Channing increased the throttle on his 1940s vintage roadster.
They were flying down the highway with the shiftstick in her hand.
His cock in her mouth.
And the top down.
On both the roadster and the dame.
"Unh."
Channing jolted Suzanne's jaw with another shot. Hot jissom pulsed down her gullet.
Suzanne rubbed her naked tits against Channing's kneecaps as she hustled her hiney.
The veins of his hog stretched down from the neck. Webbing his prickstem in pulsing cords of blue against the ruddiness of his pecker.
Suzanne sniffed the leather of the seats. Sucked the savor from his meat.
He peeled off another wad of come.
Twitched his sphincter.
Sent another spurt simmering inside her.
In the automobile's lurch, Suzanne came off of her perch.
Her ass flew up.
Maw came crunching down on Channing's sputtering meat.
The tang of his jissom filled the spaces between her teeth.
Drools of cockjuice trailed down her throat. Squalls of slime snapped off into her turn-turn. Pelleted her gullet.
"Yum yum."
"You want to suck it some more."
"But first I want to give you a big spermy kiss. Right on your face."
She leaped up and smooched him on the cheek.
Dribbling semen from her jaw.
Her paws played over his bared chest. Flagging nipples, twisting his male tits.
"We could Hick-I'll bet you, Channing. We could fuck while driving along."
"Bullshit."
"Sure we could."
"Not in this position."
"You could look over my shoulder."
"I'd have a better view out the windshield if I were on top. With the seat folded down. You could work the gas pedal with your hands."
The whir rang in their ears.
"Balls."
A state police car passed Channing's roadster on the left. The officers were aware of Suzanne's bare back and the hustle of her haunch.
Channing slowed down.
Waved toward the police interceptor, motioning to the roadside.
They jagged off the siren.
Channing pulled to the curb immediately. With the top of the roadster down, the two of them were fully visible.
"Stay close to my side," Channing said. "That way they can't see for sure where or what or if your blouse is."
Suzanne stuffed Channing's cream-coated pecker into his Bermuda shorts.
One officer remained in their car. Radioed in to vehicle control Channing's license number while the other highway patrolman swung out of the inter-ceptor vehicle.
"Pardon us," the officer said as he waltzed on up to the fancy roadster.
He lifted his leg.
Placed it on the running board.
"Say, I always wanted to do that, son. How old is this car, anyway.
"It's maybe a lot older than you are, sir. This baby was put together in 1941. Say, we weren't going too fast-were we, sir?"
Channing flipped out his driver's license. Passed it over to the policeman.
"Thanks for the piece of flattery there, son," he said ogling Suzanne, ignoring the driver's license. "No, you wasn't speeding or anything like that. Now drinking-we don't know about that yet-what say we might have to have you take a little breath test?"
Ghanning bit into his lip.
"Sure, sir. Anything you want."
"Mainly," the patrolman continued, "it's this old car that interests us. It's got to be an antique. Worth a lot of bucks, to look at it. Just wondering if someone might be having a little trouble hanging onto it of late."
"Here's the registration," Channing said.
The officer nodded toward Suzanne.
"Howdy, ma'am."
"Pleased to meet you, officer."
She noted he noticed her bare back and no trace of material above her waist.
"Say, officer," Suzanne smiled. "What's your name? Mine's Suzanne. Suzanne Radcliffe?"
The highway patrolman narrowed his eyes. He began to speak but was interrupted.
"Hey, Craig," the man inside the patrol car yakked out. "This jalopy we nabbed is registered in the name of judge Bentley-as in the state supreme court. What if it's-"
"Okay, Mr. Bentley," Craig said, jerking his eyes from Channing's license. "Have a nice day, sir. And you too, ma'am. Miss Radcliffe."
"We appreciate your checking it out, officer," Channing chatted. "You never can tell, sir. I know you've got a rough beat-all those university kids from State hereabouts-"
"Just doing my job, Mr. Bentley," Craig grinned back as he remounted the shotgun seat of the pole car. He turned to his partner and leered. "And that hot slice of cunt in the front seat with Mr. Fancy-rich-cocksucker Bentley is some Radcliffe gash. Niece or something of the former governor, most likely."
"Fuck's sake, Craig. You're getting soft-probably she's his daughter."
"Must be a bitch to be rich, good buddy. Let's shake a leg outta here."
Suzanne breathed out slowly as the state police pulled away.
She slunk into the bulbous leather upholstery and began to lift her blouse up from where it had gathered in a roll wrapped about her waist.
Channing chortled.
"Don't need to go to those extremes, Suzanne. Pll just put the top of the roadster up. That way you can keep yours down."
"Maybe then you could take your pants off. I'll take down mine right now."
Channing had the top up and they cruised once more down the highway. Suzanne had his shorts down around his knees.
She was entirely naked.
Smoked cigarettes.
Cackled at the people they blew right past. Those on the other side of the smoked windowpanes. Who couldn't see in.
See in to be seduced by the lanky looks of Suzanne Radcliffe. Slutessa debutante.
Bareassed cuntessa.
Wriggling in the naked flesh.
Her tits peaked like pyramids.
Her pussy slimed like a river delta.
"Excited?" Channing said.
"About this fucking hayseed state fucking fair-no way. But maybe we can work a few kinks into our hijinks."
Suzanne slithered close to Channing.
Her clenched claws hammered away frantically at his juddering cock.
He ran his hand up her fanny.
Darleene slapped her cigarette onto the side of the motel dresser.
Dashed an ash to the floor.
Stuck the butt inn her mouth and sucked it.
Blew out clouds of smoke from her nose.
Balanced the burning cig on the corner of the bureau top.
She ran her hands through her hair.
Tossed her head from side to side.
Watched her tits bobble.
Boobs bounce.
Nipple shaking.
She sashayed from the front of the room near the dresser to the rear in between the two beds. Bumping her rump, singing the words to one of the Boppettes' original tunes.
Darleene whished down, brought the cigarette to her face.
Puffed.
Dropped the cig onto the edge of the dresser. It fell off into the trashcan.
"Shit!"
Darleene twitched the butt into one of the discarded beercans.
She lit up another cigarette.
Scratched under her arms.
Tugged a tittie.
Nailed into an itchy nipple.
Tried to lay the cigarette down so that it wouldn't burn anything, wouldn't roll.
The fuckers had given Darleene a room that was specified as being no-smoking.
That didn't actually mean you couldn't smoke. But it meant there weren't any ashtrays.
"Hold on," Darleene said to the rapping at the door. "Fuckingchrist," she muttered.
Threw on a terrycloth robe.
"Who is it?" Darleene said through the door.
"Suzanne."
"Uh-"
"Suzanne Radcliffe."
"Well, Patrick isn't here. He's with some of the other band members going over the wiring for the musical equipment and lights."
"I wanted to talk to you for a minute, Darleene. And Babette-if she's there." Darleene yanked the door open.
"No. I'm alone." Darleene's robe flew apart.
Her boobs flashed out in the open space between the spread lapels.
Pink nipples suddenly turned turgid.
Nipples in heat.