The Triumphs of the Past
By Maximilian Cummings
The frostiness with Jane after the garage incident seemed to have thawed. Relations warmed following on from that drive when I had taken her to deliver and collect: indeed, ‘taken her’ was the phrase, remembering how she had grasped those two young saplings whilst we coupled. I was not going to forget that in a hurry. I made a point of dropping in on her sometimes on the way back from the workshop. After all, I had no one to go home to, I could delay my dinner and have a cup of tea and a chat.
The week after the picnic with Fiona and the girls, I popped in to see Jane, but she was just on the way out to the supermarket—at the door of her house in fact. I had planned to go too after seeing her, so we went together and as the engine of the T2500 was warm and there, it was pointless Jane getting the Morris Traveller from the garage. A slightly incongruous couple going around the shelves at the supermarket. Jane in a very neat blue pleated skirt, white blouse and red jacket, me with rather obviously oil stained hands in some equally grubby dark blue overalls. Two trolleys though, one for her shopping, one for mine.
On the way back, Jane said, “You know…” there was a pause. She started again, “You remember…”
We drove on through two sets of traffic lights and a roundabout, before she finished her sentence. What was Jane about to say? It sounded like it was important, but she was having trouble saying it. “That time when… you saw me having sex with… if you can put it like that…” Her fingers touched the gear knob, her forefinger stroking the overdrive switch.
“Yes,” I said, “pretty unforgettable. So sexual, so sexy.”
She made a disparaging noise. “I’ve been wondering… thinking a lot about it lately. What would it be like with the engine running?” A pause, “Funny thing to think about, but it’s become stuck in my mind. Wouldn’t have mentioned it normally, but it’s so in my mind now.” Jane grasped and held, feeling the vibrations from that not very good gear box. “Shouldn’t really, but perhaps you understand. You saw me, you… I wanted you to… I wanted to see you come.” She was shaking her head, “It’s not like me. Not that I wasn’t… that I didn’t with Rob. Yes, we did things… but, I’d never have, not, with someone watching, nor asked… You don’t feel bad about me?”
“Jane, hardly. It’s not as if I don’t… and I did like it in that wood when we stopped.”
Her eyes dropped, “yes, that was nice,” she said in a small voice.
“So, if you want to with the engine running, why not. Not in the enclosed garage though, CO poisoning. Not a good idea for us to be found like that…”
“You don’t want to ride just the one knob I hope.”
Jane smiled, “well if I am to borrow your car’s knob, I suppose there is no reason you shouldn’t borrow my…”
No reason that I could see. Such a shame, in reality, there wasn’t one particular and very good reason, as I would really have liked my old friend, Rob, to still be around. I smiled to myself, nice if he’d invited me to share Jane a bit with him, and really nice if we had been fitting a naked Jane onto that gear knob as it vibrated—a lot better than marrying four stroke pistons or axles to wheels! A job for a sex mechanic—or mechanics—indeed.
“Can’t at my garage either. Someone might walk in through the open doors. We need to drive to somewhere deserted and private and leave the engine running.”
“Silly really. Why don’t I just take advantage of your prick and forget about the gear lever and ask you to stay the night?”
A pause and then I suggested, “Why not do both?”
And the outcome? I didn’t sleep at home that night. But I get ahead of myself. I was more than happy to plan for the other alternative. Somewhere private, not at all public, I rather wanted to see Jane doing the act again, wanted her naked, not all hidden within a dress or skirt. So where could I take her in the open air where she would feel safe to be naked, and so would I, for that matter.
“I’ll make us some supper,” Jane said when we got back from the supermarket whilst I was helping her unpack, putting my own chilled purchases in her ‘fridge. She wrinkled her nose, “You are a bit oily and I’m not having you sitting on my sofa in those. Go and have a bath and I’ll find you some of Rob’s old things to wear.” A slight tightening of her features. She had not got over losing Rob—and why should she, indeed? Nor had I.
Rather nice to be sitting in the hot bath and to hear a knock and see the door open. Jane brought in a towel and a pair of shorts and a tee shirt.
“Here you are.”
But she didn’t go. She sat on the stool at the side of the bath and talked. All at once she reached across and picked up the bar of soap, dipped her hands in the water and began to wash me. Soapy hands to my back, to my chest.
“Raise your arms,” as my arms and armpits were washed.
Being washed like that had not happened since I was a small boy being washed by my mother. There was no need to scrub my knees, though, as she had done all those years before.. Not this time anyway. Just like playing football you get dirty knees dealing with cars in a workshop, kneeling and generally grovelling around on the floor whilst working on brakes, suspensions, transmissions, bodywork… you name it, with cars jacked up & supported on axlestands at waist height.
This was going to be the best bit, though it had been nice to be attended to in any case. A favourite wanking fantasy for me had always been me being the guest of some Arabian prince and being assigned a pair of young girls to attend to my every need. Two veiled beauties, one an Arabic wet dream with Kohl around her eyes and the other a tall Nubian girl, both attending me not just at my bath but in the rose scented water along with me. It was not quite like that. Jane was much more mature than my two girls, was not dressed in silk, or undressed indeed—or in the bath! It was very nice though.
I stood and had the pleasure of a soapy hand not just washing but slipping soapily up and down my now engorged shaft as the other hand moved across my buttock and into the crack of my bottom, gently rubbing the soap around my anus.
“Rinse,” said Jane, a little huskily I thought, “I don’t like the taste of soap.”
I lowered myself into the water, wriggled and was standing again in a trice, my very firm cock pointing in Jane’s direction. I was about to be sucked. I had known what she meant! Quite something to see her looking with such fascination at my penis. This was not just an offer to be nice to me: Jane clearly wanted to suck cock. Her hand came up and fondled my balls all slack from the bath, and then she leant towards me, nothing hurried, a gradual motion and a slow opening of the mouth. So tentative, as if about to savour the taste of some exotic fruit—my plum indeed! The anticipation of her mouth getting closer almost better than the touch for me. And then the touch and the absorption.
