Wars of Roses

By Rose Maru

Wouldn't you know it? Just when I thought I had things completely unfigured out, turns out, I might've been onto something (which could be a good reason I'd been forgetting to get onto his something, lately). "I made a mistake once... I thought I was wrong." Low and behold, dammit all, if writing wasn't doing at least a little bit for me. If nothing else, it was a needed outlet. For what, the hell if I know - but my life stumbled more than usual when I hung up my typewriter (Puh-lease! Just go with it, okay? "Word processor" - is that better? Rotten kids these days...) earlier this past year. I can't believe it - I missed getting wet, ridden until the spurs fell off, and all those other fictitious things I wasn't in real life (at least not routinely - which isn't to say I had hung up my spurs completely, but unused long enough to get a bit rusty).
Puns 'n Roses, originally carrying the more serious title, "War of Rose's" (and for good reason), is my foray back into the world of the living and the alternative dimensional living that's my alter ego (who gets a lot more action than I do) as we work our way through one confession after another, until we reach a happy ending (and it didn't even cost extra! (If you don't get it, write me, I'll explain it).) - at least after we make Randy pay for pissing us off. Trust me, you don't want to make Rosie go Ape-Bitch on your ass. (Small update: two stories added when this book became "Wars of Roses" and I decided to slide backwards... yet again.)
Which means this collection is a really wide range, covering everything from how I dealt with a tax audit to the challenges of practicing to be the attraction at a sex party. Along the way I hit some more memories from growing up, more work in front of the camera, and lots more work for my playful little kitty down there. As usual, there's even educational elements, like learning about boobometers and swimming pools, and a brief research paper on "Humpable - Not Humpable" items you might find around the house, yard, and ranch.
The actual stories in this treatise include:
Introduction
Extended Introduction
- Fiction -
Road Master (growing up a country girl can be challenging when it comes to learning to deal with certain urges and desires)
Taxman (learn how I dealt with a tax auditor questioning my itemized write-offs and double-entry accounting methods)
Curiosity (the slightly fictional path to my writing erotica again... and dusting off little used 'toys')
You Put 'em Back (a poor choice of words, a city limit sign, and nowhere to hide)
Party Favor (oh, tell me I didn't start this, because my name and 'sex party' should not be in the same sentence, let alone me needing to prepare for one)
Pissed On the Road
Pool Party (dammit, first it was birthdays and now pool parties - I'm getting put on more people's list of who not to invite because "She seems to be inappropriate enhanced")
Pissed On the Set
Word Association Gone Wong
- Shades of Gray -
She Sells Her Hell by the Sea Shore
She Shed, Gym (dammit - I am not putting this in non-fiction! A habit of questionable appropriateness for the gym)
- Non-Fiction -
Question & Answer Session 4
Slingshot (more small town life at its best)
A Picture of Me - Without Him (emotional voyeurism at its worst... "Wars" it is.)
Humpable / Not Humpable (gosh, I wonder what this could be about? More important, WTF: it's in non-fiction? Who talked me into *that*?)
Conclusion
Plus, as always, that wonderfully painful (but hopefully enlightening) "Truth and Consequences" section to cover every story and uncover yet more of me - as if there's anything left you haven't seen or don't already know about me.
As per Rose series books, bonus section samples of complete select stories from my previous published works.
Pony up and ride along with me on yet another erotic adventure through embarrassment, real-life mommy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose Maru
• Release date: Dec 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370558261

