Vacation Drive

Finally, we had our own car back and it was just in time too. We had already planned our vacation and even rented our room in Gatlinburg, Tennessee starting the following night. I lay in bed next to my wife as she was reading. She had a confused look on her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This sounds fake.” She replied, pointing at a page in the book. “But, I don’t know cars.” I rolled to face her.
“What sounds fake?”
She began to read to me from the book, which turned out to be a compilation of letters from the Penthouse Forum. It had been left at our house in Minnesota by one or the other of our strange friends. The letter told of an experiment utilizing a rubber hose attached to the intake of a car as a masturbation aid.
“I’m not sure either.” I said. “We could test it, I guess.”
“Let me go try something.”
I got up from the bed, pulled on my spandex shorts and went out to the garage. Unlocking the car, I opened the hood and looked at the intake. From the wide span of it over the fuel injectors it arced around the engine casing, the end of it narrowing to the diameter of the upholstery brush for our Shop-Vac. Pulling the vacuum from under the desk, I removed the hose and upholstery brush, fitting the attachment over the intake opening and attaching the vacuum’s hose. The opposite end of the hose in my hand, I went to the driver’s seat and, opening the garage door with the automatic remote, I started the little vehicle.
The car ran just fine, quietly nattering like a sewing machine thanks to its rebuilt engine. I held my hand over the end of the hose to cover it and my palm was sucked to it with painful pressure. Almost immediately the car died. I understood the problem immediately: the car had to have oxygen to run.
The door between the garage and the kitchen opened and Kara leaned out.
“Well,” She asked. “Does it work?”
“Not as is.” I said. “But, maybe with a little tweaking.”
She came the rest of the way into the garage and climbed into the passenger seat. When she sat down, her long T-shirt rode up, showing me she had nothing else on. I nodded toward the golden bush of pubic hair.
“Getting brave there.” I joked.
“We’re in the garage.” She reminded me. She took the end of the hose from me. “So’ what kind of tweaking?”
“It needs a second intake.” I said. “So it can get air.”
Kara shrugged.
“Drill a hole.”
“What about the upholstery brush?”
“When have we ever used it?”
I couldn’t argue. Returning to the engine housing, I removed the brush and pulling my rechargeable drill down, proceeded to drill a three-eighths inch hole in the accessory. I fit it back in place and had Kara start the car. While the car was running, she stuck the end of the hose to a vinyl door panel. Once again the car died, but not until it had coughed a few times.
“Try one more hole.” She suggested.
I did just that, and this time the car continued to run smoothly, while the hose adhered itself firmly to the door panel. Kara grinned wickedly, a dangerously mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Looks like it does work.” She said. “Want to try it out?”
“Can’t.” I said. “I’m too big for the hose.” It wasn’t bragging, just honesty. Even soft, I was equal in diameter to the vacuum hose.
Kara pouted, but I could tell her mind was working. Suddenly she grinned.
“Go get the brush attachment from the inside vacuum.” She told me, as she shut off the car’s engine and climbed out. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but I went to fetch the attachment anyhow. When I returned, she was holding up a f******n-inch long tube of three-inch diameter, clear acrylic pipe, which she then showed me fit perfectly into the brush. The pipe had belonged to a puzzle display at my former job in Rochester and I had forgotten completely about it.
“That should work.” I said.
The glint returned to her eyes.
See if you can feed that hose into the car where it can’t be seen and we’ll give it a real test on the way to Tennessee tomorrow.”
It wasn’t too hard of a job. All I had to do was run the long hose along the engine compartment’s side and down to a vent. Where, after removing a screen and levering a panel off, I fed it into the car until it exited under the dashboard. There was about five feet of hose coiled in the floor and I attached the newly built suction chamber to it.
I looked at the device and wondered if the joints were sturdy enough to take pressure. So, I went to the desk and pulled out a roll of two-inch wide, black vinyl tape, wrapping the points where the tube attached to the brush, the brush attached to the hose and the whole assembly joined the intake manifold. Also, because the pipe’s edge wasn’t as smooth as I would have liked, I put several layers of tape folded over as a gasket.
