Suffering from painful and embarrassing writer’s block, I set to Twitter to ask people what they wanted to read. Rather unsurprisingly, the answer was ‘porn’. But some people specifically requested a fantasy. A wise choice – there’s only so much of my own sordid sexual experience that anyone can take. So for only the second time in however-long-I’ve-been-doing-this, here’s an untrue story.
I’m in a car, on my driving test. My driving test holds a special place in my heart, and fills me with a heightened kind of terror, because it is the only exam that I have ever failed. Make of that what you will, but I’m sat in the car, and the examiner is beside me.
The examiner is old – 50, 55-ish. Tall, greying, fat. He looks at me with utter disdain – frowning at my hands as they tremble in the ten-and-two-o’clock position.
He directs me onto the main road, and I pull out behind a white truck.
I check and double-check my mirrors. Keep going. I can see him sweating ever so slightly as he looks down at his clipboard. As clearly as I know this man hates me, I know I’m going to fail.
“Turn right.” He orders me to turn off onto another road – busy, the high street. I ignore him and keep going straight, following the white truck.
“I told you to turn right.” He scribbles on his clipboard and frowns. Licks his lips, like he wants me to fail. “You stupid bitch.”
I drive further, to a road I know from my lessons. It’s quiet, secluded – there are spaces to pull over. I feel like I’m going to faint. This man, this disgusting man, this man who hates me, is looking at me with lustful rage.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He grips one of my legs with his hand, pushes my skirt upwards so he can feel the soft skin at the top of my thigh. He digs his fingernails in – cruel, superior, and demanding. “Stop the fucking car.”
“Stop. The. Car.” He punctuates each word with a stinging slap on the inside of my leg. He sweats.
I drive a bit further – there’s a place to stop nearby. I don’t know what I want, but I know I don’t want to be driving. I know I am more scared of driving than I am of this man. As I drive, he puts his clipboard on the dashboard, looks at me with bloodshot, angry eyes and calls me a bitch. Not just a bitch – a stupid fucking bitch. He pronounces ‘stupid’ with moist lips that mean ‘dirty.’
He puts his hand in his crotch, arranging the erection that’s now pushing uncomfortably against the fabric of his jeans. He reaches one hand across and grabs one of my tits – hard. I resist the urge to squeal, and keep driving. He pushes further, working one of his hands inside my shirt and down into my bra. With his other hand he pulls the seatbelt to one side, so it’s no longer pushing on my chest.
“You’re not even stopping me, you dirty bitch. If you stopped the car I’d stop. I would.”
He works his way further in, pinching both of my nipples in turn until they’re raw, hard and cold. He pullls my shirt open and hauls down my bra, so I’m exposed to him. He uses one hand to hold the seatbelt out of the way, and slaps one of my tits.
“Stop. The. Car.”
“Stop.” Slap “The.” Slap “Fucking.” Slap “Car.”
I stop the car. Pulling into a lay-by, I shudder with relief and turn off the engine.
“You’re a dirty little bitch.” he spits.
“You’re going to fail.” And he slaps my tits again, grinning as they jiggle. His cock is pushing harder now, at the crotch of his jeans. I reach over to touch it and he slaps my hand away. He undoes his seatbelt, leans over to take one of my nipples in his mouth. He sucks and slurps, and I’m disgusted by his moaning. I sit with my arms rigid at my sides, my eyes closed – I imagine that he’s not so disgusting. That he’s not really doing this. That this isn’t making my cunt throb and my knickers wet with shameful need.
He grunts as he releases his thick cock from his jeans, gripping it tight with one hand and rubbing it in slow, hard strokes.
After a couple of minutes of grunting and fumbling, with his spit dripping off one of my nipples, he stops. The examiner gets out of the car and strides around to my side.
“Get the fuck out.” I undo my seatbelt and he grabs my hair, dragging me out of the car and forcing me round to the front. With one hand gripped tight around my stomach, he uses the other to force my shoulders down, to bend me over the bonnet.
“I’m going to fuck you nice and hard, now, you stupid bitch.” And I can feel his cock pushing at the fabric of my skirt.
“Put your hands on the bonnet and don’t move them.” I do as I’m told. He lifts my skirt, and pulls the crotch of my knickers to one side. As he forces the tip of his cock up against my cunt he moans.
“Oh you’re so fucking wet. You dirty girl. You want this, don’t you?” I don’t reply. He slaps me, hard, round the back of the head, then pushes my face down so it’s squashed onto the bonnet.
And he forces his dick into me with a grunt.
“Oh yes. That’s it. That’s it. You filthy girl.” I can feel his cock filling me all the way up – hard and angry and dirty and hot. He grips my hips as he thrusts harder, faster, each stroke like a punishment.
“You love this, don’t you? That’s why you stopped the car. Oh. You. Dirty. Bitch.” And with each word, a stroke. With each word he slams his dick home harder, until all I can feel is his cock filling my cunt, his fingers digging deep into my hips, and the cool metal of the car bonnet against my tits.
“I’m going to come inside you. Do you hear me? I… fuck.” He’s close now, fucking me harder, getting crueller with each stroke he moves closer to climax. But he tells me no, he says he won’t come in me – I’m too dirty. I don’t deserve it. After what feels like an age of lustful grunting, he pulls his cock out of me, and slaps my arse once, twice, three times nice and hard.
And as he slaps me hard with one hand he uses the other to hold me down onto the bonnet, then pushes his dick right up against my ass. With a final push and a grunt, his cock slips inside me – tight, painful – and he shoots jets of spunk hot and deep inside me.
With his cock still twitching out the final few spurts of orgasm, he pulls back my hair, twists my head to one side and spits – hard – straight into my face.
For those who have asked me what I think about when I masturbate, the answer is: very often, this.
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