I stood there in the bath as Jane slid her lips back and forth like a vagina. Her eyes were closed and she was totally absorbed in what she was doing. It was lovely. But lovely meant, after a time, I had to warn Jane:
“I’m close Jane.”
She sat up with a sigh. “Pity I could just suck and suck… but we don’t want to waste what’s in here,” a squeeze to my low hanging balls, “do we? I want you all firm in bed after supper. Just one more suck…”
And she did it again and nearly received what she both wanted and didn’t want.
“I’ll see you downstairs.”
I stood there looking at my reflection in the mirror. Had Rob stood there like that after Jane had sucked him off in the bath, had he watched his penis droop as it dripped? Mine wasn’t drooping, though there was something of a drip... I hadn’t come. That would be later—in his bed and in his wife. I shrugged. Things move on and wasn’t I the lucky one? Rob had had his lovely Jane, but I also was having Heulwen and, at least, had had Fiona. I reached and gently wanked. I was certainly enjoying how busy my cock had become.
Sexual intercourse was good with Jane. A pleasure to copulate in the comfort of a bed and do it all over again before breakfast. I had come up behind her as she had looked out of her window in the morning and pressed my hard penis into her bottom crack as I looked over her shoulder. She was looking down at the yellow Triumph parked outside, the early morning sun showing off its chrome, was unresisting as my hands reached around and lifted her breasts. It had led seamlessly to copulation, once more.
Breakfasted I set off back to work, stopping off at home on the way to drop off those groceries. In prospect, more sexual enjoyment with Jane as I had arranged to pick her up on the Friday after lunch for a drive in the country and to have another go on that gear knob—as you do…
“Did I really?” Her first words to me on that Friday, “You must think so badly of me for suggesting such a thing.” But then her eyes caught the saffron paintwork behind me as I stood at her front door. Remarkable to see the sudden change in manner, I stood a little to the side quite amazed at what appeared to be a look of lust on her face and in her eyes—and she was not looking at me. “I wasn’t… but…” She actually walked past me and up to the T2500S and touched the paintwork. “It is very big,” she said, looking through the window. She turned back to me, “Perhaps it is a good day for a drive. I’ll get ready.”
Jane descended the stairs in a knee length skirt with plentiful material, a belt and a really pretty, pleated floral blouse together with a string of pearls around her neck. A pleasing, smart and well-chosen outfit for a fifty-year old woman. Was that skirt really just the same yellow (a mixture of yellow and white in a pattern actually) as the saffron paintwork of the Triumph? Jane looked fine and sexy to me, especially when she said that she could not recall having gone out of the house before without either brassiere or knickers. “They seem a trifle unnecessary!”
I had to agree, as I admired her breasts wobbling under her blouse, delightfully unrestrained, the points of her nipples showing. She put her bag on the back seat of the Triumph, settled into the passenger seat and we were off. Out in the country Jane stretched and her fingers brushed over the gear knob. We had been talking generally but a certain focus crept into her conversation.
“It is silly but… do you have any similar, kinks I suppose you’d call them. I wouldn’t have thought I had. What’s the word they use—vanilla? I’d have thought myself rather vanilla in outlook on sex. Not quite an on my back and think of England type but… Do you have any?”
“Kinks?” I had certainly developed an appreciation of young women in thigh length white leather boots after my visit to Fiona’s house. “Not really with cars. I’m very into cars but I can’t say in a sexual way. I mean, Jane, the gear lever is obviously phallic but where is obviously, um, vaginal? Where could I get intimate. I suppose I could rub my cock on the engine warmed smooth paintwork of the bonnet.”
“I’d like to see that,” she laughed.
But I wasn’t going to do that, not with the T2500S: he seemed too male for me. I was not going to have sexual relations with a bloke even if he was a car! Perhaps the Morris Traveller, if Jane asked nicely—and spread herself across the bonnet for me to be rather more, um, vaginal afterwards.
Somewhat distracting to have Jane fingering, in a most suggestive way, the Triumph’s shiny gear knob. Even better when she slowly drew the yellow skirt up her thighs. So good to see light brown curls peeking out, the skirt not drawn up high enough to see anything more than just a hint of curls but so suggestive of the delights still hidden. Of course, I was hard, and she was being rather bad by distracting the driver.
“I’m getting rather worked up just thinking about it. I glanced again and saw a hand now on her inner thigh. I looked straight back at the road in front but not before my eyes had focused back on the gear stick. In top gear and overdrive there was not a hint of vibration but being directly linked to the gear box, rather than the car’s body, I knew if she was to mount it as we drove then if she was to so much as pull it in any direction other than in the middle of its top-gear position, the gearbox selector-fork would be running on the rotating mainshaft hub and this could well impart some pretty sizeable sensations to her suitably quivering quim. Some rather impressive vibrations knocking around at her wet, fleshy lips and deep up inside her. I wondered what bumps in the road might do to her—perhaps even bring her off! And what if her perhaps wild orgasmic movements caused the car to jump out of gear, leaving it moving excitedly in neutral? Mayhem on her part, perhaps.
Interesting speculation…well for a mechanic with rather an obsessive interest in gearboxes and all things mechanical… and female pudenda.
Jane had raised the subject of my own kinks but throbbing gear knobs and, indeed, penile shaped vibrators had not been within my experience. Rather more for the ladies. Hmmm? Did, perhaps, Jane have a vibrator? I rather doubted it, but the idea of her stroking my penis with it, perhaps freshly wet from her or clasping it and me in her hand so the sensations were transmitted all along my length would be, at least, interesting.
