White Bandana Club

"Now blow me. And make it slow and interesting and complete." It only took me a couple of minutes to bring him to climax, which was understandable because of the two times Mrs. Rich had denied him climax up at the house.

"Well, that was disappointing," he said. "Very pleasant for as long as it lasted, but disappointing all the same. Okay, I'm going to play with you until I recover, and then we'll see what we see."

He came back into the car compartment, pushed me down the flat passenger seat and hovered over me, toying with me. It didn't help matters that I had shot off twice myself before his cock had gotten hard enough to perform. Then he just stretched out on top of me, and fucked me and fucked me, taking me from the side, with one of my legs stretched up to the moon roof; and then from the back, with me kneeling on the seat and him standing over me with an arm around my belly and pulling me up to him like I was a barbell in an exercise, burying himself farther in me with each lift; and then from the front, with one of my feet wedged in the top corner of the window sill and the other dug into the corner of he moon roof for leverage, and then, at last, once more from the side, both of us scooting toward the back seat with the force of his thrusts. It may have taken him some time to recover, but recover he had, as he shot off into me twice and than up the small of my back twice more in torrents of hot, angry Arab cum.


No tip from Samir—and I seriously doubted that he really was a paying member of the White Bandana Club—but I'd already been paid well, and I knew now that Samir would want me again and would be willing to help me get onto the university wrestling team. But, mostly, truth be known, I wanted Samir again.