Road-X-Trip 03: Concessions

On the other side of the desk, Richard puts the pen down and stands up. He can't help but look at me as he hands the document to the salesman. Billette grabs the paper.

-- Will you... hugh... hold on a second, sweetie, I'll be right back, he breathes half-heartedly.

Folding in half, he swivels in his chair and places the document on the scanner of a printer almost completely hidden under files and other trinkets. He pulls out a duplicate of each sheet and hands the original back to Richard. Finally, he hands him the camper's key.

-- You know where to find the vehicle...no need for me to go with you there, huh?

With a clumsy gesture, he packs up his swollen sex then escorts my boyfriend to the door. I lean against the table. Richard turns over and we exchange a last knowing glance. Once shut behind him, the man closes the blinds of the door and those of the window. He returns to his seat, begs me to pick up where I left off. Now my goal is to get this wretched man off the ground and be done with him. I press my body against his legs and move my face closer to his cock. I know how much this simple sight excites them. I press my elbows against his thighs and squeeze his sex with both palms. I think about Richard. I hope he had a good laugh after seeing the poor guy walk like a duck in front of him. I focus on my task, spit on my hands and vigorously jerk the dude off. Several minutes go by. I alternate rhythms. I try not to be monotonous while I go back and forth. But it doesn't seem to be enough.

-- Listen... You may be a little beauty, but you'll have to give more of yourself if you want to get rid of me, he says. Take out your breasts and jerk me with them. You seem to have a nice pair. Let me see it!

I hesitate for a few seconds. Should I go that far...? But I don't think too much as I should finish what I started. I drop the straps of my tank top and undo the bra clasp that holds my chest. Billette lets out a coo of pleasure at the sight of my liberated breasts.

-- You like my big boobs? I whisper, charming.

I play with them for a few moments, weighing them with my palms.

-- They're the perfect size for my palms, he estimates.

-- I won't let you touch them, if that's what you're implying over there.

He grumbles in displeasure. But I have to draw a very clear line. He pulled down the blinds so Richard can't see what's going on inside. I won't let that intimidate me.

-- Then jerk me off with it. Are you waiting for my dick to go limp again? he scolds in a snarling tone.

Once again, I execute. Lifting my chest, I wrap his shaft between the two breasts. I press them against his cock with my palms. I slide my skin against his quivering penis. Without warning, he spits inside my cleavage. I give him a dark look. He must understand when he is out of bounds. In turn, I let a trickle of saliva run down his erect member. I massage him up and down, again and again. I make circular movements. Once more, I spit.

-- Ostie de tabernac'... keep jerking me this way, I am going to spread my sperm all over your face! he grumbles, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

I continue my comings and goings. I bring down my breasts even harder against his abdomen. His moans of pleasure turn into spasms. He grabs his desk. He slumps more and more on his chair, forcing me to support him with my body. I start to get tired. My breasts, sore from the compressions and slapping, become more sensitive.

-- Ha... Sti' de calice! Take this!

Finally, he explodes in a final complaint of pleasure, spreading streams of semen on my breasts and his suit, soiling my tank top in the process.

A sudden calm settle while I catch my breath. He remains prostrate on his chair, arms swinging. As soon as I feel capable of it, I let fall his sex. I get up and put my clothes back on, not giving him time to get his act together as I stride towards the exit.

-- Have a good trip eh... he lets out, coming to his senses. I turn around. He has straightened up, elbows leaning on the desk. You guys have fun.

-- Well... You too...

I answer him without really thinking, contemplating the dingy room. The defective neon, the files on the floor. This is his life. Does he have a lot of "fun"? Anyway, I hope he enjoyed this moment. I would like to tell him to get up. To pull himself together. To get on with his life. But I don't dare. What do I know about him except that he works in a slum and doesn't take care of his appearance? I push open the door.

-- Be well... I say as I find the daylight again.