"Jesus!" he gasped. "That was the greatest blow job I've ever had!"
Anna licked her lips contentedly.
"Janitor jism is delicious," she said.
CHAPTER THREE
When Jonathon dropped Jayne off outside the offices of the Benson Company, he did not drive off immediately. Instead he watched his sexy wife walk into the building. Her sweet, juicy ass moved like a pendulum. At the doorway, she turned back to wave to him. Her tits, in profile, thrust put like fat shelves.
His cock shot straight up, pushing his pants up in a pillar that rose so high that the tip bumped against the rim of the steering wheel.
Then Jayne went into the building.
Jonathon sighed.
He looked ruefully down at his pecker.
Thank God I had a fuck before I drove her to the party, he thought. If I'm this hot and hard now, think what it would have been like if I hadn't poured a load of spunk into her sweet pussy before we left!
Even as it was, Jonathon was not sure that he could wait, ignoring his raging prick, until lame came home to give him the promised blow job.
He was damned well going to try, certainly but he was not too hopeful of success.
He thought that he might have to take his cock in hand and whack off a couple of times when he got home. He hated the idea, for it seemed a terrible shame to waste such a lovely load of jism on his hand when his wife had promised to drink it later – but it might be necessary. He felt as if his balls might explode otherwise.
He put the car in gear and started home.
Driving was complicated by the fact that his cock kept getting in the way, sticking up like an extra gear shift, demanding that he shift gears. He tried to ignore it. He drove slowly and cautiously.
Then he saw the hitchhiker.
It was a girl, young and pert and pretty. She was wearing cut-off jeans – cut off so high that they barely covered her crotch and were dragged up in a tight vee – and a white tee-shirt. She had long blonde hair and an adorable, pouting mouth. She was standing with one hip shot out, her thumb hooked up nonchalantly, her attitude and expression implying that she didn't really give a damn if he stopped or not – but that she was confident that he would.
Jonathon drove on past.
No, I mustn't, he thought.
That would just be asking for trouble.
He looked in the rear view mirror.
Her ass was taut and trim, packed into the very tight jeans. Her legs were smooth and supple and her tits were small, pear shaped and nubile as all hell.
Jonathon slammed the brakes on, hardly aware of what he was doing, stamping down automatically. The car rocked on its suspension. His cock thundered.
He put the car in reverse and backed up until he had come level with the girl.
"Want a lift?" he asked.
She looked in the window.
Her lip curled disdainfully.
"No," she said. "I always stand on the curb with my fucking thumb out when I don't want a lift."
"Oh," he said. "Errr…"
"Well? You want me to get in, or are you just window shopping?" she asked.
Jonathon was taken aback.
Then she smiled sweetly.
"Why, yes… get in…" he said.
She opened the door and slipped into the passenger seat. Her ass slid onto the leather of the bucket seat with a soft sound, like a caress. She closed the door. Jonathon was gaping at her. He knew he looked foolish and that she would probably think he was a dirty old man not that he was old, but she was young – but he couldn't help himself. His jaw was hanging open as if it were broken.
She scratched the inside of her thigh.
"You gonna drive, or what?"
"Oh… why, yes… of course."
Then she giggled.
"I don't know if you know it," she said, looking boldly at him.
"Know what?"
"You got a great big hard-on," said the sweet young thing, and she laughed merrily.
Embarrassed and confused, Jonathon started to drive down the street, keeping both hands clamped on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road.
"Not that I mind," she said. "A guy has a right to have a hard-on in his own car, huh?"
He mumbled. He was sweating.
"But tell me… did you have a hard-on already, or did it get hard when you saw me hitchhiking?"
He supposed it was a rhetorical question.
But she said, "Well?"
He saw that she expected an answer.
Then he thought: What the hell… why should I be embarrassed about it? Certainly not with a young tramp like this one… after all, she brought the subject up.
He said, "Actually, my cock was hard before I saw you. I was thinking about my wife."
"Oh. That why you stopped?"
"Huh?"
"Did you stop because you had a hard-on and you thought I might take care of it for you?"
"Certainly not!"
"Oh. That's a shame… because I would have."
My God! he thought. Is this girl for real?
She squirmed around in the bucket seat, getting comfortable. He thought that he could hear her pussy squish juicily as she rubbed her bottom on the leather, but he knew that might be just his aroused imagination.
He figured that he had better change the subject.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Oh, that don't matter… just so it ain't too far out of my way."
That threw him for a loss.
"What on earth do you mean?"
"Well, I ain't going anywhere in particular, is what I mean. Wherever you're going will be fine."
"But… why are you hitchhiking if you aren't going anywhere?" he asked, his head spinning around in confusion.
She shrugged.
"Got nothing else to do," she explained.
"Oh. I see. I guess…"
He wondered how he was going to get rid of her.
Then he wondered if he wanted to get rid of her.
He had never cheated an Jayne and didn't want to. But still, Jayne had gone off to the office party without him, leaving him with a huge hard-on… and it was her fault, and… and he was starting to rationalize. He didn't want to do anything with this young nymph… but his pecker sure did. He felt like a dinosaur, one of the big ones with two brains, one in the head and one in the tail. And the secondary brain in the head of his cock was urging movement of his loins.
He slid a sideways glance at her.
Her jeans were cut off so short that he could see a little wisp of curly pubic hair at the leghole. The blue denim was faded greatly and the crotch seemed to be darker… damp.
Her pert nipples stuck out, branding twin peaks into her white-cotton tee-shirt.
Jonathon clenched his teeth, determined to struggle against the unholy inspiration.
"Errr… what's your name?" he asked.
"Shirley," she said. "Shirley Tiddlewell."
"Well, hello, Shirley. I'm Jonathon…" He had started to mention his last name. Thinking better of that, he bit the word abruptly off.
"Hi," she said.
"I'm a bit puzzled about where to take you."
"Don't you know a parking spot?"
"That's not what I meant."
She frowned slightly. "You're married, huh?"
"Yes."
"Got to take that big hard-on home to your wife, I guess. Is that it?"
"Well… actually, no. My wife is at a party and I was going home alone."
Her eyes gleamed.
"To wait for her," he added, hastily. "You're faithful, huh?" she said, sounding distinctly disappointed at that idea.
"Of course."
"Too bad."
"I don't think so."
"Yeah. Well, I can understand it. A guy has to worry about his reputation, I guess. A girl, too, as far as that goes. That's why I like to hitchhike."
"I don't understand."
"Boy, are you ever dumb!"
Jonathon scowled. His dick lurched, motivated by that brain that moved his loins and did not respond to insults directed at his thinking brain.