The engine of Greg’s sleek yellow Camaro roared as he floored the accelerator, the tires gripping the asphalt with a snarl as they peeled away down the freeway exit.

The late afternoon sun glinted off the hood, casting long shadows across the empty back roads they’d chosen for their escape from the scene at the side of the road.

Cathy’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, her fingers digging into the leather seat as the car surged forward, pressing her back into the seat. The adrenaline still hummed in her veins, thick and electric, the raw, surging energy a restless echo of their latest outrageous public display of affection.

She could feel Greg’s cum trickling down her inner thighs, warm and sticky, a filthy reminder of what they’d just done—what they’d risked—back there at the side of the road.

Her miniskirt, still hiked up around her waist, did little to hide the mess between her legs. The cool air from the open window brushed against her exposed skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

She bit her lower lip, her blue eyes wide and bright with the kind of reckless excitement that only came from doing something so wrong, so dangerous. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face as she turned to look at Greg.

His strong jaw was set, his brown eyes dark with lingering lust, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he gripped the steering wheel. The bulge in his slacks was impossible to miss—his cock still half-hard, still hungry.

“Fuck,” Cathy breathed, her voice husky with satisfaction. She let her hand drift down, fingers brushing over her swollen pussy lips, still sensitive from the rough pounding she’d taken. The slickness there wasn’t just from her own arousal—it was his, thick and obscene, dripping from her used hole.

“That was fucking insane,” she moaned, her fingertips circling her clit just enough to send a fresh jolt of pleasure through her. She could still hear the honking horns, the catcalls from passing drivers, the way the whole world had seemed to narrow down to the brutal, relentless slap of Greg’s hips against her ass as he fucked her raw against the trunk of his car.

Greg’s lips curled into a smirk, his gaze flicking from the road to her for just a second—long enough to take in the sight of her touching herself, her thighs glistening with his release.

“Worth every fucking second,” he growled, his voice rough with the memory. His free hand left the gearshift, sliding over to rest on her bare thigh, his fingers pressing possessively into her skin. The heat of his touch seared her, and she arched into it instinctively, her body still craving more even after the way he’d just ruined her.

“You took me so fucking good, baby. Right there in the open, like the dirty little slut you are.”

Cathy whimpered at his words, her pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled again. She could still feel the phantom stretch of his cock inside her, the way he’d pounded into her with no mercy, no hesitation, like he owned her. And God, she’d loved it.

The risk, the exposure, the way anyone could’ve seen—could’ve stopped them—but no one had. They’d gotten away with it. Her fingers slipped lower, two of them pressing inside her soaked entrance, and she gasped at how easily they slid in, her walls still loose and throbbing from the rough fucking.

“Mmm, I can feel you,” she moaned, her voice dripping with filth as she fucked herself slowly with her fingers, her hips lifting off the seat just a little. “Still so deep inside me…”

Greg’s grip on her thigh tightened, his knuckles whitening.

“Keep doing that,” he ordered, his voice a dark command. “Let me see how messy I made you.” His cock twitched in his pants, the fabric straining as it began to harden again, the thought of her playing with his cum inside her enough to make him feral.

He adjusted himself with a rough groan, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat through Cathy’s body. She obeyed without hesitation, her fingers working deeper, her other hand coming up to tweak her own nipple through the thin fabric of her top. The car swerved slightly as Greg’s attention flickered between the road and the lewd display beside him, his breath coming faster.

“Fuck, yes,” Cathy hissed, her back arching as she imagined it was his cock inside her again, stretching her, owning her. The memory of the freeway’s chaos played behind her eyelids—the way the wind had carried the sounds of passing traffic, the way the vibrations of the cars speeding by had hummed through her body, mixing with the relentless slap of Greg’s balls against her ass as he fucked her like an animal.

She could still hear the distant wail of sirens in her mind, the thrill of almost getting caught making her pussy clench around her fingers.

“Next time,” she panted, her voice a breathy, needy whisper, “we should do it right in the middle of traffic. Make them watch us.”

Greg’s low, approving growl filled the car, sending a fresh rush of wetness between her legs.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he rumbled, his hand sliding higher, his thumb brushing dangerously close to where her fingers were buried inside her. “You want them to see your pretty little cunt getting stuffed full of cock, don’t you? You want them to know exactly what a slut you are.”

His words were filth and fire, and Cathy moaned, her hips jerking as she fucked herself harder, her fingers curling inside her in a desperate attempt to chase another orgasm.

“Yesss,” she hissed, her voice breaking. “I want them to see. I want them to watch. I want them to know that you’re the one who gets to fuck me like this. I want them to know I’m your w-whore.”

Her free hand shot out, gripping Greg’s wrist, pressing his palm flat against her pussy. “Feel how wet I still am,” she demanded, her voice trembling with need. “Feel how much I love this.”

Greg didn’t hesitate. His fingers spread, pressing against her slick folds, his middle finger sliding easily into her alongside her own. Cathy cried out, her body jerking at the sudden intrusion, her walls fluttering around their combined digits.

“So fucking greedy,” Greg groaned, his voice rough with lust. “You’re dripping, baby. Still full of my cum, still begging for more.”

He twisted his hand, his thumb finding her clit, and Cathy’s breath hitched as he began to rub slow, deliberate circles, his touch just shy of cruel in its precision.

The car sped down the empty road, the world outside a blur of green and gold as the sun dipped lower. Cathy’s moans filled the cabin, her body trembling as Greg fingered her with slow, deep strokes, his thumb never letting up on her clit. She could feel another orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly, the pleasure almost painful in its intensity.

“Greg—fuck—” she whimpered, her nails digging into the leather seat beneath her. “I’m gonna come again, I can’t—”

“Do it, slut,” Greg snarled, his voice a dark command. “Cum on my fingers. Show me how much you love being used in public.”

His fingers crooked inside her, pressing against that sensitive spot deep within, and Cathy’s back bowed off the seat as her orgasm crashed over her. She came with a broken cry, her pussy flooding their hands, her thighs shaking as wave after wave of pleasure wrung her out. Greg didn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder, every gasp, until she was a trembling, boneless mess beside him.

As the final tremors faded, Cathy collapsed back against the seat, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Greg withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, tasting her—tasting them—and the sight made Cathy’s spent pussy twitch with fresh desire.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes dark with promise. “Still tastes like me inside you.”

Cathy’s lips curled into a lazy, satisfied smile, her body humming with the afterglow. She reached over, her hand finding the thick outline of his cock in his pants, giving it a slow, teasing stroke.

“Next time,” she murmured, her voice thick with promise, “we’ll make it dirtier.”

Greg’s hand clamped over hers, pressing her palm harder against his erection. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. “You’re on, baby.”

And as their laughter filled the car, the thrill of their secret—of what they’d done, of what they’d get away with next—burned between them, hotter than the setting sun.