Overtaking a rather sedate VW Golf, I imagined Jane strapping me to the Triumph’s gear lever—quite a contortion for me—and letting me feel the vagaries of the gear stick as she drove, flicking both the end of my knob and the gear knob switch as she moved into overdrive. Tightly gaffer taped and unable to escape. Not very safe on the public road, unbelievably embarrassing to be stopped by the police with me naked and bound to the gear lever.
‘Allo, allo, allo, what have we here then?’
Better to imagine the race track. Heulwen racing Jane but with Paul similarly strapped to her car—whatever that mightt be. Fast gear changes, firm feminine hands grasping our respective erections ultimately causing major semen leakages at, perhaps, 100mph.
Another glance at Jane, fingers were clearly ‘in’ and easing her, both lubricating her and ensuring the female part of the male/female coupling would be the right gauge to accept the male. I rather hoped Jane would be happy to accept my own ‘screw thread’ after she had enjoyed the gear knob. Driving along with a full erection, I very much wanted to couple and come.
We turned off, down a country lane and then onto a track leading to a little car parking area. As I had hoped, ours was the only car there. A view out over the countryside to the front, as the land dropped away, and, to the rear, a good view up the track to see if another car was coming down it. I had done my homework well. We could not actually drive whilst Jane amused herself on the gear lever but the engine could certainly be running. A safe environment for her kink.
“Well, Jane, here we are.”
“So, we are. Lovely view.”
“Certainly is,” I was looking at the peeking curls. “Do you still want to…”
“Oh yes! I think I’ve made myself open enough. Do you want to feel?”
“May I? Perhaps a little check…”
“Of course, Eric.”
How good was that, just reaching across, putting my fingers together and pushing up between her open thighs inside her skirt. Jane was delightfully wet—hot, wet, squelchy even and very open—ready for coitus with penis or the flared chrome and plastic of a T2500S gear knob.
“Do you want me to check a bit more with my feeler gauge?”
“Well I suppose we’d better. Be sensible and it’s not as if it’s not going in… later. Is it?”!
I had hoped, and that was certainly confirmation. I got out, walked around to the passenger door, opened the door, Jane got out, I pushed the seat back as far as it would go, unzipped, got it out and sat. Jane got back in facing me, pulled her skirts out of the way and lowered herself, lifting and pointing my cock where it needed to go. And it went in very easily. Jane lifted and lowered herself a few times.
“That seems to work. Nice to have a fuck isn’t it?” A bit crude for Jane. “But that’s not what we’re here for is it? Time for the big event… I hope.”
Uncoupling, Jane got out of the car, and then I got out and walked around the car—good the parking area was empty, my wet erection was sticking out of my jeans—and back into the driver’s seat. I wanted to be able to give Jane some revs. at appropriate moments. Not exactly the spontaneous love making of a young couple in the back seat of a car, all much more involved, requiring co-ordinated actions and very deliberate movements. Me squeezing over towards the door as Jane placed one knee on my seat and one on hers, opening her thighs to the gear knob below. I restarted the engine. And then came the lowering of her hips down onto the knob. She had done it before but, even so, it was a large item to accommodate.
I watched the concentration on her face, her eyes were closed as she pushed down, seeking to take it in. A lot easier, I supposed, had the knob been rounded like a penis, not rather flat and with the overdrive switch. But a gasp, the sudden opening of eyes, indicated success. I reached and felt, running my fingers up the long metal rod—and that was all I could feel, the knob had been absorbed. Through the rod I could feel the engine’s throb. I raised the revs.
“Fuck, Eric, this is quite something.”
I dropped the revs. and then pushed the accelerator pedal again.
“Oooh!” She grabbed for my penis and held it.
“I wonder, I said, if we could move the car like this. I should have parked the other way around so you could move the gear lever to first, but we need reverse.”
“Do you think?”
“I’ll depress the clutch and you put it in reverse. Over to me and then you’ll have to lift and bring it back. Can you grasp it with your…”
And she mimicked the movement on my penis as well as the gear knob. No danger. I was driving, I was controlling whether the engine was engaged, the speed and direction of travel. Jane was just changing gear. Reverse engaged we started to go backwards. Different sensations for Jane. Not just the vibration from the engine—throbbing if you like, what a so sexual word—but movement of her body from the car’s movement and that in turn meant movement on the gear knob. Around in a semi-circle and then I got Jane to engage first. And so off we went back up the track—a bumpy track indeed.
“Second please, Jane.”
“Oooh, fuck, that’s…” It was quite a bumpy ride. “We’re not going all the way to the road, are we?”
No, we were not. I nosed into a field gate and we reversed back out and set off back to parking place.”
“You have no idea how good this feels Eric. So naughty, so kinky, so, I don’t know, odd. Such a big… cock.”
I reached again and stroked her clit as she fucked the car. One particularly deep rut and she came with a remarkable outpouring of rather rude words. Perhaps she had learnt them at school long ago.
The car parked, into neutral and then the engine turned off, Jane began to raise herself. I could not resist lifting the yellow skirt material and watching the knob coming out. Prurient really, somewhat like—well quite like, really—watching a penis being slowly extracted from a vagina following energetic coitus in one of those late-night videos I sometimes watched on the computer. But no semen, no ‘cream-pie,’ the Triumph did not do that sort of thing. That was not how little cars are made! Fascinating, nonetheless. It really was a big knob. Easier to get out than in given the perfect underneath flaring, it just gently stretched Jane open wider and wider until the ‘corona’ and the appearance of the black plastic cap—and then it was out.
“Phew. I almost think I can’t take another one… but that would be a bit unfair. Look at your cock standing there waiting!” She shuffled herself across and plonked down on the old leather of the passenger seat. “I could really have done with two cocks to hold onto. Imagine that, one either side of me as I did…” she gestured at the rather wet gear knob, “…that.”
Was she thinking of Rob as the other man? That would have been an unusual experience. Such a shame… but… not to be.