Rose Maru

Born a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... no, wait, that wasn't me, but sometimes it certainly seems like it.Before getting into all the fun details, I want to clear the air of a rather large aspect of my writing because it has a huge impact on my work: I have HSDS (Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome). In fact, if it weren't for my HSDS, I wouldn't be here and you wouldn't be there reading this - my previously unpublished writings were explorations into kick-starting my, ahem, 'motor.' I tried to explore anything that might cause a little tingle below, even ideas and concepts my thinking brain refused to hear. Creating an alter-ego in my stories allowed me to safely penetrate the veil of non-existence - I was forced to think about sexy thoughts and situations.I wrote for years covering a wide range of topics, my husband providing a large number of seedlings from which to grow my stories (HSDS... what do you expect? Much to my dismay, what I learned to expect was very raunchy pillow-talk. Much to his dismay, he learned to expect me to leap from bed saying, "Oh! That is so good, I've got to write it down!"). It turns out, writing romantic erotica usually wasn't doing it for me. I gave up on it for a period of time - in essence, I gave up trying to help myself, as well.Then my significant's bright idea: if it didn't help me, maybe it would help someone else. I was back to writing again, or more correctly, preparing my work for release unto an unsuspecting public (I have now officially absolved myself from any evil that befalls you after reading my books - it's all his fault). So I dredged up my folder of rough and unpolished stories - damn, I wrote this much? No wonder I wasn't having sex, I was busy writing about it. (Fib alert: so not true it's not funny. Not the 'not having sex' part, but the lack of bedroom action wasn't really due to my writing.)An odd thing happened, though, as I was rereading my material and editing it. I felt a little something that I hadn't experienced in a long time. I actually felt a little tingle from down below. That soft little call, while editing some stories, started to get a little louder - still very quiet, but it was most certainly there where it hadn't been for decades. I gave in to the siren call almost immediately - surprised the hell out of my husband (thank goodness it wasn't the UPS guy at the door during those moments). Complete, spontaneous, due-to-my-doing rumpy-bumpy. Holy humper, Batman, I'm fixed!I wish. It disappeared again, just as easily slipping back into my 'normal abnormal' routine of never thinking about it within hours. Back to editing. Being the patient sort, I allowed myself to edit a whole three paragraphs before anguish sets in, "It's not working! Ah! I'm broken forever!" Luckily, I have a never say die attitude (Fib alert: ... no, wait, this isn't my stories where I have to include a 'truth' section - let me have my freaking moment), and said, "Piss on it, I'm still going to release my work. I've come this far."And so it went - although much to my joy (and my hubby's) - every so often, I'd find myself showing such obvious responses to passages, it was apparent to even an HSDS girl - and we'd make joy (sometimes several times) to the situation. I wasn't fixed, but at least I had a crutch.Which leaves me editing my old material, exploring new, and tormenting you with it - where I hope it does you some good, too. If it can't make you happy that way, I hope it'll at least provide you a little laugh the other way - especially since I do provide a 'Truth and Consequences' side to all my stories at the end of each book where I detail the nitty-gritty and harsh reality of every piece. This allows everyone's inner voyeur to be released because my HSDS does a great job of preventing me from grasping 'TMI,' so I tend to spill my guts back there in my books.As for my bio (side note: doesn't that make it an 'auto-bio?'), I'm a cute, twenty-one year-old (Fib Alert! Oh my Lord! If you're writing fantasy-fiction, at least make it believable!) - crap, okay, fine, I'm old enough to probably be your sister - from a second marriage - so we're not blood related, which means you don't have to get all weirded out about reading sex stuff about me) - and I live in the Pacific Northwest where I am still happily married to my first husband (very funny - he edits my other fibs so I have to tell the truth, but leaves the happily married one)... at least until he reads the final published product where I changed the truth section in every book back to being brutally honest contrary to his corrections.And, yes, that is me on the cover of all my books, but I'm not spilling the beans here, you have to read the book.

Book preview

Wars of Roses

by Rose Maru

Copyright 2016 Rose C. Maru

Originally titled: The War of Rose's

... then almost released as Puns 'n Roses (before my most recent crash & burn)

... and finally: Wars of Roses

First Edition - December 2016

Cover and Photos Copyright 2016 Randal Maru

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only - but if your enjoyment needs cleaning up, please don't e-mail me pictures of it. This series of electrons may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the love and this e-book with another being, please purchase an additional copy for each sentient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your individual use only, then please feel super guilty and return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your very own copy. Thank you for respecting Rose's hard work.

(They said I wasn't allowed to threaten to go ape-bitch on your ass if you rip-off my book - something about the legal statutes don't have a proper definition of 'ape-bitch' for precedence.)

:Table of Contents:

Introduction - Puns 'n Roses - Light

Introduction - The War of Rose's - Dark

Introduction - Wars of Rose's - Final Edition (because, dammit, this is getting old)

-Fiction & Fantasy-

Road Master

Taxman Cometh

Curiosity Killed the Cat

You Put 'em Back

Party Favor

Pissed On the Road

Pool Party

Pissed On the Set

Loaner

Word Association Gone Wong

- Shades of Gray -

She Sells Her Hell by the Seashore

She's Shed, Gym (I am not putting this in non-fiction!)

-Non-Fiction-

Question & Answer with Rose, Session 4

Slingshot

A Picture of Me - Without Him

Humpable / Not Humpable

Conclusion

Truth & Consequences

-Other Works-

Raindrops on Roses:

- Art Director

- Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome (HSDS/HSDD)

Rose by Any Other Name:

- Bath Time

- Braless is Better

Dozen Roses:

- Bigfoot

- Vulva-Vagina Veracity

Coming Up Roses:

- Bigger Brother Cover Shoot

- Q&A with Rose

Rose Garden: My Life with HSDS:

- Introduction to HSDS

- HSDS 2014 Redoubt (From Raindrops on Roses)

- "Treatment" Trial

- Q&A #2 with Rose (HSDS Topics)

Rose Wood At Home:

- RA Rose

- Q&A with Rose, Session 3

Rose Art - The Infamous Banned Book

Soul Service, Inc. (Excerpt)

- - - -

Index - Parade of Roses (the grand master index of Rose kink)

- - - -

About Rose C. Maru

Contact Information

- - - -

Introduction: Puns and Roses

The shallow and happy introduction...

if this is the first time you've ever read Rose Maru

Hi! If you were expecting sex with a rock group... I'm sorry. I'm sort of a displaced small town girl, so in all honesty, I listen to both types of music: Country and Western. (You know I'm rural raised because I can discuss, at length, the difference between the two.)

Although stick around, I have it under good authority, this book might contain sex with a rock and at least one group. (Oh, shit, I didn't already admit to that, did I? We're only on the fucking second paragraph! Dammit!)

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Introduction: War of Rose's - for the Rose Maru Initiated

Hi. Long time no hear... or write, at least for me. I've been away on sabbatical. I know, that's not a good excuse, especially since I never really resumed erotic writing after Rose Wood. And that was an unexpected flash-in-the-pan (pan not pants!) shock, even to me - it came out quickly and urgently, for reasons already explained therein.

But after coming back from what I thought would be a break from everything to clear my head, in many ways, I returned more confused than ever.

I pre-apologize for taking this introduction as the moment I'll be a serious downer and soaked with part of my heartfelt confession, especially when the title of this collection is so up and fun (referring to when the title changed to Puns 'n Roses). But I really have to get something off my chest: I really messed up recently.

Not just because it feels like I gave up, again, on ever feeling like a normal woman - but I mean, I really and truly messed up... on the one I love the most.

No, not because I haven't been putting out - although truth be told, I haven't - it's because he was asking what should've been a wonderful, playful, leading question, and I answered honestly and bluntly. But a single word qualifier that I included, without thinking, really, spun bad word choice to serious hurt. I obviously apologized, he tried to accept, but we both know a chill has settled into the Pacific Northwest, and not just because the rains and cold weather came back.

Before that little incident this past week, I'd been trying to figure out if I could ever write erotica again, or even if I should write it. I was leaning toward it, if for no other reason than it seems to give both he and I a little happiness; and maybe, just maybe, it was acting as a little reminder to me to not only say 'yes' when asked to do the nasty, but potentially remember a couple times a year to instigate intimacy. That mentioned fumble of words certainly answered the question easily - I needed to get back to the keyboard and work some things out. And here I am. Who says I can only be motivated by donuts.

I'll address my exact faux pas later, but while I'm depressing you, I stumbled across some writing from this summer. It involved several topics. In one set, I was really freaking pissed about something (because my tail is the one between my legs right now, I didn't read those files - yet - but I am a little interested to find out, because I don't remember what was happening. How exciting! A mystery! For all of us). The last was a somewhat short topic.

It was stuck in my random idea file right between:

Liquor Up Front. Poker In Rear.

and

Bad Sex Is Better...

Than a brick to the head.

Not finding a parking spot.

(for the expanded info on these two entries, be sure to see the Truth section!)

So, what, pray tell, would you think goes between those two? It's rather telling and more prophetic than I would've wanted:

I'm a fraud. No, seriously, I am.

I've discovered that while I thought at one time I wanted something different, quite honestly, I don't.

Any time I'm given a chance to become something different, be someone better, or otherwise alter what is the real me, I not only choose not to, but I actively work to defeat the 'new me.'

That's the conclusion I've come to on my two-year anniversary since I supposedly tried to change and be who I thought I was. Well, I probably was that person at one time, but the years go by, we grow, we change, we become someone different. That's usually not bad - well, unless you've become some sort of mass murderer, child abuser, or puppy-kicker.

So I've had to admit, when I write porn or about my alternate reality self, I'm just an author, and I write fiction. Hopefully erotic fiction, but, hell, I certainly can't tell.

That was the entire extent of it - and just stuck in my random idea file. Right between a Saloon Sign quote and a Girls Gossip Group blurt.

Anyway, I'm getting a little tired of being a fraud. The ups and downs are killing me - or at least seriously wounding my feelings of self-worth. Plus the clock is ticking as I seem to be on the rapid, yet premature approach to menopause with all the joys it brings (vaginal dryness, decreased libido (look out negative numbers, here I don't cum!), etc.)

Thus, welcome back to my attempts to give my sex life a chance. To admit I'm sorry. To accept maybe I do want to try. To pick up pen and paper (or at least keyboard and Pocket Rocket) - and scream into the night (or at least holler into my pillow): Rosie Rides Again!

So come (and hopefully spelled the other way, too) along with me, saddle up, and let's see where Puns 'n Roses will lead us. I promise to keep most of the sad, boring stuff to this introduction - that way I can scare people off, but reward those who buy the book instead of just downloading the freaking itty-bitty free sample (Cheap skates! Pony up!).

Wars of Rose's Addendum to the above paragraph: if I run us aground on another emotional voyeurism rock, I'll give you a warning if the section is truly 'skip worthy.' Deal? I hope so, because even if I can't be honest with myself sometimes, I'd like to think I'm always honest with my loyal readers and fan (that's a joke. I actually have two people in the Rosie Fan Club - and that's not even counting me!).

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Introduction - Wars of Rose's

Woman's Prerogative. I changed the name back, dammit. That happy little pulse that made me think I was beyond the most recent skirmish - and my thinking that was the entire battle? Lost it in 48 hours - maybe less, maybe more. Immaterial at this point, because, this means war, dammit.

Yes, I'm buried in the wars that are Rose's - a backslide to end all backslides. Not just to 'inactivity,' not just to he doesn't want to do it, but back to 'What the hell just happened?' Yeah, the war got nasty in the blink of an eye, with talk about who was going to 'take a break' from the house and leave the other to hold down the fort. He thinks it should be me since he thinks I'm the one that started it all and has been angry at him. I think he's been mopey while I've been trying... after realizing I might've been a little snappy and now trying to improve on it.

So this entire Puns 'n Roses compilation was shelved two months before final production was scheduled while it was going into third and last edit before 'final.' Even all the internal links were done. Conclusion written. Everything signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered months ahead of schedule for the first time ever (I was gunning for the first week of January).

Screw that noise. If it's not right, I'm not releasing it - and right now there's an awful lot not right.

