We’re in the car, together, driving north. The road moves under us like a ribbon, like we are winding along some impossible Escher reality, twisting and turning on it and somehow we can travel all the sides of it and still find our way back to the side we started on. I feel as though we’ve entered our own space, and we shuttle forth in it, embraced in the upholstered steel womb of the car. There’s a world beyond the windows, I know, but it seems like some movie, a private illusion personally crafted for us.
Richard’s left hand grips the wheel absent-mindedly. As he holds it, the leather cover leaves his hand smelling raw and earthy. Warm, but a real warmth, unlike the manufactured heat blowing across our legs. His right hand rests on my thigh, his index finger casually stroking it while the rest of his hand stays motionless. I look down, and think that his finger looks like a centipede there, inching up and down in that one spot.
We hurtle along the road. The dashboard says we are travelling at nearly 70 mph, but the number seems meaningless to me. The only motion of any interest is that of his finger on my thigh, and the hand to which it belongs. I close my eyes and allow myself to feel its slowness, its rhythm. I can feel the pulse in his wrist, through the soft grey knit of my skirt; a muted staccato throbbing hypnotically.
He’s humming, his mouth a thin line across his face, upturned slightly at the corners. I try to make out the tune, but I suspect it’s of his own making. It doesn’t matter. He’s happy, and I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. His hand squeezes my thigh in response.
“You hungry, baby?” he asks. “Want to find some lunch somewhere?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.” I don’t want to leave this reality and step out into the world. “Let’s just keep going. If you’re hungry, I put some fruit in a bag in the back seat.”
“Whatcha got there?”
“Some pears,” I say, thinking. “There’s plums too, the black ones. Oh, and a couple bananas.”
“Alright, we’ll keep going.”
We keep driving, the world beyond the glass whizzing by. The shapes outside the car are, I suppose, trees, blowing by us. The sunny late autumn day has left the land looking as though it has been dusted with cinnamon and paprika, robin’s breast hills against robin’s egg sky. From inside the car, the forms resemble a giant upturned egg carton; soft matte orbs, rusty swells.
Richard’s humming again, but the tune has changed. Longer, drawn out notes buzz over his lips. Bluesy, wistful. I smile, and sink more deeply into his shoulder, half-shutting my eyes. His humming takes on a questioning melody now, like it’s raising a single eyebrow. It almost sounds cheeky. His single stroking finger on my thigh is joined by others, and becomes a broken chord, strumming over the fabric of my skirt. They’re a walking bass line now, in time with the cheeky hum. The ribbon road and cinnamon trees of our movie speed by while his fingers move as slowly as an insect’s, one leg at a time, towards the hem of my skirt. They curl there, grasping it like the edge of a leaf, and carefully begin to pull it back.
The tips of his fingers trail lazily over my knee, and up my caramel coloured thigh. I giggle a little. “Tickles,” I sigh, squirming in the seat to spread my legs a little wider. His fingers move up my thigh like they are climbing a rock face, pulling the rest of his hand up as he finds each individual finger hold. It’s like watching his hand do a bridal march up my leg: left side move, pause, right side move, pause. He’s doing it on purpose. He knows how much I love his fingers working on me, and inside me. I ease the seat back and raise my booted right leg up onto the dashboard. My skirt’s raised to my waist now, and all that’s between Richard’s long fingers and the buffet between my thighs is a pair of simple cotton panties. They’re already sticking to my crotch, my muskiness trickling out slowly, a patient river meandering through my hidden terrain.
Richard’s glancing back and forth between the road and my bare thighs. It seems like we’re moving faster, but it’s hard to tell when I’m laying back a little more. The toe of my boot on the dashboard seems frozen in space while all around it colours and shapes blur past on either side. It stands defiantly, guiding the way like a ship’s figurehead. Richard’s fingers continue their ascent of my thigh, and soon I feel them lovingly tracing the lacy elastic of my panties. They probe under, and weave through the forest of cashmere corkscrews damply matted there.
My hips rise involuntarily, and my body groans as my head rolls back. I already want to buck against the heel of his hand. He looks over quickly to see my smile as the first of his fingers delves the honeyed groove of my pussy. The car suddenly lurches—not much, but enough to know what has happened. He’s had to avoid something in the road. Richard brakes a little and, I guess, moves the car into the other lane.