Now that looked sturdy enough to work. Shutting the garage, I removed the keys from the car, closed the doors and hood and went back into the house.
After I had loaded the luggage and locked the garage behind the departing car, I joined Kara in the vehicle. She nodded to the hose, sucking air noisily at my feet.
“Going to put it on?” She asked.
We had filled the car up with gas the day before, as we brought it home from the shop, so we would only have to stop for food.
“I guess.” I replied, unzipping my pants and reaching for the hose.
“Uh uh.” Kara shook her head. “I want to be able to see. Take the pants off.” Undoing my pants fully, I pushed them down, having to remove my sandals in order to take them fully off. “Ditch the shirt too.” Kara added.
I did as I was asked, tossing the entire bundle into the back seat.
“Now, put it on.”
I lifted the tube and brought it toward my flaccid penis, feeling the strong rush of wind blasting into the clear chamber. The wind seemed to grow stronger, lifting my dick and holding it up, as I moved it closer to my body. When the cylinder was about an inch from my groin, the suction pulled it from my grasp and it sealed itself around my penis with a pop. Through the acrylic, it appeared as though my dick instantly swelled to twice its normal size. If the pressure I felt was any indication, it probably had.
“Oh my.” Kara breathed, looking at my suction expanded cock through the transparent tube. “Are you ready to give this a try?”
“Sure.” I replied, still surprised at the level of pressure the car’s intake was exerting on my penis. Kara pulled the car out of the driveway, each push of the accelerator increasing the pressure on my dick until she eased off the gas again.
“That’s interesting.” Kara said.
Heading toward the highway on our street, she tapped the accelerator repeatedly, watching my cock bulge comically with each burst of speed. The pressure on the acceleration was unbelievable. I had never felt anything like it before. Obviously the guy who had written the letter had not really tried this, or he surely would have mentioned that effect.
Getting onto the highway required a small amount of acceleration that had my cock swelling like a balloon in the clear tube and I could tell from Kara’s expression that she could hardly wait to start up the interstate ramp. She didn’t have to wait long.
I gasped out loud at the incomprehensible suction that pulled at my dick as Kara rammed the gas pedal to the floor, racing up the ramp to merge with the interstate traffic and my cock seemed to expand to nearly fill its acrylic environment. If I had been amazed by the inverse pressure against my penis earlier, I was dumbfounded now.
“Jesus!” I wheezed, feeling a touch light-headed.
“Enjoying?” Kara asked. We were cruising along at a respectable sixty-five miles-per-hour and the pull exerted by the engine was now stable; unbelievably powerful, but stable.
“I’m not sure.” I grunted out. The swelling of my cock seemed to be making the rest of my body feel weak, possibly due to the fact that the more it expanded, the more bl**d was pulled into its porous tissues.
“Just let me know.” Kara added, her eyes darting between the road ahead and my astoundingly expanded cock.
I was sunk deep in the seat, my bare feet pressed to the windshield, uncertain of exactly how I came to be in the position, only knowing that it occurred just after crossing into Tennessee and Kara had raced the engine to reach the posted seventy-five miles-per-hour limit. My cock now literally filled the acrylic tube and my thoughts were uncoordinated.
I had expected us to stop at some point to eat; Kara usually got hungry on the road, but her hunger was being sated in other ways, as we drove on non-stop toward the Great Smoky Mountains and she continually stole glimpses of my majestically enhanced manhood. The terrain grew uneven as we entered the Appalachians and each uphill climb seemed to increase the suction of the car on my dick geometrically.
Nearing Knoxville, traffic increased and Kara had to slow the car and keep her eyes on the road more. The decrease in speed gave a decrease in suction as well and I was able to focus at least a little more clearly. My dick mirrored the lowering of pressure, although not much, as it was still inflated to an immense size. I tried to reposition myself, rise up in the seat, but was unable to pull my legs back enough to get my feet from over the dashboard. In a last ditch effort, I dropped my seat back, but before I could shift my body, we reached the I-40 exit.
