That 70s HobyCaptMalcolm©
"Well, that was a fun evening!" you say, walking down the suburban sidewalk. "It's great that a cool underground club opened up so close to my place. I can walk there whenever I like."
"It was a nice club," I answer. "But having mandatory costume theme nights is a little over the top, dontcha think?" To emphasize my point, I gesture at my outfit: a gen-u-ine 1970s vintage white polyester leisure suit, complete with white patent leather shoes and belt, paisley faux-silk shirt unbuttoned to my navel and Zodiac medallion nestled in the hair of my chest. "I spent the entire evening fighting the urge to say that I was "a wiiiild and craaazy guy!"
You turn to face me, hands on your hips. "So you don't like MY outfit?" you accuse. My eyes caress you up and down; your svelte frame is wrapped tightly in a one-piece velour pantsuit, complete with halter top and swishing bell bottoms. The velour material molds to your body, insinuating itself between your ass cheeks and your pussy lips; it's QUITE obvious you chose to forego underwear tonight. You balance on four inch platform boots, bringing your gaze almost eye-to-eye with mine. Topping off the transformation, your hair is teased into an afro, framed by two giant gold hoop earrings, with two smaller afro-puffs sitting on top.
I put my arms around your waist and pull you to me. "Any outfit that basically allows you to parade around naked in public is OK by me," I say, leering. "How'd you get your hair to do that, though?"
"I have a friend that does hair at one of the big studios in town; she's great. She could put hair on a bowling ball and make it look good." You giggle, "but if this shit doesn't wash out like she said it would, I'm gonna kill her. Let's get back to my place."
As we continue to walk down the street, a car slows down, pacing us as we walk. The driver's side window rolls down and the driver hangs partially out the window. "Hey man," he calls, "How much for HER?"
We stop and I look at you—despite my penchant for watching you flirt with random guys, you know I don't react well to men who are disrespectful. You place your hand on my arm.
"C'mon, you're her 'manager', right? I was headed to Tremont street, but she's better looking than any of the skanks there.....fifteen minutes? How much?"
You feel the muscles in my arm tighten as I remove your hand and walk out to the car. You fumble in your clutch for your cell phone, hoping that I don't drag the guy through the car window. I lean down to the window and you can hear me talking to the guy, but can't quite make out the conversation. You feel relief when I turn away from the car—until you notice the wad of bills in my hand. I put the bills in my pocket.
"Get in the car." Your face flushes red as you process what I just said.
"W-What?" you stammer, disbelieving.
I snatch the small purse from your hands and grab you by your arm. "I said get in the car, bitch!" I drag you around the back of the car and open the passenger door, pushing you inside. You turn to say something, but I ignore you and talk to the guy over you. "Go up to the park on the corner. Fifteen minutes, no more. I'll keep an eye on you." I slam the door, and he drives away, up the block.
In the car with this stranger, you look at him. He's a decent looking guy, probably thirtyish, wedding ring. Why would he be doing this? For that matter you wonder, why would I?
At the small neighborhood park, he turns his car up the jogging path and parks behind the sandbox area. Fortunately, at this time of night, the park is deserted. As he puts his car into Park, you hear a faint whirring and realize that the top is sliding open into the trunk—a hardtop convertible. He kills the engine and unlocks the steering wheel, lifting it high, out of his lap. He looks at you with a puzzled look.
"WELL?!" he demands, "I've only got fifteen minutes. Let's go. Let's start by showing me them titties."
It finally sinks in that this is real, but at the same time you can't deny a small amount of excitement at the prospect of an encounter with a stranger in this public place. You reach up carefully and untie your halter, allowing it to fall free, exposing your breasts to the cool night air. Your nipples harden slightly as a slight breeze blows across them. He reaches over, rubbing one, then the other, with his rough hands.
"Yeah! Now that's what I'm talkin about!" He reaches into his lap with the other hand and unbuckles his belt, opening his pants and pulling out his cock. You look down at his semi-erect member and take it carefully into your hand. You rub the shaft slowly, using the precum leaking from the tip to lubricate your efforts. You increase the speed of your motions, thinking that maybe causing a quick release would end the encounter sooner.
"Hell girl," he sighs, "you're damn good at that, but I didn't pay all that money for you ta jack me off." He reaches over and grabs the back of your neck and pulls your head towards him. The motion is so sudden, that with little effort, he has your face inches from his growing cock before you can react. Holding your head in place, he lifts his hips up slightly and the tip of his penis rubs across your lips. Instinctively you lick the liquid from your lips, the salty taste filling your mouth as his musky scent fills your nostrils.
