An Old Banger

It was an old banger that started the whole sequence. It wasn't my old car, let me tell you that. It was an old heap that my mate had scraped up from somewhere and he'd put in some effort getting it to run, working on the cheap. Working on the cheap meant borrowing my skills as a mechanic to help him. I told him when I first saw the car that he was an idiot. I'm not sure what that makes me because I helped him anyway.

Came the day that we finally got it running. You'll note I say running, not roadworthy. Even so, my mate insisted that we take her out for a test drive. My only stipulation was that we had to drive very quietly out into the country. Once out in the bush we could try her on some of the old dirt roads.

She actually ran quite well, which I took as proof of my mechanical skills. The problem came when we hit this nice long stretch of track and my mate put his foot down. We must have been doing nearly fifty mph when the drive shaft broke.

Now you're barrelling down the road and your drive shaft breaks. If you're lucky there's a snap and you're just running in neutral, slowing down to a halt. If you're not lucky there's a snap, followed by a thump, and you're travelling along with the rear of the drive shaft dragging along the road and making the whole car a bastard to steer while everything grinds to a halt.

We were neither lucky nor unlucky. We were disastrously unlucky. There was the snap of the drive shaft breaking, followed by the thump as the front of the drive shaft hit the ground.

You ever see a pole-vaulter in action? They run, bang their pole into the ground, and their forward motion changes to upward motion. Same with us. We were making a nice speed, the front of the drive shaft hit the ground and dug in, and our forward motion became upward motion as the rear of the car tried to pole-vault.

Where the rear of the car goes, so does the front. Sometimes leading the way and sometimes trailing. When the rear of the car went upwards at fifty mph, so did the front, even if we were a bit behind. The whole car did this huge hop, crashing back down to the ground. We didn't even budge from that spot. All our momentum had gone into that upward lunge and that speed was lost when gravity took over.

We were, slightly shaken, I suppose is one way to put it. Not an experience that I want to go through again. (I would have loved to have seen it from the outside, camera in hand. What a shot that would have been.) We scrambled out of that old banger and just stood looking at it.

It was plain that the poor old bomb wasn't going anywhere under its own steam. Ever. If it had been a horse we'd have shot it. If I'd had a gun, I'd probably have shot my idiot mate. Instead we shrugged, turned and started walking down that dusty road, heading for a proper road and a chance of a lift.

(The remains were my mate's responsibility. I'm quite sure he would make arrangements to shift the hulk. He'd already started by removing the number plates and taking them with us when we left. The rest he'd collect when convenient.)

When we reached the main road we split up. His place was to the north and mine to the south. We could both have hitched to Mike's place, but then he'd have had to run me home. It seemed to me that it would be faster for me to just simply head in my own direction and probably easier to get a lift, too. People who'd stop for a single hitch-hiker might balk at picking up a couple.

I was only on the road for about five minutes when a bus pulled up and offered me a lift. It wasn't a regular bus, but a private charter. It had this banner on the side proclaiming them to be some town's branch of the CWA. That's the Country Women's Association. Seeing the banner I recalled that the CWA were having this big do in the showgrounds just outside of my town.

I hopped on the bus and took a seat. There were about a dozen women on board plus the driver, also a woman. The women ranged from one nice little brunette of about twenty to a hatchet-faced old woman in her fifties. The little brunette was quite delicious. Old hatchet-face looked as though she'd scare off the Wicked Witch of the West.

Old hatchet-face promptly proved that appearances were deceiving.

I'm slightly over six foot tall and big boned. I also have some quite solid beef hanging from my big bones, amply backed up by some muscle. Heaving car and truck engines around can pretty quickly build you up, even with all the mechanical aids available.

"Geez, you're a fine big lad," said old hatchet-face. "I'm Paula. Who are you and what do you do?"

"I'm Ron," I said, "and I'm a mechanic."

"Not a very good one if you're reduced to hitching a ride," Paula said.

I laughed and recounted the tale of our broken drive shaft. I have a way with word when I choose, and I had them amused at my little misadventure. Then Paula started up again.

