The Deposit


The bank's rear parking lot at the Majesty St. branch was completely surrounded by the backs and sides of other four and five storey buildings and, as a result, usually tended to be a warm little area. This was partly because only the rarest breeze could find its way in, except down the narrow driveway, or the pedestrian walkway opposite that led through an alley and to Deschene Street. The other reason was because of how the heat radiated from the brick walls all around, making it like an oven on a really hot summer day, such as this particular late Friday afternoon in July.

Darla liked it, especially in mid autumn when the temperatures began to drop. She carefully nosed her Honda Civic down the paved alley, temporarily in the shade before entering the lot and seeing the one other car there, an old, silver American car that sat low on big black wheels. It was backed up against one of the surrounding, windowless brick walls with a lone occupant behind the wheel.

It wasn't as though her city was riddled with crime, not by any means, but she angled her little blue import into a space with two more between, separating the vehicles anyway. Since she was doing a deposit for the small, but rapidly expanding insurance company she worked at, she felt that some prudence was called for in spite of the effectiveness of the Halifax Police Department. Then she could just get home and pretend she was unemployed for the weekend.

It hadn't been a good day from start to finish. She'd overslept again and she'd forgotten to do the laundry so, half asleep and in a rush to just get out the door, she ended up somehow choosing the one skirt she never would have worn, had in fact never worn.

For the first half of the morning, Darla noticed, even half wondered, at how people seemed somehow different around her and finally settled on the fact that she'd been almost ten minutes late, despite her best efforts to be punctual since waking. She'd decided to stick her head in her boss's office to personally apologize over it, promise him it wouldn't happen again and so on. Just before leaving the washroom to go do that, she happened to see herself in the large mirror, understanding with a suddenly pounding heart why people were acting so differently.

The business skirt she wore was originally part of a set that included a very nice blouse and blazer, both of which fit her perfectly. The skirt did as well, but it was way too short for work at the time. She'd put on a little weight since then and it was now even shorter and a bit too tight, showing everything she had as though she were selling herself. Worse still, it had ridden up.

"Oh my God." she blurted at herself in the mirror, stunned.

If it had hiked up any further, the bottom of her ass would have been hanging out. She quickly jerked it down as far as she could, wondering how in hell she could have failed to notice this sooner, like while she was putting it on that morning. Darla re-evaluated the apology to her boss and somehow got through the day that way.

She turned the car off, pulled the door handle and kicked the door open, planting her left foot on the pavement before remembering the deposit bag on the back seat. Irritated, she reached back to grab it, then came forward again and got out of the car. She couldn't help noticing the man in the other car, or the smile on his face, and before she knew it, she was stopped, fixing him with a questioning expression as she took a good look at him.

He was maybe a bit younger than her forty-four years, semi attractive in a rough/cute sort of way with short dark hair and a two day beard. The haircut was one Darla would expect to see on a surfer type, but this was no surfer. With those mirrored sunglasses, black T-shirt, a pierced ear and tattoo on his forearm, he was a lot more like some reprobate biker type, some road trash that blew in from the highway like a newspaper page from the next town, waiting for the next big wind to blow him away again.

"Nice.", he said, pointedly looking down.

She followed his gaze and understood right away. He was looking at the bottom two inches of colourful floral patterns printed into her black satin panties, the ones her skirt should have been covering, but had again ridden up. She hurriedly jerked it down in front, gasping in embarrassment, mortified at the view he would have had while she was getting out of the car. Her face turned beet red as she felt the hot flush run up her chest and to the top of her head.

Without a word, she turned and walked quickly towards the rear entrance to the ATM hall, tugging her skirt down in back.

"Real nice." he added.

As a married woman, Darla didn't much care for the comment. As a woman, she was vaguely gratified by it. She quickened her pace in three inch heels, feeling his eyes on her ass all the way to the door.