All at once she leaned across and took me in her mouth. Gentle fellation for a few moments as I stared out across the valley. Didn’t I just love having my cock in a woman’s mouth! I glanced up at the rear-view mirror. Still no other car coming down the track.
“Let’s go in the back seat.”
A bit more room, particularly when I pulled the front passenger seat forward again, but not a lot of change to Jane’s position. She was again kneeling on the leather but instead of the Triumph’s knob between her thighs there was my fleshy version. My cock not simply out of my fly but my trousers pulled down to give rather more flesh contact. And as Jane guided me in—she was practised at that—I began undoing the buttons on her blouse. Before long I had my face buried in the valley between her breasts as she slid up and down on my penis. A proper fuck and none-too-hurried. Definitely not hurried. More difficult keeping an eye out for other cars coming down the track and we were fully engrossed in coitus when another car drew up beside us. An elderly gentleman did a ‘double take’ before winking and getting out of his car to let his two dogs out of the back. He took another look at us, an inquisitive face at the window. Generously I reached out and jiggled Jane’s exposed and ample breasts. He smiled and nodded sagely before walking on. A pair of fine, mature breasts would have given him something to think about, perhaps even excited him into tumescence. A nice little thrill for him as we carried on to our conclusion.
At least we hadn’t both been naked and me taking Jane across the warm bonnet of the Triumph. He might then have stayed and watched! Perhaps, though, a good idea to finish and head home before anyone else arrived. I turned and glanced back up the track, this time checking for cars, and then encouraged Jane to bounce me into ejaculation. She did that very nicely and, with all the morning’s excitement, I spurted strongly into her, splash, splash, splash onto her cervix, up, up, up into her body. The T2500S’s knob might not have ejaculated and left Jane dripping but I was quite a different matter. Plentiful semen on my part, enough for both of us: him and me!
The summer turned to Autumn. Business was good and the money kept coming in. Interesting jobs, mundane jobs, new things to learn sometimes. I did not find a new ‘significant other’ but equally I did not find myself engaged in masturbation like the last few years since that divorce. It was not regular copulation, and other things lovers do, rather irregular copulation, but I saw Jane on occasion, and sometimes Heulwen seemed to feel particularly ‘frisky’ around the T2500S and as for Fiona… Well, she had taken to me not only looking after the servicing of her car but seemed to see me as a call out service as well. Not a breakdown service as such, more a delivery service, a delivery service not for pizza rather, I suppose you could say, semen, though maybe ‘dial a cock’ might be more how Fiona saw it. She would ring me occasionally about ten o’clock at night and ask if I fancied coming around for a nightcap. Seemingly her boyfriend went away on long business trips and she got a bit in need of… well you know, not so much a woman’s touch as a man’s. I could see her peeking through the curtains waiting for the Triumph 2500 to nose in near her house. Perhaps the car was pleased to see her there: I certainly was as I stepped from the car ready to make my ‘delivery.’
It was not always straight up to her bedroom. One time she met me at the door in a white raincoat, belted at the waist. It was, after all, teeming down with rain and asked to go for a drive through the streets to see the kaleidoscope of night time city lights reflected everywhere. A strange request.
“I haven’t anything on under here,” she said as we drove.
“No? I’d better turn the heater on.” A stream of hot air from the footwell, no doubt blowing up into her mac. Not just onto her bare legs, but going ‘elsewhere.’ Rather as I had intended.
“That’s nice.” A pause, “are you going to check?”
“That you have nothing on?” My left hand moved from the steering wheel to her thigh in the darkness, slid upwards and felt a pleasing furriness. I should not have, but my hand did not hurry to return to the steering wheel. But when it did—traffic lights and roundabouts to contend with—I felt a hand tugging at my jeans. And so, we drove around town a bit, Fiona with the belt and buttons of her mackintosh soon opened at the front giving me, if I glanced that way, the occasional sight of naked flesh, sodium coloured from the street lights, and me with my cock exposed and standing.
“I like driving in your car. Might I borrow it again one day and take Jim for a drive and… you wouldn’t mind if we fucked in it would you?”
“I think it would have to be in rather than out now the weather has changed. Not the weather for the beach or to find some quiet little spot and spread yourself across the bonnet.”
“Do you fancy me like that then, dishabille? How?”
“Oh, why not mini-skirted, those long white boots and open blouse. White knickers in my pocket as I fuck you spread over the warm metal.”
“You naughty man. Jim would like that too.” She giggled. “I’d like you both there, but he would hate that. Mmmm, two cocks at the ready. Taking me in turns. My idea of double fun: not his. Mmmm cocks.”
Fiona leant across and her warm mouth took me in. Now that was my idea of fun!
“So, can I borrow?” She sat up again.
“Of course. But on condition you tell me what happened.”
“The intimate details? A blow by blow account.”
“Why not? I’d enjoy hearing about sex. Perhaps you might show me as well—blow by blow indeed!”
A tut but she took the hint and leant across once more. “A repeat performance?” She said, and then her mouth was full.
I had to move her, both to change gear and avoid a premature ending of the night’s sexual activity.
“Do you like sex outside in the open air?”
“Not enormous experience. I certainly enjoyed my time on the beach!
“Do you fancy sex outside tonight?”
“Too wet and cold!”
“But in the rain.”
“A tropical downpour maybe—well yes! But an Autumnal downpour in England. Not really.”
“We could take a hot bath and then run out in the rain and fuck. No going back in until you’d come.”
“In your back garden?”
“Not in the street certainly! You game?”
I can’t say I was, but Fiona clearly was for it.
Back at the house I locked the car and followed Fiona in getting my hair wet from the pouring rain in the process. That hardly mattered if I was about to get a lot wetter. And seemingly we were! No sooner through the door than Fiona was undressing me.
“That’s how I like to see a man. We don’t need that bath do we? I’m warm enough to fuck.”
