Let Me Entertain You

It was one of those steamy Mississippi days, when the temperature soared along with the humidity and Davenport, Iowa, baked hot and damp. It was so fuckin' miserable that I even went into the mall to get out of the dampness. Thank goodness!

I parked my old Dodge Challenger – yep, like the Vanishing Point model but lovingly restored – and walked as fast as I could into the air-conditioned relief that even fuckin' useless malls provide. It was a Saturday, I was wearing a brand-new white T-shirt that was sticking to me, jeans and Sperry Top Siders. Even though I'm 40, I've got a body that's still cut and as toned as it was when I was in the Marine Corps.

My dark hair is shaved back and I've got an uncanny resemblance to Bruce Willis – so much so that the assholes who work for my 15-truck towing company call me "Bruce" behind my back. Bruce fuckin' Willis, I ask you. I could take him with one hand tied behind my proverbial back. Take the bodyguards away from those Hollywood pantywaists and they're all pussies.

Anyways, I was strolling down one huge aisle, not really looking for anything, just glad to be out of the heat until I could line up in my favorite spot for a couple of ales, when I spotted this fuckin' vision.

She was blonde, long blonde hair, like a fuckin' wheat field, dressed in light blue jeans that coulda been sprayed on her lush buttocks, little black high heels that took her height up to about 5 foot 9 inches, and a tight red T-shirt that displayed the outlines of fantastic 34-inch boobs – turns out they were 34Ds!

I had to get alongside or up ahead of this doll to check out her face – dunno about you, but I'm a face man. You can be built like Charlize Theron, but if you look like Roseanne fuckin' Barr you can just keep on walkin', as far as I'm concerned. So I get ahead of her and step to a window – a fuckin' lingerie shop, as luck would have it – and looked back at the face on the vision.

I damn near choked on my gum! The blonde prancing along the mall and approaching a coffee shop set off in a corner of a large recess was a spitting image of Sandee Westgate! Now I don't know 'bout you, but Sandee or Sandra or whatever she calls herself, is one of the horniest looking babes ever!

She does some explicit pictures for some website, or so I'm told, but the only pictures I've ever downloaded from the net of her are from a lingerie site. She's got the greatest body you've ever seen on a lingerie model. As in 34D-23-34 great. And you know what numbers like that add up to! Well, in my case, a lot of pud stroking since my fuckin' wife left me for some slimy-assed accountant from Des Moines.

After the Sandee Westgate look-alike had gone into the coffee shop, I followed her and heard her order a Mocha coffee and a chocolate frosted donut. I ordered a Mocha, too. Hell, I didn't know what the fuck it was, OK?

She got her drink and the donut and sat down at a window table. The place was pretty crowded, so when I got my Mocha, I moved over and put my mug down opposite hers and sat down, bold as fuckin' brass. Hey, I'm in the tow truck business, we're not exactly slow in coming forward, if you get my drift.

Before she could say "Fuck off", I moved right on in.

"Betcha you get a load of people come up and say 'You ever been told you look just like Sandee Westgate?" I said, in my deepest dark brown drawl.

This brown-eyed doll looked calmly at me, didn't say "Fuck off" but actually smiled!

"It's been said before," she said, in a soft, Californian accent, if there is such a thing. All I know is it didn't sound anything like what folks speak around Davenport, Iowa!

I grinned, not really knowing where to go from there, so I told her my name. "Hi," I said, "my name's Al, and I run a local tow truck firm."

"Al?" she smiled, her brown eyes twinkling. "Betcha a lot of people come up to you and say 'You ever been told you look like Bruce Willis?' Eh, Al?"

And I may only be a lowly tow truck man, but I know when I'm having the piss taken out of me! I laughed it off: "Sure, and my employees call me Bruce behind my back. But they sure as hell don't dare call me it front of my face!"

She smiled again. "A tow truck man, eh, Al? Well, I guess one of your boys could well have towed me to the repair shop when I broke down on the interstate a couple of hours ago. My darn car is being fixed now, that's why I'm in this fucking dump."

"What's the make of car and where'd it get towed to?" I asked, pulling my mobile from my jeans pocket.

"It's an Aston Martin Vantage and it died on me," said the blonde vision. "Where they took it I'm not sure. The slip of paper's in my drawer back at the motel."

I punched in my code for work and got Ringo, the lazy cunt. "Ringo? We tow an Aston Martin Vantage today, 'bout two hours back?"

