His beat up old Ford shuddered under the power of the idle; he really needed to turn it down some. The cop in the intersection hadn't moved. At least the procession of Santas on Motorcycles had finally begun to creep by. Santas in July, stupid. Behind him, someone honked. Sighing, he cut the engine and slouched in his seat. The headlights from the motorcycles went back farther than the hill two miles down the road. Since this would obviously take a while, he considered calling the office and having his secretary delay his meeting with the Andersons.
Glancing to the left, he lifted his hat up and tried not to be obvious.
Red, you are one sexy woman
. This one had brassy red hair and creamy white skin. He wondered if she had freckles on her, maybe farther down along her cleavage. Licking spots. His cock twitched in his jeans and he indulged in a little hood-top frolic fantasy with the woman. She was wearing an expensive business outfit and there was a leather attachΓ© in the passenger seat. The BMW was sedate, but reeked of cash. Blue Collar Man and Rich Woman indulging in hot, wet sex on the hood of that BMW. He half smiled and reached for his fly.
"Hey!" The female voice finally cut through the Harley engines roaring in appreciation of her breast stroke. He jerked out of a thought that included pale blue panties and soft red pubic hair.
"Sorry ma'am." He sat up, glad she couldn't see his lap. "Sorry about staring."
"Here! Take this!" She leaned across the passenger seat and held something out to him, a tiny white card. He took it from her, barely brushing her fingertips. She immediately retreated into her car and rolled up the window.
He turned the card, it was a business card, over in his fingers a few times. The front held the name of some web design firm. The back had a scrawled number. He glanced at the BMW, then at the long line of Santas and picked up his cellular phone. He'd probably get her answering machine or her boyfriend, but hell, you never knew.
"Hello?" The voice was a huskier version of the one that had yelled at . He went from a nice semi to fully erect in .04 seconds. He looked over at her again; she was on her cell.
"Is that you?"
She nodded her head. "I'd hoped you had a cell phone, I didn't think you'd call this soon."
He smiled slowly. "I was curious, it's not often that ladies give me their business cards. Why did you?"
"Truthfully?"
"Yeah."
"I was wondering what you were thinking."
"Huh?" He squeezed his cock through his jeans.
"A few moments ago, when you were looking at me with that smile on your face and I couldn't get your attention."
"Uh, about the weather."
She laughed. "Truthfully. I told you the truth, I want the same from you."
"I was thinking about you."
"Really?" She sounded pleased and disbelieving at the same time.
"What's with you women? I lie to you and you don't believe me. I tell you the truth and you don't believe me."
She laughed softly. "What were you thinking about me?"
"Why do you want to know so much?"
"The expression on your face was. . . ."
He waited for a few moments, but heard nothing but rumbling motorcycles and her breathing. He watched the palm of her free hand pull at her blouse where it rested on her cleavage, then rub along the top of her thigh. He held his breath, would she pull her skirt up any?
"It was. . .?" he prompted.
"Hot," she finally admitted. She glanced at him for a moment, licked her lips, and looked at the passing Santas on Motorcycles next to her.
"I was thinking about hot things." He wondered how far she would take this, how far he would take this. He didn't know her, didn't know anything about her, yet he was confessing to her that he was having sexual thoughts about her. She was probably a lawyer looking for a lawsuit.
"What kind of hot things?"
Licking. . . . "Your panties."
She gasp, sucking in a deep breath that sounded half moan, half surprise. "Really?"
"I was thinking about laying you across the hood of your BMW, hiking your skirt up, and looking at your panties." He watched her fingers dally by her knee, then curve along the smooth flesh of her inner thigh. He didn't care what kind of game she was playing anymore, he was getting seriously turned on. "What color are they?" "What?"
"Your panties. What color are they?"
"Green."
"I'd pictured you in blue, but green is good too." His heart raced, did he have the balls to do it? She did start it, so it wasn't exactly sexual harassment. What the hell. "What kind of panties?"
"Kind?"
"Your panties."
"They're french cut."
"French cut? What do those look like?" He watched some of her fingers slide under her skirt, his hand went back to front of his jeans.
"They're high cut in the hips."
"Cotton?"
"Nylon, like green satin."
"Wet?"
"Yes." She sucked in a breath, as if just realizing what she'd admitted to.
"I can see your hand. Well, part of it, the rest of it is under your skirt."
"Oh my god," she murmured. Her hand froze; he could see it quiver. Would she pull it away from herself?
"Are you touching yourself?"
"Are you?"
"My hand is on my dick, but my jeans are in the way."
"You are?"
"You turned me on. It's hard."
"Oh my god."
"When you wear your nylon, like-satin, french cut, green panties, does it cover your pubic hair or does some of it stick out?"
"It sticks out."
"Are you getting turned on?"
"Yes. Do you want to do this?"
"Oh yes, baby. Will you touch your pussy?"
She froze again, then glanced his way. He could see parts of her face. "I can't, my legs are too close together. Take your cock out."
"Spread your legs a little, then, touch your pussy for me. I can't reach it from here."
"Your cock," she reminded him. He grinned at her, yanking open the well used button fly of his 501's. He watched her carefully spread herself open, working her skirt up higher along her thighs. "Is your cock out?"
"It's out, what should I do with it?"
"I wish you could fuck me with it."
"That's what I was thinking of, bending you over that little beemer of yours, lifting your skirt up, and shoving my dick straight up into that tight, gorgeous pussy."
"How do you know it's tight and gorgeous?"
"I'm willing to be it is. Does it taste good?"
"Taste. . .?"
He glanced to the right, still a long line of Santas, but not long enough. He wanted to hear her cum. "Taste, if I stuck my tongue between your pussy lips, would I like the way you taste?"
"Oh my god." He could see her fingers moving under her skirt.
"Are you touching yourself?"
"Yes. I can't believe I'm doing this."
"You don't have to." He hoped she wouldn't stop.
"Neither do you, I like this. It's making me wet." He liked the sound of that; wet pussy was one of his favorite things. "Are your fingers in your pussy?"
"I'm rubbing my clit."
His cock twitched. "I'm rubbing my dick too, it's leaking precum."
"Lick it."
"What?"
"Run your finger over the head of your cock, then lick your finger. Tell me what your precum tastes like. My nipples are so hard, they hurt."
"I'm pretty hot myself. What do I get in return?"
"I'll tell you what my pussy tastes like. You can watch me stick my fingers inside and suck on them."
He ran his finger over the slick head of his cock. "You'll lift your skirt up high enough to show me your panties?"
"Yes."
He stuck his finger in his mouth and licked it. "It's salty, a little bitter. Warm too."
"Do you like the taste?"