“Spread your legs,” my whispered command is barely audible as it rides passion-warmed breath to her ear.
My hand on her thigh, I feel excited tension grip her body. With nervous hesitance, her legs part slightly. Her eyes question but her body responds nicely. I firmly massage the inner part of her thigh, just above the knee. My grip increases slightly, conveying subtle disregard for her anxiety.
“Wider,” my voice is slightly louder and her misty blue eyes dart around the restaurant for fear I might have been heard.
Her thighs tremble slightly, but part nicely at my command. Slowly my fingers begin to gather the light material of her mint sundress until I feel the warm, toned flesh beneath. Her breath quickens and becomes slightly shallow at the feel of my rough palm on her bare skin. She squirms a bit in her seat while scanning the other patrons for any sign of recognition.
“Thank you,” I smile sweetly, completely relaxed on the exterior while desire rages within me.
“The waiter’s coming back with our drinks,” she whispers softly, while smiling back as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on.
“Then you’d better act naturally, or he might catch on,” I shoot her a wicked grin.
“Here we are,” the waiter smiles his best used car salesman smile, “a mojito for the lady and a bloody-Mary for you, sir.”
The waiter sets the drinks before us, his presence causing her legs to reflexively clamp together under the table. I sit calmly, my fingers pinned firmly between her thighs. Supple flesh radiates warmth through the light fabric of her dress. She squirms uncomfortably while smiling a thank you his way.
“Are you guys ready to order, or do you need a few minutes to decide?”
I turn to her and smile warmly, questioning with my eyes. Squeezing her knee just hard enough to be uncomfortable, my expression defers the question to her.
“Um, give us a few minutes? I’d like to enjoy my drink first. Then we can order,” her response is passable for normal but slightly strained.
“Very well, Miss, no hurry at all,” he smiles the car salesman smile again and wanders off to check his other tables.
I lean in close, pressing my weight against her, my lips inches from her ear, excited breath hot on her neck, “If you close your legs again before I ask you, I’ll make sure you regret the decision.”
Her legs immediately return to their original position. I slide my hand to the midway point of her thigh, bringing the hem of her dress with it. My fingertips slowly trace the line where goose-bumped flesh meets the cool, faux leather of our booth cushion.
“Wider,” I whisper softly, my fingers gently teasing her skin.
Her gaze turns hot and her eyes widen slightly with inquisitive disbelief. I tweak the sensitive skin of her soft inner thigh with a hard pinch. A slight, squeaky gasp escapes her lips accompanied by a reflexive flinch.
“Spread your legs wider, Sugar,” my voice, no longer a whisper, has enough volume to be heard at the next table, but not enough to draw attention.
A horrified expression paints her face as she shifts her weight to peel bare skin from vinyl. Her legs obediently widen as my hand creeps further along her smooth, freshly waxed thigh. A thin film of perspiration coats the plump, firm flesh.
“Wider. I won’t tell you again,” my voice is low again, but authoritative.
Without hesitation, her thighs part to the point of trembling with the strain. Apprehensive respirations quicken again. Her expression is one of confusion and curiosity. She scans the room constantly for fear of being caught. My hand finds its way to the tender flesh just before the crease where the thigh meets the soft bikini area. Warm, humid air trapped between her thighs, the booth cushion, and her sundress engulfs my exploratory hand.
I smile warmly and gaze into her frantically searching eyes, “Do you want me to stop? If you want, we can pay the tab now and go. If you wanna continue say, ‘Don’t stop’. If you wanna go home, just tell me to stop.”
Her eyes pause. Their distraught treasure hunt for inquisitive voyeurs takes a short break to meet my gaze. Indecision paints her face. Her wide eyes are windows to a mental and emotional tug-of-war in which rational thought dances around a quickly growing fire built by curiosity and fueled by desire.
Lips part to speak. Nothing. Her jaw quivers at the realization that the decision hasn’t yet been made. Breath catches in her throat when she tries a second time to form a reply. Her eyes search mine for the answers to questions she is afraid to ask. For the questions she doesn’t even know to ask.
“Five seconds,” I smile sweetly while slowly, gently tracing little circles on her thigh, inching imperceptibly closer to the hem of her panties with every miniature lap.
Her brow creases and her eyes beg for explanation.
I feel her body tense with indecision. Rational thought? Emotion? Which will triumph?
