Do you wanna lick me?

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony asked.

“Do you wanna lick me?” she said. The seat on the passenger’s side suddenly scooted backwards, startling the both of them. She gasped and laughed. She’d pulled the handle.

“Emm…” Tony scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s a simple question,” She repeated, wiggling out of her pants. They dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of them, one foot after the other. The material hung off one stiletto heel and laughing again she kicked it over her head and into the back seat. Olive put both her feet on his car seat. Normally, he hated anything that messed with the leather of his interiors, but it was not the pain from knife-points of her shoes he felt now, as if stabbed into his creamy leather. Tony crotch tightened. It was looking to do some stabbing of its own.

She’d worn a dress, tight and white, which reached just under her knees. Her hair was permed as he liked it to be – none of this newfangled ‘nappturalism’ movement for him – and swept off the left side of her face, held in place by a jewelled comb. Every inch the lady his mother wanted him to bring home. Now, she pulled up the dress and spread her legs, squatting beside the gear stick.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he said. The words came out, dry, bereft of moisture. He couldn’t make any saliva now if he tried. At first he thought she did not hear him, she only jiggled in place, closed her knees and opened them again. They parted with a soft, sucking sound.

“Well, have at it, then,” she said.

Tony darted forward and his seat belt pulled him up short. The jerk was enough to remind him of where he was. “Let me just…” he hated to move, hated to do anything other than bury his face in her pussy. But they were in the parking lot of a popular shopping mall, having just come from a nearby cinema. Deserted, yes, but the last thing he needed was to end up on someone’s YouTube with his ass hanging out of the window. She shrugged and slipped into the back seat. She didn’t seem to mind.

He started up the car and pulled away from the powerful searchlights which dotted the parking lot at intervals, towards the dark corner where a shadow pooled beside recycling bins. He stopped, engaged the handbrake and leapt out of his seat. He did not have to go far. Olive had spread herself on the back seat like a throw, one knee behind each of the front seats. A lady she was not.

“Don’t come any closer. The back is just for me,” she said.

Just for her? She was kidding right? He eyed her but did not trust himself to speak.

“You want to drink from me, you have to get down low, honey.” Slap, slap, went her thighs. Open, close. The heat and scent of her took away his objections. He had become pure sensation; concentrated aching and the reason for his discomfort  would not let him sink low enough. He unzipped his trousers and tried to free it from the confines of his Y-fronts.

“Is that dick I hear?” she asked. Her voice was low, sultry. Dreamy and thick, as though she was swimming in syrup.

“Yes, you want some?” he asked. He sounded like a stoned fool to his own ears but the promise of tongue-fucking her, heck any-type-of-fucking her was great. Tony gave up and pulled the whole thing down altogether. His belt clanked on his shin.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said abruptly. He heard the rustle of cloth as she adjusted herself.

Typical! he swore under his breath.

“I want to suck that dick first instead,” she said, kneeling on the floor of the car. The gear stick grazed his balls, cold in the winter night, but her hands on his were hot and slippery from a visit to her own body. He knelt astride the handbrake and parked his tumescent cock in the gap between the seats, pointing like an arrow, a warning at what he assumed must be her face.

Warning: This dick will blow in 5, 4,…

Tony gritted his teeth. He was not a kid. Of course he wouldn’t blow. Not until he’d sank into her hot, molten flesh would he let his man milk flow.

Her breath tickled the tight head of his cock, its eye wide open, dribbling and swaying like a drunk. Olive reached under and around him, holding him tight. The liquid heat of her mouth lapped up his excess before she let him slide in. Tony’s hiss curled out of his mouth. His breath and hers mingled to fog up the windows. They were all alone in the world.

Outside, the wind picked up and inside Tony, a storm raged. Olive’s sucks were strong and tight, and soon sweat prickled under his woolly hat. He took it off and flung it down. It rained from his pores, flowed down the spine and into his buttocks where it encountered Olive’s kneading fingers. She broke off to lower her head as if she was drinking from an outdoor tap. In went his balls into her mouth.

“Ah,” he barked. Whirlpools of saliva swirled around them and she sucked them dry. She repeated it several times, finally letting each one pop out of her mouth, fully laundered.

“Mmm,” she said. “Those were good balls. Could you unzip me?” She bent her head towards him so that he could reach her back. Tony did as she asked, but could not resist slipping a hand to the front of her dress. He was pleased to find her almost as sweaty as he was.

Where was this person at dinner? he wondered. He’d dreaded the date for so long that his mother had to forcibly come around and blackmail him into going. “Are you gay?” she’d shouted. “If you’re gay tell me now so that I will know that I have no one to carry on my name!”

He was her only son, the apple of her eyes. And she had hounded him for months on end about this grandchild of the esteemed Deaconess Obuta in her church. The church he no longer attended, offended by their frequently shouted prayers and the concentration on material wealth in God’s name. He’d hated the way the girls all seemed to be into marriage. No sooner did you say ‘Hello’ to one than they started talking about how many girls they wanted for their bridal trains. His mother had shown him Olive’s picture on her phone and she seemed to be alright, although one couldn’t tell the marriage-hungry from photos. He agreed to go, if only to get his mother off his back.