Good undoing her mac. and watching it fall to the floor. Nice to step to her and touch my upstanding knob to her fur knowing it would shortly be in the warm, wet place between her legs. With the lights out we practised a bit in the kitchen, Fiona up on a worktop and me between her legs. She was delightfully wet but not as wet as the back garden would be—and very much warmer.
“Do you really want to go out in the rain?” I asked pushing inwards.
“Yeah. Let’s do it. Don’t worry about me coming. I might or might not. You can make me later. The important thing is for you to come.”
I had been led into the kitchen from the garden with Fiona’s hand tugging my cock but this time I found myself being tugged outside not into a lovely sunlit garden but the dark, cold garden with the rain bucketing down. A cold shower—and that was basically what it was cascading down my head and body is meant to quieten the libido not arouse it. My task to get into Fiona’s vagina as quickly as possible, get at least my penis into the warm and transfer my sexual fluid to her body. Very little light to see by but enough to see and feel Fiona hop up onto the little cast iron table and position herself for me. The iron would certainly be cold on her buttocks. Before my cock had much chance to react to the cold rain beating down upon it, I stepped between Fiona’s thighs, hugged her breasts to me and pushed in—certainly out of the cold into the warmth but most definitely not into the warm and dry! Indeed, there is something erotic about water on the skin, probably going out and copulating in a warm tropical rainstorm would be a first-rate experience but this was not quite the same. Concentration and pre-arousal did the trick. I had a job to do and did it, and was somewhat surprised just how good the orgasm was. Perhaps it was the contrast of the cold all around except for the press of Fiona’s body and the hot sheath around my penis; perhaps it was also the cold of the rim of the iron table touching my balls every time I pressed in at Fiona; perhaps it was just the novelty of the situation and the sexiness of Fiona; or was it a fellow feeling with the Triumph sitting out in the pouring rain and cold at the front of the house… well perhaps not that! Such a joyous pleasure, that hot spurting going up and out of the penis.
“That was nice, that was different, Eric. Well done. Would you like a hot shower now?”
“That would be good! Rather nee… oh, Fiona, I… well now that is a surprise!”
New experiences a plenty. A sudden hotness to my balls, and up my stomach. The little minx was weeing even as I stood there still embedded. Nice and hot, yes but… this was not the sort of game I had played before.
“Doesn’t matter in the rain does it? It’s the cold that does it, don’t you want to?”
That rather meant I’d got to try, got to go with the flow—so to speak. I pulled away from her, feeling the hot stream splashing down upon my cock as I did so. I could not resist feeling with my hand, feeling it splashing with hot force over my hand. Could I do it? The sound of falling water was certainly conducive as was the cold. Perhaps a minute after ejaculating I found myself urinating, forcefully weeing at Fiona’s pudenda.
“Oh yeah, oh yes, just the spot!”
I wasn’t really going to make her come by hitting her clit with my stream, was I? Fiona grabbed and I gave up control to my hosing to her. It mattered not where it went in the rain after all: and she knew where she wanted it. She hopped from the table and crouched, and I knew she was spraying me all warm across her breasts and then she stood again, pulled me to her and trapped my wilting and peeing penis between her thighs and kissed me hard on the mouth, yes with tongues. Pretty sensual, as I weed away into her pudenda.
Seconds later (and no need to shake), the wee all washed away by the rain as if it had never happened, and we were back inside, hurrying naked and dripping up the stairs to the real hot shower. Two rather cold bodies squeezed into the cubicle as the lovely hot water cascaded down.
“Make me come,” she said encouraging me to kneel. And so I tongued Fiona there in the shower, whilst she shampooed my hair, as it happens! And then I did her hair, not that there was anything ‘substantial’ for Fiona to suck whilst she did so, though I actually did the whole operation on her head, two lots of shampoo and one of conditioner, with my flaccid cock and both balls in her mouth. Warm, cosy and rather pleasant.
It was a morning after I had seen Fiona, when I drew up at Jane’s on the way to work. I had been called around to ‘get her ready for bed’ and had got her nicely bedded. That had been very pleasant. With Jane, the morning after, it was going to be just for coffee though ‘you never knew.’ Having done ‘it’ the night before did not mean I could not enjoy a different woman in the morning. I’d be up for it. Probably not, but ‘you never knew.’ And, indeed, that is true, you never know what is around the next corner. I certainly did not that day.
“I’m pregnant,” Jane said, almost matter of factly, and she was holding her stomach.
Pregnant? Was it me? Well it wasn’t going to be from semen leaking from the Triumph’s gear knob was it, eh?
“Oh. Um, oh…”
Jane sat down. “I always wanted to have children, but Rob couldn’t and well, we thought of adoption but… didn’t in the end.” A sigh and a smile, “I thought I was past it. Certainly, that time of the month was becoming less frequent. Good, I had thought, but now… I’m rather excited, so it’s really a thank you. My fault really as I didn’t think it could happen and… well, it has.”
I was going to be a father.
“And, no, I don’t expect you to move in or anything. I don’t want that, but I do hope you will be around as ‘Uncle Eric.’
When was it? Surely not in the back seat of the T2500S after the throbbing gear knob adventure? Probably as likely then as… well, there were not that many times. Probably more since then than before, but perhaps too recent.
Coffee was prolonged, Jane wanted to talk. There was none of the hoped for sex, but certainly the results of sex were discussed. It was a bit of a shock
Saturday morning, a Saturday in mid-Autumn, the leaves very much turning outside in the street, I had just got into the workshop, almost been blown in by an Autumnal gale together with some of the already falling leaves and was sitting at my desk going through some emails when in bounced Heulwen.
“You haven’t changed your calendar over.” Several days into October and I had not done that. “Miss October is not such a big girl as Miss September.”
I looked up, “No, but it is a Mini Clubman she’s chosen to drape herself across. Small girl for a small car. Appropriate.”
