A powerful engine roars beneath the hood of Xander's Maserati, pistons firing, cylinders pumping. The sleek beast of a car has more horsepower than he can count, and he pushes down on the accelerator, sending the needle of the speedometer ticking over the tiny white lines, signaling the approach of his speed toward triple digits.
There is something so incredibly freeing about flying down this empty stretch of country lane. He may spend his days trapped in this three-piece suit, confined to office after office, boardroom after boardroom, but here, he is free to push the limits. Sure, he might encounter a cop, but cops are easy to buy and he always has his checkbook handy.
Xander grips the leather steering wheel and arcs the car in a long, slow curve, following the double yellow lines and relishing the power of it all. This car, this road: it was all his.
Not a moment after the thought crosses his mind, a vicious grinding noise lets out from under the hood. Xander feels something in the front of the car shudder. The autumnal trees outside the window begin to pass more slowly as the car loses speed, despite Xander forcing the pedal to the floor.
"Goddamn it," Xander curses. He's barely had the car three weeks, there is absolutely no reason it should be in anything less than perfect condition. Nevermind the price tag.
The grinding grows louder and the needle on the speedometer drifts back down to a more reasonable speed. But Xander doesn't want reasonable. And he most certainly doesn't want the Check Engine light on his dashboard to be glowing angrily back at him, crushing any hopes that the grinding would simply go away on its own.
Xander curses again as he guides the Maserati to the side of the road, pulling over onto the shoulder and punching the small red and black button in the center of the dashboard to turn his hazard lights on. He hadn't passed another car in several miles, but the last thing he needed was some country hick in a pick-up truck to smash into him and render the car utterly irreparable.
Throwing the car in park, Xander whips his cell phone out of the center console and searches up the number for his towing service.
The phone rings only once before someone answers, and Xander explains his predicament, giving the guy as best an approximation of his location as he can in an area with no notable landmarks for ten miles in either direction.
"I know just where you're talking about, but it's going to be a while. I'll send my guys right away, tell 'em to doubletime it, but you're still looking at a good hour or so before we can get to ya."
"An hour."
"Yessir, I do apologize. It's the best we can do considering the distance."
"Well," says Xander sharply, nostrils flaring in displeasure. "Unfortunately for me, right now, the best that you can do is the best that I can do. I want you on the road within five minutes and there's a hundred dollar bonus in it for every minute under an hour you get here."
"Understood.Right away."
The man hangs up, Xander glad to hear the note of fear and intimidation in his voice. Good. Let that be motivation to get here faster. It's not like he doesn't have anything better to do.
And speaking of not having anything better to do. It dawns on him then that for the time being, he is stuck in this one spot with nothing to do. So naturally, he opens up his Instagram account, and begins scrolling through the endless feed of tropical vacation photos, fitspo posts, and half-dressed girls.
One such girl in particular catches his eye-an old hookup from a few months back. She had been at a gala he had attended, her sparkling red dress almost as low cut as the top she wears in the selfie.
Her perfect tits are practically hanging out of her shirt and Xander can't help but remember how soft and supple they had been as he thrust his cock between them, Cassidy's tongue flicking over the head of his cock with every thrust.
Xander groans as the memory sends blood rushing down to his cock, making it twitch against his trousers. Once again, Xander thinks to himself: speaking of having nothing better to do.
His cock strains against the pleated fabric of his suit pants as he closes his eyes, leaning into the longing the memory fills him with. Cassidy had been something else, shameless in her pleading, her greed for his cock. She'd plied him with toys and lubes and restraints to use on her, and he had done so gladly, thrilling in the way they granted him ownership of her body, heightening both their waves of pleasure to tsunamis.
But Xander has no toys here, no other recourse than to simply do things the old fashioned way. So he unbuckles his belt, unzips his trousers, and frees his yearning, rock hard cock from its prison. It sniffs curiously at the air, hungry for attention.
His pleasure begins to mount as he jerks his cock in long, firm strokes, squeezing just a little harder at the head for that extra burst of sensation. If it had been cold outside, his breath would have fogged up the windows, coming more rapidly now. With his eyes squeezed shut, Xander's mind becomes a theater of his own personal fantasies.
Cassidy's breasts, plump and bouncing, enter his mind and he imagines shoving his cock between them again, one hand wound tightly into the hair at the base of her neck. Mmmm, yes. He'd have to be careful or he'd find himself wasting his most intriguing entertainment opportunity far too soon.
Suddenly, a tap comes at the window, startling Xander so intensely he feels his cock soften slightly in his hand. Rather than stop, he keeps stroking just enough to keep it hard. Perhaps he can deal with this quickly and then continue on.
But when he glances out the window, Xander is suddenly much less eager to end this conversation before it even begins.
A young woman in her early twenties stands at the window of his Maserati, peering in at Xander as he lies there, reclined in the driver's seat, engorged cock in hand. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a long ponytail that cascades over her shoulder as she leans down to look at him, and her ample chest, constrained in a dark purple sports brat, is slicked with sweat, heaving rapidly.
She has removed the headphones around her ears, and gestures for Xander to roll the window down, which he does without missing a single stroke of his cock.
"Hi," she says in a sweet voice.
"Afternoon," Xander replies, feeling his cock twitch eagerly.
"I was just on my afternoon jog and I saw you pulled over with your hazards on. I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Do you need any help?"
Her voice has a slight twang to it, undoubtedly picked up in whatever nearby village she was from. A modern picture of the wide-eyed innocent.
"Not with the car, no," Xander says in response to her question.
She giggles, biting her lip and flicking her eyes downward to steal a peek at his cock.
"Do you have a service coming to pick you up?"
"I do."
"Will they be here soon?"
She's biting her lip again and Xander's cock hardens even more.
"I have quite some time to wait," he tells her. "They told me an hour at least, so I've had to settle in here to wait. There's not much to do when you're stranded by the side of the road, but I've been doing my best to entertain myself."
"I can see that," she says, eyeing his cock again. "My name's Josie. I'd be happy to help entertain you while you wait, if you'd like."
"It's nice to meet you, Josie. My name is Xander. I'd very much like your help."
"Can I touch it, sir?" Josie asks, her voice rising in pitch.
