An All American Teenage Sex Life II Sophomore SeasonChapter 9
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An All-American Teenage Sex Life II: Sophomore SeasonChapter 4 free porn video
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1991
Little drops of perspiration gathered in the lovely valley of her spine where her back joined the round globes of her sexy little ass. She sighed in pleasure as she slowly ground her hips back and forth atop me, my throbbing cock trapped deep inside her hot, wet folds.
I admired the two little dimples at the base of her lower back, and slid my hands over her hips, placing a thumb pad over both of those indentations in her nearly-flawless skin. Her skin was hot to the touch and wet with sweat.
“Mmmmmmm,” she moaned in appreciation, wringing her hands through the long curls of her thick brunette hair.
I couldn’t see her face, only her backside. And what a backside it was.
Her breathing and her moans ramped up slowly, almost imperceptibly as she worked my cock in the tight confines of her sucking pussy.
I urged her further with my hands gripping her hips, ramping up the pace and the pleasure.
Then she suddenly shifted her movements from a simple back and forth grind to slowly undulating her hips into a circular motion, her body working like a steam train slowly driving steel wheels forward with purposeful chugs.
The effect was doing incredible things to my cock, and I could tell, reaching every touchstone of pleasure deep inside her.
She let go of her luxurious hair and gripped my hands over her hips, locking them in place as she slowly increased her pace, her breath quickening as even more sweat gathered at her lower back, finally forming a full drip that raced down the cleft of her ass, tickling her briefly before splashing down where we joined together.
I groaned in absolute pleasure at her refined technique. She glanced over her shoulder, giving me a come-fuck-me look and a knowing little grin.
I was already fucking her, but the look just drove me closer to the brink. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.
She turned forward again, lifting her face to the heavens as she started to really get down to business.
Gripping my hands tight against her hips, she quickened her rotations, carving my cock around deep inside her.
“Nnnnguuh, nnnnnguuuh,” her moans turned more plaintive as she sought release from the slow burn of our lovemaking.
Taking her cue, I met each rotation with a small thrust of my hips, jamming myself impossibly deep inside her on each downward movement.
Her pace quickened, her movements starting to reach a more desperate crescendo as she panted and started giving small shrieks of pleasure atop me.
I could tell she was close, perhaps closer than me to an explosive orgasm. I freed my right hand from under hers and let go of her hip, leaning forward to bring my hand between her pumping legs and over her bare-shaven mound.
She sucked in her breath and slammed down into me as I found her throbbing clit with my middle finger and strummed a singular musical note over it.
The effect ignited an enormous detonation deep inside her as I felt her hot, wet walls collapse, trapping my cock in tight constriction.
It was only a millisecond before her body went rigidly tight and a keening wail escaped her throat, screaming in pleasure straight up to the gods themselves.
“Oh fuck, Mel!” I cried out, suddenly realizing who was atop as I was a split second away from a toe-curling explosion of my own.
“NO!” I screamed in horror as my fevered dream ended, my eyes suddenly wide open. I sat straight up in my bed and found myself panting for breath, alone in my room.
The first rays of sunshine were peeking into the back yard. The orange light bathing the grove of evergreens in an eerie glow through my windows.
I started to gather my breath, feeling around the bed to get my bearings.
I was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and I could feel a massive hardon throbbing in my briefs, sticky pre-cum gathered at the head of my cock.
“No, no, no,” I said softly to myself, my head in my hands.
This was not right. Not right at all. I could not let Mel back into my life like this. I could not let her spectre haunt my dreams.
It had been nearly three weeks since I last had sex. It seemed like longer to a 15-year-old. Sure, I’d found relief myself a few times in the meantime, but this was getting out of hand.
I wondered briefly if I had screamed for real or just in my dream. I cautiously got up and opened my bedroom door, listening intently and peeking out to see if anyone was coming to see what was wrong.
I heard distant snores, and decided I was in the clear. It was just before 7 a.m. Dad would soon get up to do chores, then the family would go to church without me.
I hopped back into bed with a painful erection still tenting my briefs.
Take care of this now, or wait until they leave? I shook lightly as the thought of Mel being the best sex I’d ever had crossed my mind.
