My sexy big bear hunk of a guy went and bought a brand new white Chevrolet Monte Carlo SS 2 door coupe powered by a nasty ass Turbo-Jet 5.7 litre engine right off the showroom floor at the local GM dealership in late 1983.
He worked back then in a mid-level management position for a conservative private corporation and was trying to present a convincing image of straight-appearing, wholesome, establishment family man to his boss and co-workers until he had firmly established himself within the upper echelon of the corporate hierarchy.
He was a muscular masculine stud of a man with a confident baritone voice and an ever-present, sexy five o'clock shadow, obliging him to shave twice daily to look reasonably groomed at times. He played his role well ... convincingly looking and sounding 100% masculine with his mannerisms and when he spoke. Remember that this was back in the mid eighties.
It was a closeted time for many.
It did extremely weird things to my brain over what I suspected was his misguided twisted logic and motivation for buying this particular model of car and the image he was hoping to convey to the public. I think he sort of thought back then that straight masculinity was more like an image thing you could either drive or wear, like his favorite sports jackets or his grey, well-tailored men's suits ... or hopping in, adjusting his big furry pube package, spreading his brawny, beefy, well-developed thighs and tooling around in a safe, anonymous, establishment accepted piece of GM rolling metal. All his Monte Carlo ever did for me though was to underscore the contrast between it and him by being the 180 degree polar opposite to the compellingly handsome and virile 6 foot pornographic sex god I had come to know intimately and love passionately.
In private, I jokingly nick-named his car `Darryl.'
`Darryl' to me was a short, middle-aged, married, paunch-bellied straight man wearing thick framed bifocals with a whiny wife named Rhonda Louise and two asthmatic, pre-pubescent kids.
`Darryl' was the type of man who would typically lust after an uninspired, bloated North American parody of a sports car he mistakenly believed would make him look super sexy and cool when driving it.
`Darryl' was an accountant with a big mortgage, a tiny shrivelled dick, man boobs and a rapidly thinning, receding hairline.
`Darryl' was likely impotent at that point in his life and would certainly have been the type of candidate to drive a car just like what my hot, masculine lover had just purchased.
My husky, hairy, muscular bear of a man was the complete opposite of a `Darryl.'
He was really something. I met him during an evening alumni event at my university where I had volunteered to assist. It was the first time I ever saw him. I turned beet red, gulped and just about passed out on the spot. He picked up on my reaction and spent the rest of that evening casually leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, posing in a black turtleneck cashmere sweater with his thumb hooked into the front pocket of his tight tan chinos, his fingers spread out to direct attention to his bulging crotch while staring at me and grinning that dumb, lopsided, grin of his until I had mustered up enough nerve to shyly walk over and say hi to him. He was charming, intelligent, flirty and funny. He knew he had me right from the start and after an hour or so of playful banter and sexual innuendo offered to drive me home. My pull-out sleeper sofa bed in my tiny little bachelor apartment saw a lot of hot, sweaty action that night ... Jeezus ...
Both men and women would pause in mid-conversation to turn their heads and discreetly check him out when he was out in public. Women would stare at his bulging package and his hard man ass and likely wind up with moist panties after a couple of minutes of fantasizing about him playing with their clitorises. And men would usually end up being totally jealous and completely intimidated by him. I know he pretended to be oblivious to the attention but was secretly hugely amused and proud of the effect he had on envious strangers.
I never called his new car `Darryl' in front of him. The man would have been super pissed off. And the last thing I would have wanted to do was mock or belittle him or intentionally wound his masculine vanity and pride.
I remember we'd been living discreetly together for almost a year the day he came home and proudly announced he'd just bought his first brand new car.
Up to that point, he'd been driving the same old tin can sub-compact his mom and dad had given to him just after he'd finished grad school. It didn't exactly fit the image he was going for now. I remember him saying to me, "Baby, I'm fucking sick and tired of having to bend myself up double and fold myself in half to get in my fucking car. My forehead has a permanent dent in it from banging it on the door. And it always seems like my knees are up around my shoulders whenever I have to drive it for any kind of long distance. It's been great up to now having you up close and tight against me in it. But damned frustrating at the same time `cause I can't fool around in it with you without being all stiff and sore the next day ... and not in a good way either. That's one of the reasons why I wanted the big Monte Carlo with a long bench style front seat instead of buckets and console. And with those extra-wide doors, I can hop into it no problem, You and I are gonna' have lots of hot, fun sex in my new wheels baby."
I was twenty-two and he was the sexy older stud ... almost eleven years older than me at that time.
From the beginning of our dating and eventual relationship, I lusted over him and his big, uncircumcised cock, I'll never forget that first time he let me get into his pants to go down on his thick tool. It sure as hell didn't take long for me to become addicted to that throbbing, eight inch, butt hole impaling man shaft of his.
He clearly knew what he had between his muscular long legs and stuffed into his tight bulging trousers. It didn't take much for him to turn up the heat, keeping me acutely conscious of him and in a state of constant sexual tension whenever I was close enough to feel his pervasive heat and warm breath on the back of my neck and when he was within close intimate groping and fondling range of my butt. The chemistry between us was palpable and powerful.
After three months and much inveigling and cajoling, I convinced him to let me move in with him. I was then his `cute ass cookie boy' ... chewy, delicious, highly addictive and impossible to say no to after the first probing tongue tease lashing of my tight boy butt hole according to him. It was his affectionate pet name for me.
The prospect of having his steaming low hangers explode with his uncut dick pumping his potent seed deep inside me every night and sharing his big, cozy bed, tightly curled up next to him under the duvet with my nose buried into his pheromone scented arm pit and his muscular arm possessively curled around me was everything in that first year.
