Chapter 4
"What in the hell is so important about the car?" Tony inquired as he got dressed. He was tucking his penis into his fly as he asked the question. It had gone soft now following his two orgasms, but even in that state it was an impressive hunk of meat. It looped down like an elephant's trunk in front of his thighs as he pushed it into his pants.
Belinda was pulling her panties on. They had dried out by now, but her crotch was still wet and slippery. But when she drew them up, they got damp all over again, molding to the contours of her crotch.
"It's a secret," she retorted.
"It's only an old Pontiac...."
Tony shrugged.
"If we don't find it ... well, I'm going to be very unhappy. I'll probably be so unhappy that I won't feel like giving you another blowjob for a long time...."
"We'll find the damn thing," said Tony.
Bill Silva's used-car lot was only a few blocks away, so they walked there. It was nearly opening time for the taverns by now, and hung over gentlemen were staggering toward their local bars and saloons and not a few of them looked appreciatively at sexy Belinda as they passed. Although she had no interest in them-not at the moment at least-she had enough narcissism in her nature so that whenever she noticed a man looking at her, she swung her ass like a pendulum and thrust her tits out and smiled, greatly appreciating their appreciation.
"I hope he's open on Sundays," she said as they drew near the place.
"Yeah, Silva won't ever pass up a chance to sell a car," Tony joked. "He's always open."
Tony pointed out the lot across the street. Banners and flags flew over it, and the office was a small, whitewashed building with a garage attached. There, Silva's mechanic could get a used car in condition to run, at the very least, out of the premises. Silva sold his cars as is, and never gave a refund. But he was always embarrassed, to his credit, when one of his cars broke down before it had reached the driveway.
They looked from across the street.
A dozen secondhand cars sat on the lot, the prices marked on the windshields with a grease pencil.
Belinda's Pontiac was not among them.
"Oh, dear...."
"He must have sold it."
"Maybe we can trace it to the new owner."
"It's that important, huh?"
"Yes, it sure is."
"Well, we can ask him...."
"Errr ... maybe I'll have more luck dealing with him if I go in alone," Belinda said.
Tony looked at her, then shrugged.
"Suit yourself," he said.
He looked around. A sordid bar with grimy windows was just opening its doors down the street and he pointed it out and said, "I'll wait for you in there."
Belinda crossed the street.
Tony watched her delicious behind sway as she moved, shook his head, wondering what this was all about, figured it was well worth his while if he got another blowjob or two out of it, and walked on down to the bar.
Bill Silva was short and wide.
He fancied himself a ladies' man, which was strange, because he had never had a lady, except for his wife, and she was no lady. In fact, she was so ugly that no one except Bill had ever had her, either. But it was not strange that Bill had no success with women; he was an unsightly fellow with an unfortunate personality, usually referred to as a creep ... especially by anyone who had bought a used car from him.
He was bald up top, but compensated by growing his hair long at the sides and sweeping it over, which fooled no one but himself. His ears stuck out, and out of them stuck thick tufts of bristly hair. Other tufts stuck out from his nose, which was bulbous and so traced with red veins that it looked like a roadmap. He sported a carefully trimmed moustache, Clark Gable-style, but no one knew this because the hairs from his nostrils covered his moustache completely.
He always wore plaid or checkered sports jackets and hand-painted neckties with a nice, big, plastic tie pin stuck through them to hold them neatly in place.
Bill did have one attribute that might have made him attractive to women.
He had a fat cock.
It wasn't inordinately long, but it was one of the thickest pricks in town. It was almost broader than it was long. Yes, this might have interested the odd women, had they known. But Bill had never gotten far enough with a girl to have her look at his prick. And his wife-no fool, she-had never told him that his cock was out of the ordinary. She had never seen another real live penis, it is true, but she was a lewd and lusty woman who often perused pornographic pictures, so she was a fair judge of prick despite her inexperience.
She also had a monstrous muff.
Because she had started at an early age, shoving whatever tubular object was at hand up her snatch, she had developed a cavernous twat. Bananas, sausages, pogo sticks and Bullworkers had been thrust up her pussy, so that her hole was perfectly suited to her husband's wide dong. That's why they fitted together like the interlocking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They might have had a splendid love life had they not both been so unsightly that they literally gagged while fucking.
She had also used her Bullworker in the more expected way, developing gigantic muscles, with which she often tossed Bill around the room.
So Bill, all things considered, was delighted when he saw the gorgeous blonde walk onto his used-car lot.
He straightened his hand-painted necktie and plastered a salesman's grin across his mouth.
