Leave your cock be and check the car out
From Create Your Own Story
You stand up and begin a walk around the running car. It's a flawless pearlescent red, clearly washed before hitting the road; what few smudges that have accumulated during the redhead's road trip only heighten the perfection of the finish.
A schoolmarmish voice in the back of your mind tries to shame you from putting your dirty fingers on it, but you can't resist, and lightly brush the body as you walk around the front. On the hood's nose is a circular insignia flanked by spread silver wings; in the center is a fat, gently curved capital B. B for Breasts? Flying Breasts! This sounds like your kind of car. You note the twin headlights. Their ovoid shape makes you think of a lover swinging her chest. Headlights. Heh. Aren't we puerile?
But isn't the job of a gorgeous vehicle to turn a man into a little boy? Everything about this car is magnificent. With each step, you can feel attraction coalescing into a likely obsession. You are in the presence of something. The grill is an undulating metal mesh. The see-through wheels give you a jolt: gleaming double-barred spokes that are connected along the rim between opposite bars, giving the spokes an almost art-deco, wedge-appearance; and in the center of each wheel, another B, soft and full but with a straight back, surrounded by five huge lugs shining like precious stones.
You walk around more quickly, excited. The doors are huge, the rear tall, hippish and sultry, another flying B planted at the tippy-top of the trunk like a tramp stamp. The chrome of the squat, wide exhaust pipes tremble almost imperceptibly with the relaxed rumble dripping through from the engine. As you finish your circuit -- what will hopefully be the first of many -- the coolly growling motor begins to sound to you like the barely-awake purr of a giant stroked beast.
You go back to the driver's door and open it. You briefly marvel at the interior, the most opulent of any car you've ever seen before; you note the word "Speed" engraved on the door sill; then you close it. The quiet whump the door makes as it closes sends a shiver down your spine. A perfect fit.
You realize your hand has taken hold of your cock, is moving along it, oh so gently. Well, why shouldn't it? Exploding with come might not be the polite way to show automotive appreciation, but let's be honest, the engineers of this car clearly had supercharged sex drives, even if they were sublimated, perhaps criminally, early in life into unusual, geeky pursuits.* But their loss is going to be your gain, once you and the redhead have a ride in this hippo in a tuxedo and nail polish.
You are pulled from your daydream by a quiet scraping sound. It's coming from under the car. You get to your knees and peek under, and there, lying on the pavement, is a woman, black hair framing wide eyes. She is looking back at you. She looks a little scared.
* You wonder what kind of women these engineers would have liked had this sorrowful, but clearly necessary, sublimation not happened. Your guess is very large, super-strong Russian atheletes encrusted tastefully with bling and robed in highly-accellerable silk finery.
| Status | ||
| Health | Horny | Location: |
| MP | 0 | |
| Level | 1 | |