“You should keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel, Mister,” I joke, shifting my bottom in the seat to let his hand further into my panties.
“You want me to stop, angel?” Richard begins to pull his hand away, knowing full well that’s the last thing I want. “Fine, I’ll stop. You won’t get no lovin’ out of me. Poor angel, Rich is going to leave you high and dry.” His voice is singsong, mocking.
“Damn you, Rich, you know what I’m craving here. You started this. Come on, help me out.”
“You’re the one that didn’t want to stop for lunch. If you’re hungry, have a piece of fruit,” he laughs, sticking his tongue out at me.
I’m steaming. I’m peeved at Richard for getting me all worked up like this and not finishing the job. I’m more peeved at him for taunting me. “Richard,” I plead, whining, rubbing my hands over my thighs and across my hips, attempting to entice him back. He starts humming again, some stupid comical tune, game show music, that’s supposed to tell me he’s not listening. My fingers lightly brush over the crotch of my panties, sending an unanticipated jolt through me. The spicy heat of my pussy is already floating through the car. OK, I think to myself. Fine. Two can play at this.
My fingers dig deeply under the fabric of my panties, stretching them to accommodate my hands. I use one hand to pull the crotch to the side, lewdly exposing my nest, while the other searches inside. I make very sure Richard gets a really good view, moving my hips in the seat and adjusting my legs so he can’t miss the action. My hand separates my swollen lips like I’m slicing a peach in half; the sweetness inside glistens over my fingers. Easily, they slip in, siphoned into my core. I slowly piston my fingers in and out of the seeping wetness, my pussy sucking noisily at them with each little stroke.
Richard looks over and I pull my fingers from my panties. They’re soaked in my own cream, and I swirl my tongue over them as I stare right into his eyes. “Oh, Claire,” he groans, wide-eyed.
I raise both my feet to the dashboard, let my hands fall back to my hips, and begin pulling my panties down. The lace edges brush over my thighs, then encircle my boots as I pull them over my feet. I kick them to the floor and then shift my hips forward so I can spread my legs as far apart as possible in the seat. My head rolls over to check Richard’s reaction—he’s trying like hell to watch both me and the road—and I see the plastic shopping bag in the back seat. The fruit bag. Oh Claire indeed, I think, reaching into the bag and pulling out a heavy banana; ten inches of thick, curving shaft.
I’m humming now. Screw Richard, I think. He’s going to see just how well I can do without him. I run the banana provocatively through my wet slit, covering it in my own cream. Its firm skin slides effortlessly along my folds, while its girth spreads my lips even wider. My clit is swelling against it, and I realize I’ve stopped humming and started moaning. Richard’s surprised voice snaps me out of my bliss: “Claire, what are you doing? Girl, everyone is going to see you…oh God, baby…”
Who’s going to see, I wonder. No one here but us, after all. Everything else is just a blur of colour and sound. If there’s a world outside that window, its eyes see us for less time than they take to blink, and never trust what they see in any case. Anyway, if for even a moment they do, I bet they’ll smile.
I position the knobby base of the banana at the entrance of my pussy and begin pushing it in. It feels nicely full; its curves pressing thickly into my walls as I move it deeper inside. I pull it out a little and push it back in, further this time. Desire rumbles deep from my belly as I strain to take more length. It’s slick enough now that I only need one hand; my other heads for my nipples, under my sweater, and begins pulling on them until they stand like rockets ready for takeoff. I pull the banana all the way out of my pussy; it comes away with a wet pop, and then I quickly shove it in again, as hard as I can stand it. I cry out; there is a little pain, but the flood of warmth through my body swiftly ignores it.
I suddenly realize the motion has changed. The car is still. I open my eyes and Richard is no longer driving; he’s pulled over, watching me intently. Through the windows, I see the tree branches parting their rusty leaves from their field of vision, like dark swimmers moving through a kelp jungle, curiously observing my movement. Wordlessly, I continue working the banana inside me. I can feel my juices sliding out over it and trickling through the deep cleft to my backside. Richard’s rubbing my leg, stroking my head. “Don’t stop, angel,” he whispers into my hair. “That’s so hot. Let me watch you come.”
