Chapter 5
The next few days, Dean found himself barely able to keep his mind on his work. He was looking forward with excitement to his coming show, and hopefully to the time when he could quit pumping gas. The heat of recent weeks had abated, and the days were cool and clear, a short hint of crispness in the air before the long rainy season was to inevitably begin.
Finally the weekend arrived, and on Saturday morning, Dean set out to pick up Marty. She met him at the door looking like Fall Beauty; she wore a white ruffled blouse tucked into a tawny suede miniskirt which showed most of her long legs covered by black tights. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and tied with a red band of cloth.
"I'll be honest about it," said Dean, "you look great! Are you all ready to go for a long drive into the wondrous and secluded world of nature?"
Marty laughed. "Sure enough. Just let me get my jacket." She disappeared into the bedroom.
"Hey, where's Sheila these days?" Dean called.
"Out of town visiting her parents," came the reply.
Momentarily, she joined him at the door, a brown leather coat slung over her arm.
"Okay," she said, "ready."
Dean grabbed her arm as she reached for the doorknob and pulled her around to face him. "How about a kiss, baby?"
In reply she just looked up at him, her moist lips slightly parted.
The red Porsche roared across the Golden Gate Bridge and into the countryside. Dean had finally gotten the carbs synchronized, and he was pleased with the way the car responded instantly with a surge of power to the touch of his foot on the accelerator. Marty sat relaxed beside him, enjoying the ride and the beauty of the autumn morning.
They were well into the next county when they came to a fork in the road. Dean pulled onto the shoulder.
"What'll it be," he asked her, "Muir Woods or Mount Tamalpais?"
Marty mused a moment, then answered him. "The mountain. Let's go up there."
"Mountain it is." He pulled the car back onto the road, throwing gravel from the rear wheels, and took the left fork. The road up the mountain was narrow and winding. Dean took it like a pro, pushing his little car to the limit. Marty bent forward and slipped out of her leather jacket, tossing it behind the seats. Dean's attention was momentarily caught by the movement, and he watched with appreciation the thrust of her breasts against the white blouse.
"Where did you learn to drive like this?" yelled Marty over the growling revs of the engine.
"Back home in Ohio," came his reply. "I used to drive in local races. Even tried my hand at riding horses in competition. See these old boots I'm wearing?"
"What about them?" Marty looked down at Dean's feet as they played expertly over the pedals on the floor of the car. The boots certainly looked old enough; they were wrinkled and dulled from years of use. Still she could see that they were good ones and had once been beautiful. They were cowboy boots, black with white pinstripe designs worked neatly into the leather.
"Won 'em in a rodeo when I was just a teenager," Dean told her, "for staying on a mean horse all of eight seconds."
"Great!" yelled Marty, grabbing for the assist handle as they went through a sharp turn.
At the top of the mountain was a parking lot filled with cars. Tourists were walking around with cameras and families and picnic lunches. Dean pulled the car into a parking space against a low retaining wall at the end of the lot. "Damn!" said Dean in disappointment, "I should've known this place would be crowded on the weekend." He took out two cigarettes, gave one to Marty and they lit up. "Look," she said, "you can see the city from here. It looks just like a color postcard the ocean, the bay, all the bridges. Isn't it funny that when you see reality you think it looks just like a postcard?"
Dean laughed. "Yeah. I guess nobody trusts reality anymore. They think it's all in the movies or something." He took off his jacket and threw it in back with Marty's.
"The sun," he exclaimed, "sure feels good on the skin up here. There are some side roads just below the mountaintop that run by some nice woods and fields. We can drive through there and get away from all these people."
"Good idea," agreed Marty, "let's go."
Dean found a nice spot and pulled off the road behind a parked microbus. Looking around, he saw no one else in the area. They got out of the car and stretched.
"Well, now," he said, "that's better, no more people!"
Marty pointed to the microbus. "Look at those pretty curtains. I'll bet they have it fixed up real nice inside, like a camper." She walked over to the bus and peeked through the back window, whose curtains were not perfectly pulled together. Dean watched her, and she seemed so entranced by the interior of the car that he started toward her to see for himself. As he did, she waved him away and ran from the roadside toward the woods. He followed her, a few yards behind, until she stopped to catch her breath, allowing him to overtake her. Dean coughed hoarsely. "Christ," he exclaimed, "I ought to quit smoking." Marty nodded. "Me, too," she gasped, "just running a little really does me in."
When they had regained their breath, Dean asked her, "How come you waved me away from the microbus?"
Marty smiled. "Because there were two people in there making love."
"Really? Inside the bus?"
"Uh-huh. The whole back of it is just a big bed."
