Car Trouble
He is bent over my smoking engine, and I admire the curves of his ass in the worn blue jeans. He rises and turns, and I can see the sweat dripping from his brow.
“She’s gonna need some work,” he pronounces, “We’ll have to wait for a truck.”
"Car Trouble" (photo by Flickr user i_want_some15)
He puts down his wrench and removes his white t-shirt, revealing tight abs, strong pecs, and a sexy trail of hair that leads my eyes to his bulging package. As he mops his forehead, I stare openly. He catches me, and just grins.
“I know something else that needs a little work,” I say, gesturing for him to come closer. He does. A Mack truck roars pas as I unbuckle his belt, slide my hand down into his boxers and grasp his thick boner. I rub it slowly, teasing him and licking my lips seductively.
He responds by sliding his hands beneath my own white shirt and cupping my bare breasts. His thumbs encircle my nipples, grazing them now and again, teasing.
“Want to check my oil?” I ask.
He just grins and kisses me hard, pinching my nipples like clamps on a spark plug. His tongue is an electric eel in my mouth, shocking and sliding across my tongue. I grip his fat cock as it expands, feeling it jump in my hands, pulse against my thumb. I want it inside me, whatever the cost. I slip it out through the fabric of his pants and admire it as it juts upwards toward the hot summer sun.
His hands slide low to my belly, slip beneath the waistband of my skirt, checking for panties that I have cast aside. He withdraws his hands, slides them up the insides of my thighs—thumb-first—in search of glistening-wet lips.
Jackpot. I moan softly as his thumbs slip shallow into my cunt, and are gone. He flicks a middle finger in and out, taunting, and I steer his dick towards my gaping pussy.
He lifts me up onto the trunk of my car and spreads my thighs. His cock points straight at my cunt and plunges in like a sword, a spear, a hot knife melting butter. He grips my hips and pumps like the rude mechanical that he is, the sexy grin splitting into his O-face, his lips bitten by teeth that strain as he fucks me slowly, deeply.
I finger my own tits as they nearly burst with longing. The nipples jut out like rock against my shirt’s thin fabric. I groan with desire, wrap my legs ’round his torso to pull him in deeper. His cock is enormous, fills me completely, nearly bruises my vagina with its size. And he sucks at my neck like a vampire drawing blood as we strain toward orgasm.
Just as I’m about to peak he withdraws, flips me around, bends me over the car and reams me from behind. My cunt gives into his assault and I cum hard.
“I love having car trouble!” I scream against the hood of the car as he blows his load inside me.
XXX
Based in New York City, Parah Salin is unreachable to the sorry likes of you. She has been forcibly removed from photo shoots at Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone and Vogue for licking the models. Internally. Food porn was her first love, but after deciding Martha Stewart was a fascist cunt, she turned to sex writing to satisfy her deepest, itchiest, burning desires. She sincerely believes that Sarah Palin is misusing her own name for personal gain. Enjoy her screeds while you still can.