Sorry to jerk you around (as opposed to a happier jerking you off), but there may be some work to add to this collection or I might just trash it. Hell, my first impulse was trash the whole idea of writing again. Guess we'll see. Until then, this is what's left of...

The Wars of Rose's. Settle in, cinch it down, and nod to the gate - because this could be wilder than any eight second ride.

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Road Master

Fireman.

Lonely Barn, she answers.

Wait - you have to play fair. That doesn't make...

He finds you alone, cleaning out the barn - he was supposed to evacuate your farm from the approaching range fire - but heard from super they got it under control on his way up... but if your family monitors the radio, he didn't want them to panic thinking...

Oh... ohhh... my voice had gone up with the first one, but dropped too far and way too sultry for a teenager on the second, That could so really happen, I finally, breathily, finish my thought.

Yeah. I know, her breath quick and shallow.

I see her hand moving in more rapid circles than before.

Shit. I'm behind.

-

Oh, as if! Living out on the desolate straight stretches of road in the undeveloped east side of the state, as if you'd never played road master... bation.

Well, fine, I don't know if everyone did, but Zee and me? We certainly were.

What else were you supposed to do to keep yourselves entertained and awake through all those hours on the road, when you might never see another person, but had to get to where you were going?

-

Oh... uh... yeah... ye... her hips are twitching, the truck lurches several times with the quick pulses down on the accelerator.

I reflexively take the wheel from the passenger side. Farm girls - it's what we're trained to do. You can drive the rig from either side if you have to.

Shit - you didn't really, did you? I ask her involuntarily, not completely believing I'd lost. Usually the passenger has the clear advantage, and I wasn't used to coming in second. (Wait - ha - cumming in second! I almost blurt it out, but the gauntlet had already been thrown down, so a joke wouldn't run so well.)

Did to, she tries to sound aggressive, but the gasp at the end as she's still trying to catch her breath cuts her off below the hum of the road.

Prove it, I immediately say. Right, like how's she supposed to...

She quickly switches hands, her left now pushing her pants and panties down dangerously lower than before, I try to keep my eyes on the road while I continue to drive, but can't help but notice her matted hair down there and her swollen...

She thrusts her right hand out in front of us, over the steering wheel, Read 'em and weep, Eee!

Her fingers spread to reveal...

Oh, ick! That's just disgusting, Zee!

-

So disgusting, I have to temporarily blank out and dredge up random memories - Zee as in Suzy. Eee as in Rosie. We were together all the time, and not just because I had the world's biggest crush on her older brother. So we were always Zee and Eee! Well, until we got into high school... when someone realized if you switched that around, we became Eee Zee! which we had to end really fucking fast, because, in a small town - you just didn't, not until you were married... unless you did - then you got married.

-

She's stretching the lines of slippery victory between her digits - those same digits that had just a moment before...

Damn, it's hot. I've gotta roll down the window - a little help below? her eyes dart down.

Oh, uh, sure, I say uncertainly - not because I can't continue driving with my right hand, while assisting with the left - but, it's because...

Just keep them off me while I dry off, 'k?

I gingerly take over for her left hand that had been holding her cotton panties away from the offending wetness. Nothing screws with your comfort like wet panties; and friends don't let friends drive hours in moldering wetness, no matter how intimate you have to get to help out.

I push down hard, and she tilts her hips up a little, revealing far more than I think I've ever seen of her tender flower, which at the moment is blooming handily from her outer folds.

She unrolls the window with her left hand, awkwardly twists to get her right out into the slipstream, which rapidly dries it to a tacky consistency before she reaches back down, this time with the left, gathering as much of her victory as possible.

The back of her right hand pushes out near my own, Thanks - got it now if you can keep us on the road.

I quickly correct off the centerline, having my attention drawn down to her display, which is getting more lewd by the minute as she decides it would be best to mine out any lingering reservoirs.

What must be the last wipe, she releases with her right hand and the band snaps closed with a pop. I realize my eyes have to dart back to the road and I feel my face flush red as she retakes the wheel.

