Backstage with Nicole

Nice car, she says, sizing him up while he’s polishing chrome. Then she smirks. Too bad it’s really small—got anything bigger? The question hangs in the sun like a dare. She’s already wet, already grinning when he straightens and shows her the answer swelling behind his jeans. She drops without another word. Knees on warm pavement, lips parting, taking that thick length straight to the back of her throat. Blonde hair swinging, eyes tearing while she works him deeper, spit shining down the shaft. He grips her head, hips rolling, feeding her every inch until her nose presses flush to his stomach. Moments later she’s bent over the open door, shorts tugged aside, pussy stretched around him. He drives in hard, steady strokes that jolt the little car on its shocks. She gasps, pushes back, chasing each thrust until she shudders and comes, the black of his skin stark against her pale, flushed thighs.