Road trips bore Helena, so she spices up the journey by stripping down to her fishnets as she and her husband, Kyle, speed down the highway.



"What are you doing?" Kyle asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I purred.

"It looks as if you're taking off your sweatpants. In the car. While I'm driving sixty-five miles per hour down the highway."

"Bingo. Give the boy a prize."

"Do I get to choose the prize?" he asked lecherously.

"No, I've got it here - right between my thighs."

He glanced quickly at me - with his eyebrows raised - and then just as quickly returned his gaze to the road ahead.

This year was Kyle's turn to plan the holiday, and Kyle loves to drive. My husband didn't expect much from me as a travel partner. He simply asked that I be ready to roll each morning at eight, to have my bags packed, and to cuddle into the Caddy and snooze peacefully from rest stop to rest stop. He had plenty of music to listen to and an open stretch of highway to traverse. In Kyle's world, nothing could be sweeter.

I happily rode shotgun for the first two days of the journey. I even dressed the part, wearing big Jackie O sunglasses and a printed silk headscarf as if I were a glamorous movie star from the 1950s. But then I began to get bored. There's only so much fun you can have looking at the scenery whizzing by and singing along to King of the Road. So on day three, I hatched a plan - a plan that involved sexy clothing, an uninterrupted stretch of glittery-black asphalt and me.

I wasted no time putting my plan into action. Kyle was driving, and he knew he ought to keep his eyes on the road. But it was clear from his queries that he couldn't help but sneak peeks in my direction. I had my sweatpants all the way off, and I tossed them into the backseat. When Kyle snuck his next glance, I could tell that he'd spied the scarlet fishnets I'd been hiding underneath.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Cabin fever," I said.

"But we haven't been in one place for more than a single night."

"Okay, then Cadillac fever. All this driving makes me feel sort of trapped."

"So you thought fishnets would set you free?"

"Fishnets," I said, "and . . . " Now I took off my sunglasses and pulled off the gray sweatshirt I'd been wearing. For a moment, I thought Kyle was going to swerve right off the road. Hidden beneath the unfashionable hoodie was a fishnet bodysuit that matched the thigh-high red nets. I slid my Wayfarers back into place and adjusted the netting on the dress.

"Jesus, Helena. Where'd you get that?"

"I packed it."

"So you knew you were going to be staging a striptease somewhere out on the open road?"

"I had an inkling," I confessed.

Kyle wolf-whistled, and then he let one large hand find my thigh above the band of stocking. "Ah, ah," I told him. "You can look, but you can't touch."

"Really? Why?"

"Because I'm the only one doing the touching." I let my own hand wander between my legs to prove my point.

"But I'm not the only one doing the looking," Kyle said as a truck passed us, the driver honking his approval. I grinned. Yes, it had occurred to me that if I put this dirty plan into action, Kyle might not be the only one to benefit. But I also knew that Kyle wouldn't mind sharing the view. My husband has always loved the exhibitionistic streak in me. That's why I'd gone to such extremes to plan this in-car striptease.

"I was wondering why you had your makeup done," Kyle said, "even when you were so adorably tousled-looking." He had his hands on the wheel and a beatific smile on his face.

So he had noticed. I'd tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, hiding my fishnets and my bodysuit beneath rumpled old sweats, wearing my hair in a simple ponytail. But I had also been aware of my makeup, wanting the end result to be a true treat. My lips were slicked with a gloss that was the exact same shimmery shade as Kyle's dream machine. In my purse rested a pair of patent-leather, high-heeled sandals that were obviously not made with the goal of walking. Few vixens could master heels that high. I slid them on now to replace the faded old Keds I'd worn from motel to car.

I knew those sandals would never see sidewalk. The inside of the Caddy would be their home. But from their ultimate vantage point on the dashboard, they'd help set the stage - and Kyle would eagerly take in the sights.

See, for Kyle's week off, he'd wanted to visit the southwest, and he'd wanted to drive. Five days a week, Kyle drives a desk. But captaining his beloved vintage vehicle is what he loves best. When I plan a vacation, it usually involves first-class air travel and a city best known for a monument that rhymes with "rifle." Yet I'd done my best. I'd been a sport. I'd packed my bags, iPod and books I'd been meaning to read forever. It's not my fault that endless ribbons of highway don't turn me on the way they do my husband.

Still, I didn't want to be a spoilsport. Perhaps, I'd decided, I could get into the concept - if I thought creatively. Like now - as I buckled on the high-heeled sandals and stretched out my legs. What Kyle didn't know was that I'd only just begun. I put my feet up on the dashboard and let my thighs open naturally.

"Oh, fuck," Kyle groaned.

"Not yet, hon."

"What are you doing now, Helena?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I echoed in my sultriest voice.

Kyle cleared his throat. "It looks as if you're touching your pussy."

"Bingo."

"Do I get another prize?" He was hoarse. Poor baby.

"Yeah. I'm keeping track. At the rest stop, I'll pay out."

"But the next rest stop isn't for sixteen miles. The sign just went by." He sounded devastated.

"Oh, well," I said. "I guess I'll have to give myself the first prize."