Once inside the ATM hall, she hurried to a terminal and began to recompose herself with the last official order of business for the day. She scowled, thinking that the ratbag could have politely told her she was in disarray while averting his eyes, because that's what decent people do. Of course just a small, respectful smile might have been alright. Just one that said he wasn't offended by what he saw.

She smiled suddenly as she entered the dollar amount of the cash bag's contents, deciding that the occupant of the powerful looking car was nothing. Just some person one sees and never sees again, flotsam and jetsam of the every day crowd. Who cared what he saw? So what?

Darla opened the large, scoop like door beneath the terminal, stuffed the cash bag inside and let it slam shut. While she waited through the usual five o'clock Friday internet drag, she realized her nipples were quite erect and hard. The flush began to come back and the grinding ATM in front of her seemed to provide the perfect musical score for this. She put her hand inside her blazer and grabbed the nipple between thumb and forefinger through her white blouse and large C-cup bra that matched her underwear. They were like swollen pencil erasers. She couldn't believe this and hissed a small sigh of surprise and pleasure, wondering if it was the man in the rear lot, or the skirt. Or both?

She continued kneading and rolling it, pulling on it behind the left lapel of her blazer so that passersby on the sidewalk outside would think she was only fishing in an inside pocket for a bank card, or whatever. It felt very good.

She was about to go inside her shirt, beneath her bra, when the ATM prompted her as to whether or not she would like to do another transaction. Snapped back to the real world, she realized what she'd been doing and was again flustered in the sun heated hall. She pressed the button marked 'NO' and removed her jacket while waiting for the receipt, fearing she'd drenched her blouse in her own perspiration, wondering what was wrong with her.

Was it Dick, her husband of nine years? Dick, who used to be so exciting and fun, if not the brightest man in the world? Dick, who now sat on the couch as soon as he got home from work, drinking beer, watching stupid sports constantly, belching, farting and sleeping there half the time, too. Dick, the man who, while becoming ever more the disgusting, slovenly slob, seemed more interested in celebrity fluff who looked like the product of a union between a toothpick and a splinter than he was in her, his own wife. True, she'd put on a little weight herself in nine years, but she thought she still looked alright. The man in the parking lot certainly seemed to think so.

The machine ejected the receipt, at the bottom of which was printed, 'HAVE A NICE DAY'. Darla sighed, her smile all but gone now. She took the receipt and put it in her purse along with the ATM card and began walking back towards the exit to the rear lot, her jacket over one arm.

"What happened to Dick?" she silently wondered. He didn't seem to care about her anymore and surely hadn't lived up to his name in quite some time, at least not in a positive sense. Knowing him to be at home then, she pictured him there, sprawled on the couch. He wasn't her husband Dick any more at all, rather just a dick and, at forty-four, it was now too late for her; she'd be stuck with 'Java the Hut' for life.

It seemed it wasn't too late for her nipples, though. They were still very erect and she could feel them working against the thin material of her bra with every step. Her breasts jounced and jostled pleasurably while she could, at the same time, acutely feel the satin sliding back and forth between her legs every time she moved a leg forward to take those steps. The ends of her dark brown hair, which was up in keeping with appearances for work, tickled at the sides and back of her neck, ears and sometimes under her jaw. As she glanced down for the push bar handle on the door, she noticed that her nipples now stood out beneath her blouse, straining at it and the thin bra cup. She regretted taking her jacket off, but it was so hot, it was too late, and to hell with it, anyhow. She only needed to get to her car and get home, Dick or no Dick.

He was still out there, sitting in his car. Darla then remembered that she was alone in the ATM hall, so if he wasn't waiting on someone in the bank, what was he doing? He didn't seem interested in doing any banking himself, at least not at present. He was blatantly checking Darla out now as she walked towards him and her own car, and she could see through the lenses of her sunglasses a thin stream of smoke rising from behind his closed door and into the light breeze through his open window.

When she got closer, she remembered the smell on the warm, still air from her teen years and it explained why he was there. He was holed up and smoking a doobie. Again, she noted that he really wasn't that bad looking, but definitely not her type. She couldn't help thinking of Dick again just then, waiting for her at home like a big, stupid slug and the regrettable irony of her thoughts concerning 'her type' didn't escape her.

