Chapter 7: Richelle: Pussy Wagon

Richelle sighed with boredom as her boyfriend, Greg Mac, droned on and on about his latest car. Greg was currently doing an apprenticeship as a mechanic, which suited him just fine; cars had been his passion all his life. Normally Richelle wouldn't be seen dead with a boy from her own school, but he was making good money, and he did have a nice car. They were sitting in the car as they spoke, up at the local "make-out" point. Richelle had suggested going up there. For some reason, she'd been feeling really tense ever since her meeting with the school counsellor. She'd thought that a good necking session might calm her down.

Instead, however, as soon as they had arrived, Greg had started to talk about whatever latest adjustments he had made to his car, and the different models that he had serviced today ... Richelle had next to no interest in cars. She enjoyed being seen in a flashy car, and of course she enjoyed the convenience of getting from place to place, but cars had never been one of her main interests. This left Greg and her with little to talk about, but she wasn't dating Greg for his conversational skills. She thought that by now he would have realised that, but no, he was still trying to engage in small talk, or maybe he was lost in the sound of his own voice, droning on and on about his stupid car...

Richelle had to admit that it was a nice car. She didn't know any of the technical terms, but it was red, it was a two-seater, and though not a convertible, was still quite pretty, and Greg made sure that it was always shiny. It had an excellent sound system, and - best of all - it had leather seats. Richelle loved the feel of leather against her skin, more than silk, or any other material. She wasn't wearing stockings, and had made sure when she sat down to ensure that as much of her legs were touching the leather as was decently possible. Richelle, despite her long brown hair, nice C-cup tits and round, firm arse, considered her legs to be her best feature. As the tallest of her friends, they were long, and she shaved them daily. She was praying for the day that short skirts came back into fashion, so that she could finally be the girl in the school who drew the most glances.

It sounded like Greg wasn't going to shut up any time soon, so Richelle thought that she might as well make herself a bit more comfortable. She raised her bottom from the seat, and let her skirt ride higher up her legs, exposing more of her skin to the leather. The leather felt great; just the right temperature, just the right texture. Despite his constant lectures about the ins and outs of cars, she was glad that she was dating Greg, if it meant that she got contact with this leather more often.

Clearly, he hadn't noticed her complete lack of attention. Ah, Greg. She watched him as he talked about whatever upgrades he had made to the engine lately. She had been considering breaking up with him lately, and had put tonight down as the night where she chose whether or not to continue the relationship. Choosing to talk about cars rather than engage in a more interesting activity wasn't winning him any points, but Richelle stared at him as he pointed out something on the dashboard. He was very handsome, after all. Sure, he wasn't much for conversation, and he didn't always want to make out when she did, but he did work long days, and he was always ready to pick her up when he needed. He was actually quite a good boyfriend, she suddenly realised.

It occurred to Richelle that perhaps she wasn't as perfect a girlfriend as she had always assumed. It wasn't entirely fair on him, she realised with a start, to be at her beck and call at all hours. She could think of many times when she had called Greg up at odd hours, wanting to be picked up from a friend's house, or driven to a concert ... and instead of thanking him, she had been ungrateful that he looked so tired and cranky. And he hadn't even complained, not once.

Yes, she thought, the least that she could do was listen attentively when he rabbitted on about cars. She leant over, and snuggled up to him, curling her legs up underneath her. Greg looked down at her in surprise, but she merely batted her eyelids and asked him to continue. Her legs were now in contact with even more leather, which suited her just fine. She almost wished that she was completely nude, so that she could feel the leather rubbing against all of her skin. Mmm, yes. Naked, naked in a car. Naked in a car, surrounded by leather, and machinery, and that big, throbbing motor...

Greg was really getting into his car spiel, but Richelle was getting turned on by all these images of leather, and cars. She leaned up, and kissed him. He was surprised, but soon realised what she was after. He picked up on the subtle hints that she was giving out; the slight moans, the increased breathing, her hands starting to explore his body, her tongue trying to reach every crevice of his mouth...

Richelle was surprised. She didn't often feel randy, but when she did, a bit of making out was soon enough to satisfy her. Tonight, however, she sense that kissing wasn't going to do it. She could feel the car around her. A car like this deserved more than making out to occur inside it. She decided that tonight she'd let Greg go from first to second base.

Greg was amazed. One minute he'd been talking about the gear troubles he'd been having with his car, and now his normally stand-offish girlfriend was moaning like a bitch in heat, passionately kissing him, and making noises like a porn star. His night had just gotten better, but he had no idea how much it was still to improve.