While Kyle tried his best to keep his eyes on the road, I reached into my large leather purse to find my favorite vibrator. Kyle sucked in his breath as I brought out the beast of a toy. I knew he understood exactly what I was doing when I spun the handle on the base to turn on the engine. Kyle might be captain of a '65 Cadillac, but I steer my vibrator with the skill of an Indy 500 driver. I've had my share of practice - let me assure you.

Slowly, I began to tease my pussy lips with the device. Even more slowly, I let my legs fall wider apart and yanked aside the crotch of the bodysuit. I'd come fully prepared - and I have to admit, the mere thought of what I'd planned for this morning had put me in a tangible state of arousal. My pussy gleamed with a highly polished, sex-juice sheen. I might as well have been buffed by the chamois Kyle uses on his beloved hood.

Kyle slid his hand off the wheel and put his palm once more on my thigh.

"No touching," I reminded him. "You keep your eyes on the road and your hands at the ten and two positions."

"Yes, ma'am."

His obedience stirred something within me. Kyle tends to take charge of our encounters. But now he was as good as bound. He couldn't lunge at me. He couldn't lean over and kiss me. He couldn't even stroke my neck with his fingertips. He had to pay attention to his driving. I was relegated to his peripheral vision. That's why I turned down his radio and turned up my audio.

"Oh, God, that feels good," I moaned, tossing back my head. The next trucker to drive by let out a huge happy bellow from his horn.

"You see what I mean," Kyle groaned. "Everyone's watching you."

"And you love that."

"Yeah, Helena," he admitted. "I do."

Kyle's always approved of my exhibitionistic fetish. The fact that he is a voyeur is one of the most satisfying parts of our relationship. He is ying to my yang. Peep to my Tom.

I sighed and continued my naughty game of hide-and-seek with the vibrator. I pushed the head into my pussy, and then pulled it out again. I slid the rounded tip in even further and spun the dial at the base so that the vibrations coursed through me. I love the feel of a good motor in the morning. The sensation of the sex toy, combined with the throbbing of the car's engine, took me to a whole new level of pleasure. The fact that I was on display for Kyle - and any other nameless commuters on the road - doubled the intensity.

"Twelve miles to the next rest stop," Kyle murmured.

"Ooh," I purred. "I ought to be able to get off before that."

"You're so damn greedy."

I looked at him and lowered my shades. "You have no idea."

Knowing that this would drive Kyle crazy, I pulled out the toy and tasted my own juices from the tip. Even with his eyes glued to the road ahead, he knew what I was doing. In a dark voice, he hissed, "God, you're such a slut."

"But I'm a sweet-tasting slut."

"I told you that last night, didn't I?"

He had. He'd spread me out on the motel mattress and eaten my pussy for hours. One of his desires was to fuck me in every state we entered. Now, it was my turn to taste myself. I licked the toy again, and then I resumed my previous actions, using the tool to fill up my pussy and relying on the motor to rev my own engine.

"Feel how hard you're making me," Kyle begged.

I shouldn't have. My goal had been to put on a show and not touch him at all, but I couldn't help myself. I reached over and stroked him through his slacks. Kyle moaned and pressed up against my fingers. He was as hard as a rock.

"Look what you do to me," he whispered. "You drive me crazy."

"Drive us to that rest stop," I urged, "and I'll make you even crazier."

"We've still got another nine fucking miles." He sounded so desperate. I loved hearing his tone of voice, adored knowing that I was responsible for putting him in such a raw state of desire. The highway had been his friend before, but it had become one long, bitter gray undulating wave of asphalt. Another truck passed us, and another horn blared.

While Kyle was counting down the miles to the next stop, I was starting to understand the appeal of the open road. Because I imagined that every truck blazing by held a man who wanted only to watch me. What a turn-on that was.

"Seven," he said now, a frog clearly wedged in his throat.

"And I'm going to use every last one of them," I promised.

With my thighs spread wide, I began to plunge the vibe in and out of my pussy. I was so wet, the toy made a delicious juicy sound with each inward thrust. I used my free hand to tease my nipples through the netting of my fishnet bodysuit. I pinched them until they were as hard as Kyle was.

"There's another big truck coming up on your side," Kyle said. I rolled down the window and put my right heel up on the top of the door, and I used my fingertips to spread apart my pussy lips. The truck pulled up right next to our car. I knew the driver was looking down; I knew he was getting a full show. Kyle knew the same thing, and I thought he might actually shoot his load in his jeans.

"Come for me, baby," he urged. "Come for us both."

I gripped the vibrator more forcefully and fucked myself harder still. Oh, let me tell you, when I felt those fluttery sensations start to work through me, I couldn't stop talking. "I am," I moaned. "I'm coming. Oh, God, Kyle, I'm coming."

"Tell me how it feels."

"Like heaven. Oh, fuck, like nothing else in this world."

The truck pulled off then, speeding past us, but I didn't worry about that. I only had thoughts of the climax flooding through me. No, that's a lie. As soon as the orgasm began to fade, I started to fantasize about the way I'd feel when Kyle reached the next rest stop and was able to fuck me properly.

