In spite of its description as “Fiction,” this story is actually an embellishment of real experiences I had with a girl during my time on the radio. The first several chapters are absolutely true, save names and locales. As the complete story is, while unfinished, a few hundred pages long already, it takes its time getting started, so be patient.

MAY, 1999

I. Ashley was a caller. That’s how it started. She’d called a few times over a few weeks, always asking to hear the same song, one that you could hear every forty-five minutes if you just turned your radio on. It annoyed me, but I knew to expect it from a Top Forty audience.

After the second call, she’d engage me in conversation before making her request, in the beginning with the usual questions: what’s it like to be on the radio, what do you look like, what’s your real name, etcetera. Lately, though, we’d exchanged more relevant questions with each other: how was your day, have you seen this or that movie, what do you like to do with your time off, and the like. She was actually quite pleasant to talk to. She wasn’t obnoxious at all. Her voice was soothing, and her speech was above par for her generation. She was really quite intelligent, and possibly more knowledgable about current events than I was. Talking to her during my shift was a welcome deviation from the normal brain-dead masses who called.

Early on she told me that she’d just turned eighteen, and would be graduating from high school next month. When I asked her what her plans for college were, she said she didn’t have any yet. She just wanted to take a break from school before committing to a career, and I complimented her on her wisdom.

Our two-minute conversations continued.

On a Friday night a few weeks after the first call, I had an on-location broadcast to make from a local nightclub. I made these appearances frequently, and they were almost always a treat. It was a chance for me to stretch my entertainment legs, and mingle with the population. It was also my chance to be the object of flirtation for seemingly unlimited numbers of stunningly hot, scantily clad young women. I’d never had difficulty getting women to take an interest in me, even before radio, but this was something different. The free pass that these appearances afforded me were certainly appreciated (a foot in the door, if you will), and I enjoyed without reservation the sexual escapades my pseudo-celebrity status rewarded.

This particular Saturday evening appearance was the standard affair; I’d arrive at around 9:00, set up and be ready to roll by 9:45, make the first test signal to the studio to confirm reception, and make the first broadcast at 10:15. Over the following three hours, I’d make two broadcasts per hour, on the fifteen and forty-five minute marks. Between broadcasts, I’d circulate, hand out t-shirts and stickers, and perhaps hold random events inside the club, rewarding participants with promotional materials from the record labels.

At around 11:30, I was sitting in the passenger’s seat of the van when I admired a particularly attractive girl emerge from the front door. She looked to be around five foot, three, with short black spiky hair. She was wearing a short denim skirt, fishnets, and a vented, neon pink t-shirt with cutoff sleeves. Black designer leather combat boots completed her ensemble, which seemed odd, but somehow she made it work. After she’d taken several breaths of the comparatively cooler outside air, she briefly surveyed her surroundings, identified my van with the multicolored strobe lights, and began to make her way over. I felt a stir in my loins as I smiled to myself. Showtime.

The closer she got, the better look at her I got. She had an exotic face; angular, almost Asian, and light skin. Magenta painted lips shared a natural smile as she approached. Her muscles were toned, and it was obvious to me that she’d earned her physique. Her medium, perky breasts seemed well-formed. and her legs were shapely, yet muscular. Holy fuck, she was gorgeous.

I took a gulp from my bottle of water.

“Hi,” she beamed with the most cheerful energy imaginable, piercing me with slender brown eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Not much, just hanging out and making the waves.” I was aware of my cheesiness, but I knew that it didn’t really matter as long as I sounded like I knew what I was doing. “Are you having a good time?”

“Sure am. Getting sweaty from all the dancing. Which one are you?”

That was a question that I hated, “Which one are you?” It made me feel like all deejays were interchangeable in the eyes of the public. Granted, a lot of us are, but I took particular pride in my craft. I worked hard on making my show flow seamlessly. In my time off, I’d practice my speech, timing, and mixing, always striving for perfection. I was passionate about my profession, so when asked which one I was, I felt as if I deserved more respect. However, I knew that it was never anyone’s intention to make me feel unappreciated, and that it was just an earnest question of unfortunate construction.

“I’m Vinnie,” I replied with a generic smile, and extended my hand out the window to shake hers in greeting.

