Leah has a hot rod. She has had different hot rods all of her life, but the one she has now, her favor-ite, a 1932 Chevrolet, she has had for ten years. Her love of hot rods goes beyond passion. It is an obsession, compulsive behavior, and an addiction she has no desire to control or stop. Hot rods have always been a part of her life. She remembers when she four or five she would walk out behind the shed and just sit in the back of uncle Frank’s hot rod, or lay across the hood on a warm day. She played little games with her dolls. She would sit in the back of that old jalopy with the smell of the upholstery, the feel of the soft seat covering, and play sometimes for hours repeatedly feeling better and better every time. The connection between having a very pleasant and good time and a hot rod grew strong. A few years later, that connection grew stronger still.

At seventeen, Leah had developed into a lovely young girl: ample, round breasts; perfect legs; a very pretty face with full and pouty lips. A few short months ago, Leah had discovered the raw joy of masturbation, a new activity she indulged frequently. That summer, her brother John got his first car: a hot rod from the 40’s. He let her ride along in the rear seat sometimes when he took it out and opened it up on back roads. This particular day was hot, humid, and uncomfortable. She hated hav-ing her clothes stuck to her with perspiration. As John drove further out into the country, Leah be-gan to relax and enjoy being the hot rod. Certain that John could not see her even in the mirror; she reached in under her summer dress and began to play with herself. As he drove faster—30, 40 miles an hour—she rubbed herself faster. Her breathing became labored and erratic. He kept speeding—50, 65, 70 miles an hour. She was more excited that ever, rubbing herself, speeding down the road with the windows open, hot air swirling around. “Faster, John, faster,” she pleaded while rubbing herself faster and faster. He sped up—75, 80, pushing 100 miles an hour. He could just barely hear her moaning wildly, rubbing her clitoris faster. She climaxed but kept rubbing herself. “O my God, faster, faster,” she yelled. “Yes, yes,” and another orgasm flooded over her as the world flew by out-side the window. All the while, John assumed she was commenting on the hot rod. Still masturbat-ing, she did not stop rubbing until she passed out for just a minute after one final mind-shattering climax.

After that, sex and hot rod cars were forever linked together in Leah's world. She only talked to boys with hot cars; she only dated boys with hot cars. She would repeat the masturbation scene she had when she was seventeen not long ago. This was such a surprise and a huge turn on for the boys. She always wore a dress, no panties, and a skimpy top with no bra. She would ask the boys to drive fast, and the faster they drove--50, 60 miles per hour--the more excited she became. Starting to feel in-tense clitoral stimulation—65, 70--she always asked them go faster, and the faster they drove, the more rigorous she masturbated. She talked to them while pleasuring herself saying such things as, “The faster you drive, the more I cum,” or “Baby, your car is so hot, I’m so hot,” or “I’m just soaked with pussy cum all over my hand.” She had them pull over and demanded they fuck her right there.

“Fuck me you stud. Fuck my wet pussy. Fuck me fast, faster, faster,” she said while pounding her hips so fast the guy’s balls would slap against her ass. She always had one final orgasm, and always said, “I love a fast car and a hard fuck; thank you baby.”

Leah has her own hot rod now. She still enjoys speeding and having sex in a hot rod. Not very of-ten, but now and again, Leah drives far away from home looking for men to pick up in her hot rod. Sometimes they are hitchhiking, yet often they are not. It is always a hot summer day. She pulls up along side of them, and asks if they want a ride. No one turns her down. You see, Leah is very, very pretty with a killer body, but she doesn’t think she looks very good which give her an air of honesty. Anyway, they always accept the ride. Wearing a skirt every time with no panties, she reaches down between her legs and starts to play with herself. “I don’t know about you, but hot rods make me hot,” she says. “Do you mind?”

No one has ever minded. As she starts feeling genuinely aroused, she asks her passenger if he would take over so she can concentrate more on driving. She pulls her skirt up past her hips, slides her but forward an inch or two, and spreads her silky legs wide open. “Rub me off sweetie. Finger fuck me baby,” she growls. The man naturally starts to rub her off. “Faster, faster,” she yells, as she hitting the gas peddle—40, 50, 60 miles an hour. “More, more,” she begs—65, 70 miles an hour. “Lick me man, lick me,” she tells him as she reaches up behind his head and pulls his mouth down to her wet hole. As always, she explodes in ecstasy and, as always, pulls over pleading to be fucked. “Fuck me damnit. Fuck my pussy. Fuck me fast, faster, faster,” she says with one final orgasm. “I love a fast car and a hard fuck,” she always says, “thank you baby.”

She then drives the most thankful man on earth to his destination and returns home always happy to have a fast car and a hot fuck.


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