Yeah, it was a car. No, I didn’t have sex with it or in it. But I loved it.
It was a company car, back in the days when I wore a suit.
My territory stretched far across the country, I’d have days where I’d visit a few clients, stop somewhere for lunch and then make the journey home. I’d never stay in hotels, always have the long drive back.
Someone once called it a hairdressers car. It had 2 doors, a hatchback, lumbar support and air conditioning.
What more would a girl need?
Of course there is something sexy about cars and driving and the feel of the seatbelt constraining you as you move through gears or you spin the wheel. Of being in control of a powerful machine.
So I developed a strange little habit on some of these journeys of mine.
I would try and bring myself off before I got home. It’s probably dangerous. It’s definitely quite reckless.
But I did it all the same.
I’d get myself into a position so that my trousers were really tight against my crotch, so I didn’t even have to touch myself. Just rub the fabric against my pussy by moving my legs. Squeezing my thighs together keeping my feet on the pedals as I drove through the night.
The challenge was to keep my hands on the steering wheel.
Sometimes I came just as I turned into my road, sometimes well before that.
I haven’t driven for years.
But when I see a silver Renault Megane, I smile and remember my naughty habit.