Power Tool Original version Chapter 03
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He'd done it to her again. She should have known better.
The parking lot had emptied quickly once the party was over. Now, the last few people were filtering out to head home. Erika didn't know anyone, it seemed, but that was hardly surprising, under the circumstances. She felt something cold and wet strike her on the shoulder and looked up. Sure enough, she saw the bright light of the nearby streetlamp reflected from a thousand tiny, glittering drops. As if things needed to get worse.
She flipped open her cell phone and hit the speed dial. The phone rang four times and picked up, "Hi, this is Larry's cell phone. Larry has way more important things to do right now than chat on the phone, so why don't you leave a message?"
"dad, its me. I don't know what happened to you at the party. I've been waiting outside for you and it's almost midnight. Give me a call." She knew what had happened. The little blondie who had been hanging on his arm all evening was what had happened. More important things, indeed. She should have just taken her own car. But no, he had insisted on bringing her with him.
"Look's like it's a cab ride," she said to herself, holding the phone out to dial. The only problem was..."Shit!" She didn't know the number to any cab services here in Inglewood, or any of the surrounding cities that made up the LA basin, for that matter. She lived in Thousand Oaks, over an hour north. It was already freezing, and she was wearing only a formal dinner dress.
She heard the car before she saw it, a deep, throaty rumble as it made its way across the lot to pull up next to her on the curb. The tinted window rolled down and a man wearing a tuxedo peered out at her, blinking as the drizzle touched his face. "Do you need a ride?" He was in his mid-thirties and spoke with a distinct east coast accent. He was attractive enough, with a suave, impeccable look.
"It's far."
He shrugged. "No worries. Hop in."
She was immediately glad of the dry, warm interior. Her fingers traced the winged emblem on dash. "Nice car," she remarked, strapping herself in.
"It's an Aston Martin Vanquish," he said, with obvious pride. "The engine is a V-12, 5.9 liters of displacement and 460 horsepower. It'll do zero to sixty in five flat and tops out at around 190 miles per hour. It'll beat the pants off of most anything. It's not so bad in the corners, either. So, where are you going?"
"Thousand Oaks. Is that too far?"
"Not at all." He revved the engine a few times and it purred happily. Suddenly, he kicked it into gear and gunned the throttle, getting a long, satisfying squeal from the tires as the Vanquish launched itself down the road. He braked just enough to make a tight turn out of the parking lot and onto the road, then was barrelling down again. Another quick turn got them onto the 405 freeway and up to a constant speed.
Erika put her hand on his arm. "How fast do you drive this thing?" she asked.
"Oh, I've been up near one-fifty before."
"What's that like?"
"Well..." And he drove down the accelerator, changing gears with a paddle set
into the steering wheel. Ordinary traffic quickly became a multitude of
obstacles to avoid, but he weaved in and out, changing lanes expertly. She
looked at the speedometer. It read 110.
"This is really fast," she remarked.
"Oh, it gets better," he replied, tapping up the transmission again. The car accelerated still more, and now it seemed that they were moving faster, relative to traffic, than the traffic itself was moving.
Erika took her seatbelt off and leaned across the seat. "How fast now?"
"One thirty-five," he said.
She unbuckled the belt of his pants and undid his fly. He looked down, quickly, but did not comment. She had to brace herself firmly to compensate for the quick, lurching movements as the car changed lanes. She planted her bottom firmly up against the door and braced her shoulder between the seats. "Faster," she said.
She heard the engine rev yet higher. She pulled down his boxer shorts, letting his semi-erect cock break free of its constraint. She glanced at the speedometer. 150. The tach was somewhere between 6000 and 7000 RPMs. She took the head into her mouth in a single, quick movement. He flinched, but kept the car on course.
She moved the head down deeper into her mouth, feeling the slight ridge underneath with her tongue, then back out again, giving him a light suction with her lips. She then ran her mouth down the side and back up again a few times. She paused to check the speed, then pushed down on his knee with her palm, forcing the accelerator closer to the floor. The car was vibrating from the speed, but not yet red-lining. She heard a dull roar, a semi-truck by the sound of it, roll by in less than the space of a heartbeat. She began to moan as she bobbed her head up and down on him. He stroked his hand through her hair, once, but otherwise kept his focus on driving. She ran her tongue up and down the length of his shaft, sucked at him, took him into her mouth as far as her throat would allow.
She pushed her rump back harder up against the door, putting more of her pussy in contact with its steadily vibrating surface. She looked at the speedometer again. "You said this thing could go a hundred and ninety," she said, between gasping slurps. "Do it or I'm stopping right now."
He pushed the pedal all the way down to the floor. She glanced up out of the window and gasped in exhiliration. The street lights were passing so fast that they had become a steady flicker. The sounds of cars passing by was reduced to buzzings lasting only a fraction of a second. In a space somewhere underneath her stomach, in the tingly center of her, a warm place was growing. In response, her suckling, pulling, and licking of the man's cock grew more urgent. He gasped deeply and she took the slippery wetness into her mouth. The car veered slightly, but whipped quickly back again. She let the stuff dribble back out of her mouth slowly.
Then explosively, she came, burying her head against his thigh as wave after wave contracted through her. When she saw he had begun to slow down, she again pushed down his knee, pushing herself back up against the door for the second orgasm less than a minute later. Finally, still gasping for air, she wiped off her chin and got back into her seat, buckling back in.
"I think I missed the exit," he confessed. They had made the drive in just over twenty minutes, but now had to swing back around further north and backtrack. Erika directed him along the roads and they came eventually to a wrought iron gate. She pulled a keycard out of her purse and handed it to him to open the gate.
They drove up to the roundabout at the top of the hill, fronting the massive house. "Wow," he said, "nice place."
"My dad's a movie director," she admitted. "He bought it for me."
"Who's car is that?" he asked, pointing to the sleekly curved silver car parked near the front door.
"Mine," she answered. "Its a McLaren F1. It has a 6.1 liter V-12 with 627 horsepower. It'll do 0-60 in 3.2 seconds and tops out at around 240 miles per hour. It'll beat the pants off of anything on the road, including this thing. Maybe I'll give you a ride sometime." She gave him a coy grin. "Wanna come inside? By the way, my name's Erika."
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