Valentine's Groucho
What a way to spend Valentine's Day. No fancy feast and no chocolates. A three day journey in a car and we were in the second day. Not much to do, the topography was flat, desert with stunted shrubs and no trees. There was no radio or phone reception, just my girl and me.

It was a long time since any thing special had happened with us. It wasn't my idea to be in the middle of the desert on Valentine's Day. I had hoped to rekindle our relationship. Months of planning, it was to be a surprise and suddenly, I was so angry, absolutely furious. Not even a card. We sat, me driving and Paula had her feet on the dash with her bottom forward in the passenger seat.

There was no modesty at our toilet stops, there were no trees or any other cover. It was hot, very hot and it demanded minimal clothing because the air conditioning had failed. We were quick.

When we stopped at one toilet break, as we were washing, Paula asked about her makeup bag. I wasn't sure it was a good idea, we had enough around us as it was, but I found it for her. I wondered why she would need makeup in the desert. Surely she would be pleased to give it a rest. She must have guessed what I was thinking.

"I want to try a new technique ," she said, her tone neutral and calm. It was difficult to be content in the heat. I was minimally attired, shorts and shoes for driving. Paula was dressed in panties and the briefest tank top she could find. I guessed she wanted to pretty her self for the day.

"One does what one must," she reasoned when she removed her bra and shorts, hours ago. The view was pleasant, her nipples bumped out her tank top and there was an almost transparent quality to her panties. I wondered if she knew and immediately knew she did. Paula knows about every thing. She wouldn't be teasing me if I weren't driving. I checked my watch. Right now, I thought, we should be eating steak and I had to pay to cancel my reservation.

She had her makeup bag open in front of her. She hunted inside to pull things out and place them beside her feet on the dash. It became a large collection and I wondered what use any of them could possibly be, particularly now. There wasn't a restaurant within a hundred miles of here. The last thing she found was her little mirror and it sat beside the other things with an innocent charm, because I knew what it was for. At least, I thought I did.

She put the makeup bag in the back of the car and surveyed her collection. She'd missed something. I saw her suddenly realise and she rummaged in the glove box until she found a chocolate bar. With a last look she sat for a moment. I could see her thinking. I had a thought I should expect the unexpected.

Indeed, I was surprised when she lifted her bottom and with a quick movement removed her panties. There was the flash of pink and I was very distracted. I couldn't stop watching her hand crunch up her panties, or what she'd suddenly exposed. She didn't say a word. She didn't even look at me. She put her panties under her, on the seat. Until yesterday, when this trip had become necessary, I'd been planning to remove her panties for her and to do a lot more besides.

There was silence as she drew breath. I could see her slit, a long slit, deeply recessed between her legs. She let her knees fall to the sides. Her slit became very wide, it was all exposed. I didn't break the silence. I was determined not to. I thought about what I'd be doing if I weren't driving.

With her hands she pulled her slit further apart, as though to tempt me, and with the makeup mirror she studied it. She poked and pulled until she had every thing just right.

I watched as she took a pencil from the dash and started to colour her self. It took some time for her to get it the way she wanted. Then there was a brush and she used a powder to add another colour. I could see it wasn't quite as successful as she'd hoped and thought it was because her slit was so wet and the brush was best when dry.

Another pencil and I saw her laying down white. It was difficult to do with a mirror and the vibration of the car. On either side of her hood, inside the white areas, she applied circles, blue with a dot of black in the middle of both. I watched her use bright red lipstick and she painted around her opening.

I didn't laugh. I didn't say a word. I kept driving but Lord knows how I kept the car on the road. She continued to paint. Often, she used her fingers to smear the colour and add shadings. She worked carefully. I could see her determination to get it right. She pushed and pulled with her fingers as she looked with her little mirror.

Finally, she seemed to have finished. I checked my watch. We'd be in the hotel room now with dual showers and a king size bed. I'd be stripping her naked. If I hadn't had to cancel the reservation, and there was a charge for that. It was her fault.

She got the chocolate bar and peeled off the wrapper. A reward for her work, I guessed. I was surprised when she coloured one of its ends with lipstick. I was even more surprised when she took the chocolate bar and slid it inside herself. She left a lot poking out, the end she'd painted red was easy to see.

She checked with the mirror again, made small adjustments, refinements and pulled at herself to provide the right proportions. She put the mirror down and began to rummage around. I thought she was looking for something to wipe herself clean.

I was surprised when the camera was in her hands. She took so many pictures, some with the chocolate bar in a long way, others with it almost out and every variation between. She used the flash and other pictures she took with out a flash. I can honestly say I was surprised. Several times she adjusted herself with a pull of her fingers and after a check with the makeup mirror took more pictures.

She put the camera down. I was about to ask whether she was going to take more pictures when she pulled the chocolate bar from deep within her slit. My mouth was open as the chocolate bar, in her hand, ventured over to me and was suddenly in my mouth. What was I to say? I couldn't say anything, but I watched as her hand joined her other. Together they found her clitoris and gave it a firm and rapid rub.

I watched as her body began to tense. Her fingers replaced the chocolate bar inside her. Then she rubbed her clitoris again. Her bottom rose from the seat. I could hear her moans when suddenly she screamed. I watched as her hips moved, her feet pushed hard into the dash, and cracked the plastic. Her knees snapped shut faster than any rat trap, I heard the hollow ring. She chuckled to herself as her knees opened again and her fingers trolled up and down her slit in the wetness.

I'd only just finished eating the chocolate bar. Suddenly, those very same fingers I'd been watching were moving towards me. I was going to say some thing. I was too slow. It's very difficult to say anything with a mouth full of fingers.

With her fingers clean she started to review the pictures on her camera. I saw her press the delete button many times. My attention was divided. I had one eye on the road. I had another eye on the camera. My third eye was strong and it was on her slit. I thought of the things I would have been doing with her slit.

After some time she reached up with the camera to show me a picture. I was surprised.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Mr Groucho," she said.

Instead of showing me one of the pictures she'd taken, I saw a picture of Groucho, smoking his cigar, and in each picture she showed me after, the cigar got shorter and shorter.

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