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Ryan could think of better places to be on a Friday evening than idling in the middle lane of motorway rush hour. Face first in the pussy of Mya/Naya or whatever the hell she was called from the other night would be infinitely preferable. Jostling six deep at the humid cocktail bar, he hadn’t pressed for her name after the thumping music and rowdy patrons drowned out her response. And by the time he had the opportunity to find out for sure back at her place, he was beyond needing to know, having established she was his brand of filthy. Way before her juices the texture of olive oil had time to dry on his chin, the exotic, svelte beauty in killer boots amply demonstrated the term ‘gag reflex’ was not in her vocabulary.He hardened inside his jeans at the recollection of her kneeling at his feet, strands of the longest hair he’d ever seen plastered to the frothing ring of saliva around her shiny lips as she coughed and slurped, trying to cram him in whole. He wasn’t entirely sure if he simply had a knack for attracting dirty women or if he drew out their inner sluts, but his method was immaterial. None of them could get enough.When he’d settled back on her squeaky bed, the dichotomy between the sweet accented English exterior she presented at the bar compared with her vampish behaviour in the bedroom became increasingly apparent. He marvelled as her flawlessly taut Mediterranean skin tone was revealed beneath each item of clothing. Stripping all but her boots and tortoiseshell glasses, she hungrily climbed onto his lap and sat upright, impaled, her face streaked with make-up, awash with ecstasy. The lamplight picked out glowing beads of perspiration as she settled, stretched, laced her hands behind her head, pert chest proud and heaving, then proceeded to draw figure-eights with her hips, panting hard each time his length probed her deepest parts. Just when Ryan thought he couldn’t take any more, she tipped her face towards the flaking ceiling, jet tresses cascading over her shoulders to brush his knees. She then leaned back and rode them both to noisy, sticky completion, his hands gravitating towards her breasts, pawing and pinching petite cones and russet nipples.Her disgruntled apartment neighbours had made a big deal of vacating partway through their session, amid indignant huffs and exaggerated well-I-nevers from the corridor. Ryan didn’t care; their sex continued into the small hours, creating a cacophony that would have given any tenants ample grounds for moving out. The things she’d let him do to her velvety backside made him suspect she was Greek. He shivered, and not only from the cool, late September air that drew with it the stench of hydrocarbons from a thousand vehicles around him.Denied his exit junction by one measly mile after three hours of virtually hassle-free driving, Ryan drummed the steering wheel as the sixth emergency appliance, all lights and Doppler shifting sirens, careened down the hard shoulder towards whomever had made a life-threatening mistake ahead. He leaned out in an effort to locate the cause of the hold up, but the only thing he caught was his stubbly reflection in the wing mirror. Brown eyes stared back, a light grey umbra visible beneath each, symptomatic of playing as hard as he worked. But, fuck, the women were worth it. He rubbed his chin, the growth sandpapery against his palm, and recalled the manner in which the Greek had responded so favourably to being eaten. The sexy, guttural noises that began as a rumble in her throat and developed into wails of delight certainly made it clear she never wanted him to stop. Ryan knew he was good. Practised. A shave upon arrival certainly wouldn’t detract from his ability to deliver equivalent joy to his quarry in the bar of the budget chain hotel.Out of the window, either side of the M5 cut into the lush English hillside, sheep grazed, oblivious to the rising stress levels on the twin strips of blacktop as commuters, truckers and families went nowhere fast. The mix of drivers around him gradually altered as the traffic crawled or stalled at different rates. People stretched, yawned, nodded travesti istanbul to music, apologised into cell phones, or answered backseat pleas of “Are we there yet?” in ever more inventive manners.At a bend in the road, the extent of the hold-up became apparent and he sighed. The traffic snaked out ahead of him like an uncoiled whip, the opposite carriageway queuing north to bypass Bristol while his lane stuttered south, towards the scene of the crash. If it weren’t for the potential of the high profile client he was meeting the following day, he’d have stayed at the office until it was time to hit a club and devour some Friday night pussy.As the traffic to his left began edging forward and he considered changing lanes for the fiftieth time, hollering and laughter and four-to-the-floor drums drifted in through his window. The music gradually grew louder until it almost seemed as if his own stereo were blaring, the track familiar yet he couldn’t place it. Alongside his empty passenger seat, a rented minibus, corporate logo splashed among stripes of garish primary colours, drew level and braked sharply, narrowly missing the camper van ahead. Behind the wheel was a seriously fit blonde, nose jewel glinting from the low sun, her arm, inked with indecipherable scripture, hanging out the window. She was tapping the metalwork and jigging up and down in time to the pounding beat.Directly behind her in the rear compartment