Ringo spoke and I cut the connection. "Sure, we towed you, Ms Westgate," I said, now absolutely certain it was her – the Aston Martin tipped me the wink. "I'll call the place we took it to, get the story."

Then Ms Westgate placed a cool hand on mine – it was the loveliest hand I've ever had laid on me – and grinned: "Al, I'm so sorry I was sarcastic. I really think you look nice and I'm just so pissed at being stuck here. Apology accepted?"

I grinned what I hoped was my sincere but tough smile. "Apology accepted – now let's see what the news is with your little ole Aston."

Sandee smiled me a "Thank-you" and took a sip of her Mocha and a bite from her donut, wiping her upper lip clean of the frosting with her tongue. I damn nearly came on the spot! Then I took a sip of my Mocha – how the fuck can people drink that stuff?

I chatted with the repair shop foreman – I know most everyone of them in eastern Iowa, I guess – then told her the bad news.

"It's something to do with the thing's computer, Ms Westgate," I told her. "They're getting in a new chip or whatever from Chicago. It'll be coming in on the afternoon's Greyhound and the car should be ready by five, six o'clock."

A frown passed over her lovely face. "A bus? A fucking bus? Haven't you guys heard of planes out here in Iowa?" she asked me.

I grinned. "Bus'll probably be the quickest, Ms Westgate," I assured her. "Time they get it from wherever in Chicago to O-Hare, then wait for a plane to the Quad Cities, then get it picked up from Moline, then it'd probably be here on the Greyhound."

"OK Al, you smooth talker," she replied, "entertain me."

I stared at her. "You mean it?" I gulped.

"Al," she said, as if trying to control her patience, "I'm stranded in a dull little town. You look like a nice guy. You're obviously single or you wouldn't risk being seen talking to me in such a small town for fear of what an acquaintance might tell your wife. Well, what's it to be?"

"Let me," I said, in what I hoped was a semi-humorous tone, "entertain you!"

Out in the car park she climbed into my Challenger and sniffed. "A bit old, isn't it?"

"Look, Sandee," I said, seeing as how I reckon we'd broken the ice by now, "this here car's older than you – I read somewhere you're 26. This little ole Challenger's 30 years old if it's a day, but at least it's still ticking over, which is more than can be said for your Aston fuckin' Martin!"

Sandee laughed, the first time I'd heard her laugh. It was the sexiest laugh I've ever heard.

"Hey, Al, don't get so sniffy about your lovely old car. You're older than me too and I hope you're still ticking over." And she gave me a playful nudge in the ribs.

I took that as being like a nod to a blind horse and drove straight to my place looking down the gently sloping wooded tracts out of Davenport with its sweeping views down to the mighty – and muddy - Mississippi.

Sandee was, I could see, more impressed by the home than she had been by the car. "Nice place," she said, "mock antebellum."

"Whatever," I said, although secretly pleased she like the twin-storeyed place with its gleaming white paint, its large windows, its big rooms and its big fuckin' bedroom. Hauling wrecks and breakdowns from the interstate pays well, believe me.

I cracked a bottle of bubbly – Dom Perignon, which was all my stuck up, snooty-nosed bitch of a wife would ever condescend to drink – and passed a glass to Sandee.

We both clinked glasses and I poured out my heart to her: "I've downloaded pictures of you in lingerie and bikinis. There's one I particularly like, it's a sort of string bikini, the strings at the breasts just cover your nipples but you can see the sides of the areolas."

She corrected me: "Areolae. There's two of them."

I nodded. "And the string around your pussy is so fuckin' narrow you can see the piss flaps peepin' out the sides of the darn thing."

Sandee grimaced: "Al, Al, Al. Piss flaps? Never, ever, use those words again. Labia, sure. Sex lips, maybe. Piss flaps – never."

I apologised: "Whatever, you're the loveliest looking lingerie model I've ever seen on the net. I think you're the greatest."

She smiled at me and then made my heart thump so much I thought it was going to invade my throat. "Speaking of lingerie, let's go to the bedroom, I'll give you a show of what I've got on under this."

I grabbed the bottle of Dom and almost dragged her upstairs to the master bedroom, holding her hand much too hard while we scaled the staircase.

Inside, she saw the bathroom door and walked over to it. "Get some of that gear off, tiger," she smiled, "while I make myself more comfortable, as they say in the classics. But keep something on down there, leave me something to do!"