She beamed and grabbed my offered hand eagerly. “Oh HEY! It’s me, Ashley! You remember me?”

My eyes widened briefly before I quickly regained my composure. This was Ashley? This was the anonymous girl I’d been talking to at work for that past few weeks? I started imagining private alone time with her; perhaps I would give her a graduation present. I started to get an erection.

“Hey, of course, I remember you, Ashley!” I was really laying it on thick. Then quite genuinely, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” Somehow, I had managed the response in a convincingly nonchalant manner. “I haven’t talked to you in a few days. How are you doing,” I asked her.

She frowned. “Oh, stressed over finals. God, I can’t wait ’til school is over.” She put significant emphasis on the “God,” and “wait,” in typical teenage fashion.

I smiled empathetically. “Yeah, I know what you mean. The high school thing does remind me, though; how did you get into the club, seeing as how you’re only eighteen?”

Shifting only slightly in discomfort, “My friend let me borrow her ID. Most door guys don’t look closely at pictures, only birth dates.” Almost as an afterthought, and with a bigger smile, “Especially if you smile at them a lot.”

“Of course.” Having run the door at a bar myself at one time, I knew exactly what she was talking about. “Well, you’re a sly little one, aren’t you?” I looked at her in fake accusatory fashion, still smiling.

She smiled big again and said, “You know it! Promise you won’t tell?” She knew I wasn’t going to say a word to anyone.

“I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” I followed her lead.

Without missing a beat, “What do you want?”

My head burned hot with the possibilities. “What do you want?” Where do I begin? “How about we just keep it our little secret?”

“Deal.”

“So, how would you like a brand-spankin-new, top-o-the-line, cutting-edge, high tech Jammin’ 97 tank?” When I was with someone I thought could appreciate the humor, I really liked to ham it up.

She giggled. “No t-shirts?”

My generic response, “Ts for the guys; tanks for the girls. Unless you want to walk around looking like you’re wearing a nightgown.”

She giggled again. “A tank, please.”

I foraged between the front seats for a girls’ small, black tank top, emblazoned with the station logo, and the stack produced one without much effort.

“Here you go,” I offered as I handed her the shirt.

She accepted it with a, “Thanks,” before stuffing it between her legs and reaching for the bottom hem of the shirt she was wearing. She pulled the cotton up from her torso, and once the material had cleared her bra (her front-clasp, black lace bra), it caught for a few moments on the rhinestone encrusted leather collar I had somehow failed to notice, which matched the rhinestone encrusted leather cuffs I had also, somehow, failed to notice. With her arms caught over her head, and her view obstructed by the shirt that was stammering her escape attempt, I took time to observe her firm, toned torso. She was quite athletic. I was even able to make out the faint trace of a six-pack, though just barely, and I thought to myself, Holy shit, this chick is serious, even as I pictured myself licking honey liquor from her perky breasts. My erection grew harder.

Once she’d freed herself from the pink mess, she offered the crumpled shirt to me. I snapped my gaze from her body up to her face to find her looking me in the eye, and as if this sort of thing was done all the time, she asked, “Would you hold this for me?”

I chuckled briefly as I accepted the almost weightless shards of cotton. “Sure.” I smiled at how free she was. She seemed either to not care about the scene she was presenting, or to be oblivious to the mild impropriety of it.

Her entry into the new shirt was much faster and less eventful than her egress from the old, and once she was as comfortable as she was going to be with the fit, she again looked brightly at me, then spun around.

“Well, how do I look,” she asked me with earnest interest.

The shirt fit her snugly, and I was so, so glad. I responded quickly and coolly, “You look good.” I decided to leap. “The tank looks pretty good on you, too.”

She tilted her head down, keeping her eyes on mine as a new kind of smile formed on her lips, and both of her hands grabbed the very front of the shirt and pulled down. She remained silent as her body twisted to-and-fro in an obviously manufactured seductive shyness, and I was hard as a rock.

I suddenly remembered to check my watch to see that I was only a couple of minutes from my next check-in. “Oh, shit,” I urgently remarked as I leapt from the van to get my headphones and mic from the side door as I dialed the studio on my phone for signal confirmation.

While the studio’s line was ringing, I turned back to Ashley to see her looking at my crotch, and I immediately remembered my erection, now deflating.

