Emerson Learns to Drive

Emerson

“Check your mirrors. Good. Now just ease onto the gas.” Gunnar coaches me through another driving lesson. It feels silly to drive the few blocks down Butler Street to the tattoo parlor, but I suppose he has a point about starting with short trips to build my confidence on the road. 

I hum quietly as I flick my turn signal and pull onto the street. Initially, I wanted to surprise Gunnar with the stag tattoo on my thigh, but when I found out he was booked to get a tiny salt shaker on his arm, I laughed and confessed my plans, and we snagged a double appointment. 

“And I can turn right on red here, correct?” I glance at my husband, who is scratching the plastic wrapping over his fresh ink. “Don’t pick at it. You’ll get an infection.”

“Since when are you the ink expert, Salty? Yeah, you can go right on red. Nice.” I swerve around a massive pothole—no easy feat in his giant SUV. I could snap back at him with a pithy comment, but I have other plans.

I’ve been incredibly horny since our re-marriage a month ago, and since Gunnar’s off for the summer, we’ve basically been screwing our brains out whenever I’m not teaching music camp lessons. I had no idea I’d become a sex fiend the same year I ran away from home, quit playing classical music, and married a stranger in Las Vegas. 

I slow down as I approach the parking garage behind our building. It’s a tight turn and a steep slope, so I draw a steadying breath. “We’ve got insurance,” I remind myself. 

“So much insurance, baby.” Gunnar’s voice is low and gravelly, and I can tell he’s looking forward to being home with me. I wonder if his naughty plans conflict with mine.

I whoop in delight as I navigate past the security gate and into the garage and squeal again when I pull into an end parking spot on my first attempt. “I need to celebrate,” I explain to Gunnar, clicking out of my seatbelt. He nods and moves to exit the car, but I grab his arm. “Right now.”

Gunnar whips his head in my direction, eyes wide. “Now?”

I bite my lip and nod, reaching over the console. “I’ve heard about things people do in cars, Gunnar Stag. I never had a car…” I twirl a lock of hair around my finger with one hand, letting the other roam over to his lap, where I find a very large, very warm erection in my husband’s pants. 

“Emerson,” he breathes, looking out the window. “Fuck.”

“I tested the tinted windows,” I tell him, choosing not to summarize how I set out magazine photos and attempted to see through the glass to make out the details. “Pull your pants down.”

“Salty. Baby. Wow.” He doesn’t move to adjust his pants, so I lean across the console and reach inside, purring when I find him hard and pulsing in my hand. I lick the tip of his cock, causing him to groan. It’s uncomfortable, leaning over the emergency break like this, but I want this experience. I want all the experiences with Gunnar. 

“Mmm, you taste good,” I tell him, licking around the tip, sliding his foreskin back, pumping my hand along his length. I pepper him with kisses, run my nails through the hair on his thighs, reach in and squeeze his balls as he starts to groan and press a gentle hand against my hair. 

Gunnar is absolutely unraveled right now, and I’ve never felt more powerful in my life, especially as I gaze up at him in the dim light, my mouth full of his cock, eyes watering. The expression on his face is one of pure worship. I know I have all the control in this moment, and I love how he lets himself go for me. 

“Baby,” he pants. “I wanted to make you come. I wanted to lick your pussy and stare at your tattoo. Oh shit, sweetheart, that’s so damn good. When did you get this good? Oh, fuck, Emerson.” He thrusts up off the seat, his tip hitting the back of my throat. 

I pull off him with a pop, catching my breath. “You can still do all those things, Gunny. After we finish here.”

He nods, one hand gripping the door handle, the other buried in my hair, and I lower my mouth back onto his pulsing heat. I grip his balls with one hand and press the other into his thigh, trying to steady myself and push through the discomfort. It’s so hot, feeling him unravel beneath me—a few more licks, and Gunnar bellows, blasting into my mouth. I suck, swallowing the salty release, listening as he saws breath in and out.

I sit up, smiling, adjusting my shirt. I pat his arm. “You did great, honey.”

His eyes snap to mine. “Emerson Stag. That’s not how this works.”

I flutter my lashes. “Whatever do you mean, husband?” He growls and charges out of the vehicle, rushing around to grab me as I howl with laughter. “Careful of my leg.” He tosses me over his shoulder and takes off for the elevators at a jog.

I smack his behind as he fishes for the key to our apartment, and the second we are inside, he kicks the door closed and sets me on the counter. “Pants off,” he barks.

Thankfully, I wore athletic shorts to get the tattoo, so in no time, I toss them along with my underwear, and Gunnar stands between my legs, rubbing his hands up and down my thighs. “So gorgeous,” he mutters. He drops to his knees. He’s so tall that this puts his head precisely where he wants it, where I’m craving his attention. 

Gunnar spreads me open and licks. I forget to pay attention, covering my face with my hands as I drown in the sensation of his mouth on my most sensitive parts. His hands trace carefully along my legs, avoiding my new tattoo and returning to help stroke at my clit while his tongue thrusts inside me. Soon, I’m melting under his attention, the waves of my orgasm cresting as I shriek his name and wriggle on the counter. 

When I open my eyes, Gunnar is standing over me, eyes fierce, hands lovingly caressing my body. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers. 

I smile and glance at his crotch, seeing that he’s stiff again. I’m excited at the idea of continuing this adventure with him, preferably in our bed so we can fall asleep afterward. He extends a hand and helps me sit up and slide to the floor, my legs wobbly and unsteady. “I’ve got you, baby.” And he scoops me into a cradle hold. 

He takes two steps toward our bedroom when the sound of someone pounding on our door freezes him in place. 

“Gunny! Let me in!”

He looks into my eyes. “It’s Alder,” he whispers. “We can ignore him.”

I nod, but the pounding resumes again in earnest. “Gunny, come on. I need to talk to you, bro.” Alder sounds desperate, and my heart surges in my chest in empathy for what he’s been going through lately. 

“It’s okay, Gun. Go to your brother.” I hop down from his arms, stretch to kiss him on the cheek, and hurry to scoop up my clothes from the floor as I scurry to our bedroom. 

“Coming, Alder,” Gunnar mutters. “This better be good.”

Want to know what happened with Alder and his personal life? One-click Playing for Payback today!