Car Quickie Frenzy: Mediator’s Rules Made Me Drip for Nicolas

Phone vibrates. It’s time. Heart slams chest. I spot Nicolas’s car parked curbside, engine humming low. No shower this morning, per mediator’s orders. My pussy’s ripe, musky scent already wafting up my thighs. No bra, no panties—just a loose blouse begging to be ripped open.

I slide in. Door clicks shut. His eyes devour me. ‘Hey, slut,’ he growls, leaning in. Lips crash. Tongues tangle fierce. Saliva mixes, sloppy and hot. We break only to gasp. My nipples harden instantly. ‘Smell that?’ I whisper. ‘All for you.’ He inhales deep, cock twitching in his pants.

The Approach: Pulse-Pounding Pickup

We peel out, heading forest edge. City fades. Adrenaline spikes—anyone could see. Tires crunch gravel. He parks deep in shadows. Tension crackles. ‘Open for me,’ he commands. Blouse flies apart. Small tits bare, nipples peaked. His hands knead rough. Fingers pinch, twist. Mouth latches on—suck, bite, lave. I moan loud, arching. ‘Fuck, yes, own them.’

His hand dives skirt. Fingers plunge my soaked slit. No resistance—I’m gushing. ‘Mediator was right. You’re a dripping mess.’ Thumb circles clit. I buck, thighs quake. Pussy perfume fills car, thick with sweat and need. Phone buzzes ignored. Days of chats explode now.

Nicolas hops out, yanks passenger door. Legs spread wide. He kneels, nose first. Sniffs my crotch deep. ‘Pussy stink and piss trace—fucking heaven.’ Tongue dives in. Laps folds, sucks clit. Nibbles lips. I grip his hair, grinding. ‘Eat me, fuck!’ First orgasm hits—squirt floods his mouth. He gulps, greedy. ‘More,’ he rasps.

The Explosion: Savage Release in the Woods

He spreads ass cheeks. Tongue rims my hole. New, filthy thrill. Probes wet, insistent. I shudder, juices trail thighs. ‘Your ass tastes dirty good.’ Waves crash again. Can’t think. Pull him up. Grab his cock—rock hard, pre-cum slick. Rub it on my clit. Tease entry. ‘Fuck me inside.’ Gland nudges, stretches slight.

‘Not yet, bitch. Mediator’s rules.’ Frustration boils. Squeeze his shaft hard. Stroke furious. Fingers slip back—probe his ass. One digit in, then two. He groans animal. ‘Deeper, finger-fuck me.’ Pump him inside out. His balls tighten. ‘Gonna cum!’ Rope after rope blasts my pubis. Hot, sticky mess.

Pissed off, horny. Scoop his load, smear on clit. Rub savage. Fingers fly. Mixed scents—cum, pussy, ass—push me over. Scream orgasm, body convulsing. He watches, smirking. Kiss deep, tongues share salt.

He zips up. I straighten clothes, cum drying sticky. Drive back silent, buzz fading. Drop-off quick. I’m stranger again. Phone out—text mediator every filthy detail. Frustrated ache lingers. Begging her next orders. Need him buried deep.