Page 36 of Goode Vibrations

He couldn’t catch his breath, and his expression as he looked at me, eventually, was one of shell-shocked, incredulous awe.

He’d stopped driving entirely, halted right in the middle of the lane, foot on the brake, one hand white-knuckle clutching the steering wheel, the other slack and listless on his bare thigh. His monster cock was still semi-hard, leaking post-drips of cum. I gathered him into my hand, slowly twisting my fist downward, bending over him to lick away the last drops, which made him shudder, groaning.

Finally, he was limp and draped in a comma to one side, and I moved up onto my seat. Smirked at him as I wiped at the corner of my mouth with my thumb, which came away glistening with that droplet—I popped my thumb into my mouth, my eyes on his.

He seemed incapable of words.

His mouth moved, working silently. He let out a harsh breath, head slamming back against the headrest. “Hi,” he said, eventually, as if his search for words had come up empty.

8

Errol

Brain short-circuited, I could only stare at her—a goddess made flesh, a wild creature from some seductive mythology, a sexual siren. Perhaps a succubus…no, those were demons, I think, and she was more angel than demon.

She was still topless, her tank top around her midsection, and fuck me those bare tits were my undoing as a man. Words fail to capture their glory, but damn if I’m not keen to try.

With her arms resting naturally at her sides, palms on her lap, her breasts pressed outward against her biceps and were squished together, her cleavage where they met and began at her breastbone a gap so narrow barely a sheet of paper could fit between them. Teardrop shaped, they were wide and round at the bottom and draped nearly to her midriff, with long wide slopes upward from nipple centerline. Her areolae were wide, larger than an American silver dollar each, and a dark brown shade somewhere between caramel and milk chocolate. Her nipples were dead center in the middle of each breast, thick plump cylindrical nubs turned ever so slightly upward, as if looking up at me and begging me to kiss them. Each nipple was pierced horizontally through with a silver bar, each end capped with large pink diamonds—almost certainly cubic zirconium or glass, but a woman of Poppy’s beauty, and breasts of her lush perfection absolutely deserved to have real pink diamonds.

I just stared, openmouthed, still fighting for breath, for composure, for words to express what I was thinking. I hadn’t a clue what I was thinking or feeling, so I had nothing to say just yet. I just wanted to stare at her tits. Forever, if I could, but I’d settle for another minute or two.

“Um, Errol? You…gonna, like, drive?”

I shook my head. “Can’t. You broke me. Error four-oh-four, page not found.”

She laughed, a tinkle of music that set her tits to ever-so-subtly shaking. Keep her topless and I’ll say and do anything to make her laugh, just to see what it does to those incredible, glorious, magnificent, perfect breasts.

“Fine. Switch, and I’ll drive.”

“Okay,” I said, but didn’t move, just sat, life drained clean out of me, mesmerized.

She tugged at my arm. “Errol.” Snapped her fingers in front of me. “They’re just tits. Wake up, dude.” She was laughing, still amused, and also, unless I was mistaken, somewhat proud of how shell-shocked she’d left me.

I tugged my shorts up awkwardly, shoved the stick shift into neutral and set the parking brake, and then slid over toward the middle—Poppy moved out of the way into the space between the seats so I could take the passenger seat, and then she plopped into the driver’s seat.

Still topless.

Maybe if I was quiet and a good boy, she’d leave her top off. That would be nice.

She glanced at me, smirking. “Okay, say goodbye to the boobies for now.”

I shook my head. “Nope. Much better if we just…let them be. They need sunshine and fresh air.”

Another of those amused tinkles of laughter. “Good try.”

Alas, she slid her arms into the straps and tugged the shirt into place, and behold, the sun lost its brightness.

I had to say something meaningful. “Poppy.”

She pressed the brake, set the clutch, wiggled the stick, and pushed it up into third. “Yes?”

“Um. Number one, you’re in third.”

She bit her lip. “Oh.” Down into second. “That one?”

I eyed her. “Do you know how to drive a manual?”

“Um. Sort of? I watched Dad a few times. Years ago.”