Her lips part once more and a wisp of air escapes before the rest of whatever thought was behind it is abruptly cut off. Frustration and aggravation sneak into the dance, joining hands with logic and reason to fend off irrational, emotional desire and curiosity. For a moment, I fear they will win the battle and the evening will be cut short.
“Don’t stop,” her breathy plea jumps forth.
From her expression I gather that she had no idea which response was going to escape her lips until it actually came out. She must have forgotten to listen, because her body tenses and her eyes search mine as though she isn’t sure whether I’m going to continue or not.
A wide, wicked grin cuts my face, “Good girl. Remember what I said about closing your legs. That’s very important.”
“Okay. I won’t. Close them, I mean,” her eyes return to their hunt for knowing souls.
The waiter appears with pen and pad ready, “Do we have a verdict yet guys?”
I begin to intentionally tickle the sensitive flesh along her panty line. Her thighs tense and I can feel her desperately resisting the urge to clap her legs together like a steel trap with a heavy spring. Her legs quake under the table as she squirms ever so slightly under my excruciating touch.
“Yes,” I smile back to the waiter, “my friend will have the fajita salad with salsa on the side and another mojito.”
“Great, and for you, Sir?”
“Oh,” I turn my gaze to her, punctuating the cheesy pun with a sly grin, “I’m gonna have the fish taco.”
“Great choice, Sir,” he replies while taking our menus, “we have the best in town.”
“I hope so,” I shoot her a wink as I turn back to the waiter, “but we’ll see. I’m kinda picky about my tacos.”
He ignores the comment and busily goes about his duties. I immediately stop tickling her thigh and begin to massage the tingling tickle back to warm, growing pleasure.
“That was crazy,” she whispers forcefully and cuts a glare of disbelief my way, “you could’ve made me start giggling and got us busted.”
“Are you wet?” I ask, ignoring her concern for being caught.
“What? I, um, I don’t know. Probably?” She regards me with astonished confusion.
“Are you turned on?”
“Yes. A little. Mostly scared.”
I hook my thumb under one side of her panties and forefinger beneath the other and tug gently upward and outward to form a narrow bunch of material that slips nicely into her crease, putting firm pressure on her clit. I’m very careful not to allow my hand or fingers to touch her. Only the soft, smooth fabric of her lacy underwear contacts her bare skin.
“What about now?” I smile casually, as if we’re having normal dinner conversation.
Slowly I alternate tugging and releasing pressure. Working her panties deep into her puffy folds, creating warm, tingling friction on her increasingly sensitive clit. Her eyes narrow and a faint gasp forces its way from tense lips. Her breathing becomes a little heavier and she absently grasps the edge of the table as if she might slide off the edge of the world.
“Are you turned on now?” For having to repeat myself, my volume increases to just under dangerous levels.
“Yes,” she hisses back.
“Yes, what?” I grin mischievously.
“Yes, I’m fucking turned on,” she snaps in hushed exasperation.
“Good. Are you wet?” Tug, release. Tug, release. Tug, hold pressure and move side to side, release.
“Yes,” her body tenses and her grip tightens on the table edge when the word, ‘wet’ finds her ears.
“Yes what?” My volume goes up and I pull hard on her panties, causing the fabric to bite soft, tender flesh and pinch her sensitive little clit.
“Yes, I’m wet,” she gasps quietly while beginning to rock her hips forward and back.
“What’s wet?” I ask softly.
“I, um, I am?” Her reply is phony inquisition. She knows damned well what her response should be.
I pull her panties tight again, this time twisting my fist in the material to ratchet it into her tender slit and make certain there is a burning pinch in her clit. A rush of sharply inhaled air hisses through pursed lips and across clenched teeth. Her hips rock backward in response to the lacy assault on her succulent flesh but my hand simply rocks with her and maintains the attack.
“My pussy. My fucking pussy is wet!” she spits it out harshly, hoping for relief.
“Say it sexier, Sugar. Make me believe it,” I release some of the tension, but maintain forceful pressure.
“Mmm. My little pussy is wet,” she elongates each syllable with seductive need in her voice.
“Good girl,” I release most of the tension and allow her some relief.
“I want you to rock your hips and grind against your panties, can you do that?” I hold gentle pressure on fabric that is now damp all the way to where my fingers are grasping them.
“Okay. Yes, I can do that,” she begins to rock very slightly forward and back.