I peeled off my T-shirt as she stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, kicked off my Top Siders, then slid my jeans off, leaving myself clad only in a little black satin thong. I looked at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Body in great shape, tan fuckin' Grade A, buns sun-bronzed too, package looking ready for action in the shiny front of the thong – it's almost eight inches, anyway it's more than seven and three-quarters.

And a word about the thong. Lots of midwestern guys associate sexy underwear for men with faggots. Not me. I love the way they accentuate the cock and balls, the way they grab them tightly, the way the smooth satin feels on my skin. To increase that feeling, I even shave the pubic hair from my cock shaft and balls, and trim the bush back on my pubic bone. But call me a faggot and I'll fuckin' deal to you!

I stayed standing and then heard the bedroom door open. In walked Sandee Westgate, 26-year-old lingerie model, 34D-23-34. I nearly fainted when I saw her. My lips trembled, my body trembled. My cock didn't, trapped in its satin cage. It stiffened like a metal rod!

Sandee was wearing a wet-look black bra and panty set which looked as if it had been applied by one of those spray paint hoses they used in panel beaters! She was mouth-wateringly, cock-achingly lovely!

"My god," I exclaimed, like a gibbering schoolboy, "you mean you wear lingerie like that to the fuckin' mall?"

Sandee laughed again, sending a tremor through me once more. "I just adore wearing lingerie," she told me. "I love the sexy feel of it against my skin, I love knowing that I'm wearing something very sexy and wondering what the boys would do if they knew. And I love parading in it. Get on that bed and enjoy the show!"

I almost dived onto the bed and then Sandee started to parade up and down before me as I sat, propped up against pillows at the head of the bed, not caring how prominent my cock looked poking against my thong. All I cared about was drinking in her erotic beauty.

The bra was made of skin-tight satin, the outline of her lovely large nipples thrust against the blackness. The panties were similarly shiny, pulled up tight against her pussy, the labia lips – see, I was taking notice of her – were, like her nipples, in clear outline, too. She walked up and down at the foot of the bed in that dainty little cross-footed walk the top models use to show off their thighs and calves and make their tushes swing and sway.

Then she came to one side of the bed and turned her back on me. The panties were thong-style! Her lush buttocks looked ripe enough to eat! Sandee then bent over, grabbing hold of her ankles and I almost came in my thong as I saw the narrow strip of black just covering her labia and her anus, although at the anus a slight smudge of brown flesh, darker than the rest, showed on either side of the satin strip.

Just as I wondered whether I should do something to entice her onto the bed, I heard the sound of her high heels being slipped off with a clunk. She then turned to face the bed, stood up on it and straddled my upturned face and knelt until she was presenting her panties-covered pussy for my adoration.

I placed my hands as gently as my trembling allowed onto her lush, firm buttocks and pulled her slowly onto my gasping mouth. The gusset of the glorious garment was sopping wet! She was fuckin' turned on! With eager slurps I started to suck and lick at the moistly aromatic wetness, tasting the wonderful sex juice and inhaling the intoxicating perfume from her pussy.

Sandee started to make music to my ears, moaning as she ground her groin onto my mouth, smearing my lips, nose and cheeks with her wonderful wetness. Her buttocks were wriggling and writhing beneath my grip, and I ran my fingers into the crack between her buttock cheeks, pressing one forefinger into her anus, probing gently at its smoothness.

From her grinding, graunching groin I heard a snatched command from above me: "Get 'em off, Al, get 'em off, they've served their fucking purpose!"

I placed my fingers into the waist lines at her hips and pulled the panties down, exposing her sweet-smelling snatch to my gaze. Her fleshy labia was moist and inviting, her clitoris looked erect, standing out just below the slight trace of fair pubic hair at her mons. My tongue now flickered against her cunt, then between her labia before alighting on her clit and sucking at it insistently.

"Oh Al, that's it," Sandee almost screamed, still grinding and graunching on my now sweat and sex juice-drenched face. "Give me that, oh I'm going to fucking come you tow truck tease you!"

And as I licked and laved at her rosebud clitoris, Sandee Westgate, lingerie model extraordinaire, pardon my French, came on my mouth with a low, moaning "Fuuuuuck". I kept her there, feeling the sudden surge in heat from her pussy pervading my face as she roared into her climax and then slowly subsided from its peak, until she collapsed on her back beside me.

"Fuck, I needed that," she smiled, "I've been on heat all fucking morning."

"You should have told me sooner," I grinned, "I'd have brought you here a darned sight quicker."