was a considerably less fit frizzy-haired brunette, drink in one hand, a black T-shirt sporting some slogan in the other. She started making a thumbs-up gesture at Ryan and waving the garment like cheering on a team at a stadium. He couldn’t read it, raised a quizzical eyebrow and she eventually cottoned on, spreading the front against the window with her forearm: “I like fat boys.”He grinned. The slogan fit; she was certainly no Mya/Naya. Nor was her mate who appeared alongside, another brunette, sporting a high ponytail and wobbly rack peeking above a low-cut white top. She toasted him with some pale amber liquid in a plastic cup, a slug of it spilling on the upholstery of the bench seat that lined the length of the vehicle. Giggling, she sucked what she could from her fingers.A bunch of girls the wrong side of sober in a van? Ryan laid odds on a Hen party.The middle-aged woman in the car behind pipped, and Ryan rolled forward into the space, smiling as her face reddened in the rear view mirror. The girl with the slogan T-shirt didn’t seem to care from whom she tried to solicit a reaction.Less than a minute later the minibus was alongside him again. More hollering ensued as the members of the inebriated gang grinned and waved dementedly. He waved back as a gap opened up and their vehicle lurched off, the driver clearly unaccustomed to the clutch bite point. Ryan indicated and swiftly cut in behind them.Ponytail started for the rear doors, clambering over something in the process – possibly luggage, or a passed-out friend – and put her palms on the rear window before pressing her face to it, creating a seal and puffing her cheeks. Ryan laughed as she backed off and wiped her mouth. Afforded a captive audience and clearly two of her three sheets already to the wind, she lifted her top with one hand then shoved her considerable cleavage against the glass, flesh spilling above her white T-shirt bra and deforming. The act deserved a double thumbs-up and Ryan motioned for her to continue, but she shook her head, wagging a finger.In the adjacent rear window a cute, wiry, freckle-faced brunette appeared, copying her friend by hoisting her top and mashing her bra against the glass. The bolder or drunker of the two, she then reached in and scooped out an apple-sized tit, pressing that to the window too.Almost an automatic response, honed from years of bedding women just like her, Ryan’s mind flashed, scheming to come up with a method of boarding the van and locking his mouth around her rosy nipple. He desperately wanted to suck the pebbled peak until her breathing came in short rasps and she surrendered other rosy parts of her limber anatomy to his firming istanbul travestileri cock. Maybe he could even whisk her away with him to the hotel and treat her to his energetic brand of tongue play and primal rutting, promising the others he’d return her in one piece. At least that’s what she’d resemble to all outward inspection. Internally, she’d be a fucked-up wreck, dishevelled, used, fulfilled and, most importantly, deliriously happy. She looked like dirty fun and he wondered if she preferred stubble or smooth raking against her trim, drooling pussy lips.Miming applause, he held up two of his fingers. From between the curtains of her shoulder length hair, she flashed him a further grin and complied without hesitation, beaming above her modest boobs deformed against the window. So fucking pretty.The first girl, clearly not to be outdone and wanting a chunk of the deflected limelight, picked up her drink, drained it and ditched the cup before reaching into her bra and doing likewise. Ryan gaped and rearranged his jeans to relieve the pressure a little. If he’d been anywhere besides the motorway, he’d have considered whipping out his cock and stroking himself. Her pair was far more impressive owing much to her overall size. Voluminous, easily a C-cup in the forty-inch range, perfectly white with proud bubblegum centres nestled in caramel pools, spreading against the cool glass. The remaining girls in the minibus fell about in hysterics, hooting and encouraging the dare.Ryan looked away then back to check the traffic fumes hadn’t caused delirium. Within the space of three minutes, his world had changed from abject frustration to rapt interest, a quartet of gorgeous breasts pointing his way, the road almost forgotten until the guy in the nearby souped-up Impreza also spotted the vista and hammered his horn. The girls loved the attention and waved madly, not noticing he was far too old for the car and one mid-life crisis away from buying an MX-5 with personalised plates B16 GAZ .The chunkier brunette cupped and jiggled her breasts as the indicators of the minibus winked and it eased into the middle lane. Ryan considered following them but, despite the prospect of losing sight of the fabulous pink-peaked terrain, he recognised a better opportunity and pulled forward into the space alongside the van’s left.He took in the shape of a second blonde, electric blue highlights in her comparatively short hair, leaning against the partially open side window, music spilling around her as she nodded to the beat. The setting sun cast a blue-orange halo as it cut through the van’s windows opposite. She glanced over, waved and cheered, her tiny button nose perched between high cheekbones looking as if it should belong to someone else. Reedy lips sat below and, further down, tits straining against a turquoise vest, a perfect handful even if they were a pale imitation of the buxom girl at the back of the