Back Seat Exploration

Hello everyone. Here’s the latest excerpt from a new story that I’m writing. It’s a story of exploration and hunger. This story comes nearly entirely from my own personal experience of a time before my mission. Lust has a powerful influence on us. It burns. Some people wither under it and others find their energy. For me, it’s vitalizing and energizing. I hope it is for you too.affection-attachment-couple-41068

It was early spring but it was still snowing in northern Utah that year. Outside a thin fluffy layer of large flakes had collected over the surface of the car, shielding its back-seat contents from the view of onlookers. If there were any in the dark parking lot. Though the climate outside was wet and snowy spring, inside it was nearly tropical. The steam from our breath condensed on the windows in clear droplets. I could almost see myself in the tiny curved reflection of them. My senses were heightened in ecstasy. I could feel everything from the tips of my toes to the ends of my long auburn hair. My skin was electrified, almost burning, I’d never felt anything like it before. I was lost in the kisses of my boyfriend. Each kiss blended into the next and next, never fully stopping.

I had never been this aroused before. My heart was beating thunderously in my chest and I could hear the rush of blood in my ears. It was like being on the fifth lap around the track at the school stadium. His fingertips were cold as they found their way under my college sweatshirt. He brushed against my sweating stomach and back until they fingered the underwire of my bra. He only needed to go a fraction of an inch higher and he’d be touching my white lace bra. But he restrained himself. I could feel him quiver with the effort to not touch me. We weren’t married. We were in college. We weren’t supposed to go this far! But our passion was raw heat, burning away those restrictions and rules leaving us to revel in the steam of our own desires.

One hand reached behind and fumbled at the clasp of my bra. Was he going to do it? Was he going to try and take it off? Was I going to let him? No! My mind screamed in vain against the power of my lust. My mind screamed but no one heard. I wanted him to do it. I want it off. Making out in the back seat of a car is not the most graceful thing in the world, but it’s all the privacy that we had. My dorm room was full of nosy roommates and he still lived at home. This was our island, our seclusion. The back seat of my Accord was our pleasure palace. He tugged and he tugged and then finally the clasp sprang free. I could feel my heavy breasts drop with the release of tension and it made me gasp with surprise. He brought his cold fingers down my sides and this time the side of his thumb brushed against the soft skin of the underside of my breast. I got goosebumps and my nipples hardened instantly. If he went just a fraction higher he could feel their rippled surface. My erect nipple would bend gently under the pressure of his finger making a direct line of pleasure to my throbbing clitoris. But he didn’t. He restrained himself.

My bra served no purpose and so I quickly removed it in that magical way women have learned to remove their bras without taking off their shirts. Countless hours of practice makes it look effortless. I was now free under my sweatshirt. He knew it. All he had to do was reach back under it and I’d let him. We slowed down. It felt good to be free from my bra. I felt more exposed. More, wanton. I lay back in the seat and the residual motion of my movement made my breasts heave freely under the fabric. He was watching. I could see his lust acting like a drug with his half hazed eyes. It was dark in the car but he was so close. I could smell his good clean scent. That unique smell that was . . . him. It turned me on in the most normal of times and now it was driving me wild. He sat slumped in the chair with his legs spread open. I hooked my leg inside his as we cuddled. There was no mistaking the hard massive bulge in his pants.

Oh, how I wanted it! I’d felt it as we kissed before. I felt it on the night we first hugged. A hard spot that was different from the muscles of his thighs when we hugged. It pressed right into the crease of my thigh and abdomen. I’d never felt one like it before, but I knew what it was immediately. He walked away with hard-ons whenever we were together, and I walked away with a set of wet lips, swollen with a hidden desire. I wanted to touch it. I wanted to fill my hand with his hardness. Feel what his skin was like. I’d never touched one before but I knew I wanted his.

“We should slow down,” he panted.

“That’s a good idea,” I said disappointedly. It was a good idea. We weren’t supposed to be this hot and this heavy before marriage. He was a returned missionary and I still hadn’t made up my mind if I wanted to serve or not. But premarital sex was not supposed to be in the plan for either of us.