The day he took delivery of his new wheels from the dealership I have this memory of him pulling up to pick me up from my classes that afternoon. He had a shit-faced grin on his face as he braked to a sudden stop in front of me.
"Jeezus ... you look so sexy and handsome in your new car!"
"Awww ... thanks baby."
He was wearing his favorite brown and tan wool and linen blend sport coat and tan worsted wool trousers that were both beginning to show signs of wear. His Burberry plaid tie was loosened around his neck and the top
button of his white dress shirt was undone revealing a tantalizing, teasing promise of dark chest hair underneath. There was a brown and tan dotted silk pocket square in his suit jacket pocket to complete the sartorial image. I had to admit, from head to toe right down to his brown polished loafers, he looked pretty damned irresistible and super masculine that day. He was a fucking stud muffin and actually looked like he belonged in that driver's seat when I checked him out seated there with his legs spread wide and bulging crotch invitingly on display for me. He groped and rubbed his prominent, half-hard package, then leaned over to open the passenger side door. He raised the driver's armrest between the two front seats and patted the passenger seat beside him. Then he grinned suggestively at me and motioned to hop in to that big, comfy, fully reclining, front bench style seat up close and tight beside him.
I stared down at the tent his boner was making in his dress pants and said, "With the wet spot you're making inside those work pants, it isn't very hard to figure out just what you're packing down there. I sure hope you don't walk around your office that way."
He grabbed onto his big dick, then started to shake it and point it at me, laughing and said, "Never you mind there cookie kid. Just get in my fuckin' car cause by the looks of your tight jeans, I'm thinking you're gonna' need a hand job yourself, since you seem really happy to see me too. Now fucking get in here with me right now cause I wanna' play with your little big boy dick!"
I didn't hesitate.
He revved the crap out of his brand new car, then floored it and off we went like shit. He always seemed to want to drive the piss out of his cars. It was a manly, testosterone thing for him, I guess.
He expertly maneuvered through the downtown rush hour traffic and managed to get onto the eastern parkway, cruising down the road with his throaty engine vibrating and rumbling away. He grabbed onto my left hand and used it to massage the hard bulge straining inside the moist crotch of his trousers. "Get down there and take my cock out baby. It's been trapped inside these fucking pants all day and wants to come out now and have some play time with you. Actually kid, just after I picked up my new wheels from the dealership I got so boned up and uncomfortable driving along I thought my balls were gonna' explode and my cock was gonna' burst inside my tight briefs. I had to pull over somewhere private to take'em off and go commando. I was playing with my cock to keep it all juiced up as I was driving to come pick you up just now baby. Maybe you could get your sexy tongue down there and lap up whatever is left of those dripping pre-cum spots I managed to spill between my legs. You never know. You just might get me all stiff and hard and ready to cum for you."
"Yes, I kinda' thought you maybe were trying to jerk off earlier because I wondered why you weren't wearing any underwear when I was working your dick just now. And right now I can smell your hot bulging crotch from here . It smells pretty damned good too. You know, I can never get enough of your man scent. I'm addicted to it."
He gave an obscene sounding chuckle at my comment and then said, "Well kid, you just got my cock's attention `cause it's twitching again.
I think we need to christen my new wheels cookie boy. I wanna' shoot my load while tooling down the parkway with you playing Little Red Riding Hood looking for a big hairy man basket in my dark, sweaty pube forest down there. Whadya' say?"
A few kilometres down the road, he turned into a parking area reserved for hikers and bikers along the walking trail. He pulled into a secluded, shady parking space in the far corner of the lot and killed that big 5.7 litre throaty sounding engine.
Next thing I know he's managed to pull his trousers down past his knees to expose his throbbing bulge and spread his legs wide to give me a ring side seat view of his hard thick cock while gently pulling my head down into that incredible powerfully fragrant man scented crotch of his that I was so addicted to.
"Come on baby ... suck it."
He was right. There were a few remaining spots of moist pre-cum down there that I promptly took care of. And ten minutes later with his right hand fondling, massaging and playing with my ass cheeks and butt crack, and with my mouth and tongue greedily sucking on his testicles and hard fully erect tool, I managed to get him all boned up again with him softly moaning and about to shoot his cum load. "Ah fuck cookie, I don't have a god-damned cum towel in the car with me and I don't wanna' make a mess ... shit man!"
"The new car smell in my Monte sure as hell is not gonna' be lasting too damned long at this rate with you and me fucking and sucking in it like we just did kid."
"It's OK," I said. "I bought a little present for you to help you celebrate your new car." Then I reached into my knapsack and pulled out a plastic bag and handed it to him.
"Sooo ... What the hell is this? A tea towel with a picture of Yogi Bear on it that says only you can prevent forest fires? I don't get it baby."
"It's your new cum towel for the car. Whenever you have a fire in your pants down there in your pube forest, you can use it."
"Fuck baby! Ya' know ... I'm damned good. But even I cant laugh and cum at the same time. Now get back down there and finish what you started!"
His orgasm when he came in my mouth was powerful, explosive and vocal.
I took my finger and rubbed my mouth to take some of his thick ejaculate dripping around my lips after he blew his load. Then I held my finger up to his mouth and spread his spent cock juice around his lips. This drove him wild as he grabbed me to shove his tongue far down my throat in a passionate, probing, invasive kiss.
With my face buried deep in his dark, sweaty pube forest, inhaling his pungent man spice, he sighed deeply with contented pleasure and then smiled and said to me, "OK, that was fucking fantastic cookie babe. But next time we're gonna' be prepared. You're gonna' be sitting on me kid and riding my dick a lot in the front seat once I scout out some private places where we can suck and fuck and break in my new wheels baby."