“Sorry about the interruption,” I said, “but the show must go on, you know.” There wasn’t time for her to respond before the studio answered my call, and a minute later, I was reading promotional materials into my microphone, and convincing my audience of the fantastic time that was to be had, “Right here at Ground Zero, Lexington’s Premiere Party Scene.” I stole a look at Ashley. She was motionless, looking at me in utter concentration. She appeared totally fascinated at what I was doing, as if in disbelief that this could be the origin of the magical noise on the sound machine in her car. She was completely entranced, and I paid her no mind as I finished my check-in.

I completed my outro, turned off my mic and headphones and set them down, and walked a few feet to where she was standing. The way she looked at me now made me just a little uncomfortable. She, on the other hand, looked a little too comfortable. She seemed as if she’d just put some puzzle pieces together in her mind, and now she knew something that I didn’t. Some girls are easy to figure out, Ashley was not one of them.

“Sorry, again,” apologizing one more time for good measure. “I wasn’t paying attention to the time. Still got work to do, you know?”

She playfully latched onto my arm, and her touch reignited the fire in my loins. “Sure, no problem. Well, I’m gonna go find my friends. It was great to finally meet you!”

“Yeah, you too. I’m here until One, so if I don’t see you again, have a great night.” My sentiments were sincere, if not complete.

With that, she looked up at me, released my arm, and strutted back into the club, and I was fixated on her the whole way.

Once my tour had ended, it was a quiet twenty minute drive back to the station, and I contemplated my brief encounter with the girl the whole way. When I got back to the studio, I carried and stowed the broadcast gear inside, signed the work log, and went back to the van one last time to retrieve my bottle of water before getting in my car to go home. When I got to the van and reached for my water, I saw something that made me smile.

I still had Ashley’s t-shirt.

SATURDAY

II. After being out until 2:30, and not being able to wind down enough to sleep until roughly Five in the morning, I slept until around One in the afternoon. Once I’d repeatedly and then finally wiped the sleep from my eyes, I decided to go for a swim. I didn’t have to be in to the studio for my on-air shift until 7:00, so I had a few hours to waste.

It was 3:00, full on, by the time I got to the gym. I almost never worked out, but I did swim a lot, so the use of its clean and quiet pool was well worth the membership fees charged by the gym.

When I hit the showers before my swim, I started remembering meeting Ashley the night before. I remembered, in slow-motion, her removing her shirt. I remembered watching the flimsy, cheap pink fabric give way to fine skin, taut over well-toned flesh. Then I imagined her going on the remove her bra, hands reaching slowly for the front clasp as her eyes drew me in seductively.

I then remembered I was in the public shower at the gym, and I’d better get my shit together if I didn’t want to embarrass myself with the erection that was stirring. I started thinking about the weather, and contemplated whether or not I’d be able to drop the top on my convertible Maserati. Well, all the markings on the car said “Maserati,” but I had no illusions about it just being a Chrysler LeBaron with fancy leather seats and Maserati badges.

I enjoyed about an hourlong swim, showered again (focused, this time), and got dressed. I did decide to put the top down on the car, then I went on for something to eat. I enjoyed a cheap, fast, and incredibly unhealthy meal, then took the longest, most scenic route to work, thoroughly enjoying my impossibly overpriced LeBaron.

A few hours later, I was taking my seat in the studio, pulling my CDs off the racks in playing sequence for the first hour. I gathered my commercial spot recordings, and printed a few updates from the interwebs that I thought were relevant to my listeners. As always, I was psyched. Jammin’ 97 was on the air. She was a ship; an aircraft carrier, launching songs as planes one after another, and I was her Captain. It was a ridiculous analogy, but that’s the way I liked to think of it. I fucking loved my job.

After checking the weather on the super-duper, high-tech, industrial-strength “Jammin’ 97 Weather Computer,” also known as The Weather Channel, I learned that the clear weather was going to hold out all night. “Clear skies and an overnight low of seventy-seven,” I’d be sure to pass this on to my listeners. I decided not to worry about putting the top up on my car. Perhaps, after work, I would enjoy a midnight ride beneath the stars.

At 9:22, she called. I know this exactly because after I’d settled in and gotten my shift in order, I happened to find myself counting minutes. I loved my job, but it’s easy to get lost in one’s thoughts between breaks, and today, my thoughts were of Ashley.

“Hey, you,” the female on the line beamed. “What’s up?”

My standard, professional response, “Not much. Who’s this?”

“It’s Ashley, Silly! Who else would it be? WAIT, don’t answer that.” The way that she talked to me now had changed from before our meeting, and I hadn’t recognized her. She sounded different, somehow.

I covered with the ever reliable, “I’m so sorry, Ashley. I talk to so many people every day, it’s impossible to keep track.” And without missing a beat or giving time for dissent, I continued. “How are you doing, tonight?”

Without answering, she asked, “Oh my God, is that your red convertible outside?”

The studio was a relatively small, standalone building, housing a small independently owned company, one of the last independently owned radio broadcast companies left, to the best of my knowledge. It had only one am station, and one fm station. It was located on a main throughway on the outskirts of town, and it was clearly marked. Parking was on the side, and was clearly visible from the street, so I was not concerned that she might be stalking me when Ashley asked about my car. The Jammin’ Van and my car were the only two vehicles in the lot at the moment.

“Yep,that’s the one,” a bit matter-of-factly, because I was momentarily focusing on the upcoming break. “Listen, hang on just a sec. I’ve gotta do something, but I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Sure,” she easily replied.

“Okay, just hang on,” then I set the phone down and donned my headphones. I cleared my throat, then opened the mic, waiting silently and patiently for the song to end.

I made my announcements, gave the weather, and fired up four commercials before finally playing the station identifier and starting up the next song. It took about three minutes, total.

Picking up the phone receiver, “Okay, I’m back. Thanks for waiting.”

Without a moment of hesitation, “That was so cool!”

Again, a standard response to a standard remark, “It’s what I do.”

“Where did you learn to do that? You know… How did you learn to be a deejay?”

I chuckled lightly. “Oh, that. Well, I had to go to school for four years, and that cost me upwards of eighty-thousand dollars. Then I had to serve a two-year unpaid internship in New Mexico, before I could get a broadcaster’s license.”

A long pause. “Really?”

“No, not really. Just kidding.” After she laughed, I continued, “I just got lucky. I’m a born entertainer with a natural, radio-friendly voice. Made a friend who happened to be a jock here who used to sneak me in after hours to practice and make a CD demo; he vouched for me when I gave my CD to his boss. Boss said, ‘Practice under Rick, here for a few weeks, and if you’re good, I’ll put you on.’ And that, as they say, is that.”

“Wow, that is so cool!” She seemed really impressed. People often were, but I never really understood it. I just happened to be in the right place, and know the right people, and have the right skills for the job at the right time. As I said, I never understood it, but I never argued against it. It went along with the idea that radio is magic. After all, I still believed that is was.

“Yep,” was all I offered. Best to leave it at that.

“So, you’re friends with Rick?”

“Yep, been friends for years now.” Rick (or George, as he was unsatisfyingly named by his parents) and I hit it off when I met him at a live broadcast at the opening of a new bar. We had the same devious, villainous sense of humor, and we just kept carrying on until the job opened up at the station and he suggested I could fill it. I didn’t take much convincing. “Didn’t you know, all deejays are friends; we have a secret handshake and everything.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Still, I knew she was amused at least a little.

“I try.” I’d had this particular conversation so many times.

“So, when are you gonna take me for a ride in your convertible?”

“Huh?” I had instantly become a moron.

My pulse quickened as she happily and just as assertively asked again, “When are you going to take me for a ride in your convertible? Oo, how about tonight? You just said it was going to be a beautiful night. Let’s go tonight.”

“Uh, sure.” Wait a minute, did she just tell me to take her for a ride without leaving me an out? And did I just say, “Yes?” “I sign off at midnight. Where do you want me to pick you up?” I decided to go with the flow; see where it took me.

Her response was instant. “My place is kinda hard to find. Do you know the Waffle House next the Museum and across from the hospital?”

“Sure, I know the one.”

“Great. You can pick me up there.”

“Okay, gimme until about twelve-thirty. I guess I don’t have to describe my car to you.” After I’d said it, I realized it sounded significantly cooler in my head. Ashley didn’t seem to notice.

“Great! See you then.” – click –

Yup. See you then.

III. Midnight came, finally.

I’d had sex with several listeners before, so this wasn’t really anything new. It felt new, for some reason, and I tried to think of reasons for that. She was the youngest listener I’d considered, and certainly the most beautiful so far. Maybe it was the way she’d moved on me, rather than the other way around. Whatever it was, I didn’t contemplate it long. I was going to do her, and it really didn’t matter how or why.

I had prepped for the next shift well before my relief, Steve, arrived at 11:40. I was making sure I had all my ducks in a row so that I could walk out the door without delay as soon as I played the top-of-the-hour station identifier. Steve had seen this behavior before.

“So, I guess you met another one at the club last night?” Steve knew me too well.

“Steve, you know me too well.”

He laughed. “Well, enjoy yourself.”

I paused, and looked him dead in the eye. “Steve, the idea is to enjoy her.”

He laughed again, and I laughed with him this time. He offered, “Have fun, see you on Monday,” but I was out the door and admiring the full moon before he finished the sentence.

I knew it would take me less than thirty minutes to reach the Waffle House, but I liked to be early. It allowed for unforeseen delays, and, in the event of no delays, it might allow me to watch the arrival of my companion.

The car had to drive itself to the destination, because I was too distracted trying to deconstruct my thoughts about Ashley. Why was I on edge? She was just another girl. We’d use each other, and we’d both enjoy the use. It would be a one time thing, or not. It would be about sex, and that’s it. If it continued, either it would eventually get old, or she would meet a real guy she liked for a real relationship, and that would be that. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. So why did I just miss the turn?

I admonished myself without impunity, turned around, and pulled into the lot.

Shit. She was already there. I could see Ashley sitting in a booth by the window with a clear view of the lot, and she saw me the moment I rolled in. She jumped up, tossed a salutation to the girl behind the counter, and walked purposefully to the door of the restaurant as I got out in preparation to open the car door for her. Cos that’s the way my momma raised me.

When she exited the restaurant, I almost stumbled. She was wearing a deep ocean blue, floral print, spaghetti strap. backless dress that covered her to down to mid thigh, and afforded a clear view of her cleavage. It fit somewhat loosely, but still showed off her Venusian figure. And the same combat boots from last night. How does she pull that off? Her shape appeared to have been made for the outfit. Then again, so it also seemed for the outfit she had worn the night before. She was carrying a small, black leather hand purse as she raced to me with the bright smile I’d looked forward to all evening, and she reached me before I’d even made it to the front of my car.

She lunged at me, both arms outstretched, and I had no choice but to catch her. She hugged me tightly, and I knew there was no way she could not feel the growing bulge in my shorts.

“Hey, you,” she exclaimed. She was starting to either scare or excite me with her seemingly reckless abandon, but I couldn’t tell which. Was it that which left me uneasy? She seemed simultaneously carefree and in complete control. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Hey, Girlie, how are you doing?” I spun her around in the air until I could feel her grasp on me loosen, then I carried her, just like that, to her side of the car. I set her down and bent over to open her door.

Ashley whispered in my ear, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

What the hell just happened? I was lost. This bouncy, carefree girl had just flipped a switch, and became Supervixen, like Clark Kent in a goddamned phone booth.

I was sharp, though. She had started the game of her own free will, and done so quite assertively, so without missing a beat, I stood back up and whispered back into her ear, “Oh really? Well, I have something for you.”

She looked me in the eye. “What’s that?”

“I have your t-shirt. Do you want it back?”

For some reason, this question puzzled her. “Okay?” I knew I had her.

“I’ll trade you,” confident as I’d ever been, because I was about to assume absolute control.

“What do you want for them?”

I looked at her plainly and said, “Give me your panties.”

The heartbeat in my head was deafening, and I found myself praying that I would not break a sweat as she looked me in the eye for several seconds, perhaps because she was attempting to ascertain if I was serious, Which I most certainly was. Then, without breaking eye contact, Ashley reached up under her dress, slid a blue thong down her legs in one swift movement, and rested one hand on her waist while the other dangled the flimsy article in the air by her index finger for all the world to witness.

