The chill rain runs in rivulets between my breasts, tracking its way down my belly and further, soaking into the white cotton covering my steaming sli.... My sex throbs. I shiver. I moan. You tear my shirt wide, the remaining buttons disappearing into the roiling blackness that shifts uneasily around us. Panting, I arch my back and thrust my breast at the shadows. Your laughter rakes along my spine and I smile. My wanton display has pleased you and you reward me by softly teasing the aching. When I saw him, he was leaning up against the wall, checking out everyone who entered. He was wearing nothing but a pair of butt baring jeans cutoffs, no shirt, a slave bandana tied Tupac style on his shaved head, and red lipstick. Every time I’ve seen him outside of the booths, he’s wearing the bandana, the cutoffs and barefoot . He nodded to me and I nodded back. He came up to me and asked - maybe a little TOO eagerly, “You want a hot blow job, sweetie? I’ll make it real good, mister,” he. More

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