"Sounds like a plan to me," I say. "How about in a few minutes right here, right now?"
He laughed and then said, "Ahh fuck1 You're gonna' fucking kill me honey. Hows about we give my cock a chance to rest up a bit?"
"On one condition."
"What's that baby?"
"That I get to sleep in that big bear, man-smelling underwear you've been wearing all day when we go to bed tonight and tomorrow all day at school. I just have to smell like you inside my jeans tomorrow. It makes me feel like you've branded me with your animal scent and claimed ownership of me."
His cock started twitching again when it registered with him what I had just said.
"Sooo ... I'm an animal to you, am I? Hmmm ... OK, I think I kinda like that!"
"Yup ... a big, fucking, handsome, hairy bear. My big, horny, boned-up bear in fact."
He laughed and started to growl at me. Then he shifted slightly to sit upright while continuing to chuckle and remembered he had tossed his sweaty tightie whiteies under his driver's seat. So he reached down with his left hand and pulled them out, balled them up and then tossed them over at me and said, "Jeezus god-damned Christ kid. You are one kinky, perverted little fucker at times, aren't you my cute little butt hole boy? Is that what you think about in the lecture hall when you're supposed to be paying attention to what your profs are trying to teach you?"
Well, as a matter of fact ... thinking of you with your arms around me and what's in your pants are about the only things that get me through those dry and boring lectures."
At that point I have my hand inside his shirt and am absentmindedly playing with and tweaking his left nipple. "I actually kinda' prefer it when you teach me. You're a lot more experienced in some things than they are."
"All right baby. Enough of that kind of talk for now my cute ass butt boy. Keep pinching my nipple that way baby and we're never gonna' make it out of this parking lot."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
He smirks and then says, "I'm gonna' have to take these damned pants into the dry cleaners tomorrow to get rid of the shot spots and crotch odor since you can smell me so much in the car. Sure as hell can't be having people getting a strong whiff of me in the office that way."
"Nope! Like hell you are. I'll buy you a new pair if I have to. But you're going keep these ones in the living room closet by the front door and wear them sometimes whenever we go tooling around in your car for me to get lost down there in your hairy pleasure forest. That scent between your legs is just for me, big guy!"
More suggestive laughter from him as he let me roll back his foreskin to suck and lick the last bits of spunk off his dick and then stuff both it and his testicles carefully back into his pants, zip him up and then buckle up his worn tan leather belt. Then as he bent over to grab onto his ignition key, he hesitated, sat back and turned to face me with an amused expression on his face.
"You know babe, before I met you, the guys I was with were only ever just interested in getting into my pants to suck and play with my dick. I find it kinda' funny that you always wanna' do me up again after you do me."
I responded, "Well ... it's just as much of a turn on for me to dress you as it is to undress you. It's kinda' like a sexy, special porno scene with only you starring in it for my perverted personal pleasure. I really get off on that. It gives me more time to play with the tab on your zipper and shove my hands down between your hairy, beefy legs to play with you."
He just shook his head and smiled at that comment.
"And, and, well ... I like to finish what I started."
"Sooo ...now that I'm thinking about it baby ... you wanna' drive it home cookie butt? My Monte is for you too ya' know. I put you on my insurance so you can drive it whenever you want to."
"Nah ... this is your special day. And besides, I want to play with you some more on the way home." And then I smiled as he slowly drove `Darryl' out of the parking lot with my hand buried deep down in his crotch to feel the heat between his legs.
Once we got back to our apartment, he steered his SS down the ramp into the parking garage and over to his parking spot in the dark corner.
"Hmmm.... oh Jeez. Never thought about the size of this thing and fitting it into my parking space cookie. This is gonna' be a challenge `cause it's so tight. Just like your hot little butt hole baby!"
I followed him to the elevator and he pushed the button for the 18th floor. Once inside, he pinned me tight up against the wall, leaning hard into my body with his arms restraining me, softly cursing and urgently whispering, "Fuck it! I don't fuckin' care if anyone gets on or off this elevator `cause you and I are gonna' get off big time when I get you into the bedroom later. You're my sexy butt boner boy and you're gonna' get fucked real good honey. Just gotta' be inside you baby. Don't plan on getting any god-damned sleep tonight!"
And then he thrust his tongue deep down my throat, while thrusting and grinding his hips and big, hairy crotch basket into me.
That pick-up scene and first ride with him and me and his new wheels will always be a vivid memory for me.
At the time, I thought to myself, "Well ... maybe, perhaps things were going to work out OK between me and vanilla white `Darryl' after all."
... and then just a few weeks later ...
He came to realise that the 4th generation of these early 80's General Motors G body mid-size cars had quirky carburetors (before fuel injection was introduced in later models) and correspondingly temperamental and stubborn tendencies when it came to cold starts.
He wasn't mechanically inclined in the slightest and knew next to nothing about cars or maintenance, even though he liked to pretend he did. Ask him the difference between a driveshaft and a differential and you'd likely wind up getting a ... huhh? What the hell are you talking about? ... and a blank look from him. He was really clueless for such a masculine guy when it came to vehicles.
To his shock and consternation during that first bone-chillingly cold winter, he came to learn that in our frigid northern climate if he left his beloved baby outside for a couple of hours with a strong, frigid north wind blowing, the damned thing wouldn't start for him no matter how much he pumped his gas pedal and cranked the son of a bitch.