My hips are slamming onto the banana now and my hand thrusts it harder and faster into my soaking pussy, rising to meet every invading stroke of the ripe shaft. Richard pulls my sweater up over my bra and pulls each of my flushed breasts out of the embroidered cups. I feel him shift over in the seat to lie alongside me; his tongue snakes up my throat, and deep into my ear as he roughly squeezes my nipples. Goosebumps race down my arms and legs as he lightly tweaks each cocoa-brown button. His pelvis is riding rhythmically against my leg and I can feel the heat of his cock growing hard against it. I push my thigh out and hold it firm for him to grind onto.
I know I can’t hold out much longer. My belly is convulsing in short spasms, mirroring the contractions building inside me. Richard knows the signs; moving his face down to my chest, his mouth roams the soft valley between my breasts. I feel his fingers running the length of my body down to my rigid clit. Softly sucking at a nipple, his fingers pull it out from under the hood and grasp it fiercely, their quick, minute strokes mimicking my own assault on my slippery burrow.
The sudden pressure triggers the first wave of my climax, and I bear down forcefully on the banana. “Yes, yes,” I hiss, my heaving body shuddering in the laid back seat. Richard doesn’t let up torturing my nub, and takes my nipple in his teeth, tugging at it and roughly grazing over it. The next electric waves come over me even harder than the first, and my wail pierces the air. My pussy walls clamp down on the banana again, over and over, until I realize there’s no resistance left at all. With each wave of my orgasm, liquid heat spreads throughout my pussy.
I lay there, my breathing slowly returning to normal while Richard kisses my neck, my breasts, my belly. His prick feels like an iron bar against my leg, and I can feel the stickiness of his pre-cum leaking through his own trousers against my bare skin. He pushes my legs up off the dashboard and asks me to hold them; I grasp them under the knees and bring them to my chest, displaying my stuffed hole to him. He takes hold of the banana and begins to twist it out of me, smiling. “I think I’ve found the lunch I was looking for,” he laughs.
Richard holds up the banana—what’s left of it. It’s completely crushed, split open on several sides. Most of the fruit is gone, and what remains is no more than a mushy mess. We both chuckle, as he hands the peel to me. The battered skin is slick with my cream. Richard pushes my hips up further, until both my holes are high in the air, and runs his fingers through the sticky syrup between my legs. I sigh fitfully, feeling his hand there again. He raises his fingers to his mouth and tastes them, grinning. “Claire, you make the tastiest pie. Banana cream, my favourite.” Taking another fingerful from me, he feeds it to my lips. I open my mouth and receive it on the edge of my tongue. Rolling it in my mouth, I can taste my own musky sauce mixed into the velvety texture of the banana. “Mmm,” I hum, savouring the new flavour.
“Good, isn’t it,” he says, smiling. He sticks his fingers back into my gluey pussy and draws out more banana cream, smearing it over my puffy lips, spreading it like icing over my anus. He returns to the source and taps it like a winter maple, collecting more sweetness and coating me with it, pushing some of it into my ass. “I think I will have that piece of fruit you offered after all, Claire,” he says mischievously as he buries his head between my thighs.
My still-swollen clit yelps with the first contact of Richard’s broad tongue. His licks are generous and thorough, seeking out every drop of Claire-flavoured banana he can find. His hands spread my thighs wide apart, making my mound rise; when I look down, each standing hair of my pussy is weighed down with a dewdrop of cream. I watch, captivated, as his tongue collects them like pearls. My legs are spread across the inside of the car, braced by my boot tips touching the roof. I feel the car shake every time something rushes by it. The sound of horns honking, sharp and close at first, and then trailing off in decrescendo, makes me wonder if there is a wedding going by somewhere. I peer towards the windows, but they are completely shrouded in steam. There is no other world out there that I care about right now. All that exists is Richard eating my banana-filled pussy inside the car.
I’m lying back, simply enjoying the feeling, when I notice his cum-spotted trousers tented obscenely. Of course he’s still hard, I muse. I think how much I’d like to suck on his cock right now but I can only reach it with my hand. I decide to undo his zipper anyway and at least let him know how much I like what his mouth is doing to me.
I pull his cock out through his shorts while his appreciative groan vibrates on my lower lips; I can feel him exhaling into my sticky passage. He shifts so that I can reach him more easily, and I begin squeezing and stroking his prick in love and gratitude. His hips are thrusting in my hand, and I want to give him more—I want to give him that slippery warmth I’m feeling right now.
And it’s right there, in my other hand. The banana peel.
