Rachel opens her eyes to find a winding road stretched out between long rows of flanking trees. When had the city given way to their rural surroundings? This wasn't the way home. A small voice inside her begins to protest but the friction on her slit overrides the worry. She is consumed with the wanton feeling of vulnerability and need. Sam's touch is careful and testing. It conveys that he has no intention of hurting her.
One turn off the road and Rachel finds herself approaching a small house at the end of a long gravel drive. It is well kept; dark shutters frame the windows of the red brick exterior. A glass door covers the black front door. There is a woodpile neatly stacked next to the covered front porch. A garden hose is uncoiled and laying in the path near a newly formed plant bed. This façade speaks to a man who cares about his surroundings. It hints that he takes care of his home.
Sam parks the truck in the drive near the walkway leading up to the front door. Without looking at her he gets out of the cab in one brisk and efficient movement. A slam of the door and Rachel is alone, her legs still parted, her chest flushed as are her inner thighs except where her wetness is cooling the skin. It is a frozen set of moments, her breath shallow, her heart beating in her ears -- the tick tick of the engine cooling - the sun coming warm in through the windshield - the trees dancing shadows over the lawn -- leaves rustling silently. It slows time and for the second it takes to blink she believes that maybe it is all a sensual dream. Her palms flat against the bench seat smooth over its surface, grounding her here.
It is real. This is his truck, his home -- that is her heartbeat, this is her breath. She shifts a little and feels the tension in her knees from keeping her legs spread in this posture. She takes a deep breath and smells him. Where is he? Where has he gone?
Sam opens the passenger door and extends his hand. "Come," he offers softly. She lays her hand in his and he gently pulls her towards the door. Her feet find the ground but she is caught on the edge of the seat his body blocking her way. His thumb is softly caressing the back of her hand. She looks straight into his eyes, aware that her chest is heaving a little, that her dress is slightly askew, that he is looking at her.
"Sam," Rachel starts but she's interrupted by a slight movement of his head. His eyes feast on her and she holds in her next breath.
"You're beautiful," Sam says again, making her all at once shy. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you are right here, right now."
The words wash over her, a warmth spreading stealing her air. She lets him pull her to a standing position, the breeze rustling her skirt a little as she tests her legs to see if they will hold her. She is pressed against him now, so close that she can feel the warmth of his chest through her dress and the sharp hard edge of his belt buckle against her hip.
With a sweeping motion Sam reaches behind her and grasps her thighs, pulling her up and open, wrapping her legs around his torso. Rachel's arms encircle his neck, steadying herself against him. A quick step and he moves so that her back is pressed against the side of the truck, his lips seeking hers as his hands knead the backs of her thighs and the round firm flesh of her buttocks. Her pussy is now open for him and as he pushes her back against the truck he can feel her heat through his jeans. She squirms against him; small movements that he knows are pleasuring her clit. He kisses her deep and she mews into his mouth - her body writhing in a vertical lap dance against his groin.
"Oh Sam," Rachel gasps still kissing and moving, "I'm so hot. I can't stand it. Take me, please take me."
It would be so easy, Sam thinks, reaching with his fingertips for her wet black panties, yearning to yank them aside and violate her. His cock is pulsating once more heading back to full attention. He could fuck her here -- brute force fucking wild and hard out here in the open. His carnal desire drives his hips so that they are dry humping, tongues searching, their bodies moving in rhythm.
"Want me to fuck you baby?" he asks, index finger sliding along the crease of her leg, dragging along the edge of her panties, dangerously close to her swollen lips. "Is that what you want? You need my cock, Rachel?" he teases, peeling aside her soaked little pussy covering -- pulling at the sensitive flesh around her mound so that she feels her lips part and cunt split wide.
"Yessss, Oh god Yes!" Rachel moans kissing him like a woman gone wild.
"Not here" Sam whispers stroking lightly on the outside of her lips. "I want you, all of you. I'm dying to taste your sweet little hot pussy."
With that Rachel whimpers, bearing down on him hard tightening her legs around him and clenching her ass cheeks in an effort to drive his finger into her throbbing pink.
Sam retracts his hand from her crotch and reaches back untangling her legs from his waist, helping her regain her stance on the ground. Their greedy kisses continue as she steadies herself against him, his hands on her hips roaming over her ass.
"Let's go," he urges, taking her hand again leading her up the path to the house.
Sam leaves the front door open so that light pours in from the glass screen door. Rachel steps into his cozy front room. Hardwood floors echo as she walks into a small but neatly furnished living room featuring a soft brown leather couch, a plasma TV on the wall, and a large rich rug. On the coffee table are the remnants of this morning's paper, a remote, and a portable phone. It is clean and sparse, a man's room -- functional. Opening off the living room is a hall leading to the back of the house, to the right is a small dining area and a door to the kitchen.
Rachel takes in her surroundings, noting the farm table and the smell of coffee and old wood. The calm of lazy light spilling in and the quiet of the house contrasts the high frequency buzz in her body -- a tuning fork struck and vibrating at full intensity.
She watches as Sam crosses the room to deposit his keys on the coffee table. His jeans are open, his belt hangs casually, his t-shirt stops just above the line of his boxer briefs. He belongs on a billboard, she thinks - that body, that face, the ease of his movements, his cocky but respectful demeanor all working together to make it impossible to think of anything but sin.
She realizes that she's left her purse in the truck. "My purse, I've left it . . ." she begins turning towards the door but Sam is behind her now, his body pressing into her back, his hands on her hips. "I'll get it for you in a little while," he soothes into the back of her hair.
Rachel acquiesces, closing her eyes. His hands slide up her body following the curve of her narrow waist, over her rib cage to the underside of her breasts. He follows the contour of her exploring the roundness of her womanly form, the heat of her flesh. He cups her breasts as she leans back against him, his hands full of her full tits holding them so that her nipples stand out proudly. He knows she is aching for him to touch those diamond hard tips but he denies her the pleasure. Her whimper excites him, and his breath becomes husky against the back of her neck as he continues kneading and fondling her through the fabric.