You had to take a pen or screwdriver and stick it down into the carburetor air intake to open the flap up wide and then crank the crap out of it for a long time to clear out the flooded gas float chamber. Then it would cough, reluctantly turn over and idle roughly for you. It was usually a two man job ... one guy messing with the air intake flap, leaning in under the hood and bending over in front of the car, while the other guy planted his ass in the driver's seat and pumped and cranked the living shit out of it.
The poor stud was so proud of his first set of new wheels. He was my hairy, masculine, tasty piece of stud bear man candy back in those days. It totally emasculated him when his prized SS wouldn't start for him when he was somewhere ... either with me in the front seat beside him or when he was out somewhere on his own in public.
I loved my butch, sweaty, masculine hunk of a man. And I came to eventually accept `Darryl.' I understood both of their secrets, intimacies, needs and quirks.
After several years, his beloved Monte SS took on the savoury essence of his unmistakeable masculine man scent and carried his strong pheromone odor inside. You could feel and smell it when you got into his car. It was his pervasive, intimate, deeply personal man space. His ride was an intense, private sensual thrill for me when I was in it without him knowing.
The driver's seat had worn down over the course of the years he drove his wheels until it fit the contours of his chiselled, hairy, masculine ass like a tight, well-worn glove. Two hollowed out deep ass cheek imprints where the upholstery fabric was slightly faded and worn out and some unidentifiable mysterious dark stains where his hot crotch would have been spread out. Jeezus I thought ... he must be jerking off his big dick in `Darryl' himself when I'm not around to take care of his big, juicy, big bear boner. Just fucking fantastic! That was a realization that totally blew my mind and made my own dick twitch when I thought about it. I felt like I was sitting in his funky pube forest with his muscular, brawny, grizzly bear thighs straddling me whenever I sat in his driver's seat.
The blue and grey colour upholstery in his wheels was a durable, touchy-feely textured kind of fabric. It was soft and velvet smooth to the touch when you rubbed it one way, and then rough and scratchy when you rubbed it back in the other direction. It always managed to give off the distinctive, faint manly aroma of his unique male crotch scent and body odor, mingled with the stale cloying lingering essence of his signature `Joop!' brand of cologne.
I used to have fun at times going down on his thick tool when we cruised around in his prized SS. He'd give me an amused sideways look and smug little grin while reclining back fully in his driver's seat with one hand on the wheel and one arm draped over the seat back to let me unzip his pants and give him road head any time I told him I wanted his cock and just had to blow him. I'd rub my face against the grain of the driver's seat fabric and drive myself crazy feeling the coarse, rough texture of his trousers. My eager tongue and lips would go down on his musky, male-smelling, hard man shaft, teasing his foreskin and tasting his pre-cum leaking cock head until he would groan with intense pleasure and shoot a big wad of his thick, tasty spunk down my throat.
I was convinced that on some days he would deliberately take the long and roundabout way to get somewhere just so I would have enough time to service his dick and suck the last bit of tasty creamy pre-cum and cock juice from that throbbing tool. Not that I ever complained about it at the time.
He really seemed to get off on car sex and road head with me in the car snuggled up tight beside him.
I secretly nicknamed his big bulging cock `the ever ready sweaty energizer' because it never failed to respond and get rock hard for me while he slouched down, spread his legs wide, unzipped his pants to expose himself and drove the piss out of his ride.
Too bad his beloved SS turned out to be anything but ever ready.' Seemed to me like a lot of the time it was like, never' ready in fact.
His temperamental wheels sometimes just flat out refused to turn over for him in the winter. Especially when he pumped it too much and managed to flood it. I always got half hard when I was with him in his ride and had to get out and fool with the carb and air intake while he hunched over his steering wheel and muttered and swore in angry frustration ... cranking his car relentlessly and coming close to burning out his starter at times.
He parked his ride in our apartment building's underground garage where we lived in those days. At rare times, early in the morning before he was getting ready for work and with him still innocently asleep and lazily slumbering in bed, I would sneak down into the dark concrete parking garage and pump his gas pedal for the longest time until his choke completely flooded out. He always looked dejected and frustrated when his prized wheels refused to start for him on those early work day mornings. He'd plead, curse and beg his pride and joy Monte to turn over for him ... mercilessly cranking the crap out of it ... draining the battery right down and hopelessly flooding it.
He'd eventually head back up to our apartment, pouting, muttering and petulant, sadly admitting to me, "Well Cookie kid, the god-damned thing won't fuckin' start for me again this morning". Then he would angrily exclaim, "That god-damned shit box! How in the fucking Hell am I gonna' to get in to the office today with no wheels?"
"You've probably flooded it again. You really seem to have a special talent that way with `Darryl'... errr ... rather your Monte Carlo. Just wait for a while and go back down then and try it again in a half hour or so."
Then I'd tell him that was perfect because I really wanted him and needed to blow him and was glad he wasn't leaving so early ... to call in late to the office so we could have some boned up, cock-sucking, big boy play time together. Then I'd fondle his dick and offer to go down on him to service his stiffening cock. If he said yes (... which was almost always ...) I'd bury my face deep into his hot, furry crotch to bring his big, hairy tool with its perfectly shaped mushroom head to full standing attention. It never took long to get him fully aroused when I offered to suck his dick on those occasional rare mornings.
It was always incredible to feel the masculine heat radiating from the cloying crotch of his suit pants. I'd unbutton his shirt to expose his torso, undo his belt and the top button of his trousers so I could tease his hairy pleasure trail and stiff thick shaft with my tongue and lick and suck it through the coarse fabric until he'd unzip his pants, pull his fully aroused dick out and force it deep down my throat to help relieve his disappointment and frustration over his beloved car letting him down once again. Every once in a while just to shake things up a bit and give him a special thrill, I'd pull his suit trousers down around his knees to feel the beat of his strong pulse between the base of his testicles and his anus. I'd play with his ass crack and use my fingers to tease and play with his throbbing, twitching sphincter muscle and tight male butt hole to really get him off and have him shoot a huge load of his thick, creamy man juice in my face and down my throat. That really managed to arouse him to the point of mindless, wild, thrusting, loud orgasm. Those times were just fucking amazing. I can still remember and imagine the heat emanating from his fragrant crotch now as I'm thinking about it.
