Unknown - Bea_s pony

"Know something?" I murmured.

"What?"

"I'm not wearing any underpants." I stared ahead out the windshield at the roadway. He was kissing along the bone behind my ear, and it tickled gently.

"Know something else?" he came back. "I don't even know your name."

"When is a good time to find out?" I asked, moving my body around so that I could kneel on the seat facing him, my bottom on his lap. Apparently, I had lost the panties in the woods, and felt my hairs crinkling against his fly. My hands were clasped behind his neck, and our noses touched.

A car came up behind us and went on around.

"What does it look like we're doing?" I asked him. I could feel the flesh underneath me swelling upward in his pants.

"A little noontime smooching, maybe," he replied. "Please tell me your name." He asked the question seriously.

"It's Bea," I said, doing a little shaking action with my butt as if to settle more comfortably in the seat I had chosen. "And yours?"

"John." He was becoming cramped, and grunted. "Lift up a minute," he begged, tapping me lightly on the hip.

I raised my rear end, and he quickly undid his belt, pushing his trousers and undershorts down as far as he could reach. His stiff penis, freed at last, swelled out further and stood at attention. It had a slight lean to the left.

I lowered my bottom again and covered his erection with my dress. I felt it tamping against my belly and reached down under the dress to bend it downward slightly.

The thing felt like a stiff, warm handle, and resisted being bent. I had to throw out my chest and jut my rear end upward in order to point the fat thing correctly, and could not relax until it had started to go in.

It went nicely. I could feel the ripple of pleasure running through his body, and worked my knees back father on the seat so that it could go all the way in.

"Oh, that's nice," he said, his breath shuddering. He lurched his bottom forward, and I felt the last of it sock up in. He began a grinding motion with his rear with an occasional good hard up-thrust as the moment suited him.

We had to stop the furious squirming frequently as cars passed, but as the feeling grew more intense inside me, I found myself little caring who or what was outside the truck.

It felt good getting it this way. The hard meat worked in and around more. It rotated and dug at the sides, and I was conscious of the thick base up against my clitoris pushing and massaging.

He was going to come before I did, and I began some hard grinding myself to try to catch up. He had stopped fooling around and was trying to make deeper thrusts, though it must have been difficult in that position.

The thrusts increased rapidly. He leaned forward suddenly, and I felt the jolts inside as he pumped out the hot sperm in four or five successive spasms.

A warm glow enveloped my entire body knowing his come had filled me. He lay back against the seat exhausted, his eyes closed. I kissed his wet brow and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. He was taking long, deep breaths.

His organ shrank slowly while still inside me. I could feel it retreating into itself. The warm come, shot straight up into me, was slowly running back down along the sides of his organ and covering the balls.

We sat there like that enjoying the warmth between us. His come was like a balm cementing our union, and I hesitated to move.

He was the first to break the spell.

"Let's do that again, very soon," he said, opening his eyes.

I lifted my dress as I moved off him, looking down to see how much had run out of me. I was soaking wet but nothing compared to what was all over his lap.

"I have some Kleenex in my bag," I said, half standing while reaching into it and fishing out the bunch I had suddenly remembered putting there that morning.

I offered about half of them to him, and used the rest on myself.

"Do you always travel without panties?" he asked me as he sopped away at the goo. It had run down underneath his balls, too, and he was busily wiping while holding his scrotum up over his belly.

"Aren't you glad?" I asked. "One less obstacle to our pleasure." He was looking me as if I were probably telling him the truth. "Silly," I said, laughing, "the peace freaks wanted a souvenir. It's probably flying proudly this second from the truck's radio antenna."

He laughed at that. "What do you write about, anyway, Bea?" he asked, tightening his belt.

"Pets." I said. "Stories about people and their pets."

"If I went out and bought a pet, would you write me up?" he wondered. He started the truck and we moved off.

"If it were unusual in some way," I told him. "The animal wouldn't have to be unusual. It could be your relationship with it, or an adventure it had gone through. If you had a pet, John, what would it be?" I asked him abruptly.

"A twenty-five year old brunette female, about five-six, a hundred and twenty pounds."

I interrupted his little whimsy. "Seriously, John, what would you own?"

"I don't know," he said. "Give me a couple of days to think about it and I might have an answer." He turned and flashed a smile at me. "I've never thought about owning an animal."

We drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't far. I recognized the spot where Helen had gone off the road. Tracks indicated she had been pulled out already, and as we approached the kennel, I recognized her car in the parking area.

Helen came bursting out of the office when she saw me get out of the truck.

"Holy smokes, Bea," she shouted. "I called the cops on you. What happened to that other truck?" She looked at John and smiled. "It doesn't look to me like you were in any trouble exactly."

"Wait until I tell you," I said. "You're just looking at the happy ending. This is John, Sis. John, this is my sister, Helen."

The introductions over, Helen started in about having a "goody" to tell me. It couldn't be any more interesting than the one I had for her, I said. She went back inside to telephone the police that I had been found, and I talked with John.

"If you want to heat things up, it's all right with me," I told him, "but it will have to be without strings." I explained about my job, my love of New York, my desire for independence.

"After you know me awhile," I went on, "you'll see that I value friendships highly. I'm independent," I said, "but I need people, also. Even men."

"An independent women can't hope to be any man's pet," he said. "I'll take what I get. What do I have to lose?"

"Why, you lose me, John," I said.

"On your terms I never really have you in the first place," he came back.

"Materially, no!" I exclaimed. "But why is material possession the only way to think about your relationship with a woman. Are we really just property? A man's daughter leaves home, he doesn't have her materially and, yet he still has her in other ways, still loves her, and she him."

"A man wants to feel he's important to a woman," he stated.

"You don't think the father is important to the daughter?" I asked.

"It's a special relationship of diminishing importance in his everyday life. Anyway, Bea, you're comparing apples to oranges," he said. "Granted, the pair bond between a man and a woman should not be an owner-possession thing, I don't think you can compare a daughter to a wife."

"I guess what I was trying to say was that you speak of your daughter as yours all of your life, whether she's there at home with you or not, or whether she's had ten husbands in Timbuktu, she's still yours, your daughter." I insisted.

"Go on," he said, calmly.

"Why then, the moment a woman ceases to act as if she were an indentured servant, or what is the term, having left my bed and board, does she cease to be your wife? You've had a more intense relationship with her than you've had with any other woman, yet you'll put up with less."