Olive suckled loudly and Tony buckled, gripping the headrests for support. She was like a starved infant. Her suction was strong. His buttock muscles quivered with the strain of holding his body upright. Olive started to thrust his hips into her mouth. The slimy hole in her face appeared to have no end and Tony pumped cautiously at first and then with increasing abandon. When she broke off to gargle his balls again, he almost grunted from impatience.

Her fingers massaging his taint were a surprisingly pleasant experience.  A salty, meaty smell wafted off their bodies, condensed in the air around them. He could taste the flesh of her pussy although he was yet to.

“Here, here,” she said. Her hands on him were blessed relief. Olive guided him into the space between her breasts, breasts which had been firmly jailed behind a square neckline of her dress, so that he’d been denied even a peek at dinner and the already sparing conversation between them died. He slipped into the hot sweatiness and began to thrust. It was like fucking a bags of warm,  pliant gari. Olive clasped him about the legs. Tony fucked her bags like he was possessed by a fucking demon. Just when he thought he would come, she took him in her mouth again and began to moan as if he had entered her pussy. Tony’s back hurt from arching, his soul hurt with the effort it took not to baptise her throat with his hot milk.

“Let me in your pussy,” he said.

“Say ‘Cunt’,” she said.

“Let me in your cunt,” he pleaded.

“In a minute,” she said, the tail end of her words disappearing as she gobbled up his dick. Tony knew he did not have a minute. He shoved his hand in her bra and started to play with her nipples, fast and furious. He was still tugging at her dress, trying to reach down to bury his hand in her hot, sweaty snatch when he started to come. Olive didn’t even flinch. He felt the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed him down.

Tony collapsed against the steering wheel, earning him a sharp honk as his buttock connected with the horn. He scrambled up and she giggled.

“God, I am such a mess,” she said, settling in her seat. On went the light. He watched her retrieve and tug on her pants and rearrange her dress.  Outside, the wind still raged. He sat naked from the waist down and his deflating dick drooled on his right thigh.

“Give me one minute to catch my breath. I’ll take care of you,” he said. His soul felt lighter, and he smiled and touched her hair. Its ends were wet from her sweat and had started to curl.

“Oh, I don’t have a minute,” she said.

“No?” He tweaked her cheek, glad at this newer animated version of her. He much preferred her to the girl who had let him order all her food and drink simply because she ‘liked everything’ and ‘couldn’t make up her mind’. He wondered, did it go for sex too? His dick stirred, waking again. “What, you want me that badly, you can’t even spare one minute?”

“Well, there’s that,” she said, applying lip gloss. The look she cast him a sideways glance, with the applicator wand paused in front of her pursed lips. “But really, I don’t have even one minute to spare. I’m twenty-eight this year and I want to get married.”

“Oh, yeah?” he drew the hand on her cheek away.

Here we go, he thought. Suddenly, he was no longer in the mood. He pulled on his trousers, roughly jerking them up his legs. The cold was beginning to seep in and his ass was getting numb.

Olive was watching him, her huge sleepy eyes, even more sleepy in the yellow light. “I don’t want to marry you,” she said. “You can relax now.”

“Okay. So what?” he paused in his pursuit of clothing himself. She laughed and shook her head.

“Men,” she said. Olive screwed the lid on her lip gloss and kept twisting even when it had obviously closed. He face had resumed its dinnertime sombreness. “Listen, there is this girl I like. In church. We’ve been in love for five years and I know, I know we can’t get married. I know you too, you don’t want to get married which was why I agreed to this date. My mum has been pestering me to go out with you.”

“Okay…” he said. He started to fasten his belt.

“We’ve had it all worked out, me and my…my girlfriend. If you and I date for a while, we’ll announce our engagement and get married. But you know, it won’t be for real. You can carry on however you want, as long as you’re discreet and we promise to do the same. We could have an agreement, write it down,  file it in the cloud somewhere.” She was talking fast now, no stumbling, no breaks. He realised this was a plan that had been thought through carefully, polished, buffered.

“I’ll give you two children, no more, no less, but we will live our lives. Separately but together. We will raise our family together too, me you and…my girlfriend. What do you say?”

Tony found himself speechless. A part of him wondered if she was lying to trap him, but out came the phone. The two of girls in compromising positions. She’d taken them, knowing that he might need proof. The sort of pictures that would land her in jail had tipped his conviction over the edge.

He was stupefied by the razor sharp blade of jealousy slicing through his gut. Now that he knew she did not want him, he could not stop thinking about ways to possess her.

“I know about F183H,” she said. “You could go to jail for that, you know.” Her eyes watched him, her mouth said she was sorry to be bringing up the fraud he’d been perpetuating for years.

“How?” his heart hammered in his chest.

“My girlfriend. She’s a….good at finding out information on the internet.”

A hacker.

“Okay,” he said.

She clapped. “Wonderful! This calls for a celebration.” The look came into her eyes again. “Do you want to lick me now?” she asked.

“No,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. His dick pushed against his trousers.

Liar, it whispered.