“Where do you get these. The lads at the garage have nothing like this.”
“Modern times, modern sensibilities. I like cars and I like naked women. My choice. My garage!”
She wandered off into the workshop and I got on with the emails. Twenty minutes later I looked up and peeked through the spy hole. Heulwen had draped herself in a pose reminiscent of my calendar across the T2500. What was that all about? Nice though, even in her blue overalls. A pout from her lips and looking upwards with her forehead down and a dark curl or two hanging. Did it for me anyway—I liked the pose. Another few email orders and in she came.
“Eric?” Her hand back on the calendar, “I was wondering. It’s Paul’s birthday coming up and I thought it would be fun, you know, to make him a birthday card with me on the front, um, posing.”
“Like that? With your boobs on show? Paul will wonder who took the photo and if you are thinking of draping yourself over the T2500S in my garage he’ll have a pretty good idea when he sees the picture.”
“No, in a bikini. I’ve brought Dad’s camera with me.”
“And the bikini?”
“All prepared then?”
“It’s an idea I’ve been thinking about.” She was lifting up the leaves of the calendar one by one, looking at the poses rather than the women. “I’ll go and wash my hands, do my hair.”
I can’t say I didn’t take a peek through my spy hole. It was not that I didn’t think I would see all later, I was just inquisitive or perhaps impatient. Nice to watch Heulwen taking off her overalls, standing naked by the T2500S, even lean over and stroke its paintwork before putting on her bikini. Not a sheer Lycra but a rather pleasing Indian cotton one with ties either side of the bottoms, somewhat gathered material, a patterned dark red and very fetching against her skin and dark hair. Not a skimpy bikini but that did not at all lose its sexiness. Far from it.
The photo session was rather fun. I just did the photography, Heulwen the poses. And, as I rather expected, Heulwen got a little carried away. Perhaps it was the gleaming, well waxed paintwork—indeed I had very much come to the conclusion that it was indeed the car—but I could spot female arousal just by the way she moved and acted.
I had certainly taken enough photographs for Heulwen to choose one for the birthday card she was going to make for Paul. Who knows, I might get one as well when my birthday came around, or, better still, she had enough photos for a calendar. It had been enjoyable pretending to be a real photographer. A pity I didn’t have the lights and so on to really perfect the images (and perhaps the talent—I mean on my part, not that Heulwen was not up to scratch!). Enough photos, but then Heulwen pulled her bikini down a little giving a ‘cheeky’ and super little glimpse of just one nipple. In many ways those photos were the best, probably the one when it looked accidental rather than the couple where Heulwen was giving a ‘knowing look.’ Would she dare use that one with Paul. I could imagine him being pleased by it, it certainly had bags of arousal potential, but a little shocked I had seen her nipple ‘accidentally.’ She certainly was not going to let him see the topless ones which followed. Heulwen just undid the bikini and lay across the Triumph’s bonnet with the scrap of material dangling down its left wing. Bare breasted abandonment. Just the photo for my calendar.
And then she took the bikini bottoms off as well and draped herself once more.
“Do you want me to keep taking photos?”
What a delightful little kittenish shrug of her shoulders. Heulwen was clearly enjoying showing off. I almost made the mistake of saying I had sort of seen her like that before when she had been buffing the paintwork with her pubic hair and I had watched secretly from my office and, the more so, when I had watched Paul and she naked by and in the Triumph—and had the photographs to prove it. Not a wise thing to reveal.
So good to see this not over tall girl, so fresh and pristine in her young body, with her small but sweetly conical breasts, her pretty face with its freckles running down into the shallow valley of her breasts plus her delightfully smooth bottom and tufting dark pubic hair, disporting herself on my car. I clicked away as she went from pose to pose, even kneeling on the front passenger seat and pretending to fellate the gear stick. Such a lovely pose, she half turned back with her eyes looking at the camera and me, the upstanding gear lever with its big knob by her mouth, the implication of the imminent fellatio so very there. And the pose had not just that, but also her revealed pudenda and bottom hole so very there in the photograph between her cheeks. The suggestion of fellatio, of sucking, that men so like, the inviting looking sexual orifice there in the foreground and for those men who rather like the idea of journeying into that other hole, there it was looking all tight and crinkly.
I say pretending to fellate the gear stick but the naughty girl did more than pretend—taking as a premise that you can actually fellate something that is not actually a penis—she managed to get her mouth wide enough to get it inside and close her lips around the splay of the chrome. Talk about a ‘gob-stopper!’ The knob Jane had pushed into herself now in young Heulwen’s mouth. Not so very different really from Heulwen sucking my cock, a thing that had most certainly been inside Jane, and Fiona for that matter. But there is that so sexual idea: the idea of withdrawing one’s cock from the wet and slippery vagina of one woman and presented it to another woman to suck. A vicarious tasting of the other woman. Possibly exciting and enjoyable for the woman: certainly enjoyable for the man to see. I smiled at the thought, me with Jane and Heulwen together. Don’t we men just find lesbian sex such a turn on? Daft really, such Sapphic women do not really want a manly penis poking its nose into ‘their business,’ so to speak.
Lovely to watch Heulwen slowly release the gear knob, even give a languid lick to the overdrive switch. Surely she was not really turned on by that knob? I was acutely conscious of another knob inside my overalls aching for similar attention—and it got what it wanted.
“Would you like to be sucked, Eric?” She wriggled around and, still kneeling on the leather, pulled open my overalls, those studs popping open and you know what springing out. She leant forward, mouth opening ready to receive. “No photographs, now.” She had already heard the click.
