has “conceited” written all over it. This time, however, I don’t pay any attention to her voice saying the word in my mind, because I’m about to get the best distraction there is.
Holding blondie by the hand, I make my way to the door and to the deserted parking lot. We walk toward Greta and let her work her magic.
The moment I click the unlock button and Greta’s headlights blink, Blondie gasps. I take a peek at her and grin. I’ve never met one girl who could resist Greta’s charm, and this small-town specimen isn’t an exception. Her eyes are wide and glistening, and her smile splits her face in half.
She turns to me with an awed expression. “Is this really yours?”
“It sure is.” I give her a cocky smile, walk to the passenger door, and open it to her.
“And you didn’t steal it. I don’t want to go to jail as an accomplice.”
My head falls back, and I let out a laugh. “No, baby. Greta’s all mine.”
She smiles again, and hurries inside. Before I close the door, I see her wiggling her body on the seat and running her hands on the leather. I close the door and make my way to my side.
“I’ve never sat on anything this soft,” she tells me once I’m sitting on the driver’s seat, and the door is closed.
I turn on the radio and smile at her, my eyes drifting to her mostly bare legs. She gasps when I graze my fingers across her knee and begin a torturous ascent toward the hem of her short skirt.
“Do you want to talk about the leather, or do you want to have some fun?” I ask in a low tone, bringing my eyes to meet hers.
I’m three fingers away from reaching the denim when she mouths the word, “Fun.” In the next second she leans forward, and touches her lips to mine. They feel warm. I run my tongue across her plump bottom lip, tasting her strawberry lipstick. She opens her mouth to me willingly, deepening our kiss.
The kiss is alright. Nothing to knock my socks off, or make me want to place this girl in the give me your number so we can do this again category, but it’s kissing, and a much needed distraction. However, its power to take my mind off of The Jukebox lasts only about two minutes, so I relocate my hand under the girl’s shirt and bra.
She doesn’t seem to mind it at all. In fact, the way she arches her back in the direction of my hand and moans against my mouth lets me know she really likes what I’m doing. Five minutes after that, she reaches toward the front of my pants and starts massaging my crotch, which grants me a few more minutes of not thinking about anything except my dick and balls. There are other thoughts, too, like wondering what color her nipples are—maybe light pink, or kind of brownish . . . ah, fuck, yes, that’s it. Now open the zipper. Open the zipper. Please, open the damn zipper . . .
Now eager, my hand leaves her tits to trace the line of her thigh. She squirms in the seat as I play with the edges of her panties. My actions seem to put more fuel in her fire, because she stops rubbing me, and eagerly moves her hands to my belt. She unfastens it and gets my pants unzipped in record speed, and before I can even form my next thought, my dick is out of my pants and inside her mouth.
All the tension I’ve been feeling over the last two days starts working its way through my spermatic cord, which is like the preliminary to the best de-stressor in the world. I run my hand through her golden hair. Reaching the tips, I twist them around my hand, and use my grasp to guide her up and down. My head lulls back and my eyes close.
And that’s when it happens.
Lexie’s face appears uninvited in the black space between my eyes and my lids. In a split second, my mind conjures the fantasy that the golden hair wrapped around my hand and the lips clasped around my dick belong to her. That mental image is enough to tip me over the edge. I come, and when I do her name escapes my lips.
The moment I reopen my eyes and see the woman who isn’t Lexie
Holding blondie by the hand, I make my way to the door and to the deserted parking lot. We walk toward Greta and let her work her magic.
The moment I click the unlock button and Greta’s headlights blink, Blondie gasps. I take a peek at her and grin. I’ve never met one girl who could resist Greta’s charm, and this small-town specimen isn’t an exception. Her eyes are wide and glistening, and her smile splits her face in half.
She turns to me with an awed expression. “Is this really yours?”
“It sure is.” I give her a cocky smile, walk to the passenger door, and open it to her.
“And you didn’t steal it. I don’t want to go to jail as an accomplice.”
My head falls back, and I let out a laugh. “No, baby. Greta’s all mine.”
She smiles again, and hurries inside. Before I close the door, I see her wiggling her body on the seat and running her hands on the leather. I close the door and make my way to my side.
“I’ve never sat on anything this soft,” she tells me once I’m sitting on the driver’s seat, and the door is closed.
I turn on the radio and smile at her, my eyes drifting to her mostly bare legs. She gasps when I graze my fingers across her knee and begin a torturous ascent toward the hem of her short skirt.
“Do you want to talk about the leather, or do you want to have some fun?” I ask in a low tone, bringing my eyes to meet hers.
I’m three fingers away from reaching the denim when she mouths the word, “Fun.” In the next second she leans forward, and touches her lips to mine. They feel warm. I run my tongue across her plump bottom lip, tasting her strawberry lipstick. She opens her mouth to me willingly, deepening our kiss.
The kiss is alright. Nothing to knock my socks off, or make me want to place this girl in the give me your number so we can do this again category, but it’s kissing, and a much needed distraction. However, its power to take my mind off of The Jukebox lasts only about two minutes, so I relocate my hand under the girl’s shirt and bra.
She doesn’t seem to mind it at all. In fact, the way she arches her back in the direction of my hand and moans against my mouth lets me know she really likes what I’m doing. Five minutes after that, she reaches toward the front of my pants and starts massaging my crotch, which grants me a few more minutes of not thinking about anything except my dick and balls. There are other thoughts, too, like wondering what color her nipples are—maybe light pink, or kind of brownish . . . ah, fuck, yes, that’s it. Now open the zipper. Open the zipper. Please, open the damn zipper . . .
Now eager, my hand leaves her tits to trace the line of her thigh. She squirms in the seat as I play with the edges of her panties. My actions seem to put more fuel in her fire, because she stops rubbing me, and eagerly moves her hands to my belt. She unfastens it and gets my pants unzipped in record speed, and before I can even form my next thought, my dick is out of my pants and inside her mouth.
All the tension I’ve been feeling over the last two days starts working its way through my spermatic cord, which is like the preliminary to the best de-stressor in the world. I run my hand through her golden hair. Reaching the tips, I twist them around my hand, and use my grasp to guide her up and down. My head lulls back and my eyes close.
And that’s when it happens.
Lexie’s face appears uninvited in the black space between my eyes and my lids. In a split second, my mind conjures the fantasy that the golden hair wrapped around my hand and the lips clasped around my dick belong to her. That mental image is enough to tip me over the edge. I come, and when I do her name escapes my lips.
The moment I reopen my eyes and see the woman who isn’t Lexie
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