Two-Seater - a pair of Valentine’s Day flashes

Slow and Steady

For Valentine’s Day Muriel got the usual box of cherry chocolates. Harvey got himself a new car. “Now that I’m retired, we can travel,” he said. “We can visit the kids.”

“You’re so impetuous,” Muriel said.

But he wasn’t. Mile after mile he held doggedly to the speed limit. Same old Harvey. Near the airbase exit, he came up on an antique pickup truck loaded with chicken crates. Cautiously, Harvey pulled out into the passing lane. “Plenty of power in this baby,” Harvey said, giving his white Cadillac a little gas. “Chickens, eat my dust. Uh-oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

A red two-seater overtook them like a shot, zooming between the pickup and Harvey’s sedan. A blonde was driving. Muriel couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the guy next to her had his hand in her lap.

“Idiots,” Harvey muttered.

Twenty minutes later, easing into the rest stop, they noticed the sports car parked by itself at the far fringe of the lot. Harvey smirked. “See? Slow and steady wins the race.” He pulled up behind the two-seater.

“Why so far?” Muriel asked.

“Scratches,” Harvey said. “And the exercise will do us good.”

The red car was still there when Muriel and Harvey returned. On the passenger’s seat the blonde was straddling the guy, her face above his shoulder, eyes slitted. The car was rocking gently.

“How ‘bout you drive for a while?” Harvey said. He handed Muriel the keys. “I could use a snooze.”

The blonde in front of them had her mouth open, her eyes closed, her hair jouncing.

“Stop, you’re going the wrong way,” Harvey shouted, grabbing the wheel.

“I was gonna ram them,” Muriel said, teeth gritted. “I was gonna ram them hard.”

At the motel that night, Harvey and Muriel had the fuck of their lives.

Road Rage

On the way to her mom’s for Valentine’s, four times within the first hundred miles Derek brought her right to the edge. Each time, as if aware another grain of pressure on her clitoris would trigger orgasm, he’d ease off. So fucking frustrating! Did he think she couldn’t drive and come at the same time? Well, she’d never actually climaxed while driving, but she wanted to. Desperately. With each letdown she pressed harder on the accelerator, this time shooting between a junker pickup and a fat-ass Caddy.

“Holy fuck, Cindy, you’re gonna get us killed.”

“You’re gonna get killed if you don’t make me come.”

Derek tried to resume the caresses, but she brushed his hand away. “I have to pee. You want me to go all over your seat?”

Derek snorted. Maybe it would serve him right. The phrase ‘stewing in one’s own juices’ came to mind. The tickle grew to a pressure. “Want to feel it come out?” she asked. It was strange—being aroused and having to go at the same time.

“There’s a rest area two miles up,” Derek said.

“Spoilsport.”

She drove to the deserted end of the parking lot.

“Why so far?” Derek asked.

“I want to go in the woods. I want you to watch me.”

Pissing in front of him was such a turn-on. For him, too, evidently. “Holy fuck, Cin, I have to fuck you right now.”

“In the car,” she said. “Hurry.”

She was riding him so good, a stroke or two from coming, when the squeal of that stupid Cadillac stopped her cold. What the fuck? It burned rubber roaring onto the highway. Derek, oblivious to the near miss, jizzed her womb with everything he had. She flopped over to her seat. The wet spot would serve him right.