"You're a fine big lad. Bit of beef on you. Wouldn't mind seeing more of you. What do you say girls? Want to see more of this fine young man?"

Naïve little me didn't twig to exactly what she meant. The other women all knew Paula, and they all knew just what she meant. There was a chorus of giggles and general agreement. I didn't notice a single dissenter, although the little brunette was blushing.

"Tell you what," Paula says, turning back to me. "We'll take up a little collection for you and you can show us that fine body of yours. What do you say?"

"What I say is that you've got to be fucking kidding me," is what I said.

Paula laughed, and she had quite a raucous laugh.

"A sense of humour, as well," she crowed. "I like this lad. No seriously lad, it'd be fun. We'll probably only collect fifty, but hey, fifty is fifty and you'd have a fine tale to tell your mates."

She turned and shouted to the bus driver.

"Hey, Gladys, pull over for a minute and get your arse back here."

All the women were looking at me, but they weren't really lecherous looks. It was more a case of good humour, enjoying a little bit of naughty fun.

"Oh, go on, son," said one woman. "What's it going to hurt?"

They were all starting to look expectant and I thought, "What the hell. Why not?"

"It wouldn't feel right, taking your money," I told Paula, "but what the hell. We'll consider it my bus fair."

I stood up and slowly stripped, putting on a bit of a show. Geez, it felt weird. The women clapped and cheered as each item came off, finishing up applauding when my shorts came down. Now I wasn't tumescent. Standing naked in front of a dozen women didn't really do that much for me. Paula seemed vaguely put out.

"I don't know," she complained. "You can't tell how big a man is when he's like that. How can we boast and exaggerate what we've seen unless he flexes his muscle. Cynthia, give the man a hand."

She gave me a hand all right. One of the women, she looked to be in her late twenties, giggled and took hold of my cock and squeezed it. A few strokes and it started growing rapidly. It's one thing to have a limp cock while a bunch of women are just looking at you. It's something else when they start patting you personally. Let's say that my appearance grew on them.

"Like I said," Paula announced. "A fine young man. I do believe that it's only fair that one of us do something about that swelling."

Fuck me, no. The thought of Paula making advances on me almost made my erection collapse. Almost. Cocks are selfish little things once they're erect. I found myself glancing over at the little brunette, who was blushing again, but looking.

Paula spotted where I was looking and laughed. (Still a very raucous sound.)

"The boy's got taste," she said. "Stand up, Sheila."

"Come on, lass, don't be bashful," she added, when Sheila blushed and sat tight.

"But, I don't, I mean, I've never, um. . ." her voice drifted away.

"What, never? And you've been married to Ronnie for three months? Someone needs to talk to that man. Come on, girl, stand up."

"I didn't mean I've never, ah, of course Ronnie and I, um, you're horribly unfair."

Paula laughed, again. She enjoyed embarrassing people, it seemed.

"We know what you mean, dearie," she said. "Don't worry, we won't force you. But seeing that he was interested in you he should at least have a look at what he might or might not get. Girls, give Sheila a hand."

Poor Sheila didn't have a chance. A couple of the middle aged ladies stood up and very swiftly stripped her. She struggled a little but was reluctant to really fight them. I must say that she had a very nice figure. Well worth viewing. And doing other things to. My cock certainly thought so. It was almost straining itself, it was standing so erect.

I was towards the back of the bus. I took a step further back and sat on the edge of the rear seat, looking at Sheila.

"Well, what are you waiting for," hissed Paula, in what was probably supposed to be a whisper. "Look at your nipples. You're all excited. Go for it. The chance may never come your way again."

She was right, I noticed. Paula's nipples had swollen and were standing out.

"But, but, I've never, I mean, apart from Ron, I haven't. . ."

We all got the gist of what she meant. Paula promptly found a loop hole.

"You're forgetting, girl. This gentleman told us earlier that his name was Ron. You can safely jump him and you can still say you've never, except with Ron."

The women were shepherding Sheila towards me. Not obviously, but just intruding slightly into her personal space which caused her to back-up towards me. She gave a startled little squeak when she found herself backing into me. I just followed Paula's suggestion.