I smiled a smile of satisfaction, still keeping eye contact. Inwardly, I was trying to figure out who was winning. I let her maintain that pose for several seconds, still waiting for her composure to break. And I waited. And I waited, my erection ever growing.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink.

After satisfying myself that I’d won our little standoff (and I’d done no such thing; it was a draw at best), I carefully reached up and wrapped my fingers around her outstretched hand, slowly taking from her the offered bounty. I gently wrapped the already slightly damp thong around itself and put the thing in the pocket of my cargo shorts.

With that, I pulled her t-shirt from behind what would soon be her seat, and offered it to her, to which she smiled triumphantly, and said, “Thank you.” She was so damned playful, and I loved it.

To that end, I said, “It’s my pleasure.” She smiled at that. “Shall we go?”

The switch flipped, and Superman was Clark Kent again. In a brief instant, her posture relaxed and she dropped her arm to her side. She bounced lightly, and exclaimed with almost childlike glee, “Yay,” as if we hadn’t just made the most lascivious spectacles of ourselves in the parking lot of a fucking Waffle House. I opened her door for her, and she slipped into the seat as if it belonged to her.

I closed the door and made it to the rear of car before I heard her cry, “Oo, I LOVE your handcuffs! Are they real?” She was referring to the ones hanging from my rearview mirror.

“Oh, you know they are.” Of course they were real. I had stopped dipping my toe into bondage and domination; I dove into the deep end whenever and wherever the opportunity presented itself. The cuffs were police-grade, hardened steel with a secondary locking mechanism to prevent picking. “I have the matching leg irons in the trunk,” I told her, which I did, in a leather duffle, with an assortment of various other tools and toys, but I didn’t volunteer that part, as I did not want to scare her. “I don’t mess around with the kids’ stuff.”

She playfully feigned fear. “Oh, should I be scared?”

Reassuringly, I offered, “Well, that depends on what you’re into, now doesn’t it?” By this time I had opened my door and was reclining into my seat.

She just smiled knowingly at me and said, “I guess it does.”

I fired the engine. “So, where do you want to go?” I was genuinely interested to see where she wanted to take us.

“Just drive on, Jeeves,” she quipped, and I did as she took my handcuffs from the mirror and started fiddling with them.

Once we were out on the road, only a few moments of silence passed before she spoke. “So, are you from Lexington originally?”

I found it interesting that she’d go from handing me her panties to asking about my origins so easily. “No, actually. I’m from Denver originally. My parents moved me here when I was a kid, and I just kinda stuck around. You?”

“Born and bred. As soon as I graduate, I’m moving to Cincinnati.”

“Really? Why Cincy?” I found myself genuinely interested.

“I’ve got some friends there and they love it. And the music scene is supposed to be pretty good there, too. Do you have the key?”

Her question threw me off a bit, because I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Key to what?”

“The key to these handcuffs.”

I quickly looked to find she had handcuffed her wrists together, and I knew what she wanted.

I laughed briefly. “I do have the key, but it is attached to my key ring, which is currently attached to the car.”

She exaggerated a sigh in mock resignation. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until we get where we’re going, then.”

“I guess so,” as I laid my right hand high on her bare thigh, with my fingers nestled neatly and deeply between her legs, and my erection began rapidly trying to re-manifest itself within the confines of my cargo shorts.

I glanced over again to find her looking at me, her lips pursed in the most mischievous smile I’d ever seen. I looked back to the road, and felt her now cuffed hands come to rest on my arm. She then parted her legs, and guided my hand directly to her hairless sex. My god, she was just as aggressive as I was, and my erection was becoming painful.

Ashley was so hot and so wet that I was momentarily blinded by her lust. I just held my hand still on her while I refocused myself on the road. It took me several deep breaths to compose myself to the point when I felt safe to continue driving. I thought of a destination, and planned out my route. Then I was ready to proceed.

I began gently massaging her wetness around the outside of her sex, in an almost absent-minded fashion, only occasionally brushing her lips or button. My charade was pointless, as if I wasn’t, in fact, paying the closest attention to every movement of every finger on every stroke; as if I wasn’t relishing in the glory of her clean-shaven mound; as if I couldn’t hear her nearly inaudible moans, begging for more. I was simply fiddling while I drove.

