Three Hot Wishes (Fantasy Come to Life - Magic in the Real World Novel) (14 page)

She seemed to be enjoying herself, what with her busy fingers thrust under her hiked up skirt, moaning down the saliva-wet length of his shaft as he fucked her throat.

They were close. I knew that just by the sounds they were making. And in the same moment I had that realization, I had another one. That man and I were through. I'd never let him touch me like that again, never feel the slide of his strong fingers or his cock against my flesh.

And to think, I'd snuck in here to give him a little office romance! And on top of that, I'd finally convinced myself that this swinger idea may be something I'd want to try.

Tears in my eyes, I spun on the heel of my sexy, pointless boots and got out of there as fast as I could. I wasn't worried about being quiet, since Greg and whoever the young home wrecker attached to his throbbing cock were making a racket fit to wake the dead. If he did hear me leave, I suppose that was fine.

All I could think of was escape. Escape from this building. Escape from this marriage. Escape from this life.

I practically ran to the car and pushed the key into the ignition with shaking fingers. There had been so much promise throughout our marriage. We'd been in love, or so I'd thought.

Right then all I could be certain of was that I'd loved him. Past tense, I told myself with a gutsy little resolve that I couldn't help but feel proud of as I pulled out of the parking lot and drove away. Past tense.

All of that came crashing down on me at the first set of traffic lights I had to stop at. It hit me all at once; the marriage, the house, and the friends we'd have to force to choose between us. The world suddenly seemed so heavy, not at all the way it had when I'd been homing getting myself dolled up, my body full of the sexual thrill of saying 'yes' to Greg's adult-orientated party.

I wiped at my tears and wondered where I was even headed in the car. Home? Why? There was nothing for me there but a pack of lies, and if I was still there when Greg got home I'd either have to pretend that I didn't know he was fucking some girl in his office or have a stupid, loud, stereotypical argument, which would probably involve me throwing things we couldn't afford to replace at him storming out in a huff.

No, home didn't interest me. Any of my usual haunts, the coffee shop I liked or the place where I could just sit and read the paper across from the library were absolutely out of the question, firstly because I didn't at all relish the thought of breaking down like I was in a public place and secondly because I was still dressed as the most out of place stripper known to man.

So I turned left. Left was out of the city, into the foothills. Left was where no one knew me and I didn't know anyone. I figured I'd get a hotel room and sort out what remained of my life one little bit at a time.

Once the light changed and I headed in my new direction, I felt a little lighter. Not better, not yet. Devastated was still the word I'd used to describe my psychological situation, but I could tell that there may very well be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Eventually. For now my goal was simply to drive, to put my foot to the accelerator as efficiently as I could and put one mile after another between what I'd known before and what I knew now.

I drove like that for hours. The low fuel light must have lit up at some stage, no doubt accompanied by that merry little chime that I'd always felt sounded far too happy, considering it was trying to tell you that you were well on your way to running out of gas, a situation nobody ever felt cheery about.

I must have missed the noise, because the next thing I knew the steering, once light and nimble, was as heavy and sluggish in my hands as if I were wrestling with some great, lazy beast. I pressed down on the gas pedal instinctively as I heard the engine die away, but the accelerator went all the way to the floor without the merest cough or hiccup of power.

With a sinking heart, I assessed my options. It didn't take long, since there were so damn few of them. I was on a long, straight stretch of country road. I hadn't seen another car going either direction for at least twenty minutes. I didn't want to touch the brakes, since whatever speed I had now was all I was going to be getting for a while.

Still, that didn't last long. The ground was as flat as a pancake, so there was no chance I was going to miraculously cruise down a hill into the nearest gas station, or anything of the sort. Finally, with the last of the momentum to push me, I steered the car off the road and took the useless key out of the ignition.

"Great," I sighed, balling my fist up and bouncing it off the steering wheel, wincing at the impact. "Just great. Stuck God knows where, out of gas and out of luck."

I looked around, but all I could see were unplanted fields and the continuation of the strip of two lane highway I was currently sitting on. The road itself stretched out in either direction as far as the eye could see, with not a building in sight.

I didn't remember passing a gas station for a while, which I supposed didn't mean much. I mean, with Greg's infidelity still taking up all the space in my head, I hadn't heard the chime or seen the low fuel warning light up, so could I really be trusted to take notice of how far back the gas station was?

I leaned my forehead against the steering wheel and closed my eyes. It was too much. This was all too much. I could feel the stress of it closing in around me, making the air inside the car feel cramped and as thick as soup. As the tears rolled down my face I wondered for the first time if the hell my life had become was even worth wading through.

After all, the only thing I really felt like doing was crawling into the adjoining field, curling up in a ball and dying.

And then I heard it. A noise that would change my life forever, the grumble and throaty roar of what I assumed was a Harley's engine. I popped my head up off the steering and turned my gaze to the rearview mirror.

Part of me wanted to hide, embarrassed that I was stranded. But it wasn't as if I could stand to be picky. If this guy passed me by, who knew how long it would be before someone else would come along to lend a helping hand?

I didn't have a choice, so I yanked open the driver's side door and jumped out of the car. I'd been prepared to wave him down, perhaps even jump and down to attract his attention, but a sudden gust of wind swirled in from the flat plain I'd found myself stranded on. The trench coat fluttered open, revealing an embarrassingly bare stripe of my nearly-naked flesh to the biker.