minibus.Ryan called out, “Where’re you heading?””WHAT?!”He mimed turning the music down and she leaned in to tap Driver Girl on the shoulder, passing on the action before sliding the window fully open.He repeated: “Where are you going?””Newquay!” she yelled loudly over the din that was no longer there. Her mates all whooped.”So who’s the lucky lady?”She jerked a thumb back at Ponytail tucking her considerable breasts away. “Christina. Marrying next week.””I thought celebrating her last weekend of freedom was a time to do crazy and daring things. All I’ve seen so far are her hot tits.”Blue Streak relayed this to her crew and they all laughed, one of the others making a wisecrack he only half heard. Freckleface lurched to the window, her chest already stowed. “If she shows more, what’s in it for us?”Christina shoved her friend. “Oy!””Oh come on, Chrissy, do it for the team. Don’t you wanna see what we can get out of this?” She turned back to Ryan, who was thinking the same. “So, mister, what’s it gonna be?”Despite wanting to feel Freckleface from the inside, he’d settle for his dick sliding between Christina’s gorgeous cleavage or ramming into her puffy pussy. Even istanbul travesti Blue Streak would do. He’d take whatever he could get, but said nothing, waiting the freckled cutie out. She cocked her head.”How about you show us yours first, yes ladies? Then Chrissy will show you her arse.”Christina opened her mouth to object but was drowned out by her louder friends as the traffic inched along the tarmac, Driver Girl rat-a-tat-tatting the horn. Ryan looked ahead, the half-mile sign to his exit visible in the middle distance. Maybe not much time left if the road cleared.He checked his surroundings, including the rear view mirror. As long as they kept pace, being in the inside lane meant he could only be overlooked by emergency vehicles whizzing by. And they’d be far more focused on whatever carnage lay ahead than to worry about his state of undress.He checked again.Twice.Fuck it. Worth the risk to see more.Keeping the steering wheel steady with his knees and lifting his butt a little, he unsnapped his fly. There was a commotion and five eager faces stampeded to the side windows, including a new girl with sparkling green eyes, rounded features and dark, wavy curls. The driver swung the minibus closer to the white line on request so the troupe could better see his equipment, semi-erect above the lap belt.Blue Streak squealed and clapped. Christina gave a thumbs-up and then, egged on by her mates, let them help her onto the bench seat, spinning uncoordinatedly to press her butt to the side window. Pausing with her clothed derriere squishing against the glass for effect, Ryan held his breath as she thumbed the waistband. Whether as a tease or genuine hesitation, she waited a few tense seconds before peeling her tight leggings down. Shortly after, her lilac panties dipped the same way before being pulled back up quickly. The flash revealed an echo of her tits, the cheeks perfectly spherical full moons, white and meaty. Ryan’s cock bobbed and Blue Streak applauded again.”Looks like he approves, Chrissy.”The brunette eyed his manhood over her shoulder, its head flaring. In her current state of inebriation with the peer pressure of her friends around her, Ryan wanted to see just how far he could push her: “Bottom half is as amazing as the top,” he called out. “Bet you won’t go any further.”Climbing from the bench and tilting her head to one side, Christina considered her response as the vehicles crawled along the carriageway, his with considerably more finesse than the minibus. “You think?””You’re not the type.””You think?””I know. Too straight-laced. You still insist on turning the lights off.”She coloured amid the ‘oooohs’ of her mates and Ryan congratulated himself at a successful prognosis. Despite her flamboyance in the presence of alcohol, he figured her for a traditionalist, trying to fit in with her more outgoing friends and being swept up in the moment. The gold cross nestled between her voluptuous tits had been a dead giveaway.Half the trick in getting what you want is knowing which buttons to press.Ryan knew enough about run-of-the-mill Christian women that they were often of a cautious disposition when it came to spreading their charms. Sex wasn’t just an act, it carried meaning. Weight. A symbol of love, given away only to those who deserved it. But by adding alcohol, their repressed sexuality blossomed, just like the reverent athletic strawberry blonde he’d fucked a few weeks before. On their first date, Sarah had told him in no uncertain terms that she was a good girl, her place in heaven assured. Four days of gentle persuasion later and she’d swapped that assurance for a one-way ticket to hell, the ink on the devil’s contract signed in a mixture of their bittersweet come drizzling from her delicious, deflowered, bare cunt that he’d convinced her to let him shave completely. He allowed himself a smile. All it took was employing the correct triggers, something at which he was remarkably adept.Christina puffed up in defiance. Obvious bravado, but convincing nonetheless to the untrained eye. “You’re wrong.””So prove it.””How?”Textbook. He paused, just long enough to let her mind formulate its own possibilities. Fear was a powerful persuasive force. “Play with yourself.””What? No!”Ryan regarded the traffic, before sliding his gaze back to her and shrugging. “Told ya.”Christina was indignant. “Wait. You think I won’t do it?”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32