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There’s no way I’m letting her drive us home in this state. I can hear the crunch of the parking lot floor under the unfamiliar drag and stumble of her feet. She’s gotta be out of her mind. Bringing home a guy, too? This isn’t the Alyssa I know. The stocky man quickens his pace to meet hers. I frown at his appearance; she must be blind drunk to bring him back, but oh well, who am I to object? “Go away” she mumbles with as much resistance as a wet rag. “Listen, I’ll take you home” the guy says, his voice booming; he sounds sober. I see how it is. He reaches for her arm, and she swats him away with her purse, nearly dropping it in the process. Her legs are still faltering as they try to reach me faster than the stranger can, but her four-inch rhinestoned heels hinder her stagger to safety. I unlock my doors loudly enough for him to hear, even though she hasn’t even registered the thought of reaching for her keys. “Hey, I’ll drive you home, you’re too drunk.” he adopts a softer, less commanding tone, hoping that will prove more persuasive. Her fingertips graze my door, and I swing it open instantly. I need to get her out of here, and I’m no longer concerned about revealing my sentience. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care if the guy knows, and I know she won’t remember. My door slams loudly in the tall man’s face, nearly flattening his fingers, and he throws his hands up in an angry protest before aggressively yanking my handle. Of course, it’s locked. I want to laugh in his face. “Suit yourself bitch” he yells red-faced at my driver’s window. My owner is completely unaware of the tantrum occurring a hair’s width from my window; she’s barely able to keep herself awake. Her eyelids are fluttering shut, and there is no grip in her hand as she attempts to grasp my gear shift. Her foot blindly searches for my brake. Don’t tell me I need to do this myself. She doesn’t manage, so I start my engine; otherwise, we’d both be stuck with this lunatic. My twin turbo V6 snarls angrily at full throttle. I turn on the heater and circulate the air in my interior. Oddly enough, I don’t smell any alcohol on Alyssa. “Look, you know you’re drunk, you can crash at mine” I hear his muffled pleas through the glass. And that’s when I realize she’s not drunk, she’s drugged.
My engine roars as I reverse out of the almost empty parking lot and onto the streets at an exhilarating speed. I shiver at the consequence of my actions. It’s freezing outside, and I should’ve waited for the oil to circulate my body before accelerating out the way I did. Whatever, it could’ve been worse. The stranger could’ve hammered his fists on my roof or kicked my rims. Not my rims, I love my forged HRE rims, they make me look more sporty, although my reputation as a prig and banal Panamera precedes me. My owner may not know a single thing about how I work, but she sure knows how to make me look nice. Alyssa is the embodiment of aesthetics. I’ve never seen her in joggers or with unbrushed hair. She’s a living Barbie doll, and Barbie needs her perfect white Porsche. Apart from the million matcha meets she has with her friends, I take her to the clinic twice a month for facials, the nail salon once a month, and the spa once a week; that’s how she’s so flawless. My headrest has turned cold, so I glance through the rear view mirror only to realize that her head is lolling sideways against the inside of my door. She’s definitely drugged. She hasn’t even realized that I’m doing all the driving. This is wonderful. I’ve been wanting full control for a while now, but the chance never presented itself. She’s too good a driver, and I’m never able to unleash the full potential of my transmission. Sometimes I wish I had a driver who would push me to my limits so I could experience the 280 km/h speed the Porsche catalogue promises. I can only imagine the feeling of nearly flying off the asphalt, later driving home feeling hot and heavy, with my springs and joints aching so bad it feels good. But Alyssa is alright, I guess. Although she doesn’t drive very fast, she isn’t reckless, and she takes very good care of me. She’s also easy on the eyes. I’d be less forgiving if she weren’t. The fall wind is prickly against my silhouette, and it feels just right. I’m pushing 150 km/h and I’ve never felt so good. I might not have been built for speed like my 911 cousins are, but I sure know how to handle it. My owner squirms in my driver's seat, and her eyes are flitting open. Right, my bad. My RPM glides to the left as I decrease my speed to one that won’t get her a speeding ticket.
My owner musters enough energy to press the garage door remote open. I park with a screech into the spacious room and intuitively swing open my door. Alyssa practically spills out, holding the top rim of my window for support, but she doesn’t even make it past my front, let alone the door 10 meters away. She collapses in front of me and groans once. I don’t hear her anymore. She has gone completely silent, and if it weren’t for the sound of her heartbeat and light breathing, I would’ve thought she was dead. It’s been fifteen minutes, and Alyssa is still curled in the same C shape next to her black Chanel purse, which I know she’d scream at the thought of on the floor. Goosebumps dot her forearms, and she’s lightly shivering. A gust of wind knocks me into realizing that she hasn’t shut the garage door.
