He's Home Alone On Halloween
Cintra could feel herself getting wet as she watched the young couple sitting in the mall food court, feeding each other French fries and sneaking kisses and tit-squeezes. The conversation she overheard was less harmonious than the physical affection, but the boy eventually talked his pale, tight-T-shirt and cutoff-denims wearing girlfriend into coming home with him. His parents weren't home. In fact, they were out of town, wouldn't possibly get home in time to interrupt.
Even then, Cintra heard some reluctance in her voice, so she followed discreetly as they went to the boy's car. It was expensive and fast, but decorated in male bad taste with dents and scratches showing an unconscionable carelessness, so Cintra rather knew what would happen. Sure enough, half a minute after the passenger door closed it flew open again and the girl flew out, even paler than before, long, jet-black hair flying in fury, almost knocking Cintra over as she ran, screaming obscenities.
He was enough of a gentleman to check if Cintra was all right. Or maybe not. Cintra never wore panties or stockings and the collision with the girl had disarranged her skirt, showing him she really was -- despite numerous grey hairs that had invaded both her scalp and her crotch over the years -- a natural redhead.
"Shame," she said as she caught her breath and slowly straightened her clothes (her blouse had got rumpled, too), "Nice boy with a nice car like that," she lied, "I'd want to ride along, at least for a bit, back when I was a girl." Her voice was strangely accented, but still somehow seductive.
He glowed with pride, patted his fender as he eyed her chest. Even through her blouse and bra (she might not need panties, but she needed the support of a substantial bra: gravity having worked its evil over the years, she would hang down and swing uncomfortably without one) her nipples showed proud and erect. "But you're still a girl, aren't you?" he asked.
"Absolutely," she wiggled her hips, which also sent those breasts bobbing. "And you are still a boy," she looked down at his erection, clearly outlined against his jeans, "Even if you've lost your date for the evening."
Embarrassed at being looked at, rather than embarrassed for looking, he involuntarily moved his hand down to his crotch, then opened his mouth. But couldn't think of anything to say.
"How bout this," she said, taking a step towards him, "Maybe it's only your first date that was anticlimactic?" You can look that word up later, she thought as she stepped up to the passenger door, which was still open. "May I?" she asked sweetly, pointing to the shotgun seat.
"Of course," he stammered, trying to recover from this relationship whiplash.
"I'm Cintra," she said, giving him another glance up her skirt as she sat down, "by the way!"
"Tyler," he replied, closing the door for her, trying to be a gentleman, then scooting around and getting in the driver's seat.
"There's no hurry," she said as he sped up, "I overheard you telling that girl your parents are away, so we've got all night. You weren't lying to her, were you?"
"No, of course not!" He slowed to the legal limit, but that just seemed to make him nervous.
"You've got to relax," she finally said, "Find a quiet place to pull over and I'll tell you about the Meghan Markle video."
Puzzled, he drove another half-kilometer, then turned into a vast, dark asphalt lot of one of those ubiquitous shopping malls and parked behind an ancient rusted billboard with a newly affixed -- and deliciously garish -- Haunted House advert.
"Nobody knows exactly what sank her marriage, but when that video surfaced of the 90210 pilot, it was the beginning of the end, some said." Cintra put one hand on the boy's thigh and unbuckled her shoulder belt with the other.
"I never saw the -- " Cintra tugged at the boy's belt and pulled down his zipper. Before he knew it, she had bent over and swallowed his cock.
"OhhhhHHHH!" he moaned as she pushed down until her lips formed a tight ring at the base of his shaft and the sensitive skin of his cockhead rubbed the back of her throat. "I'm -- " he gasped as he grasped the steering wheel and struggled to hold on, "I'm going to cum in your -- ", his voice strained, broke, "In your -- Is that O-o-k-kay?"
"Mmm-hmMMM!" she said, it being the best she could do, talking around his very erect penis. Anyway, she knew whatever polite nonsense he was spouting about courteously not shooting off down her throat was useless: she would drain him no matter what he wanted, even if a cop was knocking on his window shining a flashlight in his eyes.
His hips tried to thrust up, but that didn't work so well sitting in a bucket seat. Still, he fountained several healthy loads into her waiting mouth, the powerful orgasm curling his toes and knocking his head back.
When he opened his eyes again, she had coaxed out the last few drops and zippered him up again. Opened her lips, she showed him the puddle she'd gathered on her tongue. Then, with a wicked wink, puckered her lips closed and swallowed, opening up again with an "aaahhh!" to prove she really had eaten his entire load. "It's like I'm drinking you, your body's essence," she laughed, "Like in the movie Doctor Strangelove"! He hadn't seen it. Anyway, the name "Meghan Markle" was now forever linked in his brain with the phrase "complete blowjob"!
It reminded him of a girlfriend who had a fetish for the fairytale kings and queens. She'd made him watch the whole ceremony when Princess Di and Charles got married. She (the girlfriend, not the princess) had given him a nice blowjob sometimes, but he always resented the running to the bathroom to spit afterwards instead of swallowing for him.
She buckled up her seat belt and pointed to the old-fashioned key in the ignition, "Now you should be relaxed enough to drive responsibly."
"That was wonderful," he said as they left the parking lot, "When we get to my place would you like me to go down on you?"
"Such a gentleman!" she laughed, "If you can't get it up again soon enough, maybe you will have to use that dutiful tongue of yours!"
He laughed too.
"Anyway," she continued, "There are a lot of positions we'll have time to practice, since we'll have the whole night. Every try it Greek Style? Oops! I should have waited until we were at a stop sign to mention that!"
He had, actually. About a year after the Soviet Union broke up he'd met a woman, dark-haired, dark-eyed, big-titted Alexie, who'd paid a lot of money to get a visa by marrying an American national. Trouble was, she and the paper husband had no intention of cohabiting, so she found Tyler. He had no idea how. She would suck him off and swallow, even suck him, then give him a snowball -- it was the first time he'd tasted his own semen. But she didn't want him in her pussy, even with a condom.
Or maybe she just liked taking it up the ass. It certainly didn't feel like she was faking her orgasms. She had screamed and squirted all over the sheets when he fingered her clit and slammed himself into her meaty buttocks, pumping load after load into the grip of her painfully tight backdoor.
His own grip on the steering wheel tightened as they turned into his driveway and he saw a light. Then he realized it was one he'd left on in his own room. But he was vaguely disturbed when he tried to relax and noticed the backs of his hands. Cintra reached over and ran a finger over one of the veins that were standing out like the veins in his cock she'd tickled with her tongue. "I'm hot blooded," she said, "I make the blood in your heart pound too!"
Startled by her touch, he looked up at her face. Her hair looked richer and redder than when he'd first seen her. Maybe a trick of the light? Those streetlamps in the mall parking lot with their ghastly yellowish Xenon vapor flame could make anyone look washed-out.
When he got out to pull open the garage door she laughed, "Still living in the twentieth century? No remote-control?" He got back in the car and pulled it forward, shrugging. "Anyway," she continued, "Why bother, you're just going to give me a ride home later tonight, or" she winked, "Maybe tomorrow morning?" He nodded, blushing. "Or maybe you don't want anyone to see me going in your front door?" He blushed redder. "Don't worry, honey," she put her hand on his thigh and ran it up to his crotch to see if he'd recovered, "I understand. Now let's sneak up to your bedroom!"
His bedroom was much tidier than she'd expected. He'd had girls up here before, or at least had planned to.