After he shot his spunk load, he'd head back down to his `big stud, bear man SS coupe' and crank it repeatedly until the damned thing finally fired up for him. Once he left, I'd fantasize about his fuzzy, chiselled man ass in his driver's seat with his muscular thighs spread wide to give his low hanger balls some room ... adjusting his furry pube package to get comfortable ... my sexy, mature, confident stud man cruising on down the highway.
I remember one night I was bored, boned up and super horny.
He was physically and mentally exhausted after a particularly long and stressful day at work and had gone to bed earlier. I was feeling lonely, neglected and frankly, more than a little frustrated sexually by having been abandoned by him and left alone. So I started to fantasize and decided I just had to have some private time in his car.
It was perverted and kinky of me. We all have our particular takes on our kinky fetish fantasies and what gets us off.
I stealthily snuck into the bedroom to grab the white cotton underwear briefs he had worn earlier in to the office lying on the floor beside where he was sleeping and lightly snoring away. He was totally naked on top of the covers with his hairy chest and body fully exposed and lying there on his back with one leg curled up and an arm stretched out on his pillow. His limp cock and hairy pleasure trail were in plain sight and I just had to bend down and inhale deeply to get a good strong whiff ... both of his warm, savoury armpit and what was tantalizing and teasing me in his sweaty, hairy crotch. He'd hadn't showered before falling into bed. It was at times like this I wished I could have been a pair of his bulging undies and ride around all day in his heady crotch at work. His man smell was intoxicating to me. I bent down to inhale his cock scent and run my tongue along his furry inner thigh. Then I took the blanket on the bed and gently covered him with it. He sighed with pleasure and shifted position while continuing to snore and dream. I was obsessed now with wanting to have some private hot fetish play time in his cranky shitbox of a car so I backed off slowly and reached down for his briefs and brought them out in to the living room where his office clothes had been carelessly hung in the closet when he got home from work earlier that afternoon.
I couldn't figure out where he had tossed his car keys earlier. I went through all of his pockets .... nope ... not in any of them. Now where the fuck did he put them? I finally found them hiding under the newspaper he'd left on the coffee table, after five long minutes of a frustrating search.
I'm going to pay him back big time and make him have to look all over for them tomorrow morning, I thought to myself and smiled.
I took his sweat-stained underwear and shoved them into the pocket of his suit jacket. Then I got dressed in his office clothes consisting of the wrinkled, pit-stained pale blue oxford cloth dress shirt he'd worn earlier in the day to work, along with his favorite sky blue and navy silk striped tie, his worn black and white wool `birdseye' pattern suit jacket and trousers with discoloured, yellowed sweat and urine stains along the front waistband and white cotton lining around the fly.
Before I slipped into them though, I noticed that the crotch of them was looking a bit worn and threadbare where his thick, beefy thighs were rubbing together in them. Also that the seams running up the insides of his upper thighs and the crack of his hard ass looked like the fabric was really beginning to pill and the thread stitching was starting to visibly strain and look like it just might split and give out on him sometime when he was spreading his legs wide or when bending over too far in them.
That particular sight though was something reserved just for my private entertainment and pleasure. No one gets to have a peak at his fuzzy hairy man ass and perineum ... his extra super-sensitive area between his ball sack and butt hole but me. Fuck! I would live down there if I could. I made a mental note to tell him to take them in to the tailor to see if those seams could be reinforced before his trousers split on him completely. Might as well have the tailor take care of those loose threads hanging down from the sleeves and side vents of his suit coat at the same time. Jeezus ... He really needs to take better care of his stuff. He should go out and buy himself a new suit.
I went full commando in his pants and reached down with my middle finger to feel my pulse at the base of my scrotum through the fabric. I just had to feel where his hot, sweaty balls had been all day. The friction of that coarse, fragrant fabric riding against my cock made me half hard in the elevator as I rode down to the dimly lit P2 parking garage. His pants were so big on me I had to cinch them up super tight with his belt so they wouldn't slip down. Thank the fucking lord no one else got on to the elevator on the way down. I didn't want anyone to interrupt this late night fantasy for me.
His prized SS was sitting there just begging for some torture and abuse.
I slowly walked over to the secluded far corner where his non-descript, white `Darryl' was hidden away, forgotten and parked all on its own in that dark garage. I pulled his car keys out of the pocket of his pants making sure they slowly rubbed against my stiffening bulge in the process. I found the key I needed and slowly opened his creaking driver's side door. Finally, I stared down at his sagging and stained, ass-imprinted driver's seat that the dim interior dome light had weakly illuminated. I slowly slid into his driver's seat, fantasizing I was sitting right on top of him ... just like the times when he got super horny and took me out for drives to go parking in secluded places and fuck me up the ass with me settled in his lap there.
Once comfortable, I used my left hand to slowly feel the rough, masculine texture of his suit jacket sleeve. Then I put my right hand between my legs to feel the upholstery fabric. A final gesture was me taking his crusty, stained underwear, holding them up to my nose and rubbing my face with them to get one strong trace of his cloying, heady crotch smell and tasty thick dick juice from his work day while seated behind his big desk at the office. These sequential actions almost made me shoot my cum load inside his trousers right then and there.