“You can do better than that, Sweetie,” I purr into her ear, “Fuck your panties for me. Fuck like you mean it, Doll.”
A shudder rolls through her body. She begins to grind more forcefully into the sopping wet crotch of her panties. The seat beneath me transfers the vibrations of the need trembling in her thighs. Wispy, whimpering pants accompany each thrust of her hips as she loses track of the rest of the world. She slips reluctantly into the foggy realm of physical pleasure.
I can see euphoric intoxication cloud her eyes and weigh their lids to narrow slits. The corners of her passion engorged lips turn downward slightly. The lower one quivers so uncontrollably she has to bite down to get it under control. Her breathing comes as quick, raspy gulps of air which are immediately forced back out. Abdominal muscles spasm with anticipation of impending orgasm. Inadequate penetration of air into her lungs causes a mellow, light-headed high.
Her body begins to shiver as she rhythmically fucks herself under the table. Her system flooded with endorphin overload. A soft, barely audible whimper escapes her lips. Her hand slips from the edge of the table and plants itself in the cushion below to help brace against the orgasm blossoming in her belly.
I brush her hair back and put my lips to her ear, “Don’t cum, Baby.”
Her hips slow. After a few involuntary thrusts of her pelvis, she stills. Except for absently grinding herself gently against the seat, she sits in silent recovery. Her eyes plead with mine. Need fills her. Release is so close. She swallows hard to keep up with flooding salivary glands.
“Don’t stop, Sugar,” I coax, “Just don’t cum. Keep fucking yourself.”
“I…I can’t,” her hips resume the motion of stroking a long, thick, imaginary cock, “If I keep going I’m gonna, I’m gonna get there.”
I twist sopping panties into a knot once again, pulling hard. Really hard. I keep forceful pressure against her puffy, aching cunt while tugging and releasing over and over. Punish-fucking her with her panties.
“Do not stop,” My tone is harsh, sinister, “Do. Not. Fucking. Cum. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, yes, I understand,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
Soon her body is wracked with trembling, shaking need for release. Her teeth are clenched tight and her lips locked, holding her breath in a desperate struggle against the orgasm twitching in her aching cunt and sending shivering electricity up and down her spine, branching to every nerve ending in her body.
Tears well in misty-blue eyes. She chews her lower lip. Partially to keep it from quivering. Mostly to keep from crying out in twisting, writhing, miserable pleasure. A whimpering gasp escapes with enough volume to be noticed. No one seems to be paying attention, though. No matter. She wouldn’t notice anyone else right now if I invited the whole room to come get a ringside seat to her orgasm.
A shudder runs through her like snow melt running down her spine and I know she is in danger of losing control. Her eyes open wide and meet mine with pleading need. Forceful pants of exasperated lust puff her cheeks before escaping in little explosive sobs of aching desperation.
“Do not cum,” I demand through clenched teeth, “Don’t you dare. You miserable little Slut, don’t you fucking dare.”
Just as ‘Slut’ leaves my lips, her sobs become more explosive. She slows her hips out of sheer physical exhaustion so I resume tug-fucking her with her panties. Resume control of the speed, pressure, and tempo of the deliciously miserable friction on her twitching little slit. A tear rolls down the passion-flushed cheek closest to me. Her gasping sobs threaten to turn to real, tear-soaked sobs of desperate, unfulfilled need.
“Please. Please let me,” she huffs in a gulp of air between each word, then lets the next spasm in her abdomen force the whispered plea from her pouting lips, “Please. Either let me, or stop.”
I pull my hand from between her legs and fold it in my lap. I regard her panting; perspiration glazed upper lip as it twitches with thoughts not quite ready to be spoken. Her eyes search me again with questioning anxiety. She looks around the room to make sure no one is paying our table too much attention. Satisfied that the world is indifferent, she slips a hand under the table cloth to pull the crotch of her sopping wet panties out of her badly throbbing slit and adjust her sundress.
“Why’d you stop?” She asks as if I simply lost interest.
“You asked me to,” it’s my turn to shoot a puzzled look her way.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually just stop! Just leave me hanging…”
“What did you think I would do?” I smile curiously and maintain eye contact.
“I thought you’d let me, you know, get off. Or take me somewhere and fuck me. Something. Not just quit.”
“Do you want to continue?” My tone is serious again.
“Well, yeah. I want to, you know…orgasm,” she cuts her eyes around to make sure no one is listening.