Then I leaned down and kissed her on her bee-stung lips, savouring the slight taste of chocolate donut and Mocha as I did so. This time, the Mocha didn't taste so bad. After our first mouth-to-mouth kiss, I felt around her back and unclipped the wet-look bra, pulling it almost roughly from her heavenly 34D breasts, before diving onto the lush firm peaks and sucking her nipples to erection.

Sandee then pushed me from her and bent down to place her head close to my thong-covered crotch. The next thing I felt was the ineffable delight of her mouth sucking on the tip of my cock, still covered by the satin, leaking as I was only too well aware copious quantities of pre-cum onto the material.

Then she was at work, pulling the garment from my hard-on and exclaiming: "Oh fuck, you're uncut. I just

love

cocks with a full foreskin, there's so much more to fucking play with."

And then Sandee started to suck on my cock, swirling her tongue between its lips, flicking over my piss-slit, then tracing a slippery path down my shaft to my balls, which she kissed and sucked into her mouth in turn until I thought I might explode with lust for her stunningly stacked body.

My need was now urgent, so I hauled her up from my crotch and pushed her onto her back. Her legs were spread, her thighs widened in an instant and she was ready for me. I rolled onto her, revelling in the taut, toned figure as I placed the helmet of my cock against her cunt.

Her hands swept onto my buttocks and gave a pull, driving me up the slippery smoothness of her vagina until I was in her to the hilt, my foreskin dragged back by the confines of her sex tunnel.

I thrust eagerly, like a young buck enjoying his first fuck. Never in my life had I enjoyed sex with such a wonder woman whose beauty matched her stunning figure. I was like a kid in a candy shop, I couldn't control myself. I was a shameless devouring, driving animal, grunting my delight at my good fortune to be fucking such a woman. Soon, far too soon, I was spilling my spunk deep within her as her urgings, accompanied by gentle slaps on my thrusting buttocks, drove me to my ejaculation point and beyond.

Spent and exhausted, I fell from her, then planted a soft, slow kiss on her mouth before climbing from the bed, replenishing two champagne flutes and handing one to her.

"To the most amazing fuck of my life," I toasted, as we clinked glasses.

Sandee sipped on her Dom P, then looked at me with an inquiring glance. "You fucked me as if you've not been with a woman for half a century," she laughed. "Things can't be that fucking bad in Davenport, can they?"

"What did you fuckin' expect?" I asked, still reeling from the fact that I had just made love to one of the world's top models, superstars, porno queens, you name it. "First you pressed that panty-covered pussy into my face – that was our first kiss, remember?"

"Ooops, sorry Al," she laughed, "but when I'm wearing a sexy thong there's nothing quite so exciting as a man's mouth licking the material and trying to tongue fuck me through it. I guess I just got carried away!"

"No, no," I argued, "you knew just what you were doing, my divine Ms Westgate. It was me who got carried away. I promise next time I'll

take

my time."

Sandee climbed from the bed and planted a smoochy kiss on the tip of my nose. "Mind you do, tiger," she laughed. "Now don't run away, I'm going to freshen up." And she skipped naked into the bathroom and I heard sluicing, then showering sounds before she walked back to lie beside me on the bed. To my surprise, my penis was beginning to stir again as she stroked it softly, then bent to lick and kiss it.

"Don't you want me to shower, Sandee?" I asked, as she went down on me for the second time.

"Nah," she replied, "I just love the taste of my pussy on a man's prick after I've made love to him. Lie back and enjoy."

Who was I to argue?

Soon Sandee had me totally erect once more, then she again straddled my face and placed her lush-lipped labia onto my mouth for an instant replay of our first cunnilingual congress. It once more took only a couple of minutes for her to rise to the upper slopes of her climax, her pussy getting moister and more pungently aromatic as she got closer and closer to her orgasm. Then, with a roaring "Tongue me, tiger, tongue me" she was again threshing and grinding to another climax on my keenly working tongue and mouth.

After calming down from her second Big O, Sandee indicated she required an alternative position for the second cock fuck. Kneeling up against the head of the bed she thrust her gorgeous ass back towards me, indicating without saying a word where she wanted me to attack from.

Kneeling behind her my cock head positioned itself almost by instinct against her cunt lips. "No, Al," I heard her whisper, "higher, only moisten me there first!"

I placed my face to her buttocks crack and licked at her brown puckered anus, depositing saliva until I estimated she was lubricated enough, on the outer lips at least. I tried to drive my tongue into her back passage, but she gasped: "No Al, I'm ready, mount me, tiger, mount me!"