Nympho Girl

I’ve been thinking of getting a new car so, most weekends, I go out and check out what’s available and what deals I can get. Mostly, I’m going to Toyota, Ford, GM, Honda and other commonplace dealers, but last weekend I decided to go to a ritzy dealership and pose as a rich woman.

So, leaving Erik behind to watch some baseball game or golf match or tennis or whatever it is he watches on a Saturday afternoon, I go to this dealership which sells British and Italian cars ranging from about $125,000 on up.

I’m dressed in my most businesslike black pinstripe power suit with a short enough skirt to show half my thighs. I’m wearing a black garterbelt outfit and rather dark stockings. I didn’t push it too far with the heels…only about 4″ because I wanted to look like a successful businesswoman not an exotic dancer in a businesswoman fetish outfit. I wore a satin blouse so white it almost hurts your eyes to look at it on a sunny day.

No bra or panties, of course. (I really don’t need a bra and why would I want to wear panties when I’m out for a fuck?)

I’m avoiding naming car models because I don’t want to help anyone guess the dealership I’m at or whom I’m writing about, so I’m going to be vague in a lot of ways here. I may even fudge a fact or two, but it’s just to protect the innocent.

Naturally, as soon as I entered the dealership a salesman swooped down on me. The others, who hadn’t reacted quickly enough, looked at him with unmitigated hatred. I could tell he was severely conflicted between his desire to sell a car and the signals his pecker was sending him.

This salesman is a type I like: An older man about 50 in great health and physical condition. His salt and pepper hair was exquisitely groomed and he was wearing a beige summer suit with a medium blue shirt of solid color and a dark blue tie with horizontal white and red stripes. His medium-brown shoes were obviously very expensive Italian models made of woven leather strips. He was wearing a subtle masculine scent. (I hate it when men smell like they emptied the cologne bottle on themselves.)

“May I help you,” he asked, using the salesman’s standard opening line. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, stringing him along, adding, “We’ll see.”

I wandered from car to car, sometimes climbing in and sitting behind the wheel, which of course is hard enough to do without showing a bit too much in even a standard sedan, but you need to understand, most of these cars were quite low-slung and barely came up to my belly button, so I’m sure he got an eyeful, as did many others.

At first, he tried to look away as I got into the cars, but once I caught him peeking and I gave him a wink. After that, he didn’t avert his eyes anymore.

My next tactic was to demand to see the engine compartments of the cars, which I confess are a total mystery to me, but it gave me an opportunity to bend over, and I enjoyed hearing all activities in the dealership come to a stop as I bent over and in to examine the hardware under the hood.

Finally, I selected a mean-looking soft-top two-seater and asked if I could take it for a spin. He agreed and I slid into the driver’s seat while he wandered off to retrieve the keys.

When he returned, he gave me some basic instructions about starting and operating the car, a large glass door was opened, and we drove the car out of the showroom. He suggested we go to the nearby freeway, which was agreeable to me. So, in a couple of minutes we were out on the road with the windows down and wind in our hair.

After several miles, we were out in the boonies and I took an exit out into farm country. Along the way, we talked. I gave him a fictitious biography of a deceased rich man’s daughter who had used her inheritance money to start her own technology firm (modeling it on the firm Erik works for). He told a story about being a self-made man who had come over from England after marrying an American woman from whom he was now divorced more than 10 years. It turned out he was one of the two partners who own the dealership.

We drove a mile or two past several farms when he had me pull off to the side where he explained to me how to open the convertible top. He then got out of the car to demonstrate. While he was behind me buttoning up the top, I made sure to hike my skirt up a couple more inches revealing not just my stocking tops, which had unavoidably been showing already, but a bit of thigh as well. I could tell he noticed the change as he got back in.

I kept driving on the same road and he encouraged me to open up the throttle. I chickened out at 120 mph, but he assured me that 160 and perhaps even 180 were not out of the question after some tinkering. I found the speed exciting and intoxicating, so when he suggested we grab a bite at a small town cafe, I agreed, adding that perhaps we could get our order to go and find a nice shady spot to eat, to which he naturally agreed.

We were soon on the road again with a pair of overstuffed beef sandwiches and some soft drinks. When I saw a promising side road leading into a shady stand of trees, he made no complaint. In the wood, I found a place to pull the car over where, across the road, was a grassy spot with a large rock and plenty of shade and, as we discovered, hardly any flying bugs, which is unusual for this time of year.

We sat on the rock and devoured the food slowly, talking about things like recent movies and TV shows, current events of all sorts, our attitudes and aspirations. When I’d had enough to eat, I reclined onto the rock and closed my eyes. After a couple minutes, I heard him lay back as well.

We talked some more. He was a very relaxing guy to be with and, so, as always, my thoughts were turning toward finding out if he was going to fuck me.

While he excused himself to go into the woods for a piss, I unzipped and removed my skirt, and when he returned he found me arrayed on the hood of the car, legs apart in the classic invitation.

When he saw this, he came over to the car and said, “I see you’ve been busy.” He looked me over and said, “You are so beautiful.” With this he leaned over me from between my legs, unbuttoned my blouse, and pushed it aside to reveal my breasts. Leaning over further, he kissed, licked, and sucked on them.

His licking moved down gradually, exploring my belly button, my lower tummy, and finally arriving at my little pearl, which he licked and tongue-massaged expertly. This is something the older men almost invariably do much better than the young men who are obsessed with penetration. Penetration has its merits, but the vulva is where the real fun is for the woman, and he understood this.

Yes, he eventually did drop his trousers and underwear and penetrate me, and as all women know, this gives you that sense of merging and becoming one which we so love (over and above the purely physical skin-level pleasures of foreplay).

He slow-fucked me for quite a while bringing me near to orgasm and then holding back several times, which made the orgasm, very intense and wet when it did come (yes, I’m a so-called squirter).

After the first orgasm, and while he was still in me, he leaned over me and gathered me up. As he did so, I wrapped my legs around him and locked my feet together. He fucked me from this standing position for longer than I imagined possible, giving me orgasm after orgasm.

He hadn’t come (another talent of older men) and so I begged off him and pushed him back onto the hood, where I played with his cock as I thanked him for a superior fuck.

Soon, I was circling his glans with my tongue and taking the glans into my mouth, caressing it with my tongue and lips. All the while, I was tasting the familiar taste of my own pussy mixed with his seminal fluid. Part of me wanted to get going and get me a mouthful of sperm, but he’d been such a pleasure to be with and had fucked me silly, so I wanted to be nice and give back as good as I got.

A nurse friend of mine had told me about giving a prostate massage along with a blow job and how her husband had become addicted to it, and I’ve been doing it with great success with Erik, so I quickly licked a finger and then, as I started taking his big cock deep into my mouth and back into my throat, I slid my finger way up his ass and found his prostate, which I massaged.

The loud, guttural, animalistic sounds of pleasure he made as I did this were almost frightening, and even with this, it took a while to get him off (and I’m not complaining, because I was masturbating like hell at the same time, and actually came a couple times before he finally gave up his delicious jizz).

Spent, I fell onto my back next to the car, masturbating more while his sperm was in my mouth, finally swallowing as I came one last time.

On the return trip to the dealership, we chatted more, as though nothing at all had happened.

After driving the car back into the showroom, he made a big show of asking me what I thought of the car and would I like to buy it today, and I made an equal show of praising it but saying that while I was impressed, there were more cars I’d like to look at first.

And with that I left.

Yesterday, I was back at work in my business services company. My boss asked me take some papers up to the receptionist’s desk where an important customer was waiting to receive them.

I walked into the lobby to find my salesman there. I was dressed in my usual work-slut attire, and as he recognized me I put my hand over my open mouth, stifling a laugh. But he didn’t stifle his as he realized that I was an office girl, not the wealthy owner of a small company.

After the surprise was over, I introduced myself by my real name and handed him the folder with the papers. As he took them, he thanked me and gave me a long indulgent look. I winked, and as I did so he turned on his heel and left wishing me a nice day. I returned to my desk, leaving the receptionist, who had observed the whole thing to wonder what the subtext of that whole exchange might be, for to her I’m sure it seemed mighty strange.

I’ve been masturbating about last Saturday in the restroom and at home every day. It’s going to take all my will power not to go back and take more fast cars out for a spin.

But I can’t and I won’t, because that is the arrangement I have with the one man whose love I actually can’t imagine living without.

In the company where I work, there’s a summer intern in the department that handles shipping and mail. Her name is Tilly. She comes around twice a day to pick up outgoing mail from a bin on the table across the aisle from my desk. She’s an obvious lesbian, not trying to hide the fact at all. A very butch hairdo really greased up into spikes, a T-shirt with some kind of punk image and/or slogan on it, dark blue jeans going down into what a guy friend of mine would call “engineer’s boots” for some reason I don’t understand. Does he mean train engineers? People with an Engineering degree? Weird.

Anyway, despite the masculine pose, she’s got a very girly-girl body with big boobs and hips and an ass that could stop traffic in Rio. She’s been flirting with me lately and I kind of have the hots for her (did you pick up on that?), so when she asked me if I’d like to have lunch with her I tried not to show too much enthusiasm as I said “Sure…why not?”

“Meet me out front at Noon, then,” she said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

I went out front and looked around at lunchtime and didn’t see her. Not right away, anyway. Some asshole guy was waving at me from atop his motorcycle, and I ignored him for a minute or so until I realized that the “guy” on the motorcycle was Tilly! Oh, fuck, I almost came in my undies. A motorcycle ride! Erik has a motorcycle and I love to ride around with him not just because I like to have something between my legs, but due to the good vibes. (You gals know what I mean!)

I was wearing a button-up cotton blouse, a red pleated plaid skirt, white thigh-highs, cotton fullback undies, and black patent leather Mary Janes with a slight heel. In other words, I was in full slutty schoolgirl mode. She was dressed pretty much as described above.

I hopped behind her and she said, “Hold on pretty fuckin’ tight.” She wasn’t kidding, because she practically did a wheelie as she punched out of there, and she scared me shitless as she headed down the main road then a series of nameless side roads at what seemed like 70 or 80 miles per hour. We ended up in an old and seemingly abandoned graveyard. The most recent marker I could see was in the 1920’s. The grass was tall and not a bouquet was in sight.

We found a pair of headstones in a shady place (it was well into the 90’s already) and I ate my pulled pork sandwich and Sprite. She apparently had a small plastic tub of either chicken or turkey salad, plus a baggie with about 20 or 30 red grapes and a can of Coke.

I had brought less and was getting tired of waiting, so I said, “So, you want to fuck me or what?”

I guess she thought there was going to be some seduction involved, because she seemed a little taken aback. But not in a bad way. “Sure.” “Well,” I said, looking at my watch, “you’ve got about 25 minutes, and I have a meeting at 1:15 so…”

Well, she was on me in a flash, lifting my skirt, entering my undies, and finding my snatch expertly. She had done this before. Her fingers were in me massaging my G-spot fiercely while her tongue licked my lips and caressed my tongue.

My own fingers found the fly on her jeans, pulled it down, and slipped down into the most netherland of her crotch, massaging her clit and labia in a circular motion.

“Stop!” I said and she stopped, looking into my face.

“Take off those jeans!” I demanded, and as she did so, I slipped my undies off.

Her lower body was beautiful. God! I wish Erik could see this!

I pushed her onto her back and started kissing her, all the while finger fucking her fiercely. The noises she made were appreciative, so I kept at it a while longer. Then, I stuck my thumb in her pussy and slowly worked my fingers way up her asshole. She stopped kissing and I almost thought she might pass out from the pleasure.

I was able to maneuver myself so that I could sit on her face and she gave as good as she got.

Then she said, “Piss on me! Piss in my mouth!” I hadn’t done this before, which was exciting in itself, so I said I’d try..

It took a little effort and concentration, but finally I was able to drizzle into her mouth a little bit at a time. As her mouth filled, she’d turn her head, spit it out, and come back for more.

At last, I could tell from the motions of her body and the noises she was making that she was about to come. I was out of piss by then, so I shifted my body to let her lick my asshole which she did, sticking her tongue way, way in.

When she came, she made my hand all wet and then pushed me off her.

I looked at my watch, “We’d better get back!”

She drove me back and when she dropped me off at the front door, she thanked me and apologized for not getting me off as well.”

“You’re not getting off so easy,” I said. “Meet you in the Ladies Room at 3.”

Well, I went to my meeting, trying hard to keep my mind on business, without much success.

At 3 p.m., I went to the Ladies Room. She was there. We went into a stall. I had left my panties in a drawer at my desk, so all she had to do was lift my panties. She licked me so well and so hard that I came about 6 or 7 times. Thank Heaven nobody came into the Ladies Room while were there!

In my suburban high school, I was a good student and in many ways a “teacher’s pet.” I know this will come as a shock to many of you who imagine I must have been some kind of rebellious, whorish girl who fucked boys under the bleachers while the more straight girls were out on the field doing cheerleading.

Well, I have bad news for you: I was one of the cheerleaders and back then my sexual activity was infrequent at best. Whether this was due to growing up in a religious environment or just my own psychological shyness at the time, I was much more interested in looking sexy back then than in actually having sex.

When not cheerleading or studying or hanging with my girlfriends, I had a part-time job as a counter girl in one of those shops…and here I’ll avoid any kind of trademark problems by simply mentioning what they sell instead of their official name. They sold hot dogs on sticks and lemonade and pretty much not too much else.

Well it was closing time, and my last customer of the day was Mr. Ricardo (not his real name of course). He was possibly the youngest teacher in the school at I would guess about 25. He had a nice slender build, not very athletic, but not bad, either. He had neatly groomed blond hair in a cut without a part. What most of us noticed about him, actually, were his black horn-rimmed glasses which magnified his eyes somewhat comically. Many students referred to him as “Mr. Owl” for this reason.

He bought a lemonade from me, and as he did so I could see that he’d put his glasses into his pocket, allowing me to see his entire face for the first time, and it was then I realized what a great-looking guy he was.

When I left the mall, I saw him out in the parking lot poking around under the hood of his car. His glasses were back on. I walked up and asked him what was going on, stating the obvious: “Won’t start, huh?” His head popped up and slammed into the hood. We both looked at each other and giggled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s been giving me trouble lately and I knew that at some point it’d just die, and I guess it finally happened. I know a lot about cars and yet I can’t locate the problem. At least, not without my tools which are back in the garage?”

“The bus top is right over there,” I offered, knowing that people with cars frequently knew very little about public transportation. “Well,” he said, “I only live about two miles away and it’s such a nice night, why don’t I just walk.

“Where do you live?” I asked. He told me, and I said, “Why not walk me, then? I was going to take the bus, but I’m in no hurry to get home, either and like you said, it’s a great night to take in some air.”

He agreed and we walked along. He asked me lots of questions about me and my aspirations, making me feel he was truly interested in me. He was a literature instructor and had complimented my papers on many occasions, so I guess he considered me as much a colleague as a student.

Along the way, we passed one of the city’s several wooded parks. Since I was nearly home and our conversation was in full sway, I proposed we stop in the park to continue our talk. He looked a bit nervous about leaving a very public area, the street, for one offering some semblance of privacy, as the park was apparently quite deserted, but at last he agreed.

He sat on the end of a picnic table and I just stood.

I started asking questions about him and his own aspirations and discovered that he had been working on a novel. He outlined the plot for me and it was both fascinating and unique, though it involved an incredible amount of research still needing to be done into medieval Eastern Europe.

I don’t know how I had the courage to do so, but I stole a kiss, which at first he accepted but then he turned his head, saying “This is fire you’re playing with.” He hadn’t noticed in his shock that at the same time I had found his cock and grasped it. It was already plenty hard, so I knew the truth: he at least wished he could.

“At least let me get it out,” I said. His head turned away, but he didn’t push my hand away as I pulled down his zipper and found his cock. How warm it was…almost hot to my fingers, and as I handled it I could feel it jerk and swell as I touched the more sensitive glans.

Now he looked at me with a look that bespoke a deep affection for me and I took it as permission to tug on it rhythmically. Up till then, most of my sex life had consisted of hand jobs, so I had some experience in this area. I knew to use his precum as lubricant along with my own saliva, which at first I tried to apply directly by mouth, though when I did so he put his hand between my lips and his cock. When I looked up at him, his head nodded a gentle no, so I just spit on his cock and added my own oral lubrication that way.

He had been sitting back on his elbows, but as things progressed, he went flat on his back.

When at last he came, his hot jizz ran down my small fist looking for all the world like melted wax. He didn’t see me but I took a little taste, savoring the slightly salty flavor. I wiped the rest of it off his cock and what I couldn’t shake off my fingers I wiped off in the grass.

As he stood up and recomposed his clothing, he looked down shaking his head saying “That was not smart of me. Not smart at all.” I was aware of the trouble he could be in and promised I would never tell. I have changed enough here so that there will always be doubt about which teacher had sexual contact with a 16 year old student. And I initiated it, so I certainly don’t feel abused. I know that the law defines molestation in a different way, but this remains one of my fondest memories, and I’m sure many girls have had similar experiences.

Consider this an invitation to hear your story. The nice ones, not the ugly ones.

Okay, so I’ve had this gift certificate for a free massage for a while and I finally decided to use it up. I got it on my birthday and a couple of my girlfriends have been asking me how it went, and I’ve been telling them I simply haven’t found time to do it yet. They really like this masseur and wanted me to experience his attentions as well.

I didn’t recognize the guy’s street name and after looking it up online, it turned out to be not in the city but in a suburban neighborhood, which seemed a bit strange.

It turned out to be a very middle-class neighborhood, leaving the impression that no one who lived here was wealthy but neither were they poor.

I parked my car behind a Beamer in the driveway, not new but very well kept. I could have done my makeup in the glossy finish of this car.

When I knocked on the door, it was opened by a very large, handsome and athletic-looking man, about 40, with light brown hair that was just beginning to thin out. He grinned broadly and waved me in.

“Hello,” he said in a thick Schwarzeneggerish accent. “My name is Egon (which he pronounced like ‘way gone’) and you must be the famous Jill I’ve been hearing so much about.” “That would be me.”

“Well, let’s get started then,” he said, adding “Follow me.”

We walked into what might have been at one time a family room, but which had been turned into a massage specialist’s workroom. He pointed to a door off to one side saying, “You’ll find a robe in there. Please return wearing only the robe.”

I did as requested and, having had a couple massages before, got onto his raised massage bed.

He was by far the strongest masseur or masseuse I’ve ever had work on me, and despite the pain he inflicted, once the left, I certainly felt better. He worked my back first, then had me roll over onto my back. I covered my tits and pelvic area with a towel that was at hand.

After about 15 or 20 minutes of this, he said. “Your friends paid for the extended massage. I assume that’s okay with you. I’m sure they told you about it.” I said that was fine, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. I just trusted that my friends wouldn’t send me to my death.

Then..WHOA!…the towel was off and his hand was massaging my inner thigh very close to my pussy. And then his fingers were on my pussy, pulling my hood back and very expertly massaging my clit, sending shivers through me. I rolled my head back and opened my mouth with a slow gasp and he winked at me with a smile.

His other hand was gently rolling one of my nipples between his thumb and first finger sending tingles throughout my body.

Two fingers slipped into my pussy and he expertly located my G-spot and the massage continued. How his other hand was rubbing my tummy. At last free hand planted itself on my lower tummy, providing something for his G-spot hand to push against, raising the intensity of the sensations I was feeling.

I came powerfully, and he knew exactly when to withdraw his fingers. I squirted profusely, feeling liquid land even on my feet and toes. He laughed. “That was a good one, no?” When I regained my composure, I conceded that indeed, it was a great one.

“Let’s continue, then,” he said, raising my knees up and pushing them up to my shoulders. Before I knew it, he had greased up index finger with warm massage oil, and was inserting it into my asshole. My sphincter resisted at first, as it always does, but then relaxed and let him enter. At about the same time, he produced an industrial strength vibrator, and applied it to my clit and vulva.

Now, I like vibrators and I love anal massage, so before I knew it, I was on my way again. I just zoned out and let my body enjoy the intense stimulation.

Then I had an idea, “Would you like to make it even better for me?” “Of course,” he replied, a little puzzled. “I like what you’re doing, but if I could have your cock in my mouth when I cum, I’d have a fabulous orgasm, I know.”

“Well,” he thought, “I can’t think of how to do that on the table.” “Let’s do it on the floor,” I suggested. He got rid of the vibrator, dropped his trousers and boxers revealing a very large semi-hard tool. Soon, we were in the 69 position, he fingering my asshole while giving my clit a vigorous tongue massage, and me licking and sucking on his cock furiously.

I started to cum after a few minutes of this, and he expertly kept me cumming and cumming and cumming, and I came until I felt my mouth filling with that slightly salty taste we all know as jizz.

I swallowed the cum and let his cock slide out of my mouth and down my cheek, patting his ass to let him know it was over. He rolled onto his back and we both took a few minutes to compose ourselves.

He was first to get up, he grabbed some wipes he had nearby, cleaned himself up, and put his clothing back on. As he did this, I retired to the side room and put my own clothes back on.

I grabbed my purse and found him waiting next to the table. He had put fresh linens on it and tidied the place up. It looked ready for his next client.

“Well,” he said, “I hope you enjoyed your massage.

I smiled and said, “Yes, I did. Very much. Thank you. You are a great masseur.”

He smiled and saw me to the door.

Today, I had lunch with the friends who bought me the session. I told them I had finally cashed in gift certificate. I was ready to very insincerely chastise them for sending me to get an illegal massage.

One of them asked. “How was she?”

“She?”

“Lucille…how was she?”

“She?” (oops!)

“Don’t tell me you cashed it in after she went on vacation?”

“I guess I did. I must have gotten someone she hired to take her place while she was gone. It was a guy.”

“Oh… Well, I hope you had a good massage anyway.”

“Oh, it was great.” And with a wink I added, “And thanks for buying me the extended massage.”

They looked at each other and turned back to me. One of them said, “Extended massage? What’s that? We didn’t buy you anything out of the ordinary!”

(Egon, you dog!)

Erik and I live in the ‘burbs and you don’t have to drive far in several directions before you are in real farm country. Not those big factory farms like you find in California’s Central Valley, but real family farms that sell a lot of their crops right from fruit and vegetable stands on the road.

This one stand is run by a hippie commune, though. I always see one or another hippie chick behind the counter, waving for traffic to come on in.

Well, I was on the way home and was thinking I needed to get some blackberries for some cobbler I planned to make for a 4th of July potluck when I passed the aforementioned stand. For the first time I really took a look and noticed that the gal behind the counter was actually quite pretty. So, I turned around and pulled in.

When I got there, a middle-aged man and his two early-teens daughters were just paying for some blueberries and blackberries. They thanked her and left.

This girl had the most awesome carrot-colored dreadlocks. I don’t really like dreadlocks all that much, but I have to admit, they look good on some people. She was one. She had hers tied back in a ponytail that looked like a red roostertail. She was wearing a tie-dyed shift.

As I was starting to get out of my car, she came around the counter and started to rearrange the containers which had been moved around a bit by the man and his daughters. In doing so, I could see that her shift was just barely long enough to cover her ass under any circumstance, but now, since she had to lean forward and reach toward the back of the counter up on the balls of her feet, the bottom half of a nice round ass popped into view and gave me a serious rush.

As she bent further forward, I got an even more serious rush from the tuft of hair surrounding her pussy, which I could see quite clearly.

I’m a shaver myself, but hairy pussies are a fetish area for me. I just love licking them and feeling all that fur around my lips and cheeks.

And her legs were incredible, like those of some statuesque runway model. Long and slender but still plenty of shape. They, too, were covered with fine orange hair.

I went up next to her and started examining the containers. “Hi!” she said with a smile. “Can I help you? What are you looking for?” “Blackberries.” “Well, we have the best ones anywhere, and we do organic farming here. You needn’t worry about pesticides.” “Great,” I said. “How much do you want? A pint? A quart?” “A pint should do nicely.”

I noticed she still had a little asparagus and I picked a bunch of that up as well.

I started asking her questions about her farm and her commune and soon she was chattering away. She was funny and full of enthusiasm for her lifestyle. It turned out she had come to Ohio from Illinois along with a boyfriend, but decided to stay with the commune when they broke up and he left for Canada.

She mentioned that the commune currently consisted of five women, no men. “That must be frustrating!” I said. “Not really,” she said with a gleam in her eye that immediately told me all I needed to know.

We sat down behind the stand on a couple old crates and swapped sex stories until we heard another car roll up, and so she stood up. I could hear that it was an elderly couple. She stood on her crate to see over the counter and as she stretched up and down, standing on her toes and dropping back onto her heels again, her shift slowly slid up revealing the most delicious-looking red bush.

I couldn’t resist it: I moved around under the counter directly in front of her and started running my hand up and down her inner thighs from her knees to her butt cheeks. “Stop it!” she whispered down to me in a tone of voice that simply wasn’t convincing at all. I kept it up until I got bold enough to let my fingers wander into her pubes. They felt like silk to my fingers.

She wiggled her hips a bit as if to get me to stop, meanwhile answering the fruit and vegetable-related questions of her customers.

Finally, I just had to know… I let my thumb wander into her vagina. She was really, really wet. Between saying “Uh-huh, uh-huh” to the customers and answering more questions, she was breathing unevenly, holding it and letting it go in response to the gentle rhythmic motions of my hand.

By now, she had parted her legs to give me more working room, and soon her juices were running down my hand and wrist. I pulled my thumb out and licked myself clean, and then I got onto my knees in front of her, and grabbing her ass with both hands, started licking her pussy like crazy, discovering that she had a really big clit. So big, I could almost perform fellatio on it!

“Are you all right?” I heard the woman ask her. “Ummm…Yes, I’m okay.” “Well,” the lady said, “How much for these?”

After taking their payment, she dropped down behind the counter and pulled her shift over her head, revealing a pair of perfect small breasts with tiny pink nickle-sized nipples. She looked into my eyes and ran her fingers through my hair, saying “Okay, let’s go.” And with that, she arranged the two crates side by side, rolled up a blanket into a kind of mattress, and was on her back in an instant.

I was on her gash in a flash…and her pungent salty taste filled my mouth. Meanwhile, my hands were exploring her tummy and chest. I rolled those tiny nipples until they were rigid little thimbles, and she moaned in appreciation.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, presenting her beautiful little donut of an asshole, and as I continued to lick her clit and stroke her labia with my tongue, I massaged her asshole, and soon she was having strong orgasms punctuated by heavy gasps and loud vocalization.

Eventually, she got up and indicated it was my turn, so I unbuttoned my shirt and stepped out of my jeans. I then slipped my undies off.

She told me to assume the doggy position and the next thing I knew she was kissing and licking my butt cheeks as she caressed my tummy and breasts. Then she started licking my asshole and seeing how far she could stick her tongue in. Soon, her hands turned their attention to my pussy, massaging my clit and probing my vagina expertly with a finger.

I was getting pretty hot, and then I felt two fingers enter me. Momentarily, it was three fingers, then four!

After a while, she turned me onto my back and fingerfucked me even more furiously while sucking my nipples.

I could feel orgasm rising in me, and she kept me in that state for about a minute until she put her mouth on mine and I could taste my own anal flavors in her saliva. This, plus the fact that she was an expert at G-spot massage, finally brought me to a very wet, squirting climax.

This had us both giggling as we put our clothing back on.

Just then, first one, then two, then three cars pulled in and she bobbed up to greet her customers. I lifted up her shift, gave her butt one more kiss, and grabbed my berries.

I walked to my car, not looking back till I reached the door. Catching my eye, she called, “Hurry back, now!”

“Don’t worry, I will,” I yelled. Then she looked right at me, stuck all four of her fingers into her mouth and slowly withdrew them as she gave me a wink.