The 4 1/2 litre Bentley - Sex Stories

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The 4 1/2 litre Bentley

Date: 8/17/2015, Categories: Fiction, Consensual Sex, First Time, Prostitution, Reluctance, Romance, Author: abroadsword, Rating: 84.6, Source: sexstories.com

"Geoffrey," Angela shouted for the umpteenth time over the roar from the unsilenced exhaust of my classic four and a half litre Bentley as we drove from London to Aberystwyth in the usual light drizzle of the English summer. I knew what she wanted, she wanted to stop and put the hood up but I liked the feel of the wind in my hair. "Hush," I said, "I think it is mis firing again." "Ohhhhh!" she wailed as she always wailed, "You are impossible!" "It's this damned pool petrol," I said, "Damned rationing, it's all right for lorries and the like but too low octane for the Bentley, keeps fouling the plugs, do you hear?" "No!" she snapped, "And why must you drive this, this, this relic!" "It's not a relic, it's a Bentley four and a half litre!" I reminded her, "Nearly raced at Le Mans in 1929." "Oh my god not again," Angela gasped and then finished my sentence, "Except it had a mis-fire!" "Yes," I agreed, "Exactly, there did you hear it?" She shrugged and sulked, lord knows how we got engaged, Mummy said I must have been drunk, I don't remember, I came home on leave from France in '44 and next thing I found I was engaged to be married. Mummy said she was a very decent catch, Cheltenham Ladies college and then the WRNS as a HQ telephonist, 'Lovely gel," Mummy said and I didn't mind fighting the Hun, quite enjoyed it really, going against Mummy was a different thing entirely! Suddenly Angela bellowed "Aggghhh, stop the car!" so I slammed on the brakes, the left front tyre locked and ... skidded and the car swerved horribly. "Damn, the brakes need," I said, but she was already climbing down from the car, "Angela?" I queried. She stared at me from the roadside, "It's me or the car, you choose!" she snapped. "Angela!" I protested, "Mummy's expecting us for dinner, we will be late, get in." "No!" she said, "I wont, either you get a proper car or you can find yourself a new girlfriend!" "But Angela, how will you get to Mummy's?" I asked. "I won't, I'll go home!" she said angrily. "But how?" I asked and it suddenly dawned on me that we were outside Shrewsbury railway station. "Carrier Pigeon," she snapped, "How do you think!" and she grabbed her case from the back seat and stormed off. "Cripes," I opined as I watched her go, "We'll be one short for whist." "Excuse me!" someone said, "You can't stop there sir!" I looked round into the ruddy face of an ageing policeman, "Sorry?" I said. "Can't stop there sir," he said, "It being the main road and all." "Cripes," I said, "Girl just walked off," I added. "Yes sir," he agreed, "I saw her, pretty little thing." "Says I need a better car," I said. "Cor lumme sir!" he said, "Bentley three litre, what could be better!" I held my tongue, this was a four and a half, "Said it was the car or her." "Plenty more fish in the sea sir," he said, "Girls I mean, got a taste for it when the GI's were about, ten bob would get you quite a tasty number for the night." "Ten bob?" I thought hard, she could make up a hand at whist. "Indeed ...