“What?” Blair asked. “Dude…” And she chuckled at that choice of word and covered her mouth. “…Oh God, Sophie’s rubbing off on me. But no, uh, where was I going with that, uh, oh, Brooke, right, she–”
I think for the first time, I had a shred of confidence around Blair. She was vulnerable here, and more than that, I–yeah, I’m kinda pissed at her for putting me through this. No, more than that, using Sophie to put me through this. “Brooke–Blair,” I corrected myself, “can’t you just take me home? Why are you doing this? Of all the people who’d gladly, you know, do this for you, why are you–” I shook my head, gathered my thoughts. “–are you mad at me for getting Sophie pregnant? Is this revenge? Like, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t take that back. Not ever.”
The thought of being “Dad” had really been growing on me, especially considering who it was with–me and Sophie, us little nobodies, an amazing child all to ourselves.
“Fuck.” Blair stared at me, totally blank faced, then she let her forehead drop into the steering wheel again. “I really am an asshole.”
“Mason.” She peeked up. “How about this: You hop in back and I’ll do things to you that give you funny feelings that you kind of like–but not totally–, and then you’ll do things to me that I kinda like but not totally, and then we’ll kinda understand each other?”
I didn’t know what to say.
She squeezed my hand. “Okay…okay…” She drew in a breath. “If I had a little Mason, I’d automatically love him for for you…Shit. That was corny. I mean–” She gathered herself, really thought about it, and then I saw her smile, as if she was thinking about the future, I suppose. “–Naw, that’s what I mean.”
I was lost. I didn’t know what to say here. Like, I’m pissed and humiliated, but here she was pouring out her soul, and I never hated Blair. She’s the de-facto wife of my Sophie.
She reached around me. Her enormous breasts sploosh around my bicep, and she pulls the seat recliner lever. My backrest fell back thirty degrees until it struck the back seat. Her arm slid between my knees, down to the seat-scooter-back-lever, but unfortunately, my seat was already maxed out.
I heard the strumming of a large bore diesel engine outside my window. And against the dusky orange sunset, I could see the black tinted glass of a semi’s passenger window gleaning down on us, a perfect view into Blair’s little coupe.
Blair hiked up her beige dress, crawled over and straddled me. Her eyes flashed. She was excited. Her hand reached down, tentatively groped my groin, and when I didn’t protest, she leaned forward, whispered in my ear, “I’m going to do things to you now. The safeword is ‘Testosterone.’ You know what a safeword is?”
I had a pretty good idea, but…
She caught my hesitation. “It means, if you say that word, I’ll stop and drive you home, no questions asked, okay?”
I nodded.
“Now,” she said with a dark sparkle in her eye, “I want you naked.”
“But–” I pointed up at the semi parked right beside us.
Blair shook her head. “I want them to see. Now, strip boy!” She slapped my thigh.
I was hesitant. She leaned over, got right in my face, and I was reminded of the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. “You remember the safeword?”
I nod.
“You gonna say it?”
I–I no, I decided not to. I shook my head.
“Then strip, boy!”
I peeled off my shirt. She tapped at my jeans. I unhooked my belt, unzipped the front, unbuttoned the zipper, all the while, she was staring down expectantly. I hooked my thumbs into my jeans. She scoots back to give me room, and I figure it’s best just to do the whole thing in one shebang, and I dropped my pants and undies, but my kees catch on the glovebox, and when I try to wriggle around, I bump my hips into Blair’s ass, her head crams against the ceiling at an awkward angle. Her leg jerked, and she squelched, “Ow, ow, ow! My toe, Mason. It’s caught…pull it out of…yeah, yeah, that’s better.”
She tried to shuffle around. Our legs tangled. Her knee prodded into my groin. My forearm smacked her chin, and finally, she’d resituated herself, “reverse cowgirl” the internet videos would call it, over my lap.
She leaned forward, ducking under the windshield, and on into that gap above the dash. Her arms slid her frock right off her body. No panties, no bra, just pure pale flesh underneath.
Blair giggled–yes, Blair Rochester just fucking giggled, and wiggled her asscheeks in my face. The soft flesh shook, and I couldn’t help it, I slapped the side of her fat cheeks. “Mason!” She screeched. Her shoulders heaved. And for a moment, I thought I’d gone too far, but without even looking back, she said, “Do it again.”
Smack.
“Harder, you bitch!”
Smack! Smack! Smack!
“Get it right in the crack!”
I tried, but the angle was awkward as close as we were together, and it was a weak slap. I tried to push her forward to get more room for a swing, but her forehead rapped against the glass of the windshield–“Ouch!”–and her arm contorted weirdly against the door.