Alyssa is wearing a short, silver, mesh dress; of course, she’s shivering. I think she might be sleeping, but she can’t sleep here. The cold, hard garage is no place for Barbie. Five more minutes have passed, so I honk softly to wake her up. I wait for a moment in silence. Perhaps it is time for stronger measures. I start my engine and softly nudge her legs with my lip. She’s so close to me that I can smell the lychee notes of her perfume clinging to her ankles. She stirs from my touch, but her eyes remain shut. She attempts to rasp something I can’t make out, pulls her legs away from me, and curls into a tighter C. I notice she’s gone a shade paler and her acrylics clack on the floor as her fingers try to shake off the cold. She’s going to be terribly sick if I don’t do something. I can’t let her die. We have a purely dry and formal relationship, but it's not like I want her to perish from the early November chill. Could I let my chassis run warm and blanket her somehow? She wouldn’t like that at all, but I’d rather inconvenience her ego than have her freeze to death. I clear her body slightly, hoping the heat radiates off of me and onto her. I don’t want to imagine if she had gone home with that son of a bitch, the things he’d do to her. I try to think of something other than a stranger taking my owner unwillingly, and I glance at the mirrored wall to my left. My temporary fix seems to be effective, and she’s no longer shivering. There’s nothing to do except look at Alyssa while I wait for her to miraculously regain consciousness and walk into the house. I'm not complaining at all. I’m completely content staring at her sleeping visage reflected in the mirror, watching it slowly regain its color, but remaining unconscious as ever. She’s got such a perfect face, one that I only get to gawk at when we’re at traffic stops or when she’s walking back to me from the grocery store. I can’t look at her for long when she’s driving because I’m not a great multitasker. I’m mesmerized by her little ski slope nose and the way it curves down to a perpetually puckered top lip. I really am such a lucky car. I know that I think about her in ways she would never let me, but I still respect her even though my thoughts wander, it's why I always feel so guilty right after. She’s too good, too unattainable; it’s almost a sin to even undress her mentally. I have to remind myself that we have a purely professional alliance that Alyssa has not once tried to breach. I’m aware my sentience is unknown to her, but her eyes haven’t even lingered once. She has given me no moment of “maybe” to fantasize about. To make matters worse, she calls me Lily, and that’s what the mechanics at the shop know me as. “Take care of Lily for me, I need her to look freshhh” Alyssa said, dragging out the shh, and then she gave the guys at the shop a friendly smile. I was totally miffed that day. She didn’t even see me as male. Lily? seriously? Then again, if she had looked at me with desire, would I still crave her so badly?. It's 2 AM and Alyssa is beautiful even as she lies beneath me, a position she’d never be caught dead in. She’s too glamorous to grovel anywhere near the floor. When she first took me home from the dealership, she dropped her lipstick underneath me, but instead of crouching under me in an unladylike position, she got into the driver's seat and reversed me. That’s the kind of person Alyssa is. But I’m glad she never checks under me, I don’t need to worry about being caught with my dick out. What can I say? I have to relieve myself somehow.
I’ve been watching her softly breathe for half an hour. I could watch her chest rise and fall all night, but I don’t want to. There’s an abhorrent thought nagging at me so strongly it’s making my fuel injector tick in excitement. I have tried to shut off my optics and rest for the night, but even though my optics have powered down, every gear in my body is betraying me. No, I can’t give in; it’s vile, and I’d never forgive myself. Alyssa trusts me; I can’t betray her like this. I’d be no better than the nameless man. I’ll just look and imagine; it’s not illegal to fantasize, although it feels absolutely illegal. My optics turn on for the seventh time in ten minutes to focus on Alyssa’s unmoving reflection in the mirror. Bless her for installing mirrors on virtually every wall of the garage. I know she wanted the room to look spacious, but it’s working horribly against her right now. The low cowlneck of her dress has slipped down further than appropriate, and my entire undercarriage feels like it’s beginning to smolder the more I try to suppress my boner. It’s alright, I’m just looking, I’ll jerk off, and she won’t know. She doesn’t know anything about cars, she’ll bring me to the shop for a leak they won't find. God, her dress is incredibly short. There’s no way I can finish without getting cum all over her. But if I do cum onto her, would it matter if I had a peek? No, it's not right, but I can barely hold it in. I’ll just lift her dress; it's practically slipping off her body. I flex my springs and lower my suspension so my fully unsheathed dick can snag the hem of her dress and pull it up. I can see the swell of my length beneath the thin fabric as her dress rides up her chest. She stirs ever so slightly, and I pause in panic. Maybe I should pull her dress back to where it’s supposed to rest and go back to sleep. It’s not too late to stop–but I look down at her near-naked body and I just can’t go to sleep knowing she’s exposed and in a deliciously fuckable position beneath me. My gaze moves up from her navel to her breasts, and notice she’s got pasties covering her nipples for modesty, so I turn my attention down her torso. A pair of thin white panties hugs her hips, and my headlights begrudgingly find their way to the mirror on the far side for a view of her ass. Damn it, I should never have pulled up her dress. Her ass looks too enticingly good–I can’t not fuck her.
