Tinted Windows

Take my car today, please…” she says. “I may have some donation stuff and I want to get it into the back of your truck so you can take it over after work.” Silly me, I didn’t think much of it, but that it seemed out of nowhere.

Someday, someday I hope I’ll flip on that “something is not right here…” switch and at least be able to pick up on things when a game is afoot. Today… is not that day.

As I get ready to head out, you stop me in the kitchen turn me to face you and run your fingers up my scalp until you’re holding my head and face while you kiss me. It’s one of those physical, demanding, deep kisses and you know, too, what that does to me. And it does.

You release me, but your other hand travels to my waist – grabbing me gently, but firmly, you squeeze. Enough to feel like a warning, not enough to hurt. You kiss me lightly, but hold it, while you lock eyes with me. You feel me finish getting hard for you. “There we are. Very good,” you say, giving me a last squeeze.

I try to get my head back on straight and head out, but as I’m pulling out, you walk over to the car… with that look. That look that we’ve all come to recognize now. You make that “lower the window” gesture and I do.

I forgot to mention. At any time today, and perhaps multiple times today, I am going to IM you a number. You are to immediately get up, go to the car get in the back seat and edge that number of times. Text me when you enter the car, text me when it’s completed. Lube’s in the back, right there,” you point to the back seat and, sure enough. There it is.

If I put an asterisk after the number, you are to ruin it for me, and I’ll need a video to show you didn’t cheat and go too far. Have a great day!

Before I can get a word in, you are walking away and I take the hint. Shut up, close the window, be on my way.

At the office, things are, as always, a little crazy. I have a conference call right off the bat and let you know I’ll be a few minutes. When I’m off, I’m complaining to you in IM about the call, the inane people I have to deal with, all of that. It’s quite the missive.

At the end of it all, there’s this pause.

“3”

Is all you write back. I can’t even understand for a moment. But, then, of course I do. I start to write back that I need to get email caught up and such, but I know, I KNOW, the repercussions of that. I stand, stretch and wander out as nonchalantly as I can muster.

I look around at the car, there are a couple of people walking by and I stand to wait for them to pass. I mean, getting in the back seat is a bit odd after all. I immediately get a text. “Hello? Aren’t you supposed to be in the car now??” I write back that I was waiting for people to pass. “Nope. I said go out right then. Not later. Not when it’s “all clear.” RIGHT THEN.

“I’m sorry.” I write back.

I settle in and am aware of the cyclists riding by, people in and out of their own cars and such. It’s a beautiful day, so of course everyone is out and about. Thankfully, I also know that the tinting on the windows is nearly blackout. You simply can’t see in, not at all. Of course I can see out, and that totally screws with my head.

I try to relax a little, you text again. “CAR. NOW.” I had forgotten to text that I was in the car. “Sorry, sorry. I’m in the car, missed texting.” “That’s 2 that we’ll deal with later,” you tell me. Oh. Alrighty then. Stuff just took a strict turn.

I have been hard since I walked up, tried to sneak in the car. I keep thinking of your kisses, thinking of your hands on me. Your words. This game. This… challenge.

I run my hand up and down my cock, slowly at first, picking up speed, my eyes darting around for a bit to make sure I’m all clear. The first edge takes a few minutes, but sneaks up on me and is suddenly threatening – I try to push it a little and almost pay the price, but somehow keep it together. The second is a headrush, a full on “fuck it, I’m going to cum” headrush.

I stop in time, but my cock continues to twitch. I think I’ve gone too far, and I can’t seem to stop the twitches for longer time than I expect, I think it’s going to go to ruined, but doesn’t.

I grab myself again, making that ring around the base, moving more slowly this time. I’m well aware that I’m far too close and don’t want to mess this up, don’t want to go too far. It’s frustrating because I can’t seem to quite get there, I’m too timid on myself. So, what the heck. I change up how I’m holding myself, I move positions and relax.

I get that wash of feelings that blows through my head. I swear that mother nature created that to make you lose your mind, “go forth and cum!” she was thinking. Full on lizard brain. I recognize it after it flows through me though – so I slow and feel it building, feel it coming on. I get just to that point – that point of no return and it’s like you can see me.

My phone buzzes. “I said 3. Not 30.” I crash on the right side of the edge as the buzzing continues. I sit there, taking in extra air, trying to relax. Realizing that I have to get those buttons redone on the jeans, around me. I have to get out. I have to look nonchalant if there are people around.

Done.” I text. I weasel my way out of the car, acting like I’m looking for a package or something I left in the back seat. I have to think people wonder what’s up because I’m sure my face is flushed, I know my adrenaline is screaming and surely there is something, SOMETHING about this dude getting randomly out of the back seat of that car…

I slowly walk back to the office, my head swimming. I sit down and respond to your IM. “I’m back in the office.” You carry on your conversation just as before, no break, no indication of anything.

You end with “From now on, if it’s just a number, you know what to do.

Later, when I get off yet another conference call from hell and am telling you about it, there’s that pause again on the response. After a minute, I see the typing indicator, showing you’re typing to me. It was too long to be conversational. I sit back and wait.

Without even saying anything, I’m hard again.

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