Sexual adventures with a car

Not only do I often find trouble for my own ass, but lately I've been finding trouble because of my car. Our company successfully finished the financial year and I got a decent bonus as the head of the finance group, plus dividends from stocks, and to this sum my boyfriend added a small loan. Finally, I can buy a car. We found a dealership online, went there—me, my friend, and an acquaintance who's a car specialist. A young, attractive manager helped us, showed the car, processed all the documents, but asked us to come back for the car the next day, as they needed to get some confirmation from the bank. The next day, I went to the dealership

alone. The manager suggested I take the car for a test drive. I agreed. At first, he drove, then I got behind the wheel. He suggested going out of town; he knew an old road with no traffic where we could test the car's speed capabilities. The car was responsive, everything was okay. The manager decided to familiarize me with all the buttons and levers and their functions. At the end, he pressed some lever, the front passenger seat reclined, and the manager ended up lying on his back. A small bulge in his trousers caught my eye. My slutty habit of guessing what a man's dick is like kicked in, and I involuntarily put my hand on that bulge. He apparently misunderstood me, and the next thing I know, I'm lying on my back on the seats, my panties hanging on the steering wheel—I took them off myself; if a man takes off panties, he often tears them—my legs spread, the guy skillfully entered my pussy, I didn't even have time to see what his dick looked like, and he started energetically fucking me. To not disappoint, I started moving with him, especially since my pussy felt that his dick was decent. For about ten minutes, we tested the durability of the seats and finally came. To avoid staining the seats, I licked the remains off his dick, and he licked the cum out of my pussy. The test drive was successful. Oh, I forgot—we also stood around for about half an hour, he smoked, then bent me over and fucked me again. I've already put quite a few kilometers on the car, everything's fine with it, but one time I was driving to friends' dacha, turned onto a secondary road, the engine sputtered, I stopped, opened the hood for the first time since buying it, looking at the engine like a cow at a new gate. At that moment, a passing car stops, a middle-aged man gets out—"Need help?" "If it's not too much trouble." He fiddled with the engine, then took a canister from his trunk and poured gasoline into my car's tank. "Everything's fine, just need to check the contact. Don't you have a rag to wipe your hands?" I bent over to get a tissue from the glove compartment, forgetting that you shouldn't approach a horse from behind—it might kick—and you shouldn't stand with your ass to a man, especially bending over. He fucked me, and fucked me quite well; he also liked my pussy, and of course, when parting, we exchanged phone numbers. Some more time passed. The next incident was indirectly related to the car. I had taken the car in for maintenance and was riding the bus home from work. It was crowded, and the classic bus scenario: a man with a decent bulge in his pants pressed against my ass. I hadn't been fucked in a week and was generally curious about what his dick was like. I lowered my hand and started feeling what he had there. He panted for a couple of minutes, then suggested, "Maybe we should get off?" We got off, he led me to a garden, in the bushes he bent me over and fucked me. Before that, I sucked his dick a bit—a nice cock. He fucked me, and we parted without even asking each other's names. What else will my car prepare for me? Valya.