"Looking around for a good used car, lady?" he queried as she approached his office.
"I'm looking for an old blue Pontiac," she said.
Bill blinked. Most of his customers were not quite so specific.
He said, "I got an old green Chevy ... that's almost the same thing."
"No, I want a specific car."
Bill was looking at her boobs, admiring the way the nipples poked out against the material of her blouse and thinking that General Motors had never made bumpers like that, even in the good old days.
Belinda noticed his interest and smiled. She wanted his help. She arched her back so that her tits thrust out toward his bulging eyes.
She said, "About a month ago you bought a blue Pontiac from a fellow named Tony Jones.
"Yeah, I remember."
"That's the car I want."
"Sorry, lady ... it's already sold."
"Damn," said Belinda
"If I'd known you was coming, I'd of kept it for you. But I sold it the same day I bought it," he recalled.
"Could you...." she smiled fondly upon him " ... please give me the name and address of the new owner?"
"Well, I don't know as how that's ethical," commented Bill, who knew the word well, having heard it in court countless times when he had been sued for selling lemons. He said, "A used-car salesman is like a priest, sort of, or a lawyer ... things like that are privileged information."
"Please...."
Bill figured that if she couldn't find the car she wanted, she might take the green Chevrolet off his hands.
"Can't do it, lady," he said.
"I'd be ever so grateful...."
Did she mean....
Naw, she couldn't mean that, he thought inwardly.
"I got my reputation to think of," he said. Belinda thought fast.
"You're lucky," she claimed. "I don't have a good reputation myself. That's because I screw a lot."
Bill gulped. Belinda looked sad.
"I even screw ugly, bald guys," she said.
But Bill didn't know he was ugly and, although he knew he was bald, he didn't think that anyone else had noticed because of the way he wore his-uh-hair.
He frowned.
"Not that you're ugly," she quickly added.
"Well, now...." Bill was torn between a desire to help her and find out what form her appreciation might take and an equal desire to sell the green Chevrolet before it collapsed into a heap of rust on his lot.
"How come you want that car, anyhow?"
"It used to belong to me, you see, and ... it has great sentimental value...."
"Plenty of sentiment to a green Chevy."
"Yes, but...." she thought some more; she smiled demurely, averting her eyes. "I'll be honest with you," she said. "I gave my first blowjob in that car."
Bill almost fainted.
"You know how it is ... no matter how much cock a girl sucks, she always recalls her first mouthful...."
Bill hadn't known that at all.
He had never been given head. Not by his wife. Not by anyone.
His face twitched and his mouth quivered. "You better come into my office," he said.
Stalling, he looked through his sales records and, over the top of the ledger, at Belinda. Nuggets of sweat beaded his brow and his tongue flicked beads of perspiration from his heavy lips.
Belinda stood across the desk, her hips shot out, posing languidly and in a sultry manner. But she was puzzled.
Bill Silva had a hard-on, she could see that plain enough and very few boners ever escaped her eye. But it was the funniest-shaped erection she had ever seen. It was more like a solid block in his pants than a tube, a massive but truncated cylinder.
Belinda was curious to see what a cock that could make such a strange bulge might look like bared.
She wasn't bothered because Bill was ugly, either, for she had never been the sort of girl who was more interested in form than substance. In fact, in a nice distaff variation on what was usually a male theme, she had been known to claim that ugly men were better lovers because they were so grateful to get some pussy ... any pussy.
She slid onto the edge of his desk, letting her short skirt ride well up her shapely thighs. Sitting on one flank, she crossed that leg over the other. Her foot arched, her toe pointed; she rocked her ankle back and forth, slowly. Somehow another button had come undone on her blouse.
Bill's hands were shaking as if the sales ledger he was holding were a heavy burden.
"Are you looking?" Belinda asked him, ambiguously. He had stopped all pretense of examining the ledger, and was eyeing her with total concentration. He could see the contour of her right knocker as her blouse gaped open; as she shifted slightly, he glimpsed the taut nipple. Her skirt was up so far that he figured he would be able to see her crotch, if he could think of some reason to bend down.
He knew his aroused fascination simply had to be obvious to the woman.
Yet she didn't seem to mind at all.
She was smiling and shifting about as if responding to the visual caress of his eyes.
Of course, there was every chance that she was just a cock-teaser, one of those horrid women who liked to lead a man on and let him believe he could have her and then, when his pecker was ready to burst, turning him down. But if that was the case, it was too late for Bill to take measures to prevent it-for his cock was already as hard as it could get, and that was plenty hard. He didn't really figure he had much hope of fucking this beautiful girl, but he sure as hell had to give it his best shot.