‘No!’ I thought. ‘Not giving her that.’
My mind raced through more recent conquests. I was last with Autumn. Our last session had a slight melancholy tone, but she was eager to get all that she could out of me for our last time. I’d given her three of my orgasms before calling it quits, unable to count each of hers. I recalled very pleasant thoughts of each session in her bedroom, the sanctuary she invited me into. We did much more than just fuck, but my mind desperatly needed to think of anyone other than Mel.
Mandy entered my mind. The short, busty vixen was a surprisingly old-fashioned lover. She craved intimacy over pleasure, I think. I thought back to an emotional session in my car with the music she’d picked out to make love to. Thoughts of her sweaty body atop mine were slowly driving Mel out of my conscious.
How could I forget my secret summer affair with Elizabeth Morris? The college girl, maybe one of my very first objects of sexual fantasy years earlier when she was my babysitter. She had trained and taught me just as much as Mel had. Her experience was limited, but her sense of sexual adventure was nearly limitless. Thoughts of the curvy blond and our many sessions under the guise of tutoring were pushing Mel out of my mind. Elizabeth had gone through her own journey. Long, braids of golden blond hair were shorn off in favor or shorter, platinum dyed locks with a streak of pink or purple to highlight her uniqueness. I wondered what she was up to at that moment. I wondered if she had found some happiness back at college.
I grabbed a couple of tissues and gripped my painfully-hard cock in my right hand, giving it just a gentle stroke as I didn’t want to suddenly spoil what promised to be a big orgasm.
Thoughts of all three of my summer flings ran through my mind as I squeezed my eyes closed and willed Melody Rogers out of my mind. She did not deserve this place in my sexual thoughts. I would not let her have this.
Then my mind wandered to thoughts of a girl I never actually had sex with. I had flashes of memories of seeing her light skin, trying to count each freckle on her massive tits, and bringing her to an ecstatic orgasm with my mouth as I gripped those great big boobs in my palms. I could almost taste her strawberry essence. DeeDee’s dark blue eyes and dimples were all I could think about as her gorgeous mouth slid down over my cock in my mind’s eye.
That was it. That was enough. I snapped my teeth together and thrust my hips upward as gobs of hot cum spilled onto the tissues covering my abs. My cock shuddered in my hand as I caught my breath and coaxed out pure relief from my aching balls.
A single tear rolled down my right cheek as I realized something in shame.
In my desperate way of getting Melody out of my mind, I never once thought about Jen.
I tried my best to get my mind off the events of the morning as we worked to prepare the car for an afternoon race.
Uncle Tim would be back from a short fishing trip, and could offer some help at the big half-mile fairgrounds track.
Mom had decided one night of racing for the weekend was enough for her. I could handle my own safety gear, and she wanted a night off.
So Grandpa, Tim and I rolled up to the fairgrounds back gate in the big pickup, toting the enclosed trailer behind us. We signed in and paid for pit passes. For the first time in my short sprint car racing career, I was tasked with making a pill draw. The person running the pit gate held up a small cloth sack for me to pick a number from. I reached in, stirred the plastic beads around and pulled one out.
“Lucky number seven,” he said.
I shrugged and handed it back to him as he wrote the number down next to our car number on a sheet of paper.
“What’d you draw?” Grandpa asked, as I climbed back into the truck to drive into the pits.
“Seven,” I shrugged. “Is that good?”
“It’s not bad at all, kid,” he said in his gravelly voice.
“What’s it mean?” I asked.
“There are probably a hundred pills in that sack. Your qualifying order is set by pill draw. The worst you can get is seven right now, out of probably 30 cars. It’s good to draw a low pill.”
It was clear to me now. Qualifying early in the order gave you better track conditions. It was difficult to get a good time in when you qualified late in the order. This was a good sign.
Another good sign was the weather. The heat and the humidity had broken overnight, leaving Sunday a pretty pleasant day. I wasn’t sweating like a pig like the night before.
