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The thousand miles

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With my husband Alberto, we share a passion for vintage cars, possibly convertibles.
We have an Alfa Romeo Giulietta spider, from 1959, and a Porsche 356 cabriolet from 1960.
During the winter we cuddle them in the warmth of the large garage under the house, where we keep them hospitalized,
but then, with the arrival of summer, after changing the oil, the filters, checking the braking system,
and polished the bodies, on weekends we use them for our trips.
My favorite is the Porsche, whose driving belongs to me, while Alberto is more rude and sanguine
he loves the slightly cheeky character of the Giulietta.
On the not too hot afternoons of the spring months, we enjoy the wind in our hair and the landscapes,
that paint the goals that now almost mandatory, we choose from time to time.
The eastern Liguria with Portofino and Camogli, the Garda lake with the splendid western Garda and the spectacular arrival in Riva, the French Riviera, the Tuscan region of Chianti, the Val d'Orcia and the Crete Senesi.
Then with the arrival of the great summer heat we avoid long day trips, and we prefer small evening strolls, to enjoy the fresh air of the night.
Something that I find sinful, and that I sometimes do, is to take the Porsche alone, wearing a very light white linen dress, buttoned on the front.
In the dark of the night I open the buttoning and remaining practically naked I drive, with the air that caresses my body. When I cross other cars I like to think that some motorist can see me, chase, stop, and fuck me upside down on the hood of the car.
Thinking about these things makes me excited and I start to touch myself while I drive, to the point of having sometimes very intense orgasms, so much so that a couple of times I even risked ending up off the road, or making a front with another car which came in the opposite direction.
Also this year we decided to witness the passage of the historical re-enactment of the thousand miles.
For an enthusiast it is an opportunity to see some of the most beautiful cars that have made history.
Ferrari, Maserati, Bugatti, Mercedes, Aston Martin, all the most glorious brands, in a fantastic and fascinating context.
As usual, we choose that part of the route that was originally part of the stage that went up north along the Monte Amiata, along the Cassia, a stage that was often decisive for the final result.
We now have our place, near Radicofani, where from a slightly elevated position you can see a series of curves, before the cars pass below us. Both for taking pictures and for making small videos, the place is truly exceptional.
When we arrive after having parked the Giulietta, in a clearing under the pine forest, we already found some fans who had taken their seats. All men, as usual, except for another couple, made up of a distinguished gentleman in his sixties, and a girl, much younger, who at first glance might have looked like her daughter or granddaughter, but who by some attitudes and moine seemed to be far from it.
After a few minutes, as always, the men had already begun to exchange their knowledge on the means, both those owned and the highlights that would pass by in a few hours.
The girl and I after a few glances and a half smile approached and started to converse.
She had a long, light flowered skirt with an embroidered white shirt. And a thin necklace that made a set of earrings and a bracelet, which my expert eyes immediately saw being finished with small diamonds.
He had a somewhat naive air, clear eyes and white skin, of someone who does not like the sun too much.
We started talking about things for women, she didn't know how to drive, not even having a license, and she told me that she was involved in botany, and that the type was an old teacher, with whom she occasionally made these strange trips. He put me at ease, so that I too began to tell her a little about my life, and I could not resist, I confessed to her about my secret vice, the night trips with the decapulated car.
She was silent for a few moments, and then lightly stroking my forearm she said to me:
"I have some fantastic grass that they gave me, would you like it if we go for a rod"?
I must confess that in high school I spent a couple of years engaged with a boy, a heavy smoker, and that for many months I smoked a lot.
But then once we broke up I never felt the need again, and for many years I never had the chance again.
But the curiosity to try again, the intriguing situation with this stranger was irresistible, and with a big smile I said yes.
With the excuse of taking a walk, we eclipsed, promising to return to the arrival of the first cars.
We passed by the car of his "friend" a splendid Aurelia B24 spider from whose trunk Martina (so she told me to call her
i) pulled out a soft merino wool blanket and we ventured under the pine forest.
At a point where the vegetation became a little thicker, we saw a small clearing, covered with dry leaves, sheltered from any prying eyes.
Widened the blanket we sat down, and she took out of her purse the necessary to make the joint. Papers a plastic sachet full of grass and another with small ready-made cardboard filters.
With very few rapid moves he rolled it safely, and handed it to me to light it.
I have to admit I'm not a smoker, and very rarely do I smoke a cigarette, only occasionally later
some extraordinary sexual performance with my husband.
I went on and said a couple of puffs. The grass was really very good and after a few moments a flash of dizziness and heat immediately came to me, and I lay on my back, passing the cane.
She took a few shots, and then passed it back to me. I managed to do two more aspirations and then I gave it back to him, telling her he could finish it.
