Protected: Nightmare (Wicked Wednesday)

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The past is another country (with better spelling)

I have a lovely and caring boyfriend who often brings thoughtful and charming gifts – a bunch of flowers in my favourite colour, chocolates that bear an uncanny resemblence to his chosen pet name for me, every brand of throat sweet when I came down with tonsillitis two months into our relationship…. He’s pretty wonderful.
Not long after we’d started seeing each other, he was going away on a business trip, involving an internal flight.

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Hands, knees and bumps-a-daisy (Wicked Wednesday)

Those of us who grew up in the country will know at least one person who learnt to drive doing circuits of their uncle’s field at a frighteningly young age, probably without a seatbelt.

We were visiting his parents, and within that visit, spending an afternoon in the barn conversion of some parental friends. Everyone else had gone on ahead, whilst I, being terrible at decision making at the best of times, had spent ten minutes picking out shoes, ended up making us late. And lateness breeds unfortunate consequences.

We drove along personably enough for ten minutes, out of the suburbs with their neat-ish gardens and rows of newer terraces with useless chimneys and Chelsea tractors in the driveways. Once the houses began to peter out and were replaced by sprawling fields and dotted homesteads, his manner changed. He pulled into a layby a couple of minutes later, and without turning to look at me, ordered me into the back of the car.

“And take this. You’ll need something to keep your mouth busy.” he handed me the hdeously-coloured suction cup dildo we mostly kept because it made us giggle. No one was even smirking, now.

I didn’t argue, and went to sit in the back. I could see him looking at me in the rear view mirror as I leant over and closed the passenger door.

“No, on your knees. Hands and knees. All fours. Like a dog.”

I nodded again and assumed the position. He started the car and pulled away, continuing on the journey as I concentrated on keeping myself upright, the silicone cock hitting the top of my mouth with every bend of the road.

“Knickers down.” He called out, turning left down a narrow dirt road with high fields of wheat on either side. I pressed my face into the seat for balance as I reached under my skirt and pulled the underwear to my knees.

The dildo bulged obscenely against my cheek as he slowed down.

“Now, there’s another five minutes of slow driving down this lane until we get to the house. You’re going to take that cock and stick it against the car door – that’s right.” He registered approval in the tilted central mirror as I took the spit drenched tool out of my mouth and passed it between my legs, both of us watching as I used all my viable strength to smack it against the plastic surface and hoped it would hold.

“You don’t need me to tell you what to do next, do you?”

I shook my head, and slowly impaled myself on the dildo, my eyes never leaving the reflection of his. He said there was five minutes until our arrival, but who knew how honest he was being? It could be two minutes, leaving me pinned to the car via my dripping cunt as a small crowd of well-wishers crowded round to meet the prodigal son’s girlfriend. The unlikely outcome that they would press their faces against the glass and call for the windows to be opened so they could paw at me, taunt me, and some of them could show their appreciation for my display with a shower of approval, to be licked off by still others….. that kept me going as the shadows of the farmer’s wheat  dwindled away and the later afternoon sun cast its shadows over my body as we approached the house. My only intention was to make the most of the punishment he had chosen, and the minutes to enjoy it he had so generously given.

See who else is being wicked this Wednesday below!

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked