by Roxanne Sebastién
(05/15/02)
You stop the little black car and tell me to take off my clean white panties, to leave them here, I won't be needing them. I start to giggle, but you say "Now!" and I stop on a dime, you aren't playing around. I pull them off one leg at a time under my short silver skirt. I do it slowly, embarrassed by my awkward squirming, your eyes locked above my knees, the strange feeling of upholstery on my bare skin. I try to keep the hem pulled down around my thighs but I know any of the people walking past our parking space could see me if they looked. Smooth, shaved, and already growing wet for you. A man walking a bicycle passes and I pause leaned over with my panties hobbling my ankles, trying to cover myself, but he wasn't looking. Or I don't think he was.
You're outside the car already and opening the door before I'm even finished undressing. One hand takes my wrist, the other snatches the panties from my fingers. You toss them in the back seat, pull me to my feet in a single movement. When I stand I feel the chilly afternoon breeze brush across my pussy like a cat twisting around ankles and I shiver. You pull me forward, past the loud men on the sidewalk with their paper bags and cups of quarters, through a yellow door. It is musty inside and smells like people. I try to pull the hem of my skirt down as low as I can, but you notice and slap my hand away while you give money to the man behind the counter. You knock three quarters off the counter with the back of your hand and look to me, one eyebrow raised. I look down, and then behind me at the two men waiting for their turn at the counter, holding crumpled bills and tired wallets between their thick, red fingers. I look at you disbelieving, but all I get in return is your "Don't be ridiculous. Do it!" look. I bend to retrieve your change, feeling my skirt crawl up behind me, uncovering just the very edge curves of my unclothed bottom before I right myself and hand you your money. You take it from my hand and place it in your wallet while I am still blushing pink.
You don't look at me or talk to me until we're in the dark where the screen flickers in red and yellow light, and you pull me onto your lap to watch. The film is simple, he fucks her, she fucks her, they fuck them, typical, but I feel you underneath me, growing hard between my legs and feel the wet spot I'm leaving on you spreading and hope I'm not in trouble when you feel me dirtying your pants with my juice. The man on the screen is much older than the girl and has his face in her pussy, flicking his tongue in and out of her and I start to squirm, just a little, wanting you, not wanting anyone to notice what a naughty girl I am, uncovered and available for your use whenever you want me, even here, in this cold dark theater. You push my hips with your hands, grinding me over the bulge in your pants, I gasp and you put a hand over my mouth, whisper to me to shut up or you'll take me on all fours in the motherfucking aisle, right on the sticky filthy floor, and the movie will never get watched.
Do I believe you? I look around the room, it's not crowded, but we're not alone. One guy's got his jacket spread over his lap, another openly rubs the front of his pants with an open hand. They probably think you paid $30 for me outside. I'm not taking any chances on calling your threat. I turn to look at the other side of the theater, but I don't have time to see anything before you instruct me to get down in front of you. The floor is gritty on my knees as I watch you pull out your cock and guide it into my mouth. It feels warm and damp on my tongue. I do it how I know you like it, like you taught me, pushing you deep into my throat, my breasts brushing your bent knees, nipples hard from the teasing roughness of the fabric covering them. Your fingers tangle in my hair, forcing me to take you deeper, I gag a little and you let me up for a second before pushing into my throat again. I want to taste your come, feel you fill my mouth in violent pulses, force me to take it all, but suddenly my head's in your hands, and you're pulling me up onto you again, pushing my mouth against yours, lowering my hips over your thick beautiful cock I want so badly. I'm so wet, you slide in easily and I can't help the small squeal that escapes me. You cover my mouth with your hand while you grind into me, forcing an orgasm out of me, feeling my pussy clutch your cock from the inside. Squeezing every precious drop out of you.
I'm still shaking when I feel your hand crawl up my stomach, lifting my left breast, freeing it from my bra. I squirm as your fingers tighten around my still-erect nipple, pinching it nastily, ignoring the insistent squeak rising from my throat. I wonder if I'm calling attention to myself, even over the grunts on the screen and I stop. The pressure gives but only long enough for the clamps to appear from somewhere below me. I feel their bite, shake my head, "no take them off."
You hold my head still in both hands and tell me to shush. I'm trying. You plop me in the chair next to you and I try to concentrate on the movie, but it's boring and I hurt. I wait for you to release me, looking at you expectantly, but you are either engrossed in the film or toying with me. I clear my throat. You smile. I pretend to sneeze, but it just jiggles everything and makes it worse. The film ends and you reach over to me. I close my eyes waiting for the burn of their removal, the feral pain that will run blindly through me. I get instead, a flick of your finger, a painful twitch that makes metal teeth bite harder.
"Back to the car." You announce, letting another cocky smile slip, and what can I do but follow?