I drive a little further forward, letting my hard cock, dripping with pre-cum, slip down the skin of her thigh before attempting to part her legs. This isn’t going to work. Carefully and quietly, I slip out the prehensile tendrils that I use only when necessary, like picking off dirt from the crevices of my undercarriage, removing gravel from my tires, and maybe jerking off sometimes when I want to fantasize about penetrating my hot owner and not rutting the rough and unyielding concrete floor. I hold my straining cock with one of the titanium appendages, firmly rubbing from hilt to tip and tip to hilt as the other metallic cable makes contact with the lacy edge of Alyssa’s g-string. I reach for the silky fabric covering her sex, testing it against the soft flesh of her pussy, feeling each curve, fold, and dip. She’s not wet, but she will be very soon. I circle the cable at the tiny bud above her opening, pushing and teasing until I feel moisture seep through the thin cloth. Although her arousal is showing, she’s still knocked out, and I know I’m far past the point of stopping. I think she’s ready; I reach beneath the narrow waistband and pull her soaked underwear down her legs, leaving it at her ankles. My frame shudders from anticipation and the tempting smell of her pheromones. I’m not so nervous anymore as I touch her naked sex with my highly sensitive cable. She’s so fucking warm and drenched. I pull away to feel the sticky fluid form a bridge between us. She’s perfect. I glance at the serene, unknowing expression on her face as I trace the skin of her inner thigh. She’s so amazingly smooth and velvety, the nerves in my seat don’t do her justice. Who knew her skin was this creamy smooth? My touch returns to her pussy, pink and puffy from my touch. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want this; her arousal is literally leaking all over me. I tease her again, familiarizing myself with the dips and folds of her that I was never allowed to see. My V6 engine purrs in excitement, and I don’t realize how much faster I’m stroking myself, or that a white bead is forming at my tip, about to join the small drop on the floor. I can’t wait much longer, so I sink the tendril into her, feeling her heartbeat through her delicate flesh and the pulse of her muscles squeezing my metal conduit. I curl the node inside her, and it makes a sticky sound, so I push in and out again and again to relish the succulent sound of metal replacing air in a tight, drenched hole. Slowly, I push further into her tiny cunt, figuring out if I will fit, but I won’t know unless I try, so I adjust the camber of my rear wheels and hold my stiff cock so it lines right at her blush pink sex. I hold her leg open with my right appendage, slick with her discharge, and my coil springs jerk from my own impatience. Her leg jolts against my restraint once my dick has penetrated her, and I know she’s awoken. But I don’t give a damn about being caught anymore; I have way too much adrenaline pumping through my pipes. I hear her gasp and see her eyes flit open, but I know she’s not registering what she’s seeing and I wonder what drugs are in her system.
I’ve been so fixated on her that the open garage door has completely slipped my mind. The night is pitch black, and the trees that line the driveway conveniently obscure my active defilement. I haven’t looked outside the garage in a very long time. For half an hour, my optics, including my 360-degree Surround View system, have only been focused on the mirror to my left and occasionally to my right (when I want a view of her ass). I’ve memorized every pink fold of her little hole and the way her pelvis bucks when I stuff her with my cock. I’ve seen everything there is to see, or have I? I have never seen her tits fully naked. With one cable tending to her clit and five inches of steel stuffed inside her, I drop her leg and reach towards the nude pasties she’s covered her nipples with. I never knew she wore these, but I realize she wouldn’t have wanted to flash the club if her dress shifted far too much. Why not wear a bra? But who cares, I’m glad she didn’t wear a bra, that would be hell to remove, even with my extra appendages. I toss the silicone pasties haphazardly to the side while my sway bar twists as I drive an inch forward in an involuntary reaction to fuck her deeper. She squeals, and I realize I can’t push any further, so I reverse. Sorry, my sweet Alyssa, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I can tell her boobs are natural from the way they move. But I found that out a long time ago through a conversation she had had with a friend. “Girl, are those real? They sit so perfectly!” the brunette gestured to her friend’s chest. Even Rebecca knew they sat perfectly. “Mhmmm” my owner answered, beaming. “You’re lying, mine don’t even look half as good.” Rebecca was in disbelief, and so was I. I remember that day so clearly because I was a new and pent-up, horny Porsche with a massive crush on my owner. We were on the highway, and what Alyssa did next nearly made me rear-end the Prius in front of us. “no seriously, you can touch them.” Alyssa giggled in sincerity. Rebecca reached over to