One nice bonus of racing at the big half mile fairgrounds track was the size of the pits inside the track. We’d be allowed to keep our hauler right there, and not have to unload everything and drive it outside the track. This was very nice, as I learned, because all we really had to roll out of the trailer was the racecar the aluminum jack and the wheel wrench. Everything else could be accessed by walking up the ramp and using it right inside the shade of the trailer.
The other bonus was the larger top wing. It would provide more downforce, and I thought it looked much better. It looked just like any World of Outlaws sprint car now.
I busied myself by jacking up the car, shifting it into gear and loosening the small right rear tire we’d mounted for the trailer travel. I replaced it with the larger wheel and the tire we’d qualify on. Grandpa had already rolled out both tires and measured the stagger in the difference between the two. He had raced here with Uncle Tim before, and knew a general setup that might work out.
Back in the shop, I also helped with a gear change in the rear end. We’d need something taller for these long front and back straights.
There was a general buzz of noise as other teams around us mounted up tires and tightened bead locks.
This was a big, open 360 show, offering a nice purse for more regional traveling cars. My experience was limited to points racing at our small local track. There would be 37 cars here today, and just making the A main would be an accomplishment for us.
Grandpa set expectations low as he worked on something under the hood.
“If you qualify OK, we can get a decent spot in the heat race. If you can hold on to a top four, we’ll qualify for the feature without having to run the B main. But even if we run the B main, you’ll get more track time there. That’s what we’re after here. We gotta run more kinds of tracks to get you more experience.”
We hadn’t really talked much about next season, but this had me thinking grandpa had bigger plans for next year.
“What are you working on, by the way?” I asked Grandpa. I was usually hungry to learn as much as I could about the mechanical portion of the racing.
“Oh, adjusting the throttle linkage,” he said sort sheepishly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we sort of had this set so you couldn’t quite open the throttle up entirely. You’ll need that here today.”
My mouth dropped open at Grandpa’s admission.
“You mean I haven’t had full power out of this engine all season?” I asked incredulously.
“Uh, well, no,” he stood up as he finished his work and bumped his head on the sharp corner of the bigger top wing.
“God damnit!” he swore as he pulled has cap off and rubbed his bald head.
Served him right, I thought as the implications rolled around in my head. I won two races on less than full throttle. This engine must be a beast, and I wasn’t getting the most out of it.
Uncle Tim chuckled at the situation.
“Why would you guys do that?” I asked, knowing that Louie also had to be a part of the conspiracy.
“Well, it’s a bit of a waste most nights on that track. It helped keep you out of trouble. You learned with less horsepower. Now on this bigger track, you’ll need all the horsepower and torque this thing provides.
He leaned back down and tightened the dzus buttons, locking the fiberglass hood back to the frame rails.
Grandpa rubbed his bald head a little more, then shrugged with a sheepish grin and went on about his business.
I changed into my firesuit after the driver’s meeting and we rolled the car back to get the engine fired. I strapped in and a push truck nudged up against the rear bumper. I rolled the rumbling car around the inside warmup lane around the big track, noting the wide dirt turns to my right side. A big water truck was still spraying the dirt down with water under a high afternoon sun.
I rolled the car back to our pit stall and pulled it out of gear with a practiced ease, revving the throttle as the car came to a stop behind our trailer.
Grandpa reached into the cockpit to grab the top of the throttle linkage so I could climb out of the car. He stood there working the throttle to get the car to idle and get heat into the components. We’d be hotlapping soon, then qualifying.
I was a little nervous about getting a good couple of laps in. I had no experience in it and hoped I wouldn’t embarrass myself. You’re the only car out there during qualifying, and your mistakes are easy for everyone to see, and each bobble of the car can cost you time.
The smell of unburnt methanol was thick in the air as other cars around us were adding to the noisy cacophony of idling race engines. Then we were told it was time for hot laps.
Uncle Tim gave me a few pointers about how to attack the corners on this half mile track. Ultimately, he said, it’s going to be up to how I felt with the car’s setup.
My excellent pill draw meant we’d be in the first flights of hot laps. The track was visibly wet and greasy, so we’d spend some time wheel packing after some jalopy street stocks did their best to run the wet track in. The sun was quickly drying the surface as well and I rolled out onto the track with plenty of tear offs on my visor in anticipation of heavy mud.