“You’re sure?” I pierce into her with my eyes, searching for hesitance.
“Yes. Yes, I want to continue.”
“Take your panties off,” I casually shrug as if I’m telling her to pass the salt, “and put them in your purse.”
“Okay,” she slips her arm through the strap of her purse and turns toward me.
We sit for a long moment, eyes trapping one another’s gaze. I can smell her musk wafting from beneath her. When the moment threatens to turn into two, her eyes widen. An exaggerated, ‘what the hell?’ expression paints her face.
“You’re gonna have to let me out so I can get to the ladies room. Duh,” her eyes roll and sarcasm drips from her lips.
“Take them off here,” my tone is mellow and even, but still authoritative.
“I really need to pee, too. So just let me out and I’ll take them off in there,” she turns in her seat, preparing for me to move so she can get out of the booth.
“I don’t give a fuck what you need. Take your panties off and put them in your purse. Here,” I tap my finger on the table for effect, “Do it now.”
She slinks her shoulder out of her purse strap and silently regards me with complete disbelief. Her head swivels around the room and misty blue eyes scan for wanton pervs. Finding nothing of the kind, she raises slightly, her ass hovering over the cushion, and gathers the material of her sundress until the hem is well above mid-thigh.
My eyes wander along supple, cream-colored thighs and follow the enticing spectacle of bare flesh all the way to the beginning curve of her ass before running out of skin to ogle. My cock stiffens fully when I see mint green panties, trimmed in hot pink, slide seductively down her thighs. I catch a flash glimpse of a sopping wet, rolled up crotch as the garment disappears under the table, just past her knees.
She lifts first one leg, then the other, carefully stepping out of the mint panties in a way that prevents me from seeing far enough up her dress for my taste. She wads the dripping underwear into a ball and discreetly shoves them in her purse.
“Show them to me,” I indifferently command.
“What?” Her expression is one of shock.
“Show me your fucking panties,” again my volume threatens the lines of safety.
She reaches in her purse and retrieves the soppy ball. Keeping her hand below the table, she extends the wadded undies toward me and holds them in her flattened palm, still beneath table level.
“Looks like a fucking dishrag. Spread them out and hold them up for me.”
With an excited, exasperated, exhilarated, frustrated, confused sigh, she timidly fans out the lacy panties and holds them for my inspection.
“Thank you. Now
put them in your purse.”
She quickly snatches the panties from open view and crams them back in her bag. All the while, scanning for anyone who might be sending too much attention our way.
I point to the wall next to her, “Now, lean back right there, pull up your skirt and show me your pussy.”
Her eyes go wide and her pupils dilate in response to released endorphins. Her jaw falls slightly open but no sound escapes. Indecision panics her and she begins to squirm under my scrutinizing stare.
“Here?” She finally manages.
“Right here. Right now. Do it.”
She scans the now memorized faces of the customers who share our dining room. Slowly she leans back against the wall and brings her legs up to the bench. Her hands tremble with fear and exhilaration as she gathers her dress above her thighs while checking one last time for lurking peepers. Finally, she pulls the dress up quickly, with a short pause, then back down just as quickly.
I chuckle at her.
“What?” She is sitting upright now.
“I said show me your pussy, Doll, not flash the tops of your thighs at me. I want you to lean back, spread your legs wide like earlier, pull your skirt up, and spread your little cunt open. Show it to me. Show it off.”
She huffs a long sigh, but leans back as instructed. Legs spread wide beneath her mint sundress; she slowly begins to gather the fabric around her waist. I watch the lower hem of her skirt slide so slowly over her knee, then up her thigh, before finally revealing her closely trimmed little snatch.
Fine, blonde pubic hair, trimmed nicely in a small landing strip above puffy, desire fattened lips. Her slit is swollen closed from unfulfilled manipulation. The sweet musk of her rises from between her legs, teasing my nostrils with her damp, musty scent. I want to touch her pussy. More than anything I want to finger her little cunt.
“Spread it for me. Spread yourself open,” I’m becoming intoxicated by her sweet slit and the chemical rush my brain has released into my bloodstream.
Her fingers slide up and down her slit to separate puffy, pink lips before peeling them the rest of the way apart to reveal her fiery, dew-soaked lotus blossom. Unable to resist, she uses one slender finger to slowly stroke her rigid little clit while tracing the outer lips with fingers from both hands. Her silvery nectar soon coats her fingertips causing gloss-red polish to glisten under the lights.