I took my time and gripped his steering wheel, imagining his strong hands doing the same when he was tooling around in his ride. Then I adjusted his driver's seat and reclined back so I could stretch my legs and pump his worn gas pedal. With a final gesture, I boldly stuck his key in the ignition and turned it to see the orange "check engine" light come on. I checked his gas gauge and made a quick mental note it was almost on empty with the red warning light for reminding the driver to add fuel faintly illuminated. I sure wasn't going to be taking any long trips in `Darryl' tonight. Running out of gas somewhere sure would have been fun. But not tonight as I had other plans for my stud man's temperamental ride.
I didn't want to flood and stall his wheels out while still in the parking garage, so I only gave it three or four deliberate, long pedal pumps. I knew this would be enough so the bastard wouldn't start for me on the first turn of his key in the ignition.
My cock started to twitch the second I turned his key to `start' and his starter commenced to wail and grind with that familiar GM cranking noise. It took two long crank sessions to coax and convince that reluctant cock-sucker to turn over for me. When it finally coughed and started, I had to keep his worn and scuffed black dress shoe on the accelerator to keep it from stalling out. Then I waited thirty seconds or so until the cold engine light flickered and went out and the hesitant, uneven, rough idling and vibrating adjusted. Finally I stomped on the gas a couple of times to show my big, hairy, stud bear's baby who was boss.
I roughly shifted `Darryl' into reverse and aggressively squealed the tires while driving it out of the parking garage. I felt so manly at that moment pretending to be my hot stud heading in to work for the day.
I drove along for a bit, revving the crap out of his ride every time I had to stop for a stop sign. The son of a bitch sputtered and stalled out on me a couple of times when I did this which just got me even hornier. I was so aroused and completely turned on by the abuse I was giving his rough-idling SS coupe.
After a couple of kilometers, I headed toward the place I was thinking about. I needed to find a private spot to have some fun with his temperamental, piece of shit old ride. Luckily, there were a few unlit and secluded parking lots not far from where we lived. I had an idea and was determined to do what I'd been fantasizing about for a long time My hot lover's old heap needed to be teased, tortured and taught a hard lesson. Hard being the operative word.
I kept mashing the gas pedal to the floor in his poorly tuned Chevy ... getting off on the loud, screaming protests it was making whenever I pounded on it ... his Monte SS kept roaring, growling and shrieking while bucking, lurching and speeding down the dark deserted boulevard for another kilometer or so. Then, when I got to where I was headed I aggressively wrenched his steering wheel to the right, forcing a sudden, hard turn ... swerving with a tire-screeching cloud of gravel and dust into a deserted parking lot. I took my foot off the gas and turned his ignition key to the ACC position, letting his aging, rusting piece of GM metal coast along and pumping his gas pedal relentlessly until his old SS coupe came to a full stop. Then I started to pump and crank the living shit out of it.
The cock-sucking bastard wouldn't start for me of course.
I kept stomping down on his gas pedal aggressively while rubbing my left hand against the coarse tactile grain of his suit trousers. The visual of my forearm inside the sleeve of his favorite suit jacket was getting me extremely boned up. My cock was at full attention, with spots of my pre-cum branding the tent I was making in the warm, stained sticky crotch of his work pants. At the same time, watching my right hand holding his ignition key in the start' position made me so fucking horny I didn't care if I shot a big load of my cock juice in his office clothes or not. I was pretending to be my hot, masculine stud bear stranded alone by himself in an isolated spot somewhere in the dark. In that moment I was him in his wheels ... slouched down, beefy legs spread in his driver's seat with his foot planted firmly on the gas ... his muscular arm slung over his leather-wrapped steering wheel with his right hand jerking his ignition key all the way forward in the start' position.
I was him in that moment pleading for my unreliable Monte Carlo SS to start and coming to the dreaded realization it probably wasn't going to. I started shifting up and down in his driver's seat ... raising my hips and butt up ... pushing my back against his seat back and head rest to give my leg a chance to extend out fully and forcibly ram his worn gas pedal right down to the floor like I'd seen him do before.
I could feel the protesting vibrations of his old SS coupe right through his driver's seat as it cranked away. I was fantasizing and imagining him swearing softly and pleading with his precious wheels ... grabbing onto his hairy thigh with his left hand and coaxing it to start for him as it cranked away ...
" ... Ahhh fuckin' come on baby ... Suck my big hairy boner man and turn over ... ahhh come on start for me ya' bastard ... you can do it ... I know ya' can ... ahhh fuck man ... come on ... come on ... come on ... come on ... come on ... come on ... ya' fuckin' son of a bitch ... don't fuckin' do this to me again today baby ... "
I was thinking to myself, yup ... sounds just like him when he gets super pissed off and totally frustrated.
After five or six `crankfest' sessions, I became concerned about draining his battery. And all I could smell was gas from the carburetor inside the car and then I remembered it was almost on empty and most likely running on fumes at that point. I really didn't want to become stranded there and have to walk back home. The prospect of having to fess' up to him what I'd done to his prized SS ride the next morning was not something I wanted to have to do ... nope ... no fucking way did I want to have to do that.
I sat there for a few minutes, playing with myself through the warm, sticky, moist fabric of his trousers until I could feel my cock head start to ooze more pre-cum. It was time to finish what I'd intended to do from the start. I slowly unzipped his worn old suit pants. Hearing the sound of that zipper and feeling the heat between my hard-on and the inside moist crotch of his office clothes ... these sensations were highly sensual and erotic as I pulled my stiff, straining, eager hot dick out to play.
