Confessions

BACK SEAT

I hung out with a “bad” crowd. That’s what my parents told me. The funny thing is, I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t do all of the drinking and smoking and drugs that everyone else I hung around with did. It just wasn’t my thing. I didn’t like to dull my senses. I liked the experience too much as it was to even think about “enhancing” it with all of that stuff.

My senior year in high school, I had a friend who was dating some “older guy.” He was in his twenties, had his own place, and had a lot of friends. She kept trying to hook me up with one of them, but the only thing they seemed interested in was sex. And while that was appealing to me on a certain level, it only went so far. I wanted more than that, and so I resisted. Someone had dubbed me the “Ice Princess,” because I would actually sit and read a book while everyone else found a room and made out.

The truth is, I wasn’t unaffected. The soft moans of pleasure made me wet, and there were times I went home and touched myself, remembering. But I couldn’t seem to get out of my own way, past my inhibitions and fears, and so I just watched, or listened, but never participated. Besides, most of them were already coupled, and I was the third wheel… or the fifth, or the seventh, depending on how many of us there were.

That was, until I found myself with two unattached men in the back seat of a car on a dead end dirt road in the middle of the night. I don’t remember why we couldn’t go back to his house, but for some reason it was off limits that night. We’d all gone to a movie, and two of his friends had tagged along. I found myself between them most of the night. They were both fun to hang around with, charming and cocky and funny. They teased me, bought me popcorn, and because it was a horror flick, they both got their share of my grabbing one arm or the other and hiding my face in a masculine sleeve.

When it was time to go home, my friend and her boyfriend decided they wanted to go parking. I stared at her, incredulous, as she agreed. There I was, sitting between two guys-two considerably older guys, mind you-and what, exactly, were we supposed to do? Go for a walk, while they got it on in the backseat?

But as it turned out, they took a blanket and climbed up into the roof of the car.

While me and the two guys sat there and… hung out. At least, we did for a while. They talked and joked, and I joined in, but the tension was thick, and only got worse. We could all hear my friend moaning-it was summer, and the windows were down.

Someone suggested a game of truth or dare, and I agreed. A good distraction, I thought, as the car began to rock gently with the movements from up top.

That was probably my biggest mistake. I don’t remember the question I wouldn’t answer. Of course, they turned sexual and horribly embarrassing, and I’m sure it was something like that, but I finally took a “dare.” One of the guys-he had long dark hair and a great smile-dared me to touch his cock. I knew then I should have just answered the question, but when he pulled it out, thick and hard, and grabbed my hand, there was no turning back.

He groaned when I slid my hand over the head, moving his hips forward in response. I admit, I was wet. Listening to my friend being fucked on the car roof, hearing her soft moans, was making me crazy. Clearly, both of the guys were just as affected as I was, because the other guy-he had short dark hair and an earring-was watching me stroke his friend, his hand rubbing the seam of his jeans.

“Enough?” I asked, starting to take my hand away, but he held it there, his breath coming faster.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered, and that’s how it happened. “Please, baby, don’t stop.” The pleading tone in his voice, the insistent pulse of his cock, and that need in me to please combined before I knew it and I found myself with two cocks, one in each hand. Because the short haired guy wasn’t having any of this sort of inequity.

He even said, “No fair,” as he pulled his cock out. He was a little smaller than the other guy, but his cock seemed to curve right toward me, and I took it into my hand, making him moan softly, too. I was glad, later, that I was wearing jeans. If I’d been in a skirt, I might have ended up having sex that night with them both. Instead, I could only squirm on the seat between them, feeling the seam of my jeans riding against my clit as I tugged and pulled and squeezed their flesh.

It wasn’t easy, dividing my attention. The whole car rocked with the motion from the sex going on outside, and I was sure they were oblivious to the action going on in the backseat. I flushed red in the darkness, but I didn’t stop. The swell of their cocks, the sound of their moans, the way their hips moved, each thrusting faster into my hands, spurred me on. It was a powerful feeling, beyond exciting, and I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to make them both come.

At first I would stroke one, focusing on that fast up and down motion, while I just squeezed and played with the other. Then I’d switch. I loved the sound of their breath, getting faster as I worked harder, giving me cues to the motion I should use. They both touched me, through my clothes at first, cupping my breasts through my bra, playing with my nipples. Finally, my t-shirt was pulled up, my bra pulled down, and they both fondled me, one on each side, every tweak of my nipple sending hot sparks between my legs.

I rolled my hips, looking at first one hand and then the other, both of them filled with the thrust of a cock. I worked even harder as the moans grew louder in the car, the sound of my hand against flesh, slapping faster, filling all the available space. I moaned softly at the sight of it, the feel of their hands cupping my breasts, the roll of their hips and mine. It was the guy with the long hair, the one who dared me, who got there first.

There was no real warning. He let out a low growl and bucked his hips, and suddenly his cum spilled over onto my hand, hot and shocking. I gasped, almost letting him go, but he grabbed my hand in his and pumped, his head back, eyes closed, his cock throbbing between my fingers.

“Oh god!” I whispered, watching, almost forgetting about the guy on my other side, his cock pulsing in my other hand. He whimpered, pulling my attention, and I stroked, fast and hard, breathless with my own pleasure as I rubbed my clit back and forth against the seam of my jeans, my face flushed with lust.

“Yeah, make me come!” He already was, the other guy now, filling my other hand with heat. I rubbed the head, making him moan and thrust, his hand clamping down on my breast as he came, my nipple caught between his finger and thumb. That stimulation was just enough to send me over, too, and I shuddered between them, biting my lip to hide my orgasm, ashamed and lost and surrendering all at once.

They both found me napkins to clean up with, shoved into the pockets in the side of the door, and by the time my friend and her boyfriend got back into the car, any evidence of what we’d done was gone-except the flush of my cheeks at the memory.