Her eyes close with renewed desire and the other patrons seem forgotten. She rocks her hips gently to meet her probing fingers at every delicious stroke. Clenching her moist, outer lips between her fingers, she pulls herself wide open, still fussing with her bothered and swollen clit.
My resolve fades and I have to touch her. Have to feel her slippery folds engulf my fingers and coat them with sticky dew. I slide my hand up her thigh slowly. Savoring every precious inch of this sweet violation. Her entire body shudders from my touch and I know she’s ready.
Pressing two fingers gently against her waiting entrance, I tantalizingly push against her until just before the pressure opens her, and then slowly back off. Repeating in slow, rhythmic cycles while she tends her knotted, needy clit. My fingers tickle her inner lips, taunting her to open for me. I tease her to just beyond the fuzzy grey edge of sanity.
“Do you want me to finger you, Baby?” I coo softly as she grinds against my fingers, attempting to take them inside her.
“Yes,” she whispers, unashamed desperation pouring from her.
“Yes what, Doll?”
“Yes, finger me. Fuck me with your fingers. I’ll say whatever you want just put your fingers in me and let me finish,” she is whining like a spoiled teenager.
“Cum quickly, Slut,” I hiss, “If the waiter gets here with our food before you get off, I’m going to let him watch.”
I feel more heavenly drizzle fill her aching cunt and spill down her slit as my fingers plunge just inside her and massage the front wall of her tightly clenching pussy. My palm collects a puddle of girl juice while my index and middle finger slowly work her G-spot. With a “come here” fingering motion, I rhythmically increase and decrease the pressure just inside her cunt, right behind her clit.
“Tell me you’re a slut and you want me to finger your little cunt,” passion and desire have fully taken over my mind.
My mouth waters as infinite ways to explore her spin wild and disorganized through my mind. I could cum easily, without manual stimulation, simply by concentrating on any one of the delightfully wicked scenarios for too long. The lens shutter on my mind’s eye is in hyper drive trying to record every frame of this beautiful woman’s sweet, little pussy offered at my fingertips.
Her eyes closed tight, and her pussy clenching my fingers with every stroke of her hips, I know she will launch into bliss soon. With my free hand I wave the waiters attention and he comes scuttling our way.
The first mini-waves of orgasm caress her gently and warmly trickle through her belly and down her thighs, curling her toes inside stylish, Corral cowgirl boots. Her ass cheeks clench and release in time with her internal muscles as the second and third waves rock her a little harder.
“What can I do for you, S…” the waiter drops the thought when he sees two of my fingers buried to the first knuckle and my entire hand glistening from yummy-sweet syrup.
She tenses at his voice and opens her eyes to see the waiter, jaw agape, watching her climax.
Her blue eyes roll white before closing tightly to brace for the impending explosion. She throws her head back with a pitiful whimper. Tossing her hair side to side, she’s lost in herself and simply following the ebb and flow of sweet, electric sensation wherever it takes her. She grinds harder against my fingers as I slip deeper into her folds and tickle her knotty cervix. A raspy moan escapes tense lips as I dig harder into her mushy cunt, squishing happily and feeling her juices splash on my wrist with every stroke.
“Cum for him, Doll,” I softly coax, “this is the best part of his tip.”
The waiter is speechlessly watching her body shudder and quake through spasm after spasm of soul-wrenching, agonizing pleasure. Her eyes plead for mercy and an end to the overwhelming flood of sensation but her body refuses to let go. He watches her thighs shake and her lips quiver with delicious release. But, mostly he is fixated on her sweet, little pink pussy. Her tight folds hungrily devour my fingers and pour slippery lube down supple thighs and onto the cheap, imitation leather. Her own fingers feverishly strumming her needy clit. Her tiny backdoor clenching and releasing in time with each white-hot flash of ecstasy. He soaks it in. Car salesman smile traded in on a clunker of a ‘holy shit’ expression.
Muffled sobs and raspy, gasping moans approach dangerous volume before the waves begin to subside and leave a vibrating, fluttering hum resonating in her womb and expanding throughout every nerve ending.
I slow my fingers back to a gentle massage, softly toying with her spent cunt and entertaining myself by over-stimulating hyper-sensitive girl flesh. Her breathing is evening out, not back to normal but gasping sobs are subsiding. Her body is pleasure-pliant, her limbs listless, and her mind floating somewhere in another reality.
