Chapter 179 Neighbour's Plaything (2)

• The rides home were mirrors of the mornings, the long hour-and-a-half stretch giving him ample time to torment and please me. He’d pick me up, and as soon as we were out of town, he’d order me to strip. “Clothes off, darlin’. I want to see all of you.” Blushing furiously, I’d comply, peeling off my blouse, bra, skirt, and panties, folding them neatly on the seat. Naked except for my sneakers, I’d sit in the middle, legs spread wide around the gear shift, exposed and vulnerable. The air conditioning raised goosebumps on my skin, my nipples hardening. The internal war raged— this is immoral, degrading, I should tell someone—but the way he looked at me, hungry and approving, made me crave more. He’d finger me the whole way, sometimes with one finger, sometimes two, stretching me, making me cum over and over. I’d moan loudly, unrestrained in the privacy of the truck, my cries echoing as orgasms ripped through me—three, four times per drive. Each time, I’d convulse, squirting hard, my body arching as he kept going relentlessly, his fingers plunging until rolling orgasms had me curled up, begging incoherently. “It feels… so good, Luke… oh God, yes,” I’d gasp, my shyness fading with each drive, replaced by bold admissions of pleasure. After each climax, I’d lick his fingers clean, savoring the mix of my arousal and his skin, working diligently to suck every drop.
• Sometimes, he’d pull over midway, dropping to his knees between my spread legs to lick and suck my juices hard from me, his beard tickling my thighs as his tongue delved deep, lapping up my squirt with greedy slurps. It sent me over the edge again, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer despite the voice screaming this is wrong.
• And I’d make him cum too, every afternoon. Sometimes I’d stroke him while he fingered me, our hands working in tandem over the long miles. Other times, after I’d cum multiple times and was boneless from pleasure, he’d pull into a secluded spot or even the edge of the school parking lot if we were running late. “Finish me,” he’d say, and I’d suck him off, bobbing my head eagerly, focusing on every detail to do a good job—swirling my tongue, taking him deep until I gagged, then pushing through because I loved pleasing him, loved the grunts of satisfaction. His loads were always big, filling my mouth, and I’d gulp them down, relishing the taste.