My ministrations produced more wetness as she wriggled hopelessly in my seat, causing her dress to work its way up nearly to her waist. She was exposed to the bright and full moonlight and warm night air, shielded only by my hand, and I could feel the wind working its way between her legs as she parted them as wide as the seat would allow.

We went like this in silence for several minutes before I looked at her once again to find her still watching my face, only this time, her expression was one of despair. She knew I would only be able to see her face for a moment before I had to turn back to the road, so she wasted no time before mouthing the word, “Please.” Again, with just a little more urgency, “Please.” I was going to gobble her up.

I looked back to the four-lane to see that we were just about to pass a tractor-trailer, and I smiled deviously. I glanced at her again briefly to see she was also eyeing the truck before turning back to me and pleading one more time, “Please.”

I began massaging her clit. She moaned hard and started sliding down in her seat as the car quickly approached the side of the truck. Glancing over, I could see that she’d closed her eyes, and I could feel her starting to shake as we neared the driver’s window. I massaged her faster as I matched my speed alongside the unsuspecting trucker. Positioned perfectly next to the truck, I instructed her to open her eyes and look at him, and another brief glance confirmed her compliance.

Dividing my attention between the road and the other driver, I waited for him to look. It seemed to take forever, but I was finally rewarded when I saw him look down into my car, and focus on the spell I was casting in the passenger’s seat. Once I knew he was looking, and I could see that Ashley could see him looking, I thrust two fingers into her, and began pistoning them repeatedly into her drenched sex. Her back arched as her body seized in her orgasm and she cried out into the wind. I carefully divided my attention between the road, the other driver, and Ashley, and when I was satisfied that her explosion had subsided, I shared a look with the driver. He had the stupid, shit-eating grin that I’d expected, and he pulled the air horn in appreciation, momentarily startling Ashley from her blissful denouement. I pulled my hand from her sex only long enough to flash a brief thumbs up to the driver before unceremoniously thrusting my fingers back into her, and she shuddered.

I accelerated past the truck, aware that we were near our destination. I looked to Ashley, who had opened her eyes and now appeared to be coherent. I pulled my fingers from her again, to which she flinched, and I instructed her to lick my hand clean. She grabbed my wrist with both hands and began frantically sucking her juices from my fingers. It was like she was possessed; like she was dying of thirst in the desert and the only water for miles flowed from my fingertips.

As she was doing this, I remembered that all the juices pouring out of her were coming to rest in a pool on my fancy, red leather seats. I didn’t care, this was so fucking worth it. Ashley was so hot for me it seemed she could barely contain herself, and she was such a joy to excite that everything else was inconsequential.

Once I was satisfied that she’d taken back all she’d given, and without looking at her, I commanded, “Now undo my zipper and show your gratitude.”

Again, she didn’t hesitate an instant. She was a driven woman, determined and unswerving in purpose. I provided some minor assistance by repositioning my body, and despite the minor inconvenience caused by my cuffs on her wrists, she quickly freed my already painfully hard manhood, then engulfed it fully in her mouth without hesitation.

Ashley suckled me as if her very life depended upon extricating the juices contained within, and her skill belied her age. She was too good at her craft. I’d been with women twice her age that had half the skill, or half the drive, for that matter. She was spoiling me with her tongue, rolling it around my manhood, sliding up and down my shaft at every possible angle available, sucking so hard I feared she could implode.

I had intended to hold out, but I knew there was no way I could withstand the assault being unleashed upon me. I decided to let go quickly so that I could be better prepared for later. Three minutes passed before I pulled into our destination and came hard into her throat. She never missed her rhythm, she just kept on me until I began to soften in her mouth, and she did not spill a drop. She swallowed every bit that I gave her. When I finished coming, she gently sucked and massaged with her tongue all that remained. It took some time, but when she finally let me slip from her mouth, only a trace of her saliva remained on my manhood, nothing more.

“Very good, Ashley. Very good.”

She raised her head from my groin, hovered in front of my face, smiling seductively, her lipstick diminished and redistributed about her mouth and said, “Thank you,” then plopped back down into her seat, again like a giddy little girl, and I was momentarily troubled by her casual manner.

I told her, “You can take a few minutes to clean up your makeup, if you like.”

Ashley piped up cheerfully, “And you can take these cuffs off, now.”

I inwardly cringed.

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