The STANG Part 7

Chapter 7
 
 
“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful!”
 
—Mae West
 
There is nothing for you to do, but keep me makin’ love to you…
 
“Okay,” said Misty. “I am now off-the-charts frickin’ freakin’ out.”
 
Now, I love Etta James, don’t get me wrong. That woman has a voice that could straighten a parlor-permed pubic hair, but right now, considering the circumstances, the sound of her growling ‘I Just Want to Make Love to You’ echoing from the garage was sendin’ ice splinters through me and Mist. Gear used to blast George Thorogood in the Stang when he wanted me to come out to the garage and spread my legs. But Gear was dead.
 
Still, as shit-scared as I was, and even though there were spider-legs crawlin’ up my arms, I couldn’t let on to Mist that I was shittin’ the same bricks she were. Misty’s all I have; my only family. She’s my girl. I had to keep the bees out of her bonnet no matter what that meant to me. I had to maintain composure and be the rock she’s always depended on me to be.
 
“Don’t be a cream puff, Mother Teresa. Come on. Ain’t nothing but the radio playin’. We drove all the way home in the Stang and ain’t nothin’ happened. We can’t let this dang car fuck with our heads.”
 
All I want to do is cook your bread, just to make sure you’re well fed…  
 
I took Misty’s hand and we went to the door that led to the garage . I opened it and flipped on the light. Dang that car is sexy beautiful. I know it sounds strange to say, but just the sight of it: cherry soda red, those black racing stripes swooshed across it, looking so muscular, so…built. I couldn’t deny it much longer. I was fallin’ in lust with that damn car. I stole a glance at Mist and could see she was feelin’ the same thing. I saw her squeeze her legs together as soon as I flipped on the light in the garage.
 
We were both still in a state of shock after what happened at the roadhouse. Numb. There we were, havin’ a lil’ ol’ southern sandwich in the backseat of the Stang with bulgin’ Ben, next thing we know he’s dead and gone… and by gone I mean gone. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, my friends. Me and Mist were welly and truly under the spell of the Stang. How else could you explain our behavior? I mean, aside from the fact that it was giving us orgasms that make a bottle rocket seem a burp.
 
We stood there in the foyer of the garage, captivated. The Stang wasn’t just a car anymore, and we both knew it. We were completely at its mercy. It was almost like being possessed.
 
Suddenly, the doors on both sides of the Stang opened up, and already I could feel the warm, pulsating throb starting between my thighs. I knew Mist felt it, too, because she looped her arm through mine and we both stepped down into the garage like a couple of hypnotized, magic show rubes. I slid into the driver’s seat, and Mist took shotgun. The doors slammed shut once we were inside. We were both helpless to resist.
 
Etta James stopped singing, and the seatbelt indicator on the dash started blinking, so Misty and I obediently strapped ourselves in. The seat got warm. We got humid. The radio came back to life. Golden Earring: ‘Radar Love.’ Inside of a sexy-hot Mustang Mach 1, this song is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
 
Then, it started…
 
Dang, I really wish I could describe the feeling to y’all. You’d understand why this car had such a grasp on me an’ Mist. Metaphors just don’t do the experience justice. I know what you’re thinking. It’s a damn car. It’s all in your head. Yeah? Let me tell you what happened next.
 
It starts deep inside your abdomen, like a warm, glowing cinder; a hunger pang, or a desirous craving. You can feel it all the way up into your throat like a desperate, insatiable need. You start breathing deeper. Your body relaxes and tenses up at the same time. Your g-spot wakes up and becomes sensitive, like tingling, peppermint breath on the back of your neck when you’re not expecting it. You start moving to a rhythm of a song that no music could duplicate; gyrating, squirming, selfishly greedy. Then…
 
It hits you like bloody Krakatoa. I threw my head back and exhaled, grabbing the seat and digging my fingernails into the upholstery. And the more I tried to move, the tighter the seatbelt squeezed me into the seat. I heard Misty squeal, and I looked over at her. Her head was tilted back on the headrest, she was biting her lower lip, her back was arched, and I watched her seatbelt tighten, pulling her back into the seat. My thighs were trembling. Shit, my whole damn body was trembling. My panties were soaking wet. I tried to wiggle my ass in the seat but the seatbelt got tighter still, binding me. All I could do was sit there and feel the electricity surging through every single part of me, completely helpless to the pleasure that was coursing through me like a swelling wave. I felt like I was going to come at any second, but then the feeling would subside just enough that I didn’t. It was the most maddening bliss you could possibly imagine.
 
I whipped my head back and forth. The pleasure was so intense I could hardly stand it. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t thrust, I couldn’t do anything except sit there and succumb. I stole another glance over at Misty. Her eyes were glazed over and her head was pointed upwards. Her mouth was open, and she was huffing as if she were being penetrated by a two liter bottle. Another wave passed through me and I tensed up. Here it comes… here it comes… OH GOD HERE IT COMES…  No. Not yet. More. More! Jesus lord in heaven on a bumper sticker MORE!
 
It was like being tied to a bed and teased mercilessly: a flick of warm tongue-tip on my g-spot, then a flick on my hard, aching nipples, a feather tickle across my abdomen, begging, pleading, mischievous; a slow thrust deep inside of me, almost all the way through the other side, then fast, in and out, in and out, right at the entrance of my glory hole. Blessed mother of Malcolm!
 
Misty started barking and gasping like she was drowning. The Stang was fucking her hard and fast. Her hands were flailing, looking for something to grasp, desperate to feel flesh. She found my breast and squeezed it. I grabbed her hand and put her fingers in my mouth, sucking, playing with them with my tongue. I couldn’t help it. Just the feel of flesh in my mouth made everything fifty times more powerful. I reached over and slid my hand across Misty’s leg, burying it between her legs. She clenched, pulled her hand out of my mouth, and slid it across my leg. We both cried out, literally two breaths from passing out. The seatbelts tightened to the point where we couldn’t breathe, and finally, we exploded. Fuck me on momma’s porch swing, it was like the biblical flood; all the build-up, the intensity, everything spilling out in one extreme, concentrated eruption of pleasure. Everything went dark after that.
 
I woke up to the feel of my phone vibrating against my ass. Mist and I were still in the Stang, disoriented and dazed as if we had just smoked a pound of pot. Our seatbelts were off and the air conditioner was on low. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and answered it. It was the cops. Someone had filed a missing person’s report on Ben, and could Misty and I please come down to the station for further questioning. Like now.
 
Shit on a god damn shingle.
 
“Who was it?”
 
“Cops. They want us to come down to the station.”
 
“Shit…Shit. What are we gunna do, H?”
 
“I don’t know, hon. I don’t know much of anything anymore.”
 
Suddenly, the GPS device on the dashboard came on. It showed a map of Louisiana, and an arrow pointing to an unincorporated spot along highway 51, well north of New Orleans. The garage door opened by itself, and the Stang’s engine roared to life…