I take my hand off his cock only long enough to transfer the peel, resembling a swimming squid, to my stroking hand. I place it over Richard’s cock and then grasp it around the outside of the skin and resume pumping. He stops licking me momentarily and looks down to his crotch to see if I have really done what he obviously thinks I have.
“Angel, you are so bad.”
“You love it, don’t you?”
“That feels incredible…” his voice trails off as he thrusts and grunts into the slippery peel. I speed up my stroking as he returns his face to my crotch and savagely tears into my clit again. Another shockwave rips through me and I squeeze his cock hard, howling loudly; mushy banana oozes over my fingers as he humps my hand. The liquefied fruit spurts through the split seams until there’s nothing more than a bruised and wilted remnant of the banana. He presses his face violently into me, vacuuming my pulsing clit while his hips start jerking in double time. A surging shout shakes the car as Richard comes in a heap, his semen seeping out of the peel and all over my hand.
His cock remains half-hard, marbled with banana and sperm only barely distinguishable from one another. He’s breathing heavily, but the glazed expression in his eyes tells me we’re not done. He looks wild, even dangerous.
“Turn over, Claire,” Richard growls raggedly through his teeth. I don’t even hesitate. I roll over in the flattened seat to my stomach, and raise my ass up, parting my legs. “No banana left in the peel, and it looks like I’ve eaten all the banana in your pussy. Only one place left to find more banana…”
My ass is still slick with the silky cream Richard spread over me and inside my bottom. He moves across the seat and positions himself behind me, kneeling on the floor of the car. I can feel him begin to stiffen again as he pushes the plum head of his cock against the tight aperture, but even coated in the creamed fruit, my ass refuses to open readily. He slides his cock between my cheeks and holds them close together, riding through the wet crack until he’s completely hard again. My hips rotate as his balls swing into my swollen pussy. Richard pulls back and lines up his cock with my back hole once more; I wince as I feel it pop through the outer ring. I can hear the banana cream squishing around his cock as he moves forward. He’s not giving me much time to adjust, but in truth I don’t need it. I feel him sink all the way in and immediately start pumping my ass, while all I can do is beg him to pound me harder.
I’m clinging to the headrest on the car seat while Richard bangs into my ass so vigorously the car is bouncing on its shocks as though it were mounted on pogo sticks. “More, more, mmm, Rich, don’t stop,” I sigh. Having just come, I know he can keep this up for a long time yet. His cock fills my ass to capacity, yet with every push he seems to sink deeper into me. My eyes flicker open and see the fruit bag, spilled over the back seat, plums rolling over the upholstery every time Richard roughly pumps my backside. Peeking out of the bag is the other banana, slightly smaller and straighter than the first. I can’t resist.
I pull it out of the bag and bring my hand under my body, spreading my legs as wide as they will possibly go inside the car. My pussy is a swamp of juices and banana cream spilling out of my ass. With Richard’s firm cock ramming into me, getting aim isn’t easy, but soon I find my mark and shove the end of the new banana into my hole. “Whoa,” exclaims Richard, very surprised. “Claire, you bad girl, you really want to be filled right up, don’t you…that’s it, angel, make it even tighter for me,” he purrs into my ear. I push the banana up fully into me and begin stroking it with my hand while he keeps battering my ass. The tightness and fullness is nearly unbearable, it’s so good. I’m shaking, my tight nipples drilling holes into the seat.
As we’re rocking in the car and my mind is a blur of desire, it seems the red of the hills and the blue of the sky that I saw earlier are becoming brighter, clearer. The colours outside the car, filtered through the fog of the windows, begin to glow around us, seeming to pulse, reflected off the mirrors and glass of the dashboard. My pussy is dripping all over my hand as I keep skewering myself with the banana, trying to work it higher into me. I’m pushing back on Richard’s cock and meeting him stroke for stroke, the two of us moaning in unison, when a dull knock on the glass echoes through the car. Richard keeps thrusting into my ass as he wipes the steam off the passenger window. I look up just in time to notice a strong, stubbled jaw drop in disbelief, and eyes peeled on our manic coupling. I smile in shameless ecstasy as the stranger stares at us both.
“It’s a cop,” he laughs, continuing to drive into my back hole. “What should I tell him?”
“Ask him…if he’s…hungry,” I gasp, offering the cream-covered banana I pull out of my pussy.