You've Never Met Someone Quite Like Me

There Was A Spider

Your Chevelle purred as you followed the impala. A couple more hours, and you would arrive at the latest motel to house your aching body. The soreness in your muscles was constant as though you were always tense, always ready to pounce. Years of being on guard probably did that to a person, you assumed. Since the loss of your family, you hadn't taken the time to heal. Too scared to sit still for long. Be that because you couldn't be alone with your thoughts or because you knew what was waiting for you in the dark, you weren't sure, but being around the two large men in the car ahead of you had eased some of that tension.

Your thoughts wandered to Dean. An image of him smiling at you from under the hood of your car, covered in grease, passed through your mind's eye. Heat kindled in your center, seeping out in sticky tendrils across your flesh. Your nerves crackled to life at the thought of his sagging waistline in your doorway. You shuddered, an airy breath escaping. Flashes of warmth echoed through your core, blood roaring through your veins. Your cunt ached, c**t burning for friction. You tried to shake the thoughts of his rough, strong hands from your mind and focus on the road, but your skin quaked. The gentle vibrations of your car's engine were making your cunt quiver against the seam of your jeans, begging for stimulation. Your hand mindlessly snaked down between your thighs, fingertips lightly rolling your swollen nub between them; anything to relieve the growing need there, taking on a life of its own. You moaned softly, beads of sweat formed in your hairline. The air was hot, entering your lungs in strangled gasps. Your cunt clenching as waves of pleasure rolled through your body, and you relished it. You continued to circle your fingers over your c**t, making your p***y throb. You wanted to c*m. Spending your waking hours with a man crafted by the gods had been torture you hadn't realized you were enduring. You needed to c*m. Keeping your eyes trained on the road, you unbuttoned your pants, allowing your hand to dip down and explore the slick folds of your desire. You trailed your fingers from your aching center back to your pulsing c**t, nerves sizzling at your touch. The rhythmic strumming of the nerve bundle was sending you closer and closer to the edge, each pass shooting electricity into your brain; synapses firing in a storm of white heat. Dean's voice thundered through you, Huntress. His voice was the answer to a question your body had been screaming, and you fell over the edge, color exploding behind your eyes. A strangled cry tore through your throat as your cunt clenched and you came. Came for him. Your breath came in ragged gulps as you rode your peak back down from the heavens. It was a wonder you hadn't crashed. The gentle ebbing of your orgasm sent tingles to your toes. A groan of relief fled you, and you cracked your window in an attempt to remember how to breathe. Somewhere you became faintly aware of a soft buzzing coming from the phone in the seat beside you, the caller ID read "Dean." Taking a breath to steady yourself, you answered.

"You good back there?" His voice tickled your ear, "You were swerving there for a minute. If you want, you can ride with me, and Sammy can drive for you for a bit."

You forced a laugh, "I'm alright. There was a spider in here. I got him, though." You lied; a subtle wave of guilt washed out the remainder of your satisfaction.

After assuring him you were good to drive, he hung up and left you with your thoughts. You wondered if he knew, but that was a silly notion. How could he? It had to be impossible for him to see what you had been doing. A small voice whispered in the back of your mind, telling you he knew and that he wanted you alone in the impala with him. Wishful thinking. You shook your head at yourself and clicked on your radio. A rock ballad floated through the air. The little voice echoed through you again; maybe he wanted you to sit in the impala with him. Maybe, he wanted you alone. The idea made your heart quicken, and you pushed the thought down, unwilling to risk swerving again. Just a few more hours and you would reach your destination. Just a few more hours, and you could rub yourself sore at the thought of him with no risk of being discovered. You turned up the radio to drown out your mewling cunt. Just a few more hours.