"Well, now," said Dean, "that seems like a pretty good idea to me."
"What do you mean," teased Marty, "building a bed in the back of your sports car?"
"No," said Dean. "Making love. Here I'll show you -" He reached over and undid the top buttons of her blouse with sure fingers, smiling. He kissed the waiting mouth softly and felt her lips part and her tongue slide along his teeth as his hand moved up and caressed the tenderness of her neck and throat. She was still leaning against the tree, and he pressed against her, feeling her body mold itself to his, her thighs against his, her arms around his waist, holding him. She pushed him gently away after the kiss. "Not here, Dean," she told him. "Let's find a nice place to lie down." She broke away and walked on through the woods.
Dean waited for his throbbing desire to abate, then followed her at a distance. As he walked, he broke a small branch from a tree and slapped its twigs and leaves against his thigh in rhythm to a song he was humming to himself. He looked ahead and saw that she had taken off her blouse. Shafts of sunlight played over her white breasts and their pink tips as they bobbed firmly with her steps.
When he caught up with her in a small, grassy meadow she was naked in a burst of sunlight. "Lie down," she said. "I'll undress you." She pulled off his boots and socks, then removed the rest of his clothing piece by piece. He felt a wave of luxurious sensuality wash over him as each part of his body was in turn exposed to the country air and sun. As she pulled his shorts off and threw them in a pile with the rest of the clothes, he rolled onto his stomach, pressing himself against the earth and smelling the odor of grass and soil.
Suddenly there was a sharp whistle and a crack as the twigs he had broken from the tree cut into his bare buttocks. Before he could react, Marty swung at him again, raising red welts across his backside. He leaped up and grabbed her arm, which was already poised for another blow.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded. She looked frightened, as if she was not quite sure she had done the right thing. "Well, I just couldn't help it," she explained. "I just saw that branch there where you dropped it, and I did the first thing that came to mind."
Dean scowled. "Well, I don't like it!"
Marty cast her eyes in the direction of his erect organ. "You don't?" she commented slyly.
Dean was still angry, but his tone had changed. There was lust in it now. "All right, bitch," he said threateningly, "you'll see what you get for catching a man with his defenses down." He threw her roughly on the ground, twisting her arm until she turned on her stomach; then he brought the crude whip down again and again on her tender rear. At the first few strokes, Marty was bravely silent. She pressed her face hard into the grass and bit her lip, unwilling to give Dean the pleasure of her humiliation. But as the twigs cut into the soft flesh, finally drawing blood, she let out a muffled scream. Dean grinned fiendishly, experiencing a glee at administering punishment that he had never felt. He continued the whipping, enjoying her agony as she writhed about, pressing her nude body against the earth as if to escape into it, embracing it like a lover. Finally the switch was worn down to a tired stump, and blood trickled from her backside and from her thighs. Dean threw the branch away and looked down at her prostrate body. "Had enough?" he asked her.
She mumbled her answer into the ground. "What?" asked Dean, suddenly afraid that he had hurt her badly, "are you all right?" He knelt beside her as she rolled slowly over to face him, wincing as her cut flesh pressed against the grass.
"I said fuck me," she groaned, "fuck me, please." She took hold of his stiff cock and squeezed it in her hand, spreading her legs wide as he got over her. With his organ still in her hand, she directed it to its mark against her cunt, rubbing the head back and forth over the lips and the springy hair that covered them. Unable to stand the teasing anymore, Dean thrust her arm aside and pushed into her. Marty's cunt was deliciously tight, and Dean could feel each ripple and muscle pass over the head of his instrument as he drove slowly in and out, enjoying the delicious suction. Marty slung her legs around his waist and held him tightly against her without moving, while she contracted the muscles of her steamy lovebox and treated his prick to several nips, which sent a shudder through his entire body. He bent his head to reach her nipples and sucked them; they were taut as nails, throbbing like small pricks. Now they both began to move about crazily, grinding their hot and insistent bodies together. Soon, Marty thrashed wildly against him and arched up as she came to her climax. As he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her insistently, she thrust her tongue in and out in time with his strokes. Her whole body shook, and she lifted almost entirely off the ground, carrying Dean with her, as she went through one orgasm after another. Dean held out until the last moment, and, as she reached her final peak, he thrust in and out furiously, exploding hotly inside the receiving folds of her cunt. Then they lay together in the healing warmth of the sun.
"You really hurt me," murmured Marty, "but I liked it. Is that strange?"
"I don't know," answered Dean. "I guess I liked it, too."
They burst into laughter together. "No hard feelings, then?" asked Dean mirthfully.
Marty gave a playful squeeze to his softened organ. "No," she told him, "no hard feelings."