Smack? I swear that last crack slap was more a question than an assertion.
She sighed and shook her head. Her body reared back, and she plopped those fat cheeks right onto my cock, wiggled around, really got it smothered between them good. Her bare back leaned against my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, hugging her against me.
Idly, her fingertips caressed along my forearms. Her head leaned back over my shoulder, so I tipped my own aside to share the headrest. And we sat like that, me just feeling the gentle compressions of her chest, the slow scratches of her fingernails across my skin.
I looked over at her, who was staring off into space, the hint of a smile on those plump lips, and I leaned in to claim them on my own but only made it as far as her cheek before she lurched away.
“Okay…” She held up a finger, pressed it against my lips seemingly like she was trying to contain them. “Kissing is my ‘Testosterone.’ Like, your cock laying between my cheeks feels amazing.” And to accentuate her point, she wiggled her ass deeper against me. “And, here, lemme take your hand…” She grabbed it and led my finger down the subtle hairs of her landing strip and on into the dripping trench of her sex.
She helped me rub her clitoris in all the right ways, until she moaned and arched her back. Huffing in ecstasy, she pulled my hand away, led it up to her breast, circled her long stretched nipples with my fingers, and right then, I broke from her grasp and squeezed up her entire fatty mounds until the flesh oozed between my fingers. I kneaded those wonderful toys.
As I did so, she explained, “That all feels wonderful. That skin on skin touch. But…” She shook her head. “…how to say it: Swapping spit doesn’t feel sensual in the same way. That’s romantic, intimate, not sexual, you know? I can’t just focus on the sensation and forget who’s doing it.”
I stopped. “Who’s doing it? You mean, me?”
“I don’t mean it like that. More like, just a dude in general. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain with words. Here, close your eyes and lean back. You remember the safeword?”
I did as she said. “Yeah,” I tell her.
“Okay.” I felt her lean over; heard some rustlings through her purse; there was a snap like a bottle top, a wet squirt; she kicked my pants down the rest of the way to the floor, allowing me to step out of them, and she told me, “Okay, put your feet up on the dash.”
Do what?
Her voice got stern. “Did I stutter? Feet up, boy.”
I did not argue. I had to contort so far that I felt my knees smoosh into her breasts, and as my legs spread to wriggle their way up there, this forced her legs open, and soon, I could feel a slimy path of writhing heat along my happy trail as she scooted back to give me room, no doubt her open cunt loitering just above my cock. And even once I got my feet propped up there, which, due to my size, really had my legs spread from one side of the car to the other, it seemed, Blair still remained hiked up, her sweltering wet sex pressed against my stomach.
The semi idled next to us. Ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh. Ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh, ruh. Those overbored pistons just slamming into the crank. And I just knew that guy, probably some fat slob in a denim jacket, was looking down at my spread ass.
And for that matter, so was Blair.
“Damn..” I heard her mutter.
Her fingers began to knead my ballsack. Her other hand rubbed some wet slime right around my–Hoo boy! Just you hold on a minute! I jumped up, and heard a smack, probably her head against the ceiling, and Blair just started laughing, and laughing, just absolutely maniacal.
A fingernail parted where no fingernail has ever been, then her fingertip, and I felt a smoldering burn as she pushed it on in.
Jesus Christ, I felt so…exposed.
“Blair, maybe…”
“Shush. I love this.” Then after a moment, she said, “stick your fingers in my pussy. Get it ready.”
Get it ready for what? Right as I thought that, she hit some kind of button on the inside, and Hoo boy! cooling strands of precum leaked from my cock.
I reached around, slid down her landing strip and popped one finger into her trench. I started rubbing her clit just like she showed me earlier. Her hips started rocking. “Fingers in my pussy, Mason,” she said, despite that.
I began to slide that hand down, but she stopped me. “Well, keep doing that! What are you thinking? You got two hands.”
Oh, right. I found her hole with the other. First one finger, and then, right when I was starting to put in two, she copied me. A second of her fingers slipped in, again with the burn, but her fingers curled and began massaging the button. Another dribble of precum.
So now, with two fingers inside each other, I was really working her clit around, she was moaning, and all was well, so I tried to put in a third, except, she also did as well, and that was way too much for me, so I retracted my finger.
I heard her husky laugh. “Just kidding. It’s not really the same thing, and…well, I want three fingers in me, four, even.”
I hesitated.
“I ain’t gonna stick any more fingers up your ass, Mason! So, plunge away.”
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