Page 35 of Goode Vibrations

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Now. Don’t speed, and don’t swerve.”

“Don’t speed, don’t swerve. I’ll do my best.” He knew, I think, what I was about to do—it was fairly obvious—but he still seemed like he was holding his breath, not quite believing I really meant to do it.

I untied the laces, loosened them. “Butt up,” I said, and he obeyed, lifting his butt off the seat, and I tugged the shorts down around his thighs.

His cock straightened instantly, slapping against his belly with a loudthwap.

My jaw dropped. His cock was…fucking incredible. I’d felt the outline of it earlier, but feeling the outline of it behind shorts does nothing compared to seeing it bare, and begging for attention.

Fat. Big, fat, plump cock. Pink, contrasting beautifully against his otherwise sun-golden skin. He was cut, and the head was a broad circle, weeping precum. Trimmed black pubic hair, a buzzed thatch around the base, a few runaway hairs on his shaft. Long, straight—how long? Don’t know, don’t care. Long enough to put to shame anyone I’d ever hooked up with by a vast measure of inches, but shy of beingtoobig. It was so damnthick, though. God, he would stretch me so tight.

He was breathing slowly, his stomach sucked in. Waiting.

Mustn’t keep him waiting.

I reached out and took him in my fist. God, I couldn’t make my fingers meet around his girth. It took both hands to span him—granted, I have ridiculously small hands for a girl built like me. I mean, I’m not short at five-seven and a half, and I’ve got huge tits, a lot of ass, thick thighs, a tight waist but still nothing close to being a size zero, or even single digits, not that I give a fuck about that, but still. I’m not a dainty thing. I once had a guy compliment on an IG post, “Damn girl, you THICCCCC!” Which I took as a compliment. That being said, I have tiny hands, and according to the female doctor at my last ob/gyn checkup, a very small hoo-ha.

I maneuvered myself so I could comfortably bend over him, between his chest and the steering wheel. One of his hands rested on my back, and then began making soft slow scratching circles, which was confusing, because who doesn’t love a good back scratching, but while I was about to blow him? Confusing, somehow. I liked it, though. He drove with one hand and roamed my back, my shoulders, my neck, toyed with my ears, my arms, traced my cheekbone with the back of his fingers, reached as far down my back as he could, and then scratched and smoothed back up, making a circuit.

Affection. Intimate. My heart hammered, because he wasn’t supposed to touch me like that. Grab my hair, maybe.

Kneeling over him, I glanced up at him. Stroked him in both fists. Grinned up at him. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but Errol, you have a magnificent penis.”

He laughed. “A magnificent penis, huh?”

“Glorious.”

“You know, the first real look I got at your tits, that was the word I had in my head—glorious.”

I bit my lower lip. “Well. I’ve got glorious tits, you have a glorious cock…” I clenched my breasts together and lowered them onto his cock, feeding it between them and lifting and lowering until he started groaning.

“Holy fuck, Poppy,” he grated through clenched teeth. “Holy…fuck.”

I smirked at him before letting go of my tits and taking his erection in my hand again. Stroked him, slow, twisting motions with my hand on the way down, thumb rubbing over the tip at the top. He began huffing, hips lifting, and my mouth was watering for him.

Once I had him in my mouth, though, it was my eyes that were watering—sofucking big, I couldn’t get even barely half of him in. My jaws couldn’t go that wide; my throat couldn’t take that much. Didn’t try, and wasn’t about gagging myself. Not sexy, and if I was going to go down, I was going to do it in a way thatIenjoyed too.

His flesh was hot, tasted salty, and the precum on my tongue was tangy, musky, a foretaste of what was to…come.Pun intended.

Stroked him, bobbing my head to take just enough of him. The head, and a few inches. Tongue slurping, swirling, flicking.

“Ohhh fuck, oh fuck,” he snarled.

“Mmm.”

His hand halted on my back, between my shoulder blades. Hovered, as if considering a move up to my hair, the back of my head. With one hand I guided his hand to my neck, the loose floppy bun of my hair, and then used both hands on him. He applied pressure, just enough to let me know how close he was, but not trying to force me to gag. How polite. It’d have been game over if he had, but no need to tell him that. I just focused on him, on the thickness of his cock in my mouth, the hot pulse of his flesh and veins against my taut lips, which stuttered over him as I raised and lowered.

“Poppy,” he groaned, guttural. “Oh fuck. I’m about to go, Poppy.”

“Mmm...” I moaned around him. “Mmmm-hmmm.”

The vibrations are what did him in, I think. And the ragged, wordless groan he made as he held back, that was what did me in. My sex ached, and I let go of him with one hand. Hiked my skirt up over my ass and shoved my fingers between my thighs, to my clit. He watched that, and if he was holding back, he lost it when I started touching myself. I circled my clit and timed it to the rhythm of my bobbing head as I took his cock between my lips, and he matched the rhythms with his thrusts, and it took me sixty seconds at most to reach climax, already halfway to a second orgasm before we were caught earlier and now turned on AF by the feel of Errol and his sexy, ragged, broken, masculine groans of pleasure and his hand on my back and now on my head encouraging me with careful, polite pressure. I hummed my scream around him, had to let him out of my mouth to gasp for breath and bite down hard as the orgasm clashed and thrashed through me, and then I buried him in my mouth again and touched myself and stroked him and sucked him and licked him and swirled my tongue around the fat plump soft head of his gorgeous, throbbing magnificent cock.

My tongue was still swirling when he yanked on my hair twice, but the warning was too late, and one I wouldn’t have heeded but appreciated all the same. He filled my mouth, shouting, and I heard the steering wheel creak under the crushing power of his grip, and he thrust, and filled my mouth even as I fought to swallow the first shot. Tangy, musky, almost sweet—cum I wouldn’t mind tasting again. He gripped my bun as if for dear life, hips lifting, shoving his cock into my mouth hard enough that I backed away. I was jerking the base of his shaft with one hand, twisting and pumping as fast as I could, mouth bobbing rapidly, throat working to swallow and swallow as the man came and came and came, god, so fuckingvirile. The only word for it—monstrously virile. Months of pent-up cum, all blasting into my mouth in a hot, tangy, pulsing rush after rush.

Finally, my sex clenching with aftershocks, tits swaying, I awkwardly let go of him and lifted up onto my knees, hair drifting loose from the messy bun, a dribble of his cum on the corner of my mouth.

Smiled at him, somewhere between shy and proud. “Hi.”