“I’ve never been good at good ideas,” he said and took me across his lap and kissed me as he held me in his arms. I melted into him. I pressed my free breasts into his chest. He was strong and powerful. I was wet and willing. He placed a hand on my stomach. We continued to kiss. Eventually, that hand found it’s way under my shirt and on my bare belly. He ran his finger lightly around my belly button. I reeled with pleasure. My face was raw from kissing but I could have done it all night. His fingertips crept downward and downward to the tops of my jeans. He probed under the waistband with a fingertip and then another. Eventually, all of his fingers rested on the thin lace band of the light pink panties I was wearing. Was he going to make a move . . . lower? I wanted him to, but my conscience raged in my mind against it all. What decision would I make? I was in charge too, not just him.

I sucked in my stomach. Laying on my back across his lap this made a gap between the band of my underwear and my soft skin just above my mound. He took the invitation. His fingers plunged lower and soon they were buried in the soft curly hair of my womanhood. No one had come close to touching me like this before. There was something primal and forbidden in having him touch my hair down there. I moaned involuntarily. I was shocked to hear the sound come out of me. My voice was an octave or two deeper and sounded so womanlike, so feminine. I moaned again from hearing myself so aroused.

He crept lower. The whole time gently twisting my short pubic hair with the pads of his fingertips. He was brave now. Boldened by my willingness. His middle finger found my slit. It was moist and slippery and oh so very hot. The chill of his finger was exhilarating. He didn’t know it, but he moved deftly over my clitoris. Had he known what it was, I’m sure he would have played with it. Made me moan with each insinuation of his finger. But instead, he ran the length of the finger down my slit and very gently entered me.

I felt my lips part and heard the wet noise it made. It was a funny sound and I would have laughed but I was lost in ecstasy. I had slid my own fingers in from time to time, but this was different, these weren’t my slender girly fingers perusing for curiosity or light pleasure. These were his large, foreign, man fingers probing for lust. He was so gentle. He cared for my comfort more than his blind lust. Neither one of us knew what we were doing. We were explorers in passion. I didn’t care. Part of him was in me and it felt so good.

He slid his finger out and I could smell my sweet musky scent on his finger. I wanted him. Without saying a word I undid his belt and the button at the top of his jeans. The hard rod in his pants was pointed directly upward across the zipper. I could make out the thick bulge. I gently undid the zipper. As it slid down it revealed the mesh garments he was wearing and soon I could see the dark mat of black hair and the light flesh color through them. The head was pink. I lay my hand on it. I didn’t know my hands had become so cold but he was so warm. Hot even. I could feel his pulse in the rigid stiffness. I didn’t know how men’s underwear worked but I pried open the crotch hole and pulled it out. It was so soft and smooth. I ran my finger across the ring of his circumcision scar. I traced my thumb down the thick tube of the underside of his penis. He smelled manly. I could barely close my hand around his thickness. My fingers couldn’t touch each other as I held his girth, but it was like this that we started to kiss again. My hand around his penis. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t stroke him I just held him tightly.

Our passions rose to a fury. Then suddenly he jerked and with our eyes close tightly in a kiss I felt warm spurts of wetness on my hand. He grunted and moaned with each flex of his penis. He had come. My hand was slick with his semen. I’d always wondered what it would be like. I thought I would be grossed out, but I wasn’t. His cock began to shrink in my hand and we sat there in silence. The air was thick with steam. I was supposed to feel guilty. But all I felt was elation.

He apologized profusely for making a mess of the back seat of my car and my hand. He had shot some up on my shoulder. Wow, that thing had some reach to it! We giggled to each other and I drove him home. I could still feel him over me. His scent covered me and that night as I lay in bed, I relished in it. I didn’t want to not have that again. I kept waiting for the guilt to come but it never did. I wanted more. Much more and I couldn’t wait until I saw him again to get it. . .

I have two other longer stories published available either at my Online Bookstore or on Amazon. Check out the link below.


3 thoughts on “Back Seat Exploration

  1. Among the things that give credibility to the writing of erotica are writing from experience, giving detailed descriptions of the feelings and impressions we had during our own coming of age, and writing about the allure of our own powerlessness in the face of lust. Good job!


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