However, feeling better and more confident after having already made the deposit, she quickly made her way to the little Honda, ignoring her nipples, tickly hair and not thinking of what he'd seen of her panties. She lifted her jacket off her forearm and fished inside one of its two pockets for her keys, surprised to find that they weren't there and even more surprised to find that they weren't in the other pocket, either. By now, she was at her car. She turned her back on the vagrant to face it as she started a fervent search and rescue mission through the wilds of her medium sized purse, but they just weren't there. She looked at the car with mounting concern, realizing now that she'd probably left the keys inside it. Again.

She took two brisk steps forward, grasped the door handle and,... it opened.

"Someone could have stolen it you fool!" Darla hissed under her breath, scolding herself but, at the same time, relieved.

In her rush to get the deposit done and being embarrassed by the shaved ape, she'd also forgotten to lock her door, an essential detail for having it stolen, but also for her to get back in without having to call a tow truck to come and get her in. Also, again.

The keys weren't on either seat, or on the floor that she could see. That meant that she'd probably left them in the ignition, so she got in and found them not to be there.


Darla exited the car again, trying to ignore the man in the other car who was 'whooshing' his doobie and watching her with that same smile. She squatted down, knees together to get a better view under her seat, because they sometimes ended up there when she dropped them, but not this time. She straightened and bent at the waist, maneuvering her head and shoulders inside the coupe, peeling back the edge of the seat from the console where they would also sometimes get caught, but also to no avail.

She was too concerned now to remember her skirt, or notice that it had ridden almost halfway up her hips.

They weren't between the other seat and console either and, in remounting concern, she leaned further in, beyond the console and over the passenger seat in order to get a better look at the floor in front of it.

"Oh, shit! What the hell!?" Darla mumbled in frustration.

There was still the space between the passenger door and seat. It didn't seem likely, but where else could they be? She moved her left foot closer to the front of the open door and planted her right knee on the driver's seat, widening her stance and allowing her to brace herself better as she leaned in far enough to peer down over the far edge of the passenger seat.

Unbeknownst to Darla, in her rushed, stressed, single minded desire to just find her keys so she could get home, the man in the silver car behind her had a front row seat to the full, pouted lips of her pussy. They were clearly outlined against and filling out the thin strip of satin straining at her crotch, dragging the outer seems away from the tops of her legs, bearing the very edges of those shaved lips. He watched her round ass bob and dodge enticingly and, when she spread her legs, everything else in the world ceased to exist.

Meanwhile, the keys didn't seem to be on the other side of the passenger seat, either. She twisted over to take a close look at the back seats and floor before taking another look under the passenger seat, now that she'd gotten that far in. She had her face almost on the carpet, ass in the air as she peered underneath as best as she could.

Just then, the door of the other car opened and then closed again with a hollow, rattling bang. Darla heard his boot steps approaching and started to feel better about all this with the impending help of this man. She may have been an independent woman, successful in her own career, but she was still a woman and, when things like this happened, she always felt better, that things would be seen to with a man on the case.

The only problem was that this man's concern was mainly based around helping himself. If her head wasn't craning on the floor on the passenger side, she may have gone through the sunroof at the sudden loose, but firm grip he took on the backs of her thighs. After the initial start, she froze for a second in shocked surprise, thinking that there must be some other problem that he was assisting her with, one she wasn't aware of, such as a dangerous snake coiled beneath the car, ready to strike. Or some other reasonable explanation, because a man can't just go around- (!!!)

He moved his hands straight up, not slowly, but not in any hurry either, so that his thumbs found their way to that spot where the backs of her legs turned into the very bottom of her ass. He kept on going, going until those thumbs found their way right into the back of her bikini panties and her tight little skirt was pushed to a rolled tangle at her waist. It was actually the electrifying feel of the crotch of her underwear tightening against her vagina, along with his hot breath between her legs that took her from the frozen, gape mouthed pose to one of sudden action.