squeeze her best friend’s tits, and I was trying to have a look as well. I had even angled the rearview mirror slightly downward. I wanted to see how her breasts moved from a light squeeze, and I was determined to see even if it meant looking through Alyssa’s tight, low-cut baby tee. Boy, was I so distracted that I had forgotten that I was never a good multitasker, and if my focus left the road for more than a second, I was most likely going to rear-end the car in front of us or veer off the road. Luckily, perfect, faultless Alyssa braked right in time, and I didn’t have to spend a week in the shop. I didn’t get to squeeze a tit like Rebecca did that day, but I’ll get to now. I reach a cold metal wire towards her bare breast before I notice that she’s looking straight at me. She’s got a blank, half-lidded look in her eyes, and I feel a hand grasp me. “You want to feel my tits, huhh?” she slurs, pressing my metal limb hard against her soft flesh. I almost retract, but she’s got an iron grip on me. I might as well cop a feel with her approval. She gasps as I brush against her nipple. “Come onnn, fuck me like a good Porsche” she giggles and bucks her hips. What on earth did that guy put in her drink? She’s a bizarre mix of horny and unresponsive, and it’s beginning to unnerve me. I don’t want her awake. I need her eyes shut and her body unresponsive because if she remembers this, I’m being sold for good. I want to panic, but the way she feels beneath my chassis is far too good for divided attention, so I turn my focus to the writhing, needy body I’m buried in. “You’re really big” she whispers as she reaches down to stroke my cock, and I’m trying not to run over her Chanel handbag.
She moans softly as I continue to thrust into her little cunt, but then I hear a “I don’t wanna do this anymore” and that gets my pistons pumping like crazy. Yea keep saying that, and I promise to finish in your pretty pussy in a second. She whines quietly, and her eyes flutter shut. “Stop it… please” she says so softly that I can pretend not to hear, and I rut into her again and again until I feel like I’m about to cum. We’re this far already, and I have to come. It’s just a fuck, and I’m giving her good dick considering how sopping wet she is. It’s not like I could have asked for permission. Besides, this is the least I deserve for keeping her alive. If it weren’t for me, she’d be frostbitten from head to toe, maybe even dead. She’s gone completely quiet, save for some soft sniffling, and I look up at her face. She’s crying. Tears are rolling across her face, down her right temple, and onto her silky hair. I cum almost instantly, parked in her because I don’t want to ruin her expensive outfit or her 11,000 dollar purse. I also really don’t want to leave more evidence than necessary. Let her think it was a dream, and I won't deny it. My hood nearly steams as my engine cools down from the peak of exertion. It feels heavenly to finally empty my seed into something that isn’t the floor. I pull out once I feel my load beginning to trickle out, and I reverse far enough that whatever’s left doesn’t shoot onto her. The last of my cum leaks down the midline of my erect cock and dribbles onto the floor between my rear wheels. My camber returns to its normal angle, my axles relax, and I’m regaining some of the clarity I lost. Fuck fuck fuck. What was I thinking? Alyssa is completely naked and unconscious, I didn’t obey her and made her cry, my cum is leaking out of her sex, and I’ve left a growing pool of semen on the garage floor. I’m so hopelessly screwed. Maybe if she remembers and asks, I’ll tell her I was trying to keep her warm. But before that, I reach for the discarded panties and fumble with them as I try to put each heeled foot through the holes which takes me a couple of minutes. Lingerie is so much easier to take off than put on. I stick the nipple covers back onto each breast and adjust her dress. The last thing I need to do is fulfill my duty of keeping my owner alive. I drive my piping-hot chassis over her and park for the night, but I can’t get a moment of sleep even though my optics are powered down.
It’s eight in the morning when I hear Alyssa stirring, and I've reversed back over the conspicuous puddle on the floor, which hasn’t begun to evaporate. My owner attempts to stand but stumbles, clutching her stomach. Did I hurt her? I can’t read her expression as she pulls off her heels, finally manages to stand up, and then heads straight to the door. She doesn’t look at me once, even though I’m parked inches away from her face, close enough to feel her breath warming my cold aluminium skin. I hate not knowing what she’s thinking. Does she know? If she does, will she get rid of me? But it was a fair exchange. It’s a price she had to pay. Her body for her life. And she enjoyed it. I know she did. Until she didn’t, but I stopped soon after. If I hadn’t driven her out of the club parking lot, she’d have been raped by that man, but I didn’t let that happen. I drove her away, I saved her, and I fucked her because it was going to happen regardless. It was inevitable. At least with me, she was safe. At least I stopped. That makes me better, doesn’t it?