Her left hand remains inside the cab, not out the window. She's slowly turning her hand, the glistening remnants sparkle in the setting sun light.

Her musky, but not unpleasant scent swirls around the cab. It's so different from my own. I mean, not that I've ever... I wouldn't have... I mean...

You ever wonder...

No! I haven't... I cut her off. I mean, I haven't wondered, not that I've...

A devilish look glints from her eyes.

Dare me to? she asks.

You just came all over your hand, what else could you possibly... I turn completely toward her.

Her fingers dance inches from her furtive tongue now barely parting her lips, a broad grin across her face.

Dare me? that glistening wetness gets closer to her lips, her tongue luckily bounces back into her mouth as we hit a dip in the road and she almost does, even without the dare.

You wouldn't.

Watch me...

Wait - I notice she actually had seen the dip and avoided it. Ha. I've got her. She's not going to. She seems to feel the shift in power.

Ok! I reach out and grab her wrist. Time to shock the shit out of my best friend.

Her muscles tense to keep her nearly dripping fingers from her open mouth - perfect, because I'm not forcing them toward her, I'm yanking them away. I thrust them deeply into my own...

Holy fuck. I can taste...

Holy shit! You fucking stuck my cum covered fingers in your fucking mouth! she blurts.

Damn thtraight, I say around her fingers, which I notice we've both left in there as my tongue gingerly slides along them.

You're fucking crazy, Eee!

Yeth, yeth I am.

She finally pulls them out after a few playful thrusts in - nothing like pretending to give head to your friend's fingers.

So? What'd it taste like? she's asking all breathy and unbelieving.

Well, a little like this...

Shit - I can't believe I'm going to do this.

I twist to her, a quick glance down the road, and plant a kiss dead on her lips. I can't ignore the playful little dance the tips of our tongues do at the cross roads. Damn, we're good kissers. Shit! I shouldn't know this first hand!

I back away almost as fast as I lip-locked her.

We're both panting, staring straight down the road, the comforting hum of tires on asphalt the only break in the silence.

Well, this is awkward, she finally says into the quiet.

I'll say. I'm fucking wet. And I didn't finish earlier.

You are not! The playful tone to her says we're still okay and all is forgiven and hopefully forgotten. Maybe.

I reach down below my hemline and return with a handful of display of my own, twirling it between my fingers - maybe not as artistically as she did, but still.

Am so, I say, as if she needs confirmation.

That is just so...

A dribble tries to escape and I smash my hand down on the gearshift rattling away in over-drive near my left knee to contain it.

...so disgusting! She nearly shouts, staring at the now glistening knob of the shifter.

Sorry, I say, but I know I'm not.

We both know she's going to have to shift down soon - we're approaching the grade.

Do you know who all touches that? My whole fucking family! Hell, half of yours, too!

Yes, don't remind me - her older brother holds that shift knob in his big, strong hands. Like the time I...

. . .

Without thinking I've already slid over on the bench seat, straddled the shifter, and rolled my skirt up around my waist.

I was riding in the middle, two others to my right. He was driving. I had to make room for other legs, so naturally I put one foot on either side of the transmission hump. Second and reverse had left bruises on the insides of my left and right thighs respectively. Fourth gear on the other hand... fourth gear...

. . .

Back in the here and now, I say, I think I'll finish myself off... and reach below into my soaking panties.

I can hear the truck start to lug - she has to shift down. I pull my hand out, apply a fresh coat to the shifter.

Better shift down, sweetie, I kindly remind her, pushing my hips forward to the point where not only will she have a handful of my juice, but she'll have to put her hand right into my...

. . .

He pulled back on the gear shift after a quick double clutch as we hit the grade, the engine revs, my heart picks up the pace as well, his hand buried down between my legs. Gentle finger movement as he lingers too long making sure the gear sticks. I subtly tilt my hips up and down, feeling the jolt and vibration on my young clitoral head.

