back seat driver

Its late.

The world is asleep

Warm orange glow from the street lights blankets her car.

Its hue unfolds itself across the interior.

She parks.

Lights off, engine stopped.

Her heart beats bassline rhythm.

The music of anticipation has her inner goddess dancing

She smiles to herself

Bottom lip curls up under her teeth

She climbs into the back seat

Lays down and dials his number

His voice is Miles Davies jazz

Soft

Low

Mellow

Eyes closed she listens to him speak

Replies with wit, sharp sarcasm, playful banter

His response is consider, subtle, focused

She can hear him smile

Carbon dioxide builds in this small space

Blends with the woman mist that has formed across her garden

He can hear her want

Its audible silence is loud

It echoes between her words

Between the valley of her thighs

Her body revs

Hormones race

Inner goddess has become a racer

Speeds around corners of longing

Zips passed logic leaving it far behind

Accelerates

While fingers cruse across the track of her inner thighs

The fuel burns as her inner goddess welcomes

Nimble fingers that move slow but cause tingles to race up her spine

He speaks slowly

Navigates direction of finger tips

His voice dictates

Commands

Guides the vehicle of fingers

Circles

Loops

Accelerate

Faster…

Faster…

Faster…

The engine of her body moans

Roars

Revs loud

Delicate speed of finger tips rush her towards the finish line

The chequered flag of release waves in front of her

Senses flash black and white

She rushes passed the finish line of pleasure

Back arches in sweet victory celebration

First place triumph …

Aug 9 2012 – 11:47pm

Posted by eroticnoire

2 thoughts on “back seat driver

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