My evil not yet exorcised, a delightful torture slithers into my mind. I motion the waiter closer while pushing her orgasm-numbed thighs back, knees up by her ears. Still fingering her sopping cunt with one hand, I mold her arms around her knees with the other.
“Do not let go,” I warn her sternly.
Then, to the waiter, “I want you to use both hands and tickle the backs of her thighs. Like this,” she gasps at my touch, “All of your fingers barely grazing the most tender, sensitive parts of her. Just barely touching her. All the way from the backs of her knees, here, to this crease where her inner thigh meets her pussy. Right here.”
He only hesitates for a second before male-math tells him that tickle-fucking a hot blonde is worth losing seven or eight bullshit food-service jobs. There’s always another fucking Applebee’s opening somewhere.
She jumps and twitches against his trembling fingertips as he slowly enjoys her soft, smooth flesh. Her breathing jerks and spasms and I see tears pool in the corners of tightly shut eyes. He works the innermost portion of her thighs, near the curve of her ass the longest and most thorough. Can’t say I blame him, it’s the area of his responsibility closest to that sweet, inviting little pussy.
“Okay,” she pants, “it’s too much, I can’t ooohh, fhhuck…” phase two of my evil plot cuts her breathy plea short.
Her eyes roll back and her body is wracked again with vice-like, bone-wrenching seizures of overwhelming sensation. While the waiter continues to tickle her quivering thighs, I massage her G-spot with two fingers, just like before. With my free hand, I slide two fingers through her soggy slit to coat them with slut-honey before plunging them, without warning, into her tight little starfish.
Her legs bounce from her grasp and she goes completely rigid with orgasm. No sound leaves her body because everything is frozen in fully flexed, suspended animation. Tears bead to life and spill onto flushed cheeks before rolling down her supple neck to unseen oblivion. Her thighs quake uncontrollably and she finally manages an abbreviated breath and a desperate, one word, sobbing appeal, “Please.”
“Please what, Doll?” I smile sadistically into her teary, blurred line of vision, “what do you want, Hun?”
I begin to pump her ass more forcefully. Greedily watching as painfully intense, wonderfully liquid, orgasmic misery ravages her to the point of breakdown.
“Please. Please, stop,” she finally pants, “it’s too much.”
I pull my sticky-sweet fingers from her battered little snatch and well-ravaged asshole. I motion the waiter to back off and give us space when I notice a small crowd of mostly restaurant employees has gathered. They stand in silent, awestruck disbelief. How long they’ve been watching, I have no clue. Guess I was a little caught up.
A rather unhappy little manager rounds the corner just in time to see what two patrons and one of her employees were finishing up a few seconds ago.
Brad (turns out our waiters name was Brad) was fired on the spot. Doubt there will be any severance package. He didn’t really seem distraught. Probably lucky no charges were filed. Also turns out that publicly fingering the shit out of someone… even a willing participant, is a felony. Oops.
We were unceremoniously escorted from the restaurant. Wait. That sounds too much like ‘asked to leave.’ Make no mistake. We got tho’ed the fuck out. And cordially invited to never set foot on the property again, unless we wanted to go to jail. Fun night.
Walking through the silence of deserted downtown; we giggle and laugh about the whole episode. Something to tell the grandkids about someday, I guess.
“Well, that was fun,” her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, “kinda took all the anticipation out of wondering whether there will be a goodnight kiss, though.”
“Yeah. Well, just so ya know,” I shoot her a sly wink, “I don’t kiss on the first date.”
“Pshhh…Yeah, okay cowboy,” she scoffs happily, “You just went places my gyno and two ex-husbands have never been. In a crowded restaurant, no less! But kissing is taboo, huh?”
“Yup,” I smile because she has no idea I’m dead serious, “Just creeps me out to let someone get that close until I get to know ‘em.”
She dribbles a giddy, unbelievably sweet chuckle my way, “Take me home, I wanna test that theory.”
I hate blind dates. Always forget their fucking names and wait until it is super awkward to work it into the conversation. I know I just had my hand jammed up your crotch for a half hour, but what was your name again?
Tough to segue into that. Oh well. I can skate by, calling her ‘Babe’ and ‘Doll’ at least long enough to fuck her. Surely I can pull that off.
I turn the key and my truck growls to life, “Okay, which way to get you home, Doll?”
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