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On the off chance we actually went swimming in the lake – at up to 25% salt concentrations, you were supposed to be able to float in it like the Dead Sea, which I kind of wanted to try – I made him stop and let me buy a black bikini at Target. I wore it out of the store, underneath my regular blouse and skirt, and we set back off down the road.
We weren’t near the water yet, but it was pretty damn warm, so I unbuttoned my blouse and let the sunshine and wind play over my skin not covered by the bikini top.
Derek couldn’t stop looking at me. We’d had a fight the day before, and hadn’t had sex in almost 48 hours – which was a new record. But now he was absolutely enthralled.
And I was eating it up. It was just me and him, and I was soaking up the attention like it was sunshine after a long, cold winter.
“You better start watching the road instead of me,” I teased him, “or you’re going to crash.”
“I’m not going to crash,” he said, though he returned his eyes to the road – for about ten seconds. Then he glanced back over at my boobs.
We weren’t in much danger. We were on a small local road, not on the interstate. The suburbs and restaurant chains had given way to farmland, with cows and horses and wide-open fields. And there were almost no cars, with none behind or ahead of us, and only one or two going in the opposite direction.
While keeping his eyes on the road, he reached over and caressed the side of my breast. Let the back of his fingers play over the curve, lightly touching my skin.
Mmmm.
But I wasn’t giving it away that easily.
“Stop,” I said, playfully smacking away his hand. “The Mormons are watching.”
“I’ll bet they are,” he grinned. “You’re corrupting them as we speak.”
He reached back over and lightly caressed the front of my bikini top.
My nipple grew hard beneath the fabric.
Unnnhhh…
This time I didn’t bat his hand away.
He cupped my breast in his palm, then slipped his fingertips beneath the top. Lightly circled the nipple, and squeezed it softly between his fingers.
Two could play at that game.
I looked over at his lap, deciding how best to torture him – and got a little surprise. He was already getting hard… except his cock was trapped along the inside of his pants leg. It made a wonderfully enticing bulge stretching a third of the way down his thigh.
I reached across and put my hand on the leg of his jeans, then started to stroke the outline of his cock. Within seconds he was even harder and thicker, with an even more pronounced outline as it strained against his jeans.
“Oh, that is so not fair,” he complained as he grabbed my boob a little tighter.
“You’re touching me.”
“Yeah, but you’re not at a horrible angle,” he groaned. “My dick feels like it’s going to break off.”
My fingers moved down to his crotch, and I let my fingernails glide across the cloth. I could feel the vibrations as they played over the natural weave of the denim, tickling his balls beneath.
“Do you want me to stop?” I purred.
“No… Jesus, no…” he moaned, his eyes fixed on the road.
“I don’t think the Mormons would approve of you taking the Lord’s name in vain,” I teased.
“I don’t think they would approve of what you’re doing, either.”
“Okay,” I said, and let my hand pull away slowly across his thigh.
He instantly stopped touching my breast and trapped my hand under his.
“Don’t stop,” he said huskily.
I smiled and began rubbing his cock through the leg of his jeans again… putting my thumb and forefinger on either side of his thick shaft, gliding up and down his entire length. I could even feel the ridge of his head through the cloth, he was so hard.
After another minute of doing that, I noticed that a little wet spot had appeared on the denim over the head of his cock.
Oh my God, I thought. He’s so turned on, his pre-cum is soaking through his jeans.
That was nothing compared to how wet my bikini bottom was under my own skirt, though – and I got even more turned on when I noticed his wet spot.
“You might want to stop for a minute,” he croaked, his voice even lower and more animalistic than normal.
“Why?”
“Because we’re about to have an audience.”
I had been looking at the outline of his cock so intently that I hadn’t even noticed what was going on around us. When I lifted my eyes, I saw that the road was approaching a tiny shack on the horizon.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“The guardhouse, I think.”
And so it was. I buttoned up my blouse as Derek edged the Mercedes up to the traffic gate.