Bliss! Heulwen’s wet, warm mouth engulfing my knob. I was good, I put the camera down on the vinyl dash above the smart walnut panel, and with both hands free grasped her hanging little breasts and manipulated them. All so good. I was just so lucky Heulwen had come to me to learn about classic cars. I think though she had learned rather a lot about fellatio from Paul. She was very good with her tongue and knew how to draw those soft lips up and down. Good to feel her slide a hand into my overalls and play with my hanging scrotum and testes. That just so added to the pleasure. A feminine hand feeling about inside my overalls, swinging and playing around with my balls.
“Are you going to take me in the back?”
“In your bottom?” I knew what she meant, but my earlier thought just came out.
“NO! On the back seat.”
“Errr, yesss, I didn’t much like… he did though. So, no, Eric.”
“Unless you are a bad girl. Over my knees, a red bottom and then enforced sodomy.”
“You make it sound fun—but I’m not a bad girl.”
“Anything but. A good mechanic indeed, Heulwen, and… yeah,” I was in her mouth again, “very good at… other things.”
Not much bother slipping overalls off, rather amusing opening the back door and holding it open for Heulwen to get into the back—ladies first of course!” And what a photograph, I thought. Naked and fully erect man opening the door, chauffeur like, to allow his passenger, his pretty and naked young passenger, to get in. A photo, perhaps, for a very unusual calendar. I wondered what other images it should contain. Strange, posed shots of erect men and naked young women around a garage or two. I was sure gear levers would feature! I might think about that another time. Instead I got in on top of Heulwen, it was time to replicate a two-stroke engine, well sort of. My piston crown needed to enter Heulwen’s cylinder bore and be driven by my connecting rod. OK, yeah, we needed to fuck and did.
Paul, hopefully, would enjoy and really appreciate the photograph, would perhaps be a little inquisitive of quite how the photograph was taken, but Heulwen could make up some story about changing in the office or coming there with the bikini already under her overalls. She would not need to mention quite what did happen. More staining to the leather seats for one thing.
I was meant to take them both, Heulwen and Paul, but he had to cry off and so the two of us went to the Motor fair together. I was not unhappy at that, even if the rain did not bode well for the show. Never as good driving along the motorway with the spray from the lorries and the windscreen wipers going. Not quite a sunny day’s outing. It’d be waterproofs all around the field and Wellington boots.
Nonetheless a good day. How could it not be at a Triumph meet? Mine was not the only T2500S there but I was sure it got more attention than the others… particularly from the ladies. The weather perked up in the afternoon. Quite a first-rate Autumnal day in the end, blue skies and no wind to speak of; not balmy, or sultry or summer really, but more than pleasant weather—and does sunshine not lift a mood?
We drove back, Heulwen in the front seat with the knob, the Triumph’s very male gear knob between us. It had been very much a colleagues’ day, not a lot different from when Rob and I used to drive to such meetings, lots of talk about cars and little else. But, of course, Heulwen was not Rob. Certainly, she had jeans on just as he would have done and talked a lot about cars and mechanical things but there the similarity ended. A good day about my real passion—cars—but as we drove along, I began to think rather more about Heulwen’s femininity. After all it was not as if ‘things’ hadn’t happened between us. It was not the car putting thoughts in my head, I was pretty sure of that—they came of their own accord—but I was hoping the Triumph put thoughts into Heulwen’s head and I was getting the more hopeful when on occasion her hand reached out and touched the gear knob.
“Eric…” A hand on my knee. Great!
“I like your cock, Eric, I like riding it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s big—and so’s Paul’s—but…” Her eyes betrayed her, I knew just what she was about to say.
“But you want to be fucked by the car, don’t you, you want to take the gear knob into your little snatch, don’t you?”
“How’d you know? Do you think… do you think it will fit?”
Women are, of course, quite stretchy down there. Have to be when you think of giving birth (which I try not to. Would Jane expect me to attend, be her ‘birth partner,’ would the mid-wife ask if I was the baby’s father? I rather hoped Jane didn’t ask).
“I don’t know, Heulwen, you’re very welcome to try. Would you like me to… um, stretch you a bit first? You did, after all, get it in your mouth the other day, didn’t you?”
A giggle. “Stretch me a bit… what a euphemism! Yes, please.”
I knew Jane could do it, but she was an older, more experienced woman. I rather thought it would be too much for Heulwen. For most cars it is a simple matter of unscrewing the gear knob if it needed replacing—or, I suppose, if a woman fancied a different shaped knob, not so much in her hand when driving as, well, doing what Jane had done and Heulwen wanted to do. Some knobs are pretty phallic. I would be more than happy to get in a selection for Heulwen to try, particularly if I could watch! But not on the Triumph. There was rather more to the knob than a simple screw thread, what with the connections to the overdrive. His knob was not replaceable any more than mine was!
“Shall I stop the car somewhere then or wait ‘til we’re back at the garage.”
“We can hardly… as we drive, can we?”
I shook my head and glanced at her. She was looking at and fingering the gear knob.
“Imagine, imagine that inside me as we drove—the vibrations would be so cool.”
“You are used to vibrations?” I was intrigued.
“You asking if I use—have got—a vibrator.”
“That was the import of the question!”
“Yeah, I have actually.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“See me with it, you mean.” A laugh, “Paul was just as keen. He liked it when I used it on him.”
“In his bottom?”
“No! Rubbing it up and down his cock, holding them together. I made him cum with just the vibrations. Funny. Would you like me to bring it to the garage one Saturday and show you?” Her hand touched the bulge in my jeans. “Make you cum too, no hand, no mouth, no other thing—just vibrating plastic?”
“So, back at the garage or shall I find somewhere secluded?”
It was somewhere secluded. Pulling off the main road onto a side road to find a picnic spot was one thing. A field gate would do, just enough to get the car off the road and settle down to eat: but this wanted a little more of a discreet spot. Best not having the occasional car going by. We struck gold, so to speak. A bit of woodland by the road and very clear places where cars could pull off the road and drive a few yards into the wood and park. Not formally marked out spaces or anything but with the same effect, a number of flattish places between the trees to park, perhaps five or six and one with only room for a single car. I reversed in and turned off the engine.
