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Not really sure of what was awaiting my cock at the depths of the fuel port
It was a car my wife kept bugging me to sell, but I just couldn't do it, I mean although the car was pushing fifteen years old it had two hundred and ninety-seven thousand miles on it, there was no way I was getting rid of it. You may trade in a car with eighty thousand miles, maybe sell a car with one hundred fifty thousand miles on it, but you don't get rid of a car with two hundred and ninety-seven thousand miles on it. My wife may not have trusted the car on a drive any longer than out to the mailbox and back, but I was ready and willing to take it anywhere.

It had a bad dent in the rear where my daughter had hit the tree, the cassette was shot and the temperature controls were stuck on cooling, but these were minor inconveniences. I mean I ignored the dent, I listened only to the radio and hey, I lived in Texas, how often do we need the heat in a car anyway? This car had lasted through many years of work, two teenagers and now had finally cycled back to me. I mean anything after ten years with a car it is all gravy after that. As things break you simply discard them and as long as it keeps running everything is fine.

Of course whenever I talked about anything, the conversation usually came around to cars and then I was all set. Besides being able to chronicle every dent, repair and tire changes I had experienced with the car over the last fifteen years, I could tell them the tale of when my automatic seat belts went out and then suddenly worked on my birthday only to go out once again the next day. And then they started working again about six months later and worked ever since.

Okay, yeah I agree this was not always the best dinner conversation and perhaps I may have exaggerated the vehicles capabilities, but you still couldn't argue with two hundred and ninety-seven thousand miles. Of course I didn't leave it at that, I could always liven up any dragging conversation with my grand plan to make it to five hundred thousand miles. It was normally about that time my wife would begin drinking heavily.

It was at at my company Christmas party that I guess she heard so much about the car she simply flipped out. Of course the six drinks she drank during and mostly after dinner I am sure contributed to the outburst. I was talking with several of the company vice presidents, their wives and a few assorted other managers. I had them mesmerized reciting the exact location of the car when it turned over fifty thousand, one hundred thousand, one hundred fifty thousand... on up to my current mileage. After that recitation I was making predictions where the car might be when it hit three hundred thousand miles when my wife finally snapped.

Out of nowhere she suddenly screamed, "And why don't you tell them how you want to fuck that car more than you want to fuck me."

Now not only had she said that very loud, the band had just happened to have ended the music just an instant before my wife said it, so damn near everyone at the party heard what she said. The ensuing silence was simply too much and I made a few quick apologies and then led my wife away from the party.

Giggling she asked, "Why did everything get so quiet, someone pee in the punchbowl or something?"

"Or something," I replied.

"I hope it wasn't anything I said," she said snickering.

"It was entirely because of what you said," I replied angrily.

We walked the rest of the way to the car in silence, climbed into the car and as I started it up and began to back out, I realized I was feeling a bit tipsy, but I was too mad to do anything but drive on home. By the time I maneuvered out of the parking lot my wife had fallen asleep. Heading home I noticed the fuel light had come on in my car so before heading to the house I stopped at a nearby gas station.

Pulling in I noticed the station had closed but I had a credit card and they did leave the pumps on, so I quickly filled up the tank, thinking about what my wife had said. As I pulled the nozzle out of the car and hung it back up on the pump I turned and looked at my car. I looked at the fuel intake port, with the rubber seals around the edges, and then I looked around seeing empty streets in all directions.

Using my key fob, I popped the trunk of my car, found some of the clear grease I use to lubricate the door joints and things, I squeezed a bit on the fingers of one hand. Closing my trunk I moved back to the fuel port, looked up and down the road again and then quickly pulled my cock out of my pants.

Still quite drunk, I dabbed my cock with the grease and stroked it a few times until it came fully erect. I then moved up against the car and slowly pushed my cock into the fuel opening, feeling the soft rubber seals close in over my head and then as I pushed deeper it squeezed on the shaft of my cock. Not really sure of what was awaiting my cock at the depths of the fuel port, I slowly pushed in deeper and deeper and when all I felt the entire depth was the soft rubber seal I pulled out quickly.

Feeling confident I then shoved my cock deep into my car feeling the tight seals sliding along the length of me. It was a bit dryer than a woman's pussy, but the sensation was still very pleasurable so I continued pumping in and out of the Maxima. With the tight fit and slippery lubricant the sensations were building in me until I was getting close to coming.

I quickly debated whether I should come into my car or if I should pull it out at the last second. Hell, I had done that enough with the women in my life, and hell I really didn't think there was much change I'd impregnate my car so I simply let go. As I came I arched my back and simply spurted my cum down the fuel port of my engine. Just about the time I had finished coming I noticed some headlights on the road.

I quickly pulled my cock out of the fuel port but didn't have time to put my cock into my pants and zip up my zipper. When I saw it was a police car I really got scared, leaning up against the car to hide my cock. I then got an idea and popped my trunk.

The police car pulled into the gas station but thankfully pulled over to the other side of my car before rolling down his window. He called out to me, "Is everything okay."

"Yeah, it's been missing some and after filling up I decided to add some fuel injector cleaner."

"That car is in pretty good shape for its age, how long have you had it?"

I carefully moved to my trunk, making sure my cock remained hidden from the police. Reaching into my trunk I answered, "I've had it almost fifteen years now. I got two hundred ninety seven thousand miles on it." I grabbed the fuel injector cleaner and opening the can, I moved back to the fuel intake.

"Is your wife okay in there?" they asked.

"She fell asleep, we're coming back from a party," I said, slamming the trunk loudly enough to awaken her.

When the police saw her move they figured out things were okay and they said, "Okay, be safe driving home."

"Thank you officer, you have a safe evening too," I said, breathing a sigh of relief. It was bad enough that I was standing there with my cock hanging out of my pants, but I am not sure they'd be very happy if they smelled my breath. By now I felt I was pretty well sobered up, but then again, I did just finish fucking my car, so I don't know.

Anyway as the police pulled away I quickly slipped my cock back into my pants, I poured the fuel injector cleaner into my car, tossing aside the empty can and then I replaced the fuel cap closing the fuel door. I climbed back into my car and drove home as carefully as I could.

When we got to the house and my wife was stumbling toward the house she said once again, "When are you going to get rid of this car?"

"You know I can't do that love."

"Love? Hell you love that car more than you love me."

Looking back at my 1992 Nissan Maxima and seeing the nice shine on the metal flake sky blue color I really couldn't argue with what she had just said. Wanting to make peace though, I simply replied, "Oh honey, surely you don't think I love this car more than you."

She didn't reply.

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