I like my tools. But I like his tool most of all.

How many miles until our next rest stop? As soon as the thought was in my head - but before I could even voice the query - Kyle said, "Here we are. I hope you're ready for me, Helena. I'm going to pound you."

"I'm ready."

I wasn't lying. Even though I'd come minutes ago, my pussy was twitching in anticipation of his cock. Even after six years together, the mere thought of his cock makes me wet. I squeezed my thighs together and rocked in the seat.

"Where are we going to do it?" I asked, wondering if he was going to take me into the men's room, or find a secluded area in the wooded region at the rear of the restrooms.

"Backseat," he said instantly, nosing the car into a corner of the parking lot. I climbed over the front seat as soon as he turned off the ignition. Kyle was less aerobic. He would have had a difficult time maneuvering his six-foot frame with the same agility that I moved my five-foot-five body. He opened the door, and then walked to the back door and got inside. I was already sprawled on the seat, legs spread wide. Kyle looked at me for a moment, hunger in his dark green eyes.

"You're such a tease," he said. "Dressing like that. Not letting me touch you. Making me listen while you come."

"But you still get the prize," I assured him.

"What if I just stand here and jerk off," he threatened. "What if I look at you and manhandle myself, the way all those truckers are probably jerking themselves off to thoughts of you."

Dear Lord. He wouldn't, would he? I wouldn't be able stand it if he didn't fuck me! Then I saw the look in his eyes, and I realized this was simply payback. He wouldn't go without plunging into me. His smile let me know he was teasing, and then he kissed me. One of those to-die-for kisses, where my heart races and my body trembles, and I never want our lips to part. Except that I do - because I can't wait for what comes next.

"Helena, you're so beautiful," Kyle murmured. He pulled back and opened his zipper, and then I could see what I already knew - how intensely hard he was. "I've been dying these last few miles. I thought I was going to have to pull over on the side of the road and fuck you."

Honestly, I'd thought the same thing.

"Just do it," I begged, realizing that now I was the one who was desperate. Sure, the toy had satisfied my initial craving, but seeing Kyle poised and ready made me want to wrap my thighs around him and drag him into me. Luckily, Kyle had the same desire. He positioned himself above me and let me feel his stiff cock against my pussy lips. There was no foreplay. Well, the foreplay had been in the sixteen miles since I'd first peeled off my sweats. There was only Kyle's hard rod and my wet slit, the polished leather underneath me and the upholstered ceiling overhead.

"I imagined I was one of those long-distance truckers," Kyle muttered as he began to rock inside of me, "cruising up next to the car, getting an eyeful. I can just think what those guys were saying to each other on their radios. They were giving out the alert to look for our car, to look for your spread legs."

"I'll bet they know what we're doing right now," I said, panting. "They're thinking of us fucking."

"They're wishing they were me."

He started working me harder, thrusting in so deep I could barely catch my breath. My hair had come loose from the ponytail, freefalling past my shoulders in dips and curls. I knew my cheeks were flushed and my mascara smeared, but I didn't care. All I cared about was Kyle, his cock and my clit. As if he was hardwired into my fantasies, he reached a hand between us and began to strum me. Oh, holy fuck. I don't know how he chooses that most perfect moment, but he never misses the time, the beat I need, the rhythm I desire. His thumb made the ultimate contact with my clit, and I arched my back and opened my eyes.

And that's when Kyle saw the truck. My man was pistoning inside me, when he said, "There's a truck parked nearby."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think one of the truckers must have guessed what we're doing." Who knows if he was right, or if the trucker was taking a nap. But the thought that one of those truckers was jerking himself off while we fucked tripped something inside me, made me even wetter and more aroused than I already was.

I groaned, dug my nails into his shirt and came, bucking and shaking and spurting my slippery juices all over Kyle's cock. The climax took me so high I could hardly think. I felt myself panting as I worked to catch my breath. What a ride he had given me, and how unreal that my body was able to reach such amazing heights back to back, as if I'd scaled two mountain peaks without a pause for a hit of oxygen.

Kyle came a second after I did, and I saw that he was almost completely still as the orgasm worked through him. His body became statue-like, and then a shudder worked through him and he collapsed on top of me.

"Fucking hell," he murmured into my hair. "That was unbelievable. And after last night, who would have thought either one of us would have any energy?"

I smiled at him, recalling our previous evening. And the one before that. I loved that Kyle was on a mission to fuck me in every state we crossed. It was so much better than that on-the-road game of noting out-of-state license plates!

He pulled out of me and tucked himself back into his slacks. Then I leaned down and reached for my sweatpants and shook out the wrinkles. Or tried to.

"You're not putting those ugly things back on, are you, baby? It's ninety-six miles to the next rest stop. I saw it on the last sign. Do you think you have it in you for another show?"

"What are you suggesting?" I asked, playing coy, but already imagining the possibilities.

"Something to make those truckers honk their horns," he suggested, and I realized with a start that his love of the open road was spreading to me - and my desire to show off was spreading to him.

That's how it is with Cadillac fever, I guess. Anyone can catch it