I tried to wrap my arms around myself and stop the unwilling striptease, but the wind flipped the coat this way and that, exposing my thighs right up to the lacy panties one moment, then tugging at the top and flashing my ample cleavage to the world.

That did it. The rider cut the engine and swung off the road, stopping the motorcycle behind my car and slapping down the bike's kickstand with one booted heel. He took a moment to shut the engine off and then swung one powerful leg over the frame as he stepped away from the Harley.

I did what I could not to stare. He was incredibly attractive, his face grizzled by a rugged five o'clock shadow that made me shudder at the thought of feeling its prickle against my flesh. The leather vest he had on had an ageless quality to it. As he strode closer I could see that the patch above his heart said Stinger.

"Hi," I said, suddenly nervous. 'This is really embarrassing, but..." My voice trailed off as I watched his hungry gaze drop to my cleavage as yet another gust of wind bared my flesh to him.

"Turn around," he said, his voice like a burnout on a gravel road. "Hands on your hood."

He was so confident, so commanding. I did as I was told without question, part of me stunned into obedience and part of me convinced that it was some game, some test that I had merely to pass before he let me hop on the back of his bike so that he could take me to the nearest gas station.

So I put my hands on the hood of my car. The metal was hot, but I'd been sitting here with the engine dead for long enough that touching it now didn't hurt my hands. I felt a thrill race up my spine as I heard the gravel on the side of the road crunch beneath his boots.

He strode up behind me, stopping so close that I could practically feel his breath on the nape of my neck. My heart as going boom boom boom so loudly that I was sure he'd be able to hear it from where he stood. Every time my blood pounded through my veins I could tell that it was making my fingers twitch, my breath catch in my throat as I stood there, bent over slightly at the waist, the trench coat barely covering my ass.

"What's with the getup?" he asked from behind me. Before I could answer I felt his big hands on my hips, holding me steady against the car. There was iron in his grip, and I felt my body respond to his touch immediately.

"I wanted to surprise my husband," I confessed.

He grunted, and I could almost picture the wry smirk on his handsome face. "And did you?"

I shook my head, no longer upset about what I'd seen in the office. The biker's presence washed all of that self-doubt and pity away. There was no way I could feel anything while this man was holding me other than lust. "He'll be surprised when he finds out I've left him, let's just say that."

With one smooth, sure motion, the man behind me known as Stinger lifted the back of the trench coat away from my ass and yanked my soaked panties down my thighs, leaving them bunched at my knees. I felt him move closer once more, but hadn't heard him unzip his fly or undo his belt.

I wasn't expecting him to rub my pussy. Greg never bothered with such foreplay, and the fact that a stranger on a deserted road paid more attention to my needs than my husband of so long spoke volumes. I shuddered and clung to the hood of the car as the hand that wasn't caressing my clit climbed my back and forced me to bend over the hood of the car even further.

I did as he wanted, until my breasts were pressed flat against the BMW. I knew what I must look like, my ass thrust out by the position he'd put me in, his strong, knowing fingers transitioning now from my clitoris to my pussy, sliding into my wet tunnel in long, sure strokes that made my eyes slit in pleasure and moans escape my open mouth.

"You're mine now," he said, one of his legs bumping my knees farther apart. The panties were still there, so I could only spread myself open so far for him, but he grunted approval when I'd opened myself enough for his liking.

"Am I?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

I felt the heat of his thick cock a split second before the long, electric slide of it along my pussy lips. The contact wasn't at all painful or dry, and I realized that my entrance must be practically drooling, if I'd made him so wet already.

"You are," he said, and his hands went back to my hips, pressing my pelvis to the hood of the car, changing the angle so that the next stroke didn't tease my lips or bump up against my clit. No, now he split me down the middle, my full lips parting, my pussy stretching to accommodate his thickness. He was certainly hung, as they say, and in a couple of long, sensual strokes there was more man in me than I'd ever had in my life.

Riding his cock was a dream come true. Stinger held me tight, my body bent over the hood of the car like a common criminal being arrested by the police. He was incredibly strong, and not for the first time it occurred to me that even if I wanted to get away, to stand up straight and make a run for it there was no way that was going to happen.

I had no wish to escape, but as I felt his thick cock begin to plunge even deeper, stretching my tight pussy out in ways I'd never felt before, a tiny thrill of fear ran up my spine and made my nipples even harder against the cold metal of the BMW.

I was his. I was never going home, never returning to my old life. Greg and his actions had burnt that bridge, and whatever happened to me from this moment on, I was a new woman.

Stinger reached underneath me and stroked my clit as his cock slid home. The touch of his rough hands sent me crashing into an orgasm, my body bucking like a bull. My convulsions made his cock slide against new, sensitive parts of my pussy and I gasped, my tongue hanging out of my open mouth so much that I actually tasted the hood of the BMW as he fucked me.

My nipples were like diamonds. I expected Stinger to cum, but he didn't let up, his other hand steadying my hip as his strokes got longer. Deeper. He fucked me through my first orgasm and, incredibly, into a second.

"I'm yours," I grunted, my body finding the strength to push back at him, to urge him on. Every time his cock slid into me I threw my hips backward at him, forcing him deeper, showing him what a slut I could be if he fucked me like this every day of my life. "This pussy is yours, Stinger. Use it! God, please use it."