We rolled around the track under yellow, track officials guiding us to start low on the track, then moving up the banking slowly with each lap as our wide tires helped turn greasy mud into sticky mud. I made mental notes of how I thought I should try to run the track under green flag conditions, where I should enter the turn and where to get back on the throttle hard on exit. The track was rather smooth, wide and the straights were much longer than I had anticipated. I also marveled at the lack of a fence in the turns and the backstretch. Of course there was a short wall and fence in front of the fairgrounds grandstand, but there was plenty of runoff around the rest of the track to keep a car out of trouble. This was much more forgiving than the concrete wall surrounding my home track, but grandpa warned me about the big white tractor tires used to line the inside of the track. Those would tear a car apart if you blundered into one.
All the track workers were called off the racing surface and we were given the indication to go green in the next lap.
I could hear other cars ramping up in speed, spinning wheels and preparing to get some practice laps completed under speed. The flagman held a green flag aloft and started rotating it over his head. Green lights replaced yellow on the repurposed traffic signals in turns one and three and we were off.
I gently pressed down on the throttle, just rolling out of turn two and let the car come up to speed down the backstretch. I didn’t notice a vast increase in power due to the throttle linkage change, but I felt a sense of mild panic as I kept waiting to enter turn three. It took much longer to get there than our small three-eighths mile track I was used to. I entered the turn a little too sharply and had to correct to the right, causing the car to drift higher up the banking, slipping and sliding a little. I stabbed the throttle to correct the slide and found grip, the spinning tires suddenly gaining purchase as the car rocketed out of the turn down the front chute. I found myself practically on the bumper of another car and decided to try to follow him around to get a better idea of how to run this foreign track.
He entered much deeper than I did on that first corner, and I followed suit, finding I hardly had to slow down from about three-quarters throttle as the car just seemed to want to roll evenly through the turn. Sure, the right rear was trying to pass me, but I could turn right slightly to counteract it. I was making tiny adjustments with the steering wheel to roll smoothly through the turn. Then it was balls to the wall down the back straight again, running up on the car in front of me.
I learned quite a bit in five green-flag laps and felt a little more confident as the yellow came out and we rolled back into the pits. The difference with the bigger top wing was noticeable as well.
This was going to be fun.
My first every qualifying lap was actually a pretty good one. There was a sensor at the flagstand that would trigger as cars raced past, then display the time on a board the crowd could see. I couldn’t see it.
“How’d I do?”
“Sixteen-eighty-seven,” grandpa told me as I shut the car down back in our pit stall.
“Is that good?”
“It’s over a hundred miles an hour average,” he shrugged.
I ended up 10th fast, which was very good for my first time on the track.
That landed me a spot on the outside front row of the fifth heat race. I could make the dash if I held on for second, or just qualify for the show and avoid the B main by finishing no worse than fourth.
We made a few small adjustments to the car. Grandpa considered a tire change while I added tear offs to my helmet. Then the National Anthem was played over the old, crackling speakers and we lined up and stood at attention.
We watched the support class late models run heat races, with just a few spinouts. Then the first three heat races for sprints went quickly, with one restart over a jumped start, then two cars got together on the restart and had to be towed off.
We rolled the car back and I jumped in to get strapped in as the fourth heat race rolled off.
I didn’t really have time for the butterflies to set in until I sat there waiting for a push truck as the fourth heat race took the checkered flag.
All was nearly silent as I waited on the push truck behind me. I felt the hard shove forward, and lit the engine once oil pressure was in the zone.
Then I took the outside lane behind the pace car and waited for the rest of the field to line up.
The cooler air made it a bit more comfortable in the car that Sunday afternoon. The track had dried out quickly since hot laps and qualifying. I could see some rough patches developing in the middle of the track where a layer of mud was crumbling up and separating from the track surface below. Those rough spots could be trouble.
We were given the signal for one to go. I matched speed with the car next to me, idling down the backstretch. I felt the usual crackle of electricity as thousands of horsepower waited for hell to be unleashed.
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