clear through the speaker. “Ah Ah AH! OH SHIT!! OH YEAH!!”

I nodded at my friend to signal I was ready, then slid my hips even farther forward towards him, my ass off the edge of the seat, legs spread even wider, completely exposed, total trust, unashamed, welcoming his scrutiny. I was almost flat on my back, my heavy breasts achingly full and now rolled to each side of my body.

“Watch me cum,” I panted, as I worked myself to just this side of the point of no return. When I pulled a nipple away from my body and rolled it in my fingers and pinched it hard enough to hurt so good, it precipitated an excruciatingly acute double spasm – pussy and ass in concert. And when that triumphant tremor consumed me, his face reflected the agonizing ecstasy I experienced, and in that moment, and despite being 4 feet apart, we were one.

It was our first and very likely our last encounter, and yeah, it wasn’t intercourse. But it was exquisitely intimate; the most mind-blowing non-fuck ever.

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