Kara floored the accelerator onto the empty ramp, the sudden increase in suction causing me to arch like a bow from my stretched out position. Had I not been wearing my safety belt, most likely what happened next would not have. Somehow, the seatbelt’s shoulder harness got snagged at the base of the acrylic tube and then locked itself, apparently its automatic locking mechanism being activated by my spasms.
As we raced up onto Interstate 40, I hung suspended, my feet on the windshield, my head on the seat’s back, my ass in the air and my artificially enlarged cock poking straight up in full view of the world, or at least anybody on I-40 who chanced to look. At least one trucker did that I know of, as he tooted his horn and gave Kara a thumbs up.
Trying to help free me, but unable to offer much assistance, Kara unlatched my seatbelt. This only succeeded in getting my acrylic-encased dick pulled right up to the window. I hoped there were no cars right beside of us.
“Let me get us off the interstate.” Kara suggested, looking for an exit. We had just passed exit 398, the Strawberry Plains exit and signs were already announcing construction on exit 402. That only left exit 407, the Winfield Dunn Parkway, more than eight miles away. “Shit!” Kara swore. “Hold on. I’ll get us off of here as fast as possible.”
Switching on her emergency flashers, Kara floored the accelerator, the little car gaining speed rapidly and with each mile-per-hour the car sped up, the pressure of the suction grew. The speedometer was pegged, the little car racing up the highway, my cock sucked so tightly to the inside of the acrylic cylinder that each beat of my heart felt like a hammer on my groin. When we finally left the interstate and Kara pulled the car off the road, I was trembling all over.
Kara reached to untangle me from the seatbelt and I collapsed back down onto the cushioned seat, panting and dizzy. Air was being pulled back into the hose from the intake opening and the pressure began to lessen. I tried to remove the tube, but it wouldn’t come off.
“Your dick’s too swollen.” She informed me. She reached and tried to separate the hose from the attachment, but it too was wedged.
“Now what?” I asked.
“I guess you just have to hold on until we get to the hotel.”
We arrived at the Twin Islands Best Western without incident. Back at the off-ramp, Kara had gotten my shirt from the backseat and a pair of my pleated pants from a suitcase in the trunk, so I could at least be dressed before we returned to the highway.
The only problem was that I had still been unable to remove our makeshift vacuum chamber and with the re-initiation of suction on my cock, I was well and truly stuck in the acrylic tube. I do have to make note of one thing: after having let the pressure abate for the ten or twelve minutes we spent on the roadside, the recommencing of it, even at the slower speeds, nearly matched the intensity of the more than one-hundred-twenty-miles-per-hour Kara had driven before.
Sitting in the parking lot in front of the office, I tried to think of a way to go in. To get the room key, you had to present identification and the credit card you had used to make the reservations. How could I go in there with a ten-foot hose and a f******n-inch vacuum chamber attached to my dick? At the very least, the hose had to go. Peeling the tape from around the joint, I pried at the juncture between tube and upholstery brush, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What about a screwdriver?” Kara suggested.
That sounded plausible. So, opening the glove compartment I retrieved a flat-edge screwdriver and used it for leverage at the joint. After some amount of struggle, in which I had to keep looking around to make sure nobody could see what I was doing, the attachment popped off and I was left looking at the head of my cock, as it filled the upper end of the tube.
“Wow.” Kara said.
“No k**ding.” Pushing my pants down past my knees, I f***ed the tube downward, allowing me to once more pull my pants up and zip them. The left leg of my trousers was stretched tight over my thigh and the tube, looking obscene.
“I’ll need my coat.” I said. Kara nodded and grabbed my overcoat from the backseat. Thankfully it was fairly voluminous and extended nearly to my ankles. I opened my car door and went to stand. It hurt. The tube pulled painfully at my cock, digging into my thigh. Walking was going to be extremely difficult. I whipped my coat on before anybody could get a good look at me and buttoned it down the front, effectively hiding my embarrassing condition.
Kara looked at me and nodded.
“That works.” She said.
She was right, it did. Except I discovered as I started toward the office that with the tugging and digging, I was f***ed to hobble like Chester from the old TV western Gunsmoke.

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