Normally I don't mind when you drive. "Mind" is a bit of an understatement. The main reason I'm looking forward for you to come back is so I can stop pulling on the shoulder to hyperventilate on the way home.
On a few, rather, on most of the long drives we've gone on, the conversation invariably turns to sex because I have a one-track mind like that. Knowing that we can steam up the windows in the car, without even touching each other, simply by talking about the depraved things we want to do to each other, is fairly satisfying. When we arrive to wherever we're going, I'm already turned on just by talking.
That said. When we drive home on Friday, I'm kind of looking forward to being the person driving. I'm not going to be as stoic as you can be when you have control of the car. Don't be particularly surprised if, after a conversation about how fantastic you are at licking my pussy or how much I missed playing with my clamps or the amount of fun we're going to have playing with the wheel, I pull into a secluded rest area, climb over you, and fuck you for all you're worth before starting on our journey again.
If nothing at all, it'll at least keep me from getting cranky because I'm driving.
