Carpool Carnal Syndrome
Chapter 2—The Next Day, Joan Shows Her Tits
The next morning, I was there to pick her up right on schedule. “How’s it going,” I asked.
“Lousy.”
“Yeah, why,” I asked even as I flipped on the tape in my radio.
“Oh geez, not this crap again.”
“Hey, I like it, so why is it lousy today?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
“That’s not a good way to start the day.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just the way it is.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Not really.”
We drove in silence and we were making good time until we got caught up behind an accident. No one was moving, not even the commuter lanes. Joan wanted to switch over to a news station so we could pick up the traffic reports but I vetoed that. I wanted her to keep listening to the tape and besides, it didn’t look like listening to some reporter drone on about the roadways was going to make our situation get better any time soon.
It was the girl in the car next to ours that caught Joan’s attention. We weren’t moving very fast and neither was she so Joan had plenty of time to look at the girl. At first, she said nothing, but finally, she couldn’t help herself. “Would you look at that,” she said.
“Look at what,” I asked.
“That girl,” she said, “the one in the car next to us.”
“Yeah, what about her.”
“The girl’s a little tramp.”
I had to crane my neck to get a good look at the girl in the little convertible and almost immediately, I could see why Joan didn’t like her. The girl was in her late teens or early twenties and she was stacked and she had long, blond hair. The girl was wearing big sunglasses and a skimpy halter top and instead of being upset by the traffic, she was having a good old time just rocking out to the music in her car. “What about her,” I said.
“I told you. She’s a tramp.”
I figured it was time for Joan to have another lesson in humility. “I don’t know,” I said. “She just looks like she’s having fun.”
Joan just snorted. “She’s a little fucking tramp.”
“Listen, it’s okay. I can understand why you might be jealous.”
Joan barked out a laugh. “Jealous of her. That little tramp? That’s a laugh.”
“Yeah why?”
“Because she’s a little fucking tramp or worse yet, she’s a little fucking whore. Why would I be jealous of her?”
“That’s a really good question now. Why would you be jealous of her? Maybe it’s because she knows how to have fun.”
“I know how to have fun.”
“Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly, “and then again, maybe it’s something else. Maybe you’re just jealous of her tits.”
“Yeah right. Why would I be jealous of those?”
“Well, from where you’re sitting, I imagine you can look right down into her convertible and that probably means she’s got some really great tits that you’re getting a good, long look at.”
“I’m not looking at her tits.” Of course, just my suggesting it was enough to make Joan take another look.
“It’s okay if your tits aren’t as good as hers,” I told her. “It’s okay.”
“My tits are just as good as hers,” Joan snapped and then almost as quickly, she became suddenly quiet as she realized exactly what it was she’d just said.
“Maybe,” I said noncommittally, “but I have nothing to go on there.”
“And you’re not going to have anything to go on either.”
I grinned at her. “Like I said yesterday. Repressed.”
“I am not repressed.”
“Yeah sure, whatever you say, Joan,” I said in a tone that she couldn’t help but miss the true meaning of.
Joan sat back in her seat and fumed and I knew why. She didn’t want me to think she was repressed. “I am not repressed,” she grumbled finally.
“Yeah sure, Joan. Whatever you say.”
Joan looked out the window. The blond was still there, rocking out to whatever music she was listening to.
“I am not repressed,” she said again.
“Prove it.”
Joan stared out the window at the blond. She didn’t say anything for a while. Traffic was finally starting to move and to tell the truth, I wasn’t expecting anything from her and that was when she did it. “Look at me,” she said and when I turned and looked, she had her blouse open and in that instant, she unclipped the front of her bra and she let her tits spill free. “I am not repressed,” she said.
I stared at her tits. It’s amazing I didn’t hit the car in front of us but then it was only for an instant before she was gathering up her tits and stuffing them back in her bra.
“You know, you’re right.”
“What’s that,” she asked.
“You do have great tits.”
“Thanks,” she said and that was the last she words she said because after that, she sulked all her way into work.
I’d heard that she’d been trying to finagle a ride home that afternoon but apparently no one wanted to take her. That was probably because she was such a bitch, or at least that’s the way she was with everyone else, but when five o’clock rolled around, she was there waiting for me.
“You better not try any of that crap you tried this morning,” she said even as she climbed into my car.
“Any of what crap,” I asked.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I told her.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said. “I’m talking about me showing you my tits.”
For a moment there, I almost thought she knew what had happened, that she knew the tape was affecting her and that she knew I’d made her show me her tits, but then I realized it was all bluster on her part. What she was really mad at was herself. “You know, Joan,” I told her even as she got in the car, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. What you did, you did it all by yourself but if you don’t think you can trust yourself around me, then maybe you should find another ride home.”
“Trust myself around you? Ha. That’s a laugh.”
“I don’t know,” I told her even as I flipped the tape deck on again. “From my way of looking at it, you seemed to be doing all of the ... hmmm ... how should I put it, the showing off of yourself.”
Joan scowled at the tape player. “God, not this crap again. You know, tomorrow, I’m going to bring my own tape.”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
She scowled again. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said.
It was the most amenable that I’d ever seen the woman. I’d never seen her cave in like that.
“So why’d you do it,” I asked once we were underway.
“Huh? Why’d I do what?”
“Why’d you let me see your tits?”
I saw Joan stiffen. “Listen, can we not talk about it, okay?”
“Sure,” I told her. “We don’t have to talk about it. It’s just that from what I could see, it really looked like you really wanted to show me your tits.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she huffed.
