Black Cadillac

His text asked what she was doing. What was she doing that day? Could she get away? Could they finally meet?

He would be coming through her town around 4 and had about an hour or two to spare. They could talk. See each other face to face.

She gave him directions to a safe meeting location.

She drove a black Cadillac CTS. She was parked at the far end of the parking lot, far from the store entrance, near the back.

He texted that he had pulled off the exit, was nearing town. She told him the store, on the left, the parking lot, her black Cadillac.

He felt a knot in his stomach and sweat on his hands. He wiped his hands on his khaki pants, blew on them, gripped them tight.

He parked behind her and two spots over. Got out and opened her passenger door.

He said her name, she said his. She smiled.

He got in and sat on the black leather.

Her hair was dark and her skin a luminous tan. Most notably, her eyes were a delightful green.

She had stated her initial preference for a taller man (she was 5'9", though you couldn't tell it in the car). But, she'd been impressed with what he had said, with his demeanor, with his picture. His hair was a chestnut brown, his eyes a deep brown. And his mind kept her own running to keep up. This mental stimulation had been so lacking for so long she'd forgotten what it was like.

He's already made her dripping wet without a single touch. And the chance to meet him was one she would not pass up.

She was in her mid-40s, and contemplating a divorce from her alcohol-abusing but very attractive husband. They'd had a child just out of high school and things had been ok for a few years. But two more children, a job for him in another city, and lots of drinking made the relationship unsustainable.

She'd finally come to terms with it.

On this day, she wore tight jeans, a short-sleeve top, and sandals. Her toes were painted a delicious red that nicely complemented her tan skin. The sight of her long legs, clearly toned, and her well cared for feet made him feel a twitch of excitement.

Her eyes and the soft, low tone of her voice also lured him in.

She advised him of a few people she knew that were walking into or out of the store.

She had grown up in this town, had never really left.

They got to know more about each other, became more entranced in the moment of finally being within each other's breathing space after a few months of emails, texts, and a couple of phone calls.

Her hand found its way to his leg and just rested. Though its presence was certainly noted. He smiled and leaned toward her. She couldn't kiss him, not here. Sure as she did, someone would see and she'd be found out.

He leaned back away, his head against the seat. The kept on talking, like two long lost friends after 10 years apart.

She'd gotten into his head, too. He'd mentally fucked her over and over. But just reading her responses to his prompts often sent him to full raging erection with copious amounts of pre-cum.

As they became lost again in conversation, her hand inched further up his leg and he noticed, oh how he noticed.

Now firmly on his center, she discovered incredible warmth and a rising stiffness.

He smiled and told her to be careful.

Ah, but no one can see what's going on down here. As long as we keep talking, everything will be fine.

And so they did. And she stroked him through his pants until she could see the wetness of pre-cum against light tan cotton.

Her long fingers worked the button open, the zipper down. Her hand was warm against his flesh as she pulled his member from his boxers. She eased him out, seeing the full shaft and throbbing head and smiling.

Let's just talk, she said. Let's just keep talking.

And so they did. And he got lost again. Her hand stroking gently up the shaft and down, reaching in and cupping balls, back up and down. The tip of her index finger in the opening of his cock, taking pre-cum and using it to stroke the shaft. Swirling around his head like a playful tongue.

She told him it had been years since she'd touched a man. She couldn't stand her husband and he was mostly too drunk to do anything anyway. She'd always been boy crazy. And the first time she touched a cock, she fell in love. With it, not the guy. Of course, she'd learned to be picky. And because she was tall and beautiful, she'd had the chance to choose only the best. And then, since she was 18, only one man. And for the last few years, not even him. Just dreams, and lately, the sexy emails the two of them had exchanged.

He felt his tension growing as she continued. She told him there were napkins in the glove box.

He sat back, leaned his head back, and just listened as she talked. Told him what she wanted to do with him. Told him that next time, they'd find a room or she'd make the hour plus trip and visit his office. Told him she loved the way he felt in her hand and wanted that all over her body. She wanted his cock on every inch of her skin, she said.

He just smiled and she could feel him growing close. Tensing, throbbing, the head growing huge in her fingers. She kept going, kept telling him she wanted him in her mouth, her pussy, her ass. Could not wait until they could let go.

All he could say was fuck. fuck. fuck. And he placed the wad of napkins over his aching erection as quick spurts of hot fluid erupted. He leaned back and wiped down. Careful not to stain the leather.

He looked down, wiped his hand. She licked a few remnant drips of semen from her own fingers and smiled at him.

It had been nearly two hours, and she's been stroking him off and on for nearly half that time. He had to go. He was expected at home and she could only justify being out for about 30 more minutes.

He zipped up and they said goodbye.

His text told her she was fascinating. Hers told him that she had just done to his body what he did to her mind every single day.

He stopped at a rest area and went to the restroom. Cleaned, washed his hands, got some water.

He saw a black Cadillac CTS as he pulled back onto the highway and he couldn't help but smile and notice a warmth in his pants.