L J Murphy
Their wild vacation
CHAPTER ONE
God, he was bored.
He could tell already that this trip was going to be a big, fat mistake. He swore softly under his breath. Why had, he let Doris talk him into spending his vacation driving across the country? She thought it would be romantic.
Romantic. That was the trouble with Doris. She was never satisfied. He kept her well-fucked, but she wanted more. She wanted to own him, that was what she wanted. They were good together. Why wasn't that enough for her? It was for him. Steve Bradley glanced at the woman sitting in the passenger's seat of his jazzy red Mustang.
Doris Coleman was thirty; two years younger than Steve. But with her short cap of curls and big wide eyes in a still-unlined face she could pass for twenty-five easily. And she still had the body of a teenager. Her cone-shaped boobs with the little pink nipples were really too small for his taste, but they were firm and high, and not yet droopy. And even though she was barely five foot tall she had long, lithe legs that met in a curly brown bush that hid one of the sweetest pussies he'd ever had the pleasure of sinking his cock into. It was nice and tight, like a silk-lined glove.
He felt his dick start to tighten against the faded softness of his jeans. Just thinking about her pussy gave him a hard-on. If he'd stayed home like he'd wanted to, he could be banging away inside her sweet tunnel of love right now, instead of wasting his time driving down some God-forsaken freeway to nowhere. The desire welling up in him and his mouth feel tight and dry. He gripped the steering wheel a little harder and tried to concentrate on the road.
His glance strayed sideways again. He could see the curve of one breast in her skimpy halter top. She was leaning against the door with her boobs pushed together; it made her look like she was stacked. She shifted a bit in her seat and he caught a glimpse of the darker circles that ringed the small pink nipples that stood to attention when he nibbed or kissed them.
This was getting him nowhere. It was only 2:30. Four more hours till they'd reach their stopping point for the night, a little town in West Virginia called Clayburn Court House. Doris had wanted to stop there because she thought it sounded "cute". Christ, he didn't think he could wait four more hours. His cock was throbbing now, making an obvious bulge in his pants. Maybe she would notice, and give him a hand job in the car. It would be better than nothing.
But she wasn't paying any attention to him. She was reading some movie-star magazine, seemingly oblivious to his hungry eyes on her body, or the urgent message his jutting dick was sending her way.
Steve noticed a sign pointing the way to a truck stop and rest area up ahead. Maybe a cup of coffee would help him take his mind off her match. He decided to pull off.
"Where we goin', Steve? We can't be anywhere near Clayburn yet." Doris sounded annoyed. She folded her magazine and shoved it into the huge straw purse she carried everywhere. He found himself wishing she wouldn't talk, just look nice and smell good and be there with her legs spread wide when he wanted her. That was all he needed to make himself happy.
"I'm tired of driving. Thought I'd stop and get a cup of coffee. Stretch my legs. You mind?" His deep voice had a rough edge to it. Why did she have to whine so much? He wished he'd never let her talk him into moving into the one-bedroom apartment she rented over the laundromat where he took his wash. That was how they'd met actually; they'd shared the last available dryer one night several months ago, and afterwards she'd asked him up to her place for a drink. One thing had led to another and here they were. Thank God he hadn't let her talk him into getting married. He'd steered clear of that trap, at least.
She didn't bother to reply, but instead allowed her breath to escape in a little sigh that managed to sound both hurt and reproachful. She turned away from him to look out the window.
There was no one else at the truck stop. He went in and ordered two coffees to go. He swore under his breath when the pimply-faced girl behind the counter said, "Fifty cents, Mister." A crummy dump this, and the coffee was twenty-five cents a cup. Shit!
By the time he started back toward the car his hard-on had gone down. Wordlessly he handed her one of the cups of coffee.
"Aw, Steve, you know I'd rather have a Coke. Why'd you get me coffee? It's too hot to drink coffee today." When she whined the down-turned corners of her mouth pulled all the prettiness from her face.
"So don't drink it if you don't want it. I was just trying to do something nice for you. Stick it up your ass for all I care. I'm going to drink mine in peace." He slammed the car door and strode over to a big old oak tree with a velvety patch of grass at its base.
The coffee wasn't even good. Even with sugar and cream it was still bitter. Just like Doris. She was pissed off he wouldn't marry her, but why should he? He didn't want to spend the rest of his life with her. Right now he didn't think there was a broad on earth he'd want to spend the rest of his life with.
He set the unfinished cup of coffee down on the ground and leaned back against the wide trunk of the tree. He thought about jacking off, but he wasn't really in the mood. He wanted the teal stuff. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander to some of the women he'd had.
Next thing he knew Doris was bending aver him, whispering something in his ear. He shook his head groggily. He must have fallen asleep. She was brushing his shoulder with one of her tits as she talked; he could feel the nipple hardening through the thin fabric of her top.
"I said I'm sorry I snapped at you. I came to apologize. You going to accept my apology or not, lover?" She was smiling down at him, one hand twined in his thick dark hair. "Come here, sugar, and let me think it over." He pulled her down next to him and ran one hand inside her halter. He rubbed her pink nipple between two big fingers, and felt it now even harder in his hands. She moaned softly, letting her head fall back on his well-muscled shoulder.
He started to unbutton her top. "Not here Steven, somebody might see," she protested feebly. But she made no move to stop his roving fingers.
"I don't give a fuck," he said, freeing her other breast. "When the hell has that ever stopped me? Remember the night we did it on top of the washing machine in the laundromat while that little old lady was working crossword puzzles up front? Shit, she never suspected a thing!"
He bent to kiss her tit; it was so small he felt like he could swallow it whole. She tasted good, like baby powder. He began slowly licking and kissing the rosy skin that ringed her nipple. She moaned again, and squirmed in his arms. One of her hands started to rub across the bulge that had reappeared in his pants. Her hips started to rotate slowly, her pelvis pushing up at him.
He stopped kissing her titty and fastened his mouth over hers, silencing her protests with his probing tongue. Her legs were twitching faster now, and he moved his free hand down between them, reaching two fingers up inside the leg of her shorts till he found her pussy. It was all wet and warm; he could feel her sticky love juices on his fingers. He probed till he found her clit; it was already swollen to a hard little knob that quivered in his hand as he stroked it. She cried out, and began fumbling urgently with his zipper.
He didn't stop to help her, but kept massaging her cunt. He wanted her to get good and hot. He wanted her to want it bad, worse than he did. He drove one finger deep inside her, aggravated at the resistance offered by her shorts. Impatiently he withdrew his hand and tugged at her zipper. With one swift tug he yanked her shorts down around her ankles. She kicked them free and spread her legs wide to his searching fingers.
Her eyes were closed, and the curly hair of her bush glistened wetly in the sunlight. He spread the lips of her honey pot, till he could see the bright pink petals of the inner lips, and her little round love knob. Slowly he started to massage her clit, gently flicking it back and forth, back and forth, till she was moaning and writhing on the soft green grass.