The grass had already risen to me powerful and powerful, the mouth began to dry out and salivation became difficult. As he finished the barrel Martina was looking at me and smiling mischievously.
Then when it was finished he carefully turned it off, destroying the piece of cardboard left over.
I told her that such a strong blow was from high school days that I wasn't feeling it.
She laughed, telling me it was time for me to get a good hit on life.
And he came to stand next to me.
I had spread my legs and kept my arms stretched upwards. The blouse must have been a little unbuttoned and I could glimpse a little of my right nipple that came out a little bit.
Now the heat that had initially taken over my face and mouth was going down my body, while my heart had started to hammer at me madly. Martina had come even closer and while lying on her side, with one arm and hand holding her head, with the other she began to caress me slowly.
The touch of her fingers made me tremble, and my vagina throbbed. Now I really wanted her, but as if there had been a mysterious force, I remained motionless in my position, waiting for her to do anything.
He slowly unbuttoned my blouse, and when it was completely open, he pulled the flaps away, starting to caress my breasts. Now she had got down on her knees, and with her tongue she began to lick my nipples, first gently and then with more determination to suck them greedily and to nibble their now turgid and hard tip like a glass pearl.
I started wiggling and moving my pelvis back and forth. I would have liked to touch myself between the thighs, or that she would, but my arms were blocked, and she kept kissing my nipples.
I began to look at her and saw that without stopping doing what she was engaged in, she began to take off her shirt, exposing two fantastic pointed breasts, with turgid nipples thrown upwards.
The salivation that had subsided was now turning into heat, and I felt the breath that gradually became more and more labored, like that of a marathon runner after the thirtieth kilometer.
In a moment's pause, after a long and desperate sigh, I managed to tell her. "Please touch me because I seem to be going crazy."
Then she peered at me with that look of her innocent appearance, took off her long flowery skirt and knelt between my legs.
Very slowly she untied the knot of the little cord that kept my white linen trousers tied and I pulled them off throwing them among the dry leaves. Then I pushed aside the thong and without taking it off I started kissing it.
First floor slowly, and with the tongue to penetrate and to move my lips and to lick my moods, which had to come out copiously. Then he finally began to devote himself to the clitoris. She nibbled on it to try to pull it out of its seat, and then sucked on it greedily, while I felt it swell and start to throb.
After a few moments my bowels were startled and I began to enjoy it like it had never happened to me before.
Martina then with her middle finger and index finger began to rub my clitoris dizzily and I started to squirt. Big streams of transparent liquid that wet her face and boobs.
I saw her with her hands trying to collect a few drops, and with her tongue feel the flavor.
The orgasm had the effect of unlocking my immobility, and as if a mysterious force had suddenly possessed me, with one click I sat up. Martina, as if she were prepared for it, put herself in my first position, and I pounced on her.
Now a kind of euphoria had taken hold of me and I wanted to eat it alive.
I found myself after a quick passage over those pointed tits, with my mouth stuck to her vagina.
Which to my surprise was not shaved. The presence of that slightly curly hair, smelling of a female mood made me even more infoiare, and assatanat

how I never began to lick and bite, looking with my tongue for any hole and crevice I could find.
Martina had taken my hair with her hands, behind the back of her neck, and pushed my mouth against her vagina,
driving and using what gave me the most pleasure on my face.
Until I realized that he was using my nose to stimulate his clitoris.
Always holding me by the head, my mouth and nose sank deeper and deeper inside me, moving my pelvis, and my head in a synchronic and swinging way.
I felt her panting more and more, and when I thought of suffocating, she let me go and came with a strange orgasm, in which she was struggling like someone who is having an epileptic seizure.
I watched her calm down and then lay down next to her.
In the middle of the branches you could see a portion of the sky, and we realized that the sun must have gone down a lot on the horizon.
It was time to return. Once standing while I was looking for clothes, he girded my waist from behind, and brushing my hair away, he glued his mouth to mine and its flavor entered me. His saliva was sweet, as was his tongue, which I felt swirling in my mouth.
When we went back down the road it was almost dark.
The first cars had already passed and the trails of the headlights could be seen starting to illuminate the road down the valley, up the curves and hairpin bends.
As they passed, the engines left a smell of burnt oil, and smelled of overheated brakes.
Alberto saw me and then I also met Martina, who kept a hand on my shoulder in a friendly way, showing a complicity from longtime friends.
Looking at me with curiosity and an inquiring gaze, he said to me:
"You missed the passage of the Ferraris and the Gold Wing."
I shrugged as saying "patience will be for the next time" and said:
"This is my new friend Martina, I think that this summer we will often go around the evening with the Porsche."
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