A woman came out dressed in a park ranger’s uniform. “Welcome to Antelope Island State Park,” she said brightly. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
Derek handed over the money, and she gave him a brochure and receipt in exchange. “Be sure to put that on your dash if you leave your car to go hiking.”
The entire time, I kept wondering two things: would she recognize Derek? And would she notice the rather sizeable bulge in his jeans?
Apparently she didn’t realize who he was, because she didn’t say anything. And I guess the car door was blocking her view of his lap, because she didn’t do a double-take or linger for a better look, either.
“The park closes shortly after sundown. If you get caught out there on the island after dark, though, don’t worry, you can just drive back up to the gate. It’ll open automatically. Have a nice visit!”
And then we were through.
A long, two-lane road that looked more like a bridge stretched off into the distance – as in, miles into the distance. On either side of the road was a small slope of scrub brush and sand that descended to white salt flats, which stretched for thousands of feet until they finally met water.
A half-mile away on the right, a reddish-orange mountain rose up from the lake, its reflection like a double image in a mirror. Beyond the mountain, the setting sun was turning the entire sky into a rosy haze.
The whole place looked like an alien landscape – pretty and serene, but harsh and alien at the same time.
As soon as the car was about two hundred feet down the bridge, Derek stopped the car and hurriedly unbuckled and unzipped his pants. He was goin’ commando – no boxers.
“What are you doing?!” I asked.
I looked around in alarm, but the guardhouse was far enough behind us that the ranger couldn’t see – and there were no cars nearby at all.
In answer, he tugged down his jeans and extricated his poor cock from its prison. Despite my nervousness at being discovered, I watched greedily as his shaft popped free of the zipper and jutted straight up towards the sky.
It was slightly red from its ordeal, and more swollen than I’d seen it in a long time.
And the head was wet and glistening with his own juices.
I soooo wanted to touch it.
Derek leaned his head back against the headrest and let out a tortured sigh. “Oh my God… I thought it was going to snap off…”
“Poor baby… you want me to make it feel better?” I cooed.
Before he could answer, I reached over and put my hand around his cock, feeling his skin hot and wet and slick against my palm.
He gasped and looked at me. I was sure his eyes were wide, though they were hidden behind his sunglasses.
I formed an ‘O’ with my thumb and fingers and slowly moved it over his bulging head, spreading his wetness down his thick shaft, then slowly stroking back up. His cock pulsed in my hand, contracting once, hard, in a mini-orgasm – and another bead of clear liquid welled up from the slit in the tip.
He groaned in agonized ecstasy as I slid my thumb through the pre-cum and circled it over his head, back and forth, getting him wetter and wetter. I could feel the ridge of his crown under my thumb, nice and firm. I eased my hand down his entire shaft again, feeling the veins and the contours, until I touched the soft thatch of his hair. I slowly went up, then down, once, twice, three times, until his cock was as wet as if he’d just withdrawn it from my pussy.
Actually, no, his cock would have been a lot wetter if he’d done that, because I was drenched.
“Maybe you should drive,” I whispered as I moved my hand slowly up his cock… then back down… my wet, slick skin gently gliding over his.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted, and took his foot off the brake. We started down the road again, and passed far enough away from the guardhouse that no one could see us at all.
I kept stroking him, and he kept having little one-off contractions, his swollen head getting just a little bit bigger, and more pre-cum leaking out. I went slow as before, though – and held him even looser, just barely making contact with my fingers, letting his wetness be the sensual bond between his skin and mine.
“Take off your seatbelt and get closer,” he ordered, though his voice still sounded like a croak.
“Why?” I smiled, stroking him slowly up… letting my fingers and thumb expand over his huge head… then pausing… before slowly moving back down.
“Just do it,” he said, his voice ragged with desire.
I used my free hand to undo the buckle, then scooted over as far as I could. The car had bucket seats, so it wasn’t like I could get too close – but I apparently got close enough.