"Shit," you think. "He's not the worst guy I've blown." You part your lips and drop your mouth down onto his growing erection. You feel his grip on your head relax as he sits back in the car seat. A low groan escapes from him as you begin to work the cock in and out of your mouth, running your tongue around the head at the top of every stroke. His organ grows within your mouth and his hand guides your head down harder with each thrust—you feel the tip of the shaft bumping the back of your throat, but continue sucking harder. With his balls cupped in your hand, you begin to feel the stirrings of his climax. Pumping faster, sucking harder, you assault his member until it finally explodes in your mouth. Clamping your lips on the head of his cock, you try to catch the gush of jism that pours out, allowing only a small trickle to escape down your chin.
"Ooooooooh, damn girl!" he moans. "That was fantastic!" You sit back in your seat and wipe his seed from your face. You begin to tie your halter back in place....
"Hey, where're you going?" he demands. "I've still got time left. We ain't done yet."
"But," you start, "I thought....."
"I didn't pay for your brains, honey. Now that we got the easy one outta the way, I want a piece of that ass."
You start to protest, but realize that this encounter has left you rather horny yourself. You feel the soft velour sticking to your wet pussy as you bend over to undo your boots.
"Shit! I didn't pay for a striptease—leave the fucking boots! Turn around!" You turn in the seat, facing the car door and a firm hand bends you over the door at your waist. With the other hand, he grasps the top of your pantsuit and, in one motion, pulls the garment down to your knees. Goosebumps run across the naked skin of your firm round ass, exposed to the night air. Your legs still partially trapped, you can only open them a couple of inches as he slides his hand up your inner thigh. You shudder as he slips a finger into your flowing snatch, rubbing the roof of your pussy firmly with the tip of his digit.
He continues for some time adding another finger and then another; you can feel the juices of your pussy starting to run down your leg. You reach back with one hand and find his swinging cock, now erect again, and pull it towards your hungry slit.
"Hang on," he says, pulling his fingers out. "You've sure got a nice cunt, but I can get THAT at home....." His voice trails off as his fingers begin to smear your love juices around your anus. Your eyes open in surprise, but before you can protest, you notice me sitting on a park bench across from the car. Our eyes meet and I smile slightly.
He finishes lubing your ass and presses the tip of his cock firmly to your bud. Your eyes never break from mine as he bears down and drives his dick halfway into your ass. A loud, low moan escapes your lips and you relax your sphincter, allowing him to drive balls deep into you. He begins to piston his shaft into your bum, balls slapping your swollen pussy lips with each thrust. You close your eyes, breaking contact with me, allowing the friction of his cock and the sensation of your breasts bouncing off the car door to carry you away.
He shifts, raising up on one knee, changing the angle of his assault. The tip of his cock rubs the sensitive membrane between your ass and pussy with every thrust, sending electric shocks down your wobbly legs. You begin to grind your hips back in time with his movements, and you feel him increase the tempo. Your hand slides between the lips of your pussy, flicking your clit, driving yourself close to the brink of orgasm. Thrusting even faster, you feel his organ begin to throb and pump into your belly. With a warm sensation spreading inside, you rub harder and harder on your bean, finally cumming with a silent, breathless groan.
You feel him slide his flaccid member out of your ass, tracing spunk down your cheek. He drops back into his seat, fastening up his pants. "Damn, baby! You're one HOT piece......Alright, out now," he says, reaching past your naked body and pulling the door handle. "I've gotta get back before my wife misses me."
You step out of the car, clothing bunched around your ankles, your fluids oozing from your cunt, his from your ass. As he turns back onto the street and disappears, you reach down and pull up your jumpsuit. Walking over to me, you extend one hand and snap your fingers sharply: "Money!"
I stand, reaching into my pocket and hand you the bankroll. You thumb through the bills, roll them up and tuck them between your breasts.
You finally speak: "I know that I'm the one who put the Hooker fantasy into our 'play jar', but a little warning would have been nice."
I reach over and trace the swollen lips of your pussy through the velour fabric, feeling the moisture seeping through. I look at you, mischievously, "Would it have been near as fun, if I had?"
You take a second, thinking, "Probably not," you grin slyly.
We turn to walk back to your apartment.
"So? I'm assuming that I didn't just fuck some Bible salesman from Pacoima. Who was he?"
"Back at the party? He was one of the guys dressed as Starsky and Hutch—name's Patrick; I know him from work. He's a great guy; you know I'd never let anything happen to you."
We continue to walk along—eventually I break the silence. "You know that bankroll is mine, right? He didn't REALLY pay for that."
"It's mine now," you grin. "Maybe we can think of a way for you to earn it back."