Act 2
Ryan, fucking asshole, snatches my keys off the floor and wings them right at my face as hard as he can, which is quite hard, and accurate. Somehow, (I don’t have particularly quick reflexes, or excess corrdination) I manage to Cobra Hand the keys right before they hit me. I imagine it looked badass, but I instantly regretted it, one of the keys stabbed my palm, and broke the skin. Samantha was at the passenger door when I started down the porch stairs, I was at almost a full run when I reached the car, and it took every ounce of restraint I have not to Bo Duke across the hood. I love that car. Ryan, fucking asshole, was pouring out onto the porch with everyone else, shouting some kind of threat at Samantha. But roar of the engine drowned all that out. And within a matter of seconds Samantha and I were skidding out of the driveway.
The 180 turn is way easier than it looks. It can be perfected in the matter of an afternoon, and I had been practicing for weeks. You need enough speed to get the car to slide when you lock the brakes, but not too much or you’ll spin too far around. Clutch, snatch the handbrake, whip the steering wheel a half turn, while releasing the handbrake, down shift, and accelerate out of it, now going in the opposite direction. It puts up a dense fog of smoke and screeching tires. The small congregation on the porch is in an uproar when we pass the house. I look over at Samantha and the fear of thinking I was going to crash had pushed every other thought and feeling from her. Now it was all being replaced by joy. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the road ahead, her mouth slightly open, unable to contain her smile otherwise. I caught a glimpse from the rear view of Ryan dragging one of last night leftovers back into the house. Fucking asshole.
“Holy shit! Did you do that in purpose! That was awesome!”
I was doing a buck ten when we took the on ramp, I let off the gas an coasted to a respectable 20 over the speed limit. The windows were open, her dress was being blown around like a plastic bag in an artsy film. Her panties were almost the same color caramel as her skin, I had to do a double take when I first saw them, I thought she wasn’t wearing any. She saw my reaction, and kind of spread her legs open a little more, not enough to invite me into her downstairs, but enough to let me know a hand on her thigh would be welcome. I moved my right hand deliberately from he stick to her awaiting thigh. It felt like heaven. Warm skin, silky smoothe, toned muscle. I squeezed her a little, and she responded with a smile. I slowly moved my hand from the respectable position on top of her leg, to a more PG-13 spot on her inner thigh. She spread her legs a little more, and I took the hint further up, up…
“Oh my god are you bleeding,” she gasped. I look down, and suddenly all the adrenaline and desire left my body and was replaced by the stinging pain in my palm. Ryan, fucking asshole, my hand was bleeding from my goddamn keys. Which I had smeared up the inside of her perfect legs leaving a very visible indication of just how far she had let this go. And with that the spell was broken, my dreams of making Samantha cum on the hood of my car evaporated into a cloud of engine exhaust. She started pulling out tissues, and cleaning herself up, and fussing over my minor cut.
“Ryan, he can be an asshole sometimes, but he’s really a nice guy. I wonder what he’s doing right now? Oh god, I hope he’s not too mad. Can you take me back?”
“Yeah, of course”
Ryan, fucking asshole, had drug this helpless hussy up stairs, and into my bedroom. He pushed her, face down into my bed. Ripped her leggings open from the back, spread her cheeks so wide that her eyes teared up, and spit right into her back hole. He starts talking all kinds of shit about me, and what a little slut Samantha is, he barely noticed this chicks screams as he was grudge fucking her asshole. He’s just slamming the shit out of her assways, cursing under his breath, while Samantha is worrying about his feelings. After about three minutes of absent minded hate fucking, he cums in her ass. Fucking asshole.
I let Samantha out at the end of the driveway. I’m not scared to go back in the house, I just need to be away from her, away from her and him together.
Samantha looks at me the way you look at a kid who dropped their ice cream. “I’m sorry about all this, I didn’t mean to…it’s just that… you’re a really good friend, and I would hate to lose that.”
Ryan walks out to meet her in the drive. I can hear him blaming this all on her, and Samantha agreeing, apologizing, and then giggling the words makeup sex, and he hasn’t washed either of the other two off his dick. Fucking asshole.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ppa6et/i_love_that_car_mf