My nose at once picked up the horny fragrance of his unmistakable pheromone man spice from earlier on in the work day when he was at the office mingling now with my own strong, sex-induced cock sweat. I thought to myself, Funny thing. I'd know his unique scent anywhere. Amazing how we get to intuitively recognize our lover's unique male cock essence ... yup ... I'd know the horny, intimate smell of his hot, ripe man basket in the pitch black dark.
I started to finish myself off, every now and then letting my sensitive, hard cock head rub against the worn fabric of his driver's seat where I knew his low-hanging testicles and thick shaft had been earlier in the day. Every thirty seconds or so I'd pump his gas pedal, crank his starter and curse and command his stubborn, shitty old Monte to turn over. On the eighth try I kept up with the brutal cranking with my ass raised right up out of his seat ... jerking his car key forcibly forward and holding it in the `start' position.
I kept my foot mashed down firmly to the floor on his worn gas pedal and sank back down into the hollowed-out ass imprint impression he'd made in his seat.
His old SS protested and shuddered violently as I cranked it relentlessly and continuously with single-minded obsession. My ass could feel every vibration running through me like an electric current until his stubborn old car started to sputter and stumble. I moaned loudly and rubbed out one man-sized load of juicy cum once that son of a bitch finally fired up for me.
My creamy jizz blasted out of my sensitized, throbbing dick and splattered all over my partner's steering wheel and gear shift lever and then dripped down onto his carpeted SS logo floor mat and the front of his driver's seat. All the while I was flooring and gunning the shit out of his precious wheels ... managing to synchronize the struggling, shaking movements of his protesting ride with the powerful cum shots blasting out of my cock.
Afterward, the smell of me inside his wheels was overpowering.
I took some of my cum load and rubbed it between my legs onto his driver's seat. The feeling of having my bare butt sitting directly on the upholstery fabric without a towel down there was amazing! I wanted to know his sexy, hard butt would be sitting on some of my dried-up, crusty spunk load every time he planted his chiselled man ass and furry pube forest in his seat and drove the shit out of his ride from that moment on.
Then I pulled his keys out of the ignition and with sudden inspiration took his leather key fob with the metal Monte Carlo SS logo on it and rubbed it back and forth across my leaking spent cock head, making sure some of my jizz was coating it. This was the most perverted thing I had ever done in my life up to that point. It was a totally uninhibited, inspired and shocking thing to do and made me smile ... such a dirty-minded, fetishistic, perverted little cock-sucker I could be at times.
The last thing I did before shoving his key back into his ignition switch, starting his old car up and driving away was to take off his suit coat and wipe what was left of the last wads of cum remaining on my cock head, his steering wheel and his trousers onto the inside lining and arm pit of his sleeve and onto the back of his favorite tie.
After I took his tightie whiteies and stuffed them under the passenger side seat on my side I got comfortable and silently drove my stud bear's old Monte SS home, not quite believing I had just done what I did ... both to his rusting old SS coupe and the wrinkled, sweaty clothes he had worn in to his office that day. Once parked in the garage again I killed the engine and then aggressively stomped up and down hard on his worn gas pedal for the longest time. I got out quietly, hoping and praying that his fucking, non-descript `Darryl' would be a stubborn son of a bitch and refuse to turn over for him the next morning. I was thinking and wishing, Yup ... hopefully ... a hot and messy blow job with your head buried in his furry crotch with his big tool gagging you ... erupting and shooting his thick, creamy spunk load all over your face and down your throat tomorrow morning.
When he woke up the next morning and looked down on the floor beside the bed he rolled over to face me and said, "Ummm... cookie kid where did my underwear go to from yesterday? My briefs were lying on the floor right down there when I went to sleep. Where are they now baby?"
I had to think quickly and responded, "Oh yeah ... I forgot ... put them into the laundry basket last night. And I'll take care of all your stuff later when I get home from school."
"Mmmm ... OK. Thanks baby. You're good to me. I appreciate that." And then he cuddled up close, spooning me while he deeply sighed and closed his eyes for a few more minutes of sleepy shut eye.
Eventually he rolled out of bed, showered and went to the closet to put on his suit before heading in to work.
"Ahhh, honey ... my suit pants are smelling kinda' reeky and raunchy and I only just had them dry cleaned last week. Could you smell me yesterday when I got home from work?"
"Well, you know I get off on your man smell all the time and am used to it so I wouldn't really have noticed anything different yesterday."
`Damn it all! I'll have to put on something else for work today."
Then he looked at me with a speculative, thoughtful look on his face and said, "Well honey, don't you be wearing and playing with yourself in them today cookie butt. We can play your favorite kinky fetish game of `what's inside my pants' later when I get home for dinner. OK kid?
A couple of minutes later he calls out to me, "Ummm, cookie honey ... where the fuck are my god damned keys? I don't know where I left them. Have ya' seen them lying around here somewhere?"
"Nope. Sorry ... no idea where you left them."
"Well, fuck! Isn't that just like ... too fucking marvellous!"
Finally, five minutes later he found them under an oven mitt on the counter in the kitchen. "Like how in the fuck did I manage to leave them there?" He muttered to himself. Then he gave me a tight head lock and quick kiss and groped my ass as he headed out the door and down to his old car in the parking garage.
I grinned and reached down to grab his big bulge and said to him, "Keep that monster dick in your pants today and we'll play when you get home later this afternoon."
"It's there for you any time you want it my sexy tight butt boy. It's always ready to bury itself inside you to tease your prostate. I'll see you when you get home from school. Love ya' baby."
"Love you too."
Once down in the garage, he stopped for a moment to look over at `Darryl.' Hmmm ... I don't remember parking it that way when I got home yesterday. Jeezus! I must have been way more tired than I thought.
