Behave

Old story, new location:

We were leaving one of your shows after a long set. It was really late and you were driving because I had had too much to drink. We were in one of those older model cars with the bench front seating and I was lying down with my head on your lap, moaning pitifully about the throbbing pain in my head. It was a long drive and you were upset, because I had promised to restrain myself enough to share the ride home.

I asked you to pull over so I could throw up; I asked for this a couple of times and the ride was taking much longer than it should have. We stopped at a gas station so I could freshen up, get something to drink. When we got back on the road, I dropped my head into your lap again and tried to go to sleep.

Maybe it was the ridiculously late hour, maybe it was my hot breath on your lap, maybe it was my groans every time the car was jostled by pot holes, maybe it was thinking about having to do the eighty mile drive home yourself—exhausted in the middle of the night, maybe it was my hair splayed all other your thighs, but you made a quick decision to pull off the highway and into a rest stop.

I was surprised that we had stopped so soon again. You got out of the car, walked around the back, and opened my door. You told me that I was going to suck you off, right here, right now. I was still lying on the seat, moaning and dizzy. You grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to sitting, taking my hands and depositing them against your belt, and ordered me to unbuckle it. I started to, but my coordination was off and I fumbled around a lot. I got frustrated and gave up altogether.

You were furious, yanked me out of the car by my arm, around the door and threw me over the hood, pushed up my dress. I was a mass of polka-dots, black taffeta, and warm, flushed skin; my ass covered by only a sheer stretch of red satin, my legs splayed a little. I moaned and tried to get up. You shoved me back down and told me that if I threw up on the hood of the car, you would make me bleed. I quieted quickly, but kicked at the front fender. You pulled your belt through the loops, doubled it, and lashed it across my panties. I squealed and kicked some more, harder. Your belt came down again and again and again, making my ass glow and ache. I was screaming for you to stop, but your rigid palm was pinning me mercilessly against the hood. I was sobbing and sore, but wet, too.

You stopped thrashing me and grabbed one of my cheeks roughly, squeezing it hard until I yelped. You pressed your lap against my ass, dragging your rough jeans, scratching across the fiery pain. I moaned. You grabbed my hair and pulled my ear to your mouth, licking my cheek and telling me that you were now going to take what you wanted. I nodded, breathing hard, and you pushed my head back down against the car.

You traced the line of my panties with your fingers, from the damp underneath to the elastic top, tearing the thin material easily and pulling them away from my hips. I heard you unzip the fly of your pants and push them down, I felt your hard cock crushed against my hot, bruised cheeks; you spread my legs wider and shoved yourself into my soaked pussy. I chewed my knuckles to keep from crying out when you grabbed my hips and pressed your thumbs angrily against my sore ass. You ground into my slit, hammering me until my juice leaked down my legs and I was moaning your name, loud and frenziedly. You trampled me against the car, pounding your dick brutally into my sopping hollow. I was breathless and lightheaded, close to tears with desire. You reminded me that I was not to cum until you told me to; not yet, bitch. I groaned and you pulled out, grabbing my neck and dragging me from the car, forcing me to my knees in the dirt before you.

I looked at you, even in the dark, you knew I was afraid, but overtaken with lust; I would have done anything you asked, anything you demanded. You grabbed my face and pulled me against your thighs, rubbing your cock, dripping with my scent, into my hair and against my mouth.

Suck it, woman.

I did; hungrily swallowing you into my throat, panting and violent, wanting all of you, more of you.

Slow down, slut, you said as you slid your fingers into my hair and yanked me back. You fucked my face, your cock sliding deep and angrily into my mouth, my saliva was trickling down my neck and onto my breasts.

Such a good girl. You were close and I was careful.

Swallow it, baby. I nodded eagerly, sucking you faster and deeper, wishing I had been good enough for you to cum in my slutty, soaking pussy. I stroked you with my tongue and you pulled my mouth all the way down on your dick; I choked when you gushed into my throat, but you held me there, your cum dripping from my lips and down my chin. I swallowed and swallowed, clutching your thighs and moaning quietly. You let me go and I dragged my hand across my chin, wiping everything into my mouth, wanting more of your taste.

Get up. You picked me up by the arm and helped me back into the car.

If you’re a good girl, I’ll take care of you when we get home. If you’re not, I can take care of that, too.