. . .

Hell, I've made love to this truck before, whether she knows it or not. Time to...

So help me, I am never going to fucking forgive you for making me go three counties over to confession, because I'm never going to admit this in our local...

She reaches up and firmly grabs the shifter. I notice she's not as innocent as she wants to pretend, rolling her hand around the top of the knob before the rev and planting it between my thighs.

Her hand retreats back, hovering over the steering wheel.

I decide I'm all in on this one. Time to see how far I can push myself.

I feel the vibrations through my thin cotton panties. She showed me hers, might as well...

I slide the top of my dainties lower.

Oh my, no! You shave! she blurts.

Well, yes, especially down below...

A trimmed little triangle! Holy mother of - you're a porn fucking star... she seems to be blathering, but not looking away, either.

It makes using a tampon easier - lost strings in the dark suck...

Oh. I guess it would.

Enough of that - I still have to. You got your finish, I need mine.

She's just staring, trying to keep us between the shallow ditches. My blooming flower beckons out from hiding, responding to the vibrations, engorged inner lips protrude outward. With another slight hip tilt, they blossom to either side of the large shift head.

You can't... she starts to say.

Double dog dare me? I ask.

We're almost to the end of the grade - you've only got five minutes, she's pleading - I'm not sure for me to do it, or not do it. She'll have to ride in this truck for the rest of her life possibly, all while knowing what might happen next.

It won't fit! Interesting, she's gone from saying I can't, to imagining how it'll look.

I pull my hand out, keeping the sanitary layer far away from my growing needs, and do my best imitation of polishing things off in wet, glorious circles.

My hip rotations and tilts have become more extreme as the reverse onion shape spreads my lips further and further apart, I'm freely generating wave after wave of wetness in response to the changes in frequency as she adjusts the accelerator.

. . .

His hand is warm. My needs grow hotter. I grab hurriedly behind the seat and snag my jacket, which gets pushed over my lap. The movement of arching back to retrieve it, positions me even better. His hand cups over my sex as I ease off the gear shifter, he follows me back away, fingertip exploring along my crease. This must be why city girls talk about going commando. I'd never known. Why hadn't I believed them?

. . .

The engine screams for a higher gear, transmission finally gives up to over-drive in her mad grab between my legs, but I've taken her by the wrist and she doesn't get her hand back after the shift. I bury it between my legs.

Soft exploration along my sensitive edges. The electric jolt as she curls below my hood to find my swollen nub - we both jump, but not very far. Then she does a wonderful crisscross pattern up along the hard, pulsating shaft and folds to the top where her proclaimed 'triangle of porn' of my hair down there starts.

I'm not sure when I let go of her wrist, but she's not going anywhere. Well, she's certainly taking me somewhere, but I'm not giving up her fingers or hand any time soon.

The glare of on-coming headlights fill the cab with stark reality. I see her glance down to see my exposed chest, my right hand at work on my left nipple and surrounding pleasures, my left holding everything open for her below. And my body jerks and seizures with her plunge into my depths; twirling explorations while I'm now forced involuntarily to mash my clitoris down onto her in-and-out action.

. . .

To keep from screaming, I bite down onto my pony tail. The taste and smell of grass hay, tang of horse, and Prell shampoo pierce my heightened senses. My cheeks puff in and out as I can't keep up with my heaving respiration through nose breathing only. I clamp my eyes shut so tight I see sparklers dance across the blackest night inside my head until the uncontrolled explosion of blinding light.

. . .

My teeth crush down through strands of hair and my muffled scream escapes through pursed lips. Abdominal muscles nearly cramp in the ensuing contractions, I dig my nails into my thigh, having released my downward pressure from my flat into pleasure folds, as something completely sacred pulses through most of my body and my pony tail falls from my lips.

Emotions roil through my teenage brain: I don't know if I want to cry or break out in hysterical laughter.

I opt for the latter glancing down at my twisted and somewhat sparse clothing that remains on my body, after-glow green