Once comfortable in his seat, he turned his ignition key and pumped the bastard to coax it to turn over for him. Ironically it did manage to eventually start up for him. Such a temperamental, unreliable piece of crap it was by that point.
But once he backed out of his parking space and started to drive out of the garage, his old Monte SS managed to hesitate, falter, then stall out completely and die on the exit ramp up out of the building's parking garage. He swore and forcibly jerked the transmission shift lever into park and kept pumping and cranking away, only to realise when he looked down at his gas gauge he had run out of gas. By then there were a couple of cars right behind him trying to exit the garage and one of the drivers started to honk her horn. He swore and angrily gestured for her to drive around him, while sitting and looking very dejected and embarrassed inside his old `Darryl.'
The poor stud had to shift into neutral and roll back down the ramp, get out and wrestle his old shitbox SS off to the side in the garage while he realised he'd have to walk five blocks over to the nearest gas station with his gas can in the trunk in order to feed `Darryl' to hopefully get him to start and eventually make it in to work. I stealthily spied on him from the bedroom window as he strode up the garage ramp with the gas can in hand and wondered whether he was suspicious at all as to why his gas tank was totally bone dry that morning.
I played in his old SS heap a few more times until he had to get rid of his old Chevrolet aka `Darryl' in the winter of 1995. By then I'd left plenty of shot spots inside his old ride.
Over time, `Darryl' just got more and more unreliable.
There were three or four times when it just flat out refused to start for him in the parking lot outside his building when he was leaving work at the end of the day. He was totally humiliated if any of his colleagues were leaving at the same time and noticed the problem he was having.
Having to get old `Darryl' either boosted or towed to the service station was getting to be an expensive and annoying pain in the ass. The worst times were late at night when he was working overtime and had to call for a cab to come and pick him up and drive him home ... he never slept well those nights knowing he'd have to contend with his fucking unreliable Monte SS and smart-ass jokes about his shitty old car from his co-workers the next morning.
His old wheels kept hesitating, stalling and conking out on him at stoplights when he went to step on the gas to move forward on green lights and particularly embarrassingly when he was stuck in heavy stop and go rush hour traffic. One time in particular, I remember I was with him after my classes in the middle of heavy downtown Friday afternoon rush hour traffic. Poor `Darryl' was acting up, vibrating roughly and shaking more than normal that day and as he stepped on the gas, his beloved Monte SS coughed, shuddered, back fired and then stalled out completely with the orange check engine light flickering and then coming on to mock him as he sat there staring back at it while slowly shaking his head in abject disbelief. He was mortified when he kept pumping and cranking it while a whole line of impatient drivers behind him were honking their horns and yelling at him to get his piece of shit out of their way. It took a good long minute or so before he could coax it to start up for him. That was a totally emasculating experience for the poor guy. I imagined his nuts shriveled up and hiding inside his scrotum ... curled up tight inside his pants while he sat there in his drivers seat feeling totally humiliated. His old coupe by then needed a brand new Edelbrock high performance carburetor and god knows what else. A tune-up just wasn't going to do it for his poor Monte SS by now.
The day his starter crapped out totally and kept squealing with ominous noises and blue acrid-smelling smoke seeping through the front dash vents while he was brutally cranking the son of a bitch and he had to call someone to have poor `Darryl' towed out of the parking garage was the last straw for him. By that time, his prized big bear wheels was really rusted out and on its last legs, noisily vibrating and shaking and urgently reminding him it needed new dual mufflers and exhaust clamps to prevent his rusting tailpipes from falling down and dragging on the pavement.
Darryl' sadly was dying a slow painful death and was not at all reliable, costing more than it was worth to keep it running and safely on the road. Not that it ever was dependable for him (... come to think of it ...) for the entire time he owned and drove his old Chevy SS. Especially when I just needed to keep him stranded at home for those rare early work day morning cock-sucking, rub my face in the fusty crotch of his suit pants, blast a come load and eventually head in to the office with a big smile on his face blow job sessions.'
Ironically, I missed his old set of wheels for the longest time after it was gone. I wished we'd kept it. I was even thinking he might agree to let me hold onto it and buy himself a new car. However, it would have been just too weird trying to rationalise and convince him why I'd have wanted it.
I don't know if he ever figured out what was going on between me and his Monte Carlo. All I know is that he never ever got tired of having hot, sweaty sex with me in it. Having his right hand stroking my hard cock and giving me a hand job while cruising along was a real thing for him ... not to mention what it did to me.
Holy fuck! I can still vividly remember those times with him.
If he ever did actually figure it out about me and his car, he never let on to me. Of course, he'd have lost his `cock-sucker service fringe benefits' if he'd ever alluded to or mentioned it. I guess I'll never know for sure whether he did or didn't catch on eventually. Some secrets are best kept silent between intimate partners and their weird, unusual sexual fetishes and private, kinky little fantasies.
As a last reflection and admission here, I'll admit I do still hold on to that old brown and tan sports jacket and worsted wool trousers he had on that first day he picked me up in his brand spanking new Monte Carlo years ago They were now secretly stashed away in a garment bag unbeknownst to him in the dark depths of my closet.
When he isn't around to play with and I'm feeling really horny, needy and lonely, I sometimes bury my face in the worn threadbare crotch of those trousers and forcibly jerk off while wrapping myself inside his jacket, using it's well-christened fine wool and linen sleeve and aromatic stale sweat-smelling arm pit as a cum towel and fantasize about the secret, perverted, fetish-inspired dirty, private fun I used to have in his prized hot SS stud bear wheels ... my partner's old car.