“Good!” A pause. “I’m really ready for a fuck, Eric, a real itch which needs scratching.” Already she was undoing her jeans and tugging them down, her dark curls tufting up into view.
And I got hard again.
“Come on, Eric, you too.”
Very soon there were two apparently respectably dressed people in the car—but only from the waist upwards: it was a different matter lower down, very unrespectable and not dressed, below. My cock all hard: Heulwen’s snatch all wet.
So good to see Heulwen beside me, so good to know I could (and did) just reach out and place a hand on her thigh and feel that so lovely feminine softness. No different with Jane or Fiona, that gorgeous softness and sexuality of a woman’s thighs. Lovely in themselves but lovely too as they led upwards to that feminine place, that wet and hot place men fantasise about. And was Heulwen wet! The Triumph had done a good job of arousal. I can’t think it was me. How did he do it? But do it he had.
“Do you think I’ll be able to?” Certainly my fingers had slipped in, all together, with ease—finger fucking the young girl.
“So soft,” I said, “maybe.”
“Mmmm, so hard,” she said as her fingers closed around my erection. She leant towards me, her mouth partly open. “I do so like a hard… cock.” Her tongue appeared between her lips as she leant in closer and I moved my mouth in line and extended my own. The tips touched. I had not expected that. Kissing was something I thought reserved for Paul. We were, after all, about to fuck not ‘make love,’ this was lust not romance. Not, though, a kiss, just tongues touching and then she lowered her head slowly, yes tantalizingly, as I waited—perhaps with quivering penis—for that most perfect of things, a fantasy of men, a young girl with her head in your lap and her mouth over your cock.
That first touch, soft lips to the tip, a flick of the tongue across—was there already a salty taste? And all so much better for not having anything on down there, no constricted penis poking up through metal zipper with the toggle poking at your balls. No constraint, penis standing firmly, balls hanging between my ‘man spreading’ legs not held up by pants—free and available for the young girl to suck. And she did.
“Can we do a bit of practising?”
A practice fuck indeed! I liked the idea, it amused and aroused me. Young girls sent to older men for practice. Copulatory and fellatio lessons with experienced cocks. A bit like piano lessons but only a bit. I pushed back my seat as far as it could go and Heulwen manoeuvred herself across. Her thighs open above my own, a bare knee either side of me, my cock pointing upwards—was that really her dripping down on me (and onto the leather—again)? Really good to look down and see the connection about to be made. The male to the female. And then to feel it happen, Heulwen pushing down and me sliding up into her. My hands finding their way into her blouse and my fingers easing themselves beneath her brassiere.
Good to fuck—very good to fuck—but Heulwen, with some reluctance, got off me, manoeuvring herself again but this time over a different… Cock, phallus, prick, penis—what to call it? It was the Triumph’s gear stick but was it more than just a simile—like an erect penis—but actually the car’s—his—cock? I was not sure I really liked to think of it like that. I, after all, was the one who held it—him—most! It was me who moved it forwards and backward, and from side to side most of the time. Heulwen had no doubts about what she was trying to do and what it represented. Kneeling on both seats, her thighs wide open to it she was rubbing herself and trying to push it in.
Trying was the word. Succeeding was not. His knob just too big for young girls! But I could see just how frustrating it was for Heulwen. She was desperate—a girl wanting cock and not getting it. I bent and looked to see the evidence of the failed coupling. It was so like cars and mechanical things. If you had the wrong bolt it just wasn’t going to fit in the nut. You weren’t going to screw a male thread into a female thread unless they matched. The analogy only went so far. You could certainly push a male bolt into a too large female coupling but it wouldn’t hold, whereas a penis lacking in girth could still make a success of things in a rather generous and capacious vagina! Heulwen could have, of course, chosen to mould herself back onto my cock which we certainly knew fitted well, but instead, worked up as she was, I watched in fascination as she brought herself off on that knob.
It was the overdrive switch that really did it. I watched in amazement as she grazed her little swollen clit—I could see it all from my leaning over position—on those corrugations across the plastic rocker switch. Back and forth she went, rub, rub, rub, pulling her clit to and fro as she moved it across the switch, even as she built to a crescendo making the rocker move from off to on and back again. And then she came and rather vocally. Nothing to do with me at that point. I was just watching and wanking, my Heulwen wet penis in my hand. I watched her quiver and shake before falling, pretty much, back onto her seat, thighs tightly closed and her hand holding herself.
It was minutes before she spoke. I sat there thinking things, wanking gently, and looking at the rather wet gear knob. No, he hadn’t ejaculated—that was all her. All Heulwen rubbing herself on the rocker switch. No doubt it would have the same effect if I was to sexually avail myself of those corrugations up and down my sensitive fraenum, rub, rub back and forth until I spurted. No doubt, then, it would have looked like he had come! But I am not sexually attracted to cars whether female or… male: what I was attracted to was half naked and rather quiet on the seat beside me.
“I don’t think I can, Eric, not properly, not now. Could I just, suck you off?”
A bit six of one, half a dozen of the other. Fuck or blowjob—both very acceptable!
“Don’t touch me. Just too sensitive. Let me.”
Once more a girl in my lap. Once more a girl’s mouth over my cock. My task to sit back and enjoy and try not to come too quickly and end the pleasure. But Heulwen’s mouth was so very warm and mobile and I was very excited. So good then to release, just come in the girl’s mouth, not touching her body at all, just being brought off by her young and mobile lips and feel her tongue swirling as the stuff poured out. Good to see her sit up and swallow. Good to be there with Heulwen.
We even took a little walk. Good to stretch our legs, easier to put pants and jeans back on when standing up. Mundane practicalities… indeed also a little private time behind bushes or standing by a tree. Mundane indeed, the practical realities of life.