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With the exception of the moron I’d been dating for the last six months, who was probably still up to his neck in pussy right now, how long was it since I was last this close... this incredibly close... to a decent-sized penis? So close I could almost smell its musky odor; so close I could almost taste it....
My heart was beating so loud that I was sure Brendan would hear it above the engine, but he showed no sign that he even knew I was awake. Occasionally he wriggled a little in his seat, and his prick shifted with him, almost as if it had a mind of its own, and didn't want to lose its place. And I was a little shocked to find myself hoping that it wouldn't.
I pictured Brendan in my mind. Not a bad-looking guy - nothing you'd chase down the street on first sight, but cute in an everyday kind of way. Nicely spoken, smart, thoughtful, probably reliable. Give him a job where he'd be home every night, and he'd make someone a great husband one day.
Still feigning sleep, I shifted a little, moving my head to give his dick a little more leeway. I was rewarded with another twitch and, bolder now, I moved my left arm, so that I could cradle my cheek on my hand... palm down, of course. My hand lay across his left thigh; my fingers just resting on his cock. Lightly, I pressed down with my fingertips, trying to measure his thickness. Not bad, not bad at all.
I didn't want to move too fast; I was still meant to be asleep, after all. But I was wondering what thoughts were going through Brendan's mind. It was 1.25. I determined not to move again for 10 minutes, but it was difficult to resist. The heat was rising from his lap, and now my nostrils really had picked up his scent. My fingertips squeezed him again and, this time, I heard him give a sharp gasp. When he looked down at me, though, my eyes remained closed, my face the impassive innocence of a happy sleeper.
Again I lay stock still, waiting for ten minutes to pass. Again my resolve cracked after just four or five. I'd teased boys before, of course I had. But never this deliberately, this delightfully. I shifted my position, raising my head a little, then laying it down again. If I'd got my bearings right... yes. The tip of his dick was pushing into my cheek now, and I could half feel, half sense the dribble of pre-cum that was soaking into the fabric of his pants.
Brendan, too, now seemed finally aware of what was going on, and one hand dropped from the steering wheel to brush my hair lightly. I responded with another gentle squeeze, then let my fingers slide a little, to touch his balls. Brendan didn't speak, but started stroking the side of my face, very gently.
I slid my finger back up his shaft, tracing the line of his fly. A zip. Raising my head slightly, I sought out the tab and unlocked his trousers - his cock leaped out almost comically, relishing its sudden freedom and pressing hot and naked against my chin. I paused for a moment, breathing in his sharp scent and feeling a welcoming pulse in response. Then my tongue flicked out to greet His Majesty, wrapping around the swollen head and testing his juiciness. He was delicious.
Slowly my lips closed over the very tip, suckling gently before I drew a little more of him in, mere fractions at a time, until at last I held the hot head enclosed in my mouth. I wished there was more light in the cab than the faint glow of the dashboard instruments, and the muted streetlights that rushed past us; I wanted to finally look at the shaft I'd spent the last 45 minutes blindly toying with, admire its color, its size, its unbelievable hardness.
I couldn’t, so my eyes settled on the odometer instead. I remembered years ago, going down on my boyfriend of the time and, once it was all over, thrilling as he told me I'd just given him the greatest ten minutes of his life. Brendan, I determined, was going to get the best ten miles of his life. And then some.
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Eleven scalding tales of lust and love in the halls of public learning - the town library!
The sex is hot, but the librarians are hotter, as authors Chrissie Bentley and Jenny Swallows reveal the lip-smacking truth about what goes on behind (and on top of, and around as well) the bookshelves.