I put my hands on her hips, edging her closer to me.

"Don't worry," I said softly. "It's just me, Ron."

She knew who I was, well enough, but the soothing voice and the familiar name were working on her, even if it was subconsciously. She was naked, and excited, Ron was waiting for her, and the other women were quietly cheering her on. It was easier for her to go along with it than to resist. I started easing her down onto my lap. She wasn't looking at me, so she could continue to fool herself.

I could feel my erection brushing between her legs as I eased her down, meaning that she could also feel it. She was married. She knew what it meant. Almost unconsciously her hand came down and closed around me, holding me in position while she settled.

I let her come down on me, easing herself down in the manner most comfortable to her. It's hard to over-ride those commands that tell you now, press home now, but I managed, feeling myself slowly penetrate her flesh, filling her passage with what I consider to be prime cock.

Then she was settled on my lap, mine for the taking. The women were all watching but weren't making fun of her. No doubt that would come later. They were taking it easy, not wanting to panic her. She was blushing furiously, I knew. I could see the redness on the back of her neck.

My hands came up and covered her breasts and I gently pressed upwards against her. She made a startled little sound, squirming slightly against me, which made her give another little squeak, finding herself rubbing herself against my cock.

I stroked her breasts while continuing to make very small upwards movements, pushing myself more firmly into her and then relaxing. She was breathing hard, starting to react to those little triggers. She pressed down as I gave that tiny upward thrust and then moved away as I relaxed.

It was that slight moving away that suckered her. When she moved away a little there was increased space between us. This meant that my next upwards thrust, instead of just putting pressure on her pussy, slid my cock into her a little, generating a small amount of friction.

This continued, with the separation becoming more pronounced with every movement, the repetitive strokes slowly increasing in length and in speed. There is a significant difference between a stroke that takes part of a second to move a small amount, and a stroke that takes that same part of a second to travel several inches into you.

Very soon we were travelling nicely. Paula, I noticed, had a very smug expression on her face. The other women were chatting amongst themselves while watching out little performance. Sheila, I suspected, had forgotten about our audience and was concentrating wholly on what was happening to her. I, while aware of our audience, didn't worry about them. I was concentrating on enjoying my unexpected dalliance, intent on taking my pleasure and granting some to Sheila if I could.

From the sounds Sheila was making it seems that I most definitely could. She was bouncing most energetically on me, taking my thrusts deep into her, while my hands incessantly teased her breasts. We'd established a nice tempo and were quite willing to continue like this for as long as possible.

I kept on thrusting up and into her, hard. The feel of her passage closed around my cock, rubbing against it as we moved, was lifting me higher. I was close to climaxing, now only just hanging on, determined to make it last just a little bit longer.

I finally gave up. My hands clamped tight onto Sheila's breasts and I upped the tempo, driving home just as hard and as fast as I could. It was enough, fortunately, for both of us. For all of us, for that matter. I groaned and climaxed, Sheila screamed and climaxed, and the ladies laughed and applauded. (I have no way of knowing if any of them climaxed.)

With that the bus continued on its way. I dressed and sat back, spent. The women steered Sheila back into her seat, leaving her naked, I noticed. Paula had a big satisfied smirk on her face.

The bus pulled into town and I was let off.

Paula nudged me as I was disembarking.

"You did a fine job there, lad," she told me. "Just what the girl has been needing. It'll help her no end."

I wondered what that was all about. Sheila had snapped out of her post-coitus daze, shrieked in a soft voice, and quickly dressed. She'd been a little embarrassed from some of the teasing, but rather smug, too. Hell, I'd been embarrassed by some of the teasing. Those women could be dreadfully earthy at times.

I met Mike the next day and he asked if I'd had any trouble getting home. I assured him it hadn't been a problem.

"I got picked up by a busload of women," I told him. "They absolutely insisted that I show the youngest woman how to handle a man. We had sex all the way to town. Quite an unusual ride."

The sod didn't believe a word I said. He just laughed at me.

"In your dreams, buddy," he told me, "and possibly not even there."