The scent of ......
The scent of desperation exuded from her underage skin.
“Get out of the car Michelle”
“Not until you fuck me,” her smile was almost innocent.
“For the 100th time, NO!” I was exasperated, but hardening, “I’m in no mood for jail today.”
“But you want to Jonathon,” she purred like the engine as it idled, “And I want you to too.” She giggled at the alliteration and shifted her body on the seat.
She pulled herself to the window and reached out for my belt buckle, the back of her hand grazing my obvious cock.
I should have pulled away.
The scent of abandoned wood-working and forgotten projects filled the old garage. The only reason it still stood was to protect “the crime scene” from the elements and to serve as a warning to sons who wanted to grow up “just like him.”
My phone buzzed and mom asked when I was coming back in to the house. “Soon,” I replied.
I missed my dad terribly at times and I moved a box of dust-covered engine parts so I could sit on his old stool by the workbench. I used to come here to curse him, but anger fades, the rage passes, and you just wonder if banging the doe-eyed English girl in the garage was worth it.
Walking back home, I dialed him up, “Dad, I have a question….”
OK, now I have to go, kids are up, the clock is ticking, and I have to run to the store to get bacon for the King's special breakfast.
Now it is your turn to play. Go to Insatiabear and get the picture, and write! It's Friday, that memo can wait until next week.