"Hey, what the hell!?" she yelled in affronted anger. "What are you doing!? Get off me, go away, you bastard! Hey!!"

She was propping herself up with her hands on the passenger seat now, arms straight and franticly trying to look around, or over her shoulders as she attempted to squirm away from his grip. However, her round bottom took up most of the space between the seat and steering wheel and she didn't have much room to move at all in the tight confines of her compact while his grip impeded her efforts all too well, besides.

"Hey, stop it, you creep! I SAID STOP THAT!"

His reply was to lick the top of her right leg, right beside her now quivering genetalia. Her immediate and uncontrolled reaction was to buck her hips, driving her pussy into his face for a half second before she lunged ahead and away from him. She was beginning to panic now; this guy wouldn't be put off. She lunged again, twisted, jumped and squirmed as she screamed loud enough to deafen herself in the little car.

As she began to tire in the warm car that had been in the sun with the windows up all day, a sudden and detached memory of something the saleswoman told her about this car flashed across her mind. She'd mentioned how well the factory engineering soundproofed this car from the stressful noises of the outside world,... She remembered the sunny, brick canyon beyond the immediate universe of her sound proofed car and understood that she'd never attract any attention or help for herself. Someone would have to drive in, or enter the lot via the pedestrian walkway from Deschene Street.

When she'd tapped herself out from racketing around, he moved his hands to the insides of her thighs, spread them even further apart and then lifted her hind quarters right off the ground. He kept lifting until the small of her back touched the bottom edge of the roof in the doorway, the energy from his lift also forcing her legs to spread open as far as they could, a personal limitation that this man was somehow able to guess. Her legs were still outside the car, one caught in the crook of the open door and windshield post, the other she could see through the rear side window, jerking uselessly, knee bumping the glass repeatedly. She tried using the seatbacks to pull herself away from him, but his use of her own thighs spread across the door frame prevented success entirely. She was going nowhere and, as if to demonstrate this, he planted his mouth squarely on her panty clad pussy and sucked.

"Ohhh, my God!" she yelled, mostly out of surprise and angry indignation but, for the second time, she instinctually bucked her hips, pressing her sex to his mouth all the harder for a moment, which accented the small, although undeniable pleasure in her tone.

She'd been clinging to the top of the passenger seat by one arm, propping herself on the seat with the other, but now she felt herself going weak and limp in the heat. Heart pounding, she slid helplessly down until the side of her face rested on the seat. One arm rested in the foot well of the passenger side, the other disappearing towards the floor in the back seat.

"Stop! ... Please stop!" she moaned, pleading through a dizzy spell now.

He stopped sucking and grabbed the crotch of her undergarment in his teeth, jerking his head back and making some slack. His tongue was now inside, darting around her lips before he began sucking once more, this time directly from her moistening pussy.

The heat and exertion had definitely made her feel faint and light headed and, at this point, her blouse was drenching in perspiration as she whimpered and squirmed under the onslaught of his mouth. Worst of all, she could no longer ignore the fact that her body was betraying her. She was disgusted with herself that she could enjoy this totally non consentual treatment in any way and had a new reason for wanting it to end.

"Doooon't!" she went on. "Please,... Please stop! Please- Oh! O- Ohhhh-hh!"

He'd driven his uninvited tongue deep between her lips, unapologetically scooping up her building essence with it, sucking it greedily into his mouth.

"P-please, I'm m,... married! You can't do th- Ahh-ahhh-hhh!"

He said nothing and seemed not to hear her, only shifted so that his right shoulder would prop her thigh so he could dine on her all the easier as he crouched there. At this point, she couldn't have crushed a loaf of bread between her thighs, let alone close her legs against his resistance, so with his suddenly free hand, he reached between her legs, under the crotch of her silkies and went directly up to find her swelling clitoris. He toyed with it lazily as he sucked her, teasing around it, flicking it once every second or so and every time he did, Darla bucked against his face without being able to help it at all.

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