Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final - Sex Stories

Stable Employment Pt. 02 - Final

... platinum-blonde hair is still out of the way for the most part, but a few strands are free from the loosened up ponytail, and the way they frame her face is, quite simply, the art of on-purpose accidents.

Her hands make quick work of my buttons and zipper. "We have some time," she says, "but not a ton. Any clothes you want off, I could use some help."

I shove my shirt up past my tits, but keep it on. I also lift my hips and help her drag my pants all the way down. They're not leather today; I'm not stupid. My plain black booty shorts slide down with them, and she catches sight of them. She almost looks like she wants to say something about them, but she doesn't. That's weird, but I'm relieved. I don't want to go into it. I force myself back into the moment.

"Back door?" she asks.

I nod urgently. That'll certainly keep my head where it needs to be.

"Only a few fingers, alas," she says, sounding genuinely disappointed. "We have to make sure we can put you back together quickly." She shifts her body towards one side of the car and taps a hidden button. In the compartment is none other than Good Girl lube. "Really?" I ask incredulously.

She laughs; my god, she has an amazing laugh, too. It's full, rich, and smooth. It's the laugh of an adult who's figured everything out yet managed to retain -- or maybe recapture -- youthful joy.

"Believe it or not," she says, "it's the best there is -- unless your tastes are specific or extreme."

"Huh."

"Don't worry," ...

... she says, clearly amused, "genuine rich-people perks abound if you get the job. Sex is too important to be stingy. Everyone gets the best lube."

You know what? That makes sense, too. That's the world we live in.

Mindful of the time crunch, I scooch down the seat so that she has full access to my asshole. Her fingers are already lubed, and she starts teasing me back there right away. I exhale, focus on the sensations, and look down. She's giving me her eyes -- her beautiful blue eyes, like the ocean beneath a storm -- and her expression is everything anyone with a cock could ever want. Her whole face is smiling because it's her pleasure to serve. She's getting something she wants -- my cock -- and knows exactly what to do with it to get that other thing she wants just as much, or more.

"You can talk to me," she says, her other hand already lovingly stroking my hardening, lengthening, thickening pole. "You can tell me exactly what you need, or want."

I ask a dumb question. "What's your name?"

She doesn't stop smiling, but for a moment it becomes a sympathetic pout. "Sorry, babe, but not unless you get the job. You can call me anything you want, though."

That line hits a tender spot. I shake it off and reach down to stroke the side of her face. She passes that test with flying colors, acting like a dog getting petted by her favorite human. She even closes her eyes for a brief moment, savoring the new contact.

"You like it nice, don't you?" I ask knowingly, ...