Surprise on a Ferris Wheel

A lot of girls would make a big deal out of the text message he had sent, but to me, it was adventurous. It was one of the things that worked so well in our relationship.

He didn’t always text me asking for a date. He called, most of the time, and sometimes he’d just show up at my door. Today, he sent a text.

“I’m picking you up at nine. Wear a skirt and comfortable shoes.”

No further instructions or any indication why I needed to wear a skirt—or even, what kind of skirt—but at 9:50, I slipped into a casual, flowing, black skirt that fell just above my knees. I figured that would pass, regardless of the venue. I added more flowing fabric to the top, with a loose fitting tank top and band bra. I strapped on a pair of sandals I knew I’d be able to walk in and sat down to wait for him.

“Waiting downstairs” came the next text message.

I gathered my things and locked the door behind me.

He stood waiting beside his car, on the passenger side, and opened the door for me as I approached. The concepts of chivalry had not been lost on him, even if he did send text messages to arrange dates at the last minute. He waited for me to reach for the seat belt before pushing the door closed. I reached across the driver’s seat and opened his door for him.

He was dressed as if it were just another day, black jeans, black leather sneakers, and a black t-shirt. His black motorcycle jacket lay in the backseat; even he had to admit it was too hot out for one of his favorite accessories. But I didn’t care what he was wearing. I never cared about what he was wearing. He knew how to dress for an occasion and if he wasn’t I knew there was a reason. And he looked fucking incredible no matter what he was wearing.

It was my favorite part of the day. The sun had set but there was still a faint glow of deep orange fading into purple across the western horizon. The heat of the day had not yet dissipated and I rolled my window down a few inches to feel the warm air on my face. He watched me from the driver’s seat so intently I thought he might cause an accident. His brown eyes flashed wildly under the street lamps and I wondered what he had in store for me, for us.

We pulled into a drive-in and he pressed the button to place an order. The attendant’s voice crackled through the speaker and soon a high school girl on roller skates was delivering a banana split with two spoons. He dipped his spoon into the fudge covered mound of real—not soft serve—ice cream and as I reached to do the same, he pressed the cold mound against my lips.

I licked the ice cream and fudge from the spoon, holding his eyes and teasing him as I did. We shared the rest of the dessert in comfortable silence.

When we were finished, he pulled the car back into the street and continued the way we had been going before. I asked him where we were going and he responded by smiling at me—a genuine, mirthful smile—and turning his eyes back to the road ahead.

We found ourselves in the parking lot of a carnival. “This was not what I expected. When do they close?”

“Soon,” he said and climbed out of the car.

I followed him out of the car and through the gate of the carnival. The man at the ticket window waved us through, apparently not willing to charge admission for the last half hour of the night.

He took my hand, firm in his own, and led me toward the midway. He stopped at the first food stall he found and shelled out five dollars for a cone of cotton candy. He pulled a strand from the ball and held it out to me. Once again, I met his gaze and held it while I let him watch the spun sugar melt over my tongue. He popped a wad of it into his own mouth and we started walking again, taking turns with the candy.

We walked around the carnival, hand in hand, feeling like something out of a 1950s film. As we neared the Ferris wheel, the music of the carnival began to click off, the world around us growing quieter as we walked. Lights overhead began snapping off but instead of moving toward the exit, he continued leading me toward the wheel.

He handed a bill to the operator who let us climb into a cage. As the rest of the carnival patrons were heading toward their cars and their homes, we began to ascend to the top of the world.

Halfway to the top, he slid a hand along under my skirt and pressed between my thighs. I spread my legs slightly and he pulled the leg closest to him to spread them further. His hand moved higher and I could feel him pushing my panties aside. I scooted my ass closer to him and he explored the outer edges of my pussy with his fingers.

As we reached the top and I could see the beautiful city below us, he pushed two of his long, slender fingers inside me. My body responded, covering them in hot, sticky cum. I knew in that moment that he had planned this whole adventure with the intent of finger fucking me on the Ferris wheel. I moved even closer to him, until I couldn’t move any closer, and he reached deeper inside.

We started down the other side of the wheel and he began to pump me, thrusting his fingers in and out, rubbing the outer edge of my pussy every time he pulled out. As we neared the bottom, I noticed the ride operator was standing a few feet from his post with his back toward the ride.

He pushed his fingers even deeper into my hot, throbbing, wet pussy than he had been before and crooked them forward. I clenched my muscles around him as he massaged the spongy flesh of the front of my vagina, the place I could never reach with my own fingers. I reached between my legs and laid my hand over his, pushing his cupped palm firmly onto my clit. I slid a finger in behind his and urged him to keep doing what he was doing.

As we moved back up the back side of the circle once more, he pulled his fingers out of my pussy and slid them gently over my engorged clitoris. I could feel my heart beat against his fingers as he massaged me softly between my legs. The higher we climbed, the harder and faster he masturbated me, fingering my clit aggressively then pushing his fingers back into my wet pussy to lubricate again. Soon that became the motion, into my pussy then back out to my clit, never breaking contact with my body, sliding his fingers in and out, making me writhe against his hand.

He pulled my face into his with his other hand and kissed me, hard, and deep, never once stopping his fluid motion as he touched me inside and out.

I held my breath through the kiss, and began to roll my hips against him, soon fucking his fingers just as much as he was fucking me with them. I pressed my tongue into his mouth, with it, telling him to make me come.

As we descended down the front side of the Ferris wheel for the second time, he rubbed hard and fast at my clit, pushing two fingers from his free hand inside as he did, reaching as deep as possible, hooking them forward, massaging the g-spot and my clit at the same time and I could feel my orgasm building in my entire body.

We passed the operator at his post one more time before starting back up. Halfway to the top, I sucked in a deep breath and held it. It wasn’t seconds after that that my back arched and all the muscles in my pelvis released in one quaking second. He rode out my orgasm with me, fingering me hard, not letting go until he was sure I wanted him to. He fucked me as I came, all the way to the top of the circle and as we started back down for the last time, he licked my cum from his fingers before leaning in to kiss me once more. I could taste my sex on his lips and tongue.

We climbed down from the ride, my thighs wet with cum. He thanked the operator and led me toward the exit.

As he unlocked the doors to his car, across the roof, I whispered loud enough only he could hear me. “I want to suck your dick.”

Even though I knew the ride on the Ferris wheel had gotten him hard, he grinned, his chocolate eyes flashing with wicked amusement, and replied with only one word. “Later.”