“Sure, sure,” I assured her. “Whatever you say but it just seemed to me as if you couldn’t wait to get your tits out in the open.”
“That wasn’t it at all.”
“You may be right,” I said. “I mean, what it really looked like was you couldn’t wait to get your tits out of that bra of yours. It really looked like it felt so confining.”
Joan didn’t say anything. She just sat there.
“I mean, I got to tell you,” I told her, “that bra of yours, it really looks really confining. I mean, I don’t know how you can wear it.”
Joan shifted somewhat uncomfortably in her seat.
“I don’t see how you can stand wearing it,” I told her. “I mean, if I were you, I think I’d want to take it off as soon as possible.”
Joan let out a little whimper.
“But that’s just me,” I told her. “I’m sure you know what’s best.”
Joan just sat there but I was almost certain she wasn’t enjoying the ride. I let her suffer in silence for a while.
“I’ll bet I know why you don’t like those tramps,” I said finally.
“Why’s that,” she asked.
“Because they get to show off their tits.”
“But ... but why would I like that,” she whimpered.
“Because it’s something you feel you can’t do. Because it feels so good when you take your tits out and show them off. I know you want to do it. I know you want to do it right now.”
“No,” she whimpered.
“You’re just saying that because you know you’re not supposed to. You know it’s not right but I know you want to do it.”
“No,” she whimpered again.
“You know you want to do it,” I told her again. “You know you want to show me your tits.”
“No. No.”
“Look. Even your hands don’t believe what your mouth is saying.”
She looked down at her hands. They weren’t freeing her tits yet but they were acting as if they wanted to.
“You know you want to do it. You know you want to show me your tits.”
“No,” she whimpered.
“You know you want to show me your tits. You know it’s going to feel so good when you just give in to your desires.”
“No,” she whimpered again. “No.”
“It’ll feel so good to give in and all you have to do is open the top button on your blouse.”
It was almost as if her hand was fighting itself but in the end, the top button was opened.
“There now. Doesn’t that feel better?”
Joan moaned and then she nodded.
“Of course, it does,” I told her, “and now you do the next one. This one’s easier than the first one. Open the second button, okay?”
Her hands opened the second button.
After that, it was easy. Her hands hardly needed any prompting from me and suddenly her blouse was hanging open but that still didn’t mean I had her tits out in the open. Not just yet.
“Open your bra,” I told her. “You know you want to do it. Open your bra and show me your tits just like you did this morning.”
She was hesitating. It was the last gasp of resistance asserting itself.
“Open your bra,” I said again. “Open your bra and show me your tits.”
Her hands moved and then she was doing it. She was opening her bra and her tits spilled out.
“Play with them,” I told her. “Play with them. Let me see you play with your tits.”
Her hands cupped her tits but she looked like she was about to cry.
“Don’t cry,” I told her. “Don’t you dare cry. You like doing this. You like doing this. You like showing me your tits.”
It wasn’t like she suddenly got happy but at least she didn’t look like she was on the verge of tears.
“That’s it,” I told her. “That’s it. Just keep playing with your tits because it feels so good to be so carefree.”
Joan was starting to play with her tits a little more.
“It feels so good,” I told her. “It feels so good to play with your tits but it feels even better to have some guy watch you doing it.”
She actually let out a whimpering moan. That surprised me. I’d expected her to like it but I hadn’t thought she was going to like it that much.
“Do you like that,” I asked. “Do you like playing with your tits.”
Another moan. There was definitely something up here. I looked at Joan and then it was like I suddenly got it. “Do you do this often,” I asked. “Do you really like playing with your tits?”
“Uh huh.”
“How often do you play with your tits?”
“Mmm, almost every day,” she murmured in a dreamy, little voice.
Now that was surprising. That was really, really surprising. “When do you do you do it,” I asked.
“In the morning,” she purred. “In the shower when my hands are nice and soapy. I like doing it in the shower.”
“Really? And what do you like best?”
“I like playing with my nipples.”
“Really,” I said, “but I haven’t seen you do that yet.”
“It ... it makes me horny when I do that.”
“Really? Then I think we really need to see you do that.”
“But—”
“No, buts,” I told her. “I think you need to play with your nipples.”
For a moment, it seemed as if maybe she hadn’t heard me or if she had, maybe she wasn’t going to do it but then I saw her hands move and then she was circling her fingers around her nipples and the woman moaned.
“You like that, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” the woman panted.
“You look so hot when you look like that, Joan. You look a whole lot better than when you’re bitching about whatever it is you’re bitching about.”
I’m not sure she even heard me because even if she did, she didn’t say anything. She let a hand slide down between her legs and she moaned again.
I couldn’t believe it. “Are you going to cum,” I asked her. “Are you going to cum?”
The woman just whimpered out another moan.
I wondered if I could make her cum. I really hadn’t thought I could but with the way she was moaning and the way she was squirming on her seat, suddenly, making her cum didn’t sound so farfetched too me. “Are you going cum,” I asked her again. “I really want you to. I want you to cum right here in my car. Come on, Joan. Do it. Cum for me right here in my car.”
The woman gasped and it was almost as if her whole body seemed to clench. “Oh my God,” she half-moaned and half-whimpered. “Oh my God,” she said again. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Are you cumming, Joan.”
“Uh huh,” she moaned.
I couldn’t believe it. The bitch was actually cumming in my car.
As luck would have it, we were only a couple blocks from her home. No sooner had I pulled up in front of the place than Joan had hopped out still only halfway dressed and she’d stumbled away from my car as fast as she could go. I watched her leave and as I did, I said to myself I couldn’t wait to see what would happen the next day.