She gets into the car. She is 35 and has the body of a much younger athlete. She has jet black hair and generous breasts. Her thighs keep me up at night, just thinking of them. She is wearing a very tight, very short black skirt with towering high heels. Her light blue blouse is tight and strains against her delectable breasts.
She rarely smiles. It is her way. But when she does, it gets me more excited than when she wraps her lovely red lips around my cock. She is not a happy person, at least not with me. I am here for a reason. She asked if she could trust me. I tell her she can. She tells me to pick her up at her townhouse at 11:00 PM.
She has informed me that she is a college girl. She has informed me that I am a middle-aged man (which very soon, I would be). She tells me that I am forcing her to take this ride. Why? She never says. She just wants me to occasionally answer her rhetorical questions. Other than that, I am to do exactly what she is accusing me of doing.
This is what she says:
I'm here, asshole. Just like you wanted. Are you happy? Do you like that I actually graced you with my presence?
Oh, you like this shit, don't you? You like the skirt and the tits and the heels. I even put on perfume. Can you smell it? I put it all over my hot fucking body, you pervert.
You probably like that, don't you. That I rubbed some perfume around the lips of my cunt.
You know how lucky you are? You know how many guys wish I would even make eye contact with them, let alone get in their car? You know how many guys eye-fuck me every fucking day? Hot guys, not just professors and nerds. They all jerk off to me.
What? You think you can just stare at my tits like that? Here, let me unbutton this blouse so you can get a better look.
You like that, don't you? Asshole.
Think you can pull over here in this restaurant parking lot to get a better view? You like that?
