The Road Less Traveled

Don’t let people fool you about the life of a musician on the road. The gigs are fun but the driving is hell! There is nothing quite like climbing into a van full of “the great unwashed” and traveling for hours to the next gig. Really — nothing (unless, of course, sour, unwashed body smells are your particular fetish). However, middle age, a marriage — and a day gig — bring about some changes.

On this Particular weekend the gig was close enough away that I drove myself. This means that my wife, Ana, could come along. The gig was a festival in a small resort town about six hours away from home. We played our last show late Saturday evening to a small and very appreciated audience. Fortunately the festival sponsor was a good sport, and set us up in a nearby hotel room for the night. We dropped into bed, exhausted, and fell quickly to sleep.

Sunday was a bright, warm, Indian-Summer day. We bid farewell to the rest of the band (dodging that little tear-down thing) and made a hasty retreat. Because the weather was so nice, Ana and I decided to “take the road less traveled.” A quick look at the map revealed a nice back road that would allow us to travel about half of our journey through farm country and along the river.

Our little detour took most of the morning and into the early afternoon. We ate breakfast at little fruit stands along the way and enjoyed the pretty fall colors. But all good things must come to an end. We were just about to pull back onto the Interstate when Ana asked if we could stop at a wayside. We pulled off the road and down a small lane to the river. The park was a secluded place, with no shade or bathrooms, and seemed a strange place to stop, but Ana wanted to stretch her legs, so stop we did.

She grinned at me mischievously, “wanna try something fun?”

I He knew this look well. It means that my beautiful Ana was feeling kinky, and that we would both win in the end. Of course I hurriedly agreed to her offer.

“Strip for me, then,” she demanded.

“With a worried look around at the fishing boats in the river, I replied, “here?!”

“Of course, silly. They can’t see you from here. Now be a nice little slut for me and strip your clothes off or I’ll spank your cute little butt.”

I slipped out of my clothes, keeping a worried eye on the fishing boats; the only people within eyeshot. As I was disrobing, Ana was removing a bag I hadn’t noticed from the back of the car. “Come over here, to the passenger side.” I walked around the car, as she lowered the seat on the passenger side of the car so that it was completely reclined.

“In you go,” she commanded. I sat down and reclined on the seat. Ana went to the back of the car and opened the hatchback.

“Give me your hands.” I stretched my hands as far as I could reach over my head. Ana quickly attached a pair of leather cuffs and tied them off to the headrest in the back seat. She came around to the passenger door and patted thedash, indicating that I should place my feet up there. Another pair of cuffs and some rope quickly restrained my legs to the handhold on the dash.

“It needs just a little more, I think,” she commented, reaching back into her bag. She found a penis gag that was strapped tightly into my mouth. A quick ticket of my toes elicited nothing more than a mumbled grunt. She looked pleased with the result, but reached into the bag one last time. “Bye” she chuckled as she placed a blindfold over my eyes.

She closed the doors and came back over to the driver’s side. I heard her climb in and open the sunroof. We had taken Ana’s VW bug on this trip, and with the sunroof open, the top of the car was mostly window. I felt the car start to move and began to protest. The gag did its job, and all that came out was anxious gibberish.

As we waited at the light to pull onto the Interstate, I heard a soft click, and then felt a dribble of cool lotion on my cock. As we reached cruising speed, I felt Ana take my cock in her hands and gently stroke me. Over the next several miles she slowly and carefully increased her efforts. I encouraged her through my gag; my embarrassment disappearing in an increasing desire to exploit. I could feel myself getting harder, and my body ached as I strained against the ropes. Shortly her talented fingers had me right on the edge of cumming — when she stopped and pulled her hands away. I groaned in protest.

“Well, I had to stop. The truck driver in the next lane was enjoying the show, and I had to wave back,” she chuckled, as she began her tease anew.

For the next two hours she drove in the slow lane, teasing me to the edge of cumming, and then pulling her hand away. I was aching to cum, and was beginning through the gag, promising her anything. She just laughed, and told me of all the attention we were getting from cars and vans high enough to see into our car and watch what she was doing. One couple obviously was so fascinated that the guy driving the car keep slowing down so that his significant-other could watch again and again from her passenger window. My wife, exhibitionist that she is, enjoyed giving her a show. They stayed with us for about 30 miles.

“That kind of persistence should be rewarded, don’t you think?” she asked me. I began pleading with more enthusiasm through my gag, hoping that their reward would be my reward too. By this point I would have done anything she asked of me.

Ana gradually increased the speed of her strokes. I was moaning incomprehensibly around the gag, aching to cum. I pulled against the cuffs and thrashed in my bonds. She held me on the point of release for as long as she could, and then pushed me over the edge. I screamed as I came, my climax was so powerful. I heard a car horn applauding her efforts, and then a car speeding away.

My beautiful bride pulled off a few miles later at a rest area. She released me from my bonds and kissed me deeply.

“I ho you realize that I am going to hold you to all of those ‘anythings’ you promised me when we get home.”

“What ‘anythings’?” I asked smugly.

“Just because you are gagged, doesn’t mean I can’t understand what you are saying.” She huffed. Pointing at the restroom up the hill she directed, “now go get cleaned up.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Call it my first ‘anything.’ I like to watch your naked butt.”

I shrugged and started my streak up the hill to the bathroom. It promised to be a long, but enjoyable, evening. But that’s another story.