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Sexy down blouses, introduction to obedience.

She was here, and she was as sexy as he'd thought she would be. She was finally here, accessible and real and able to be touched and hugged and a million other (more intimate) things.

He flashes a bright grin as she walks into sight, lugging her suitcase and shifting from foot to foot impatiently as she rides the escalator up from the security checkpoint. The seconds stretch out as he stands there, as she rides the agonizing slow thing against gravity itself, as he waits, as she approaches, as... sha-blam! It's hug time!

For the first time, arms circle around one another and bright grins are seen real-time, not just as naughty smiles to the occasional webcam. Bodies press against one another, hands wander a little more than they should at an airport, and then it's fast forward time.

I mean, let's be honest. You aren't here to read about a walk across the terminals, a stroll through a parking lot, and a quick handful of ass while he holds a car door open, right? Right. So, on with the shore. Fast forward, like I said. Schwoop, ten minutes later.

They're in a car, on the interstate. He's grinning like a cheshire cat, and has one hand on the wheel. She's moaning like a porn star, and has one hand (one of his, that is) in her panties and between her legs. Her sun dress is flipped up, her, legs are spread wide, and his long middle finger is sliding in and out of her wetness. It was an old dare, an old bet, and one she never thought he'd taken so seriously. But, sure enough, as soon as their car hit the highway, he'd started sliding his free hand up her thigh. She wasn't about to complain, and he wasn't about to stop.

He drives this route home from work every day, so it's no trouble to keep his car on the road even as his attention is largely elsewhere. The smell of her juices fills the small car, and his nose enjoys the sensations every bit as much as his hand enjoys her warmth, her heat, her tightness. His pointer and ring fingers hold her outer lips open, his middle finger slides in and out, twists and writhes, wriggles and curls, and his palm rubs on her clit.

Her curly pubic hair tickles the inside of his wrist as he wriggles his hand down a little more, palm rocking at her clitoris, middle finger in her to the hilt. She's got one hand white-knuckle tight on the armrest's handle, and the other on his wrist, squeezing in encouragement. She wouldn't push his arm away now for the world.

She's getting closer, closer, his curled finger strokes her inner walls just right, his fingertip brushes and rubs and teases her g-spot, his palm rides her clit, his...his other hand...oh god!

With the passenger side next to a large semi truck, the grinning young man slows to pace the big eighteen wheeler. She hadn't noticed until he'd honk-honked his horn (steering precariously with his knee for a few seconds). She gasped aloud, looked up at the answering honk of another horn, a deeper one...

And just like a little kid yanking an imaginary semi-horn with an up and down arm motion, she looked out the window and up into the cab of a big red semi. Grinning down at her -- at THEM, at his hand, at flipped up dress, at her sopping pussy -- was a bushy-bearded trucker, up high in his big rig. With a laugh, he honked his horn again, and flashed the sex-filled car an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Oh god. Oh gooooooooooooooood!

His palm rubbing just a little harder, the young man accelerates away. He felt it starting, just like she did. Her 'streak,' she had called it once. The voyeuristic streak inside everyone. Her pussy tightened, her legs tenses, her grip on his wrist grew vise-like. Her mind took three long heartbeats to work out what had just happened, who just watched, what was seen... And she came.

Hit the slo-mo again, cowboy.

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