Her foot swayed up and down.
He stared at it like a cobra looking at the swaying flute that was mesmerizing it, and then his eyes traveled up her long calf and up her trim thigh and he began to pant like a steam engine with the hot pressure that was building up in the boiler of his ball-bag.
How could he start?
How could he get his hot hands on her lusty body?
Bill was not an imaginative fellow, except when it came to imagining that people thought he had hair on the top of his head. But what little imagination he had was working overtime now, inspired by the vision of delight that was curled so erotically on his desk.
He said, "I can't really give you the name and address of the guy-who bought the car...."
Belinda frowned.
"It just wouldn't be ethical to do that...." He closed the ledger and put it down on the desk.
"However ... if you were to sneak in my sales book while I wasn't looking...."
Now Belinda smiled.
"Why, yes ... no one could blame you then, could they? If you didn't know...."
"If only I was distracted," he said.
"If a customer came to talk to you...."
"Yeah. Or if I was doing something else...."
"Why, yes...."said Belinda.
Bill gazed at her questioningly. Belinda, still smiling, inclined her head.
Bill came around from behind his desk, leaving the ledger where it was. He walked to ' the door of the office and pretended to be looking out. He was whistling through his teeth, a harsh, hissing sound, as if he were letting off steam via a safety valve. His hands were clasped behind his back. He heard the rustle of her clothing, the swish of her leather skirt against the desk.
He turned around.
Belinda had slid off the desk and was leaning over it. She had opened the ledger. Her black-leather-coated ass was thrust back and tilted up, and her legs were spread, drawing the skirt tightly across her thighs above the knees. Her jugs hung down over the desk.
Bill had never seen anything as inviting as that trim, taut behind swaying before him.
He moved up behind her.
He was still terrified that he had misunderstood, that she might reject him. But he knew that he had to act before she located the name and address for which she was looking. Holding his breath, he reached out and placed his trembling hand against the cheek of her ass.
Belinda shifted her weight, pushing her pert rear end against his hand.
Bill began to knead and massage her sweet tush, and her hips moved as if she were doing a slow dance. She was still looking through the ledger, but her attention had begun to waver; her head switched from side to side. She purred like a cat. Her blonde hair swept down over her boobs like a veil. He was fondling her ass cheeks with both hands now, standing close to her; pushing his hips forward, he brushed his hard-on against the back of her thighs.
"Ummm," she sighed.
Sweating and groaning, he moved one hand down, stroking the back of her knee, then slowly worked his way up her leg, rubbing the silky smooth flesh of her inner thigh as he delved up under her skirt.
He pushed his hand into her crotch, palm-up, cupping the plump, moist mound. His fingers closed, curling up over her mount of Venus, as if he were afraid she might snatch her beaver away. He intended to retain his grip at all costs. But instead of withdrawing, the oversexed blonde began to squirm happily on his hand. She was enjoying herself tremendously. She always liked to have a man play with her pussy, but usually she was so hot and wet that, requiring no foreplay, they got right on with the balling. Bill's tentative, uncertain approach was an extremely pleasant variation for her.
And her cunny was a joy to touch.
He squeezed it and rubbed it, feeling the heat of her loins seep through her panties. Those brief bikini bottoms were sopping wet. He ran his fingers along her parted slit, dragging the crotchband of her panties right up her hole. It felt so good that he just had to see it.
He lifted her skirt.
Belinda squirmed as he raised the hem above her hips, up to her waist, exposing her bikini-clad buttocks and crotch. He stared down at her for a moment, then hooked his digits under the elastic band and drew her panties down her delectable thighs. As he lowered the sexy undergarments, he sank down with it, kneeling behind her to remove it from her feet. She lifted each foot in turn so he could take the panties off.
Kneeling in that position, Bill's face was level with her crotch, gazing right up her steaming cunt.
The labia were parted so wide that they seemed to be turning inside out, and the inner flesh was streaked with ribbons of pearly pussy juice.
It looked so tasty that Bill simply had to have a little snack of twat sauce and more.
He leaned in and his tongue came out.
"Oh!" Belinda gasped.
Then: "Ooooh...." as she realized his intentions and felt his hot licker sweep up her slot.
She began to flip through the pages of the sales ledger furiously, wanting to get that business finished with so that she could concentrate on the pleasure of having her cunt munched without any distractions.
She found the name and address of the person who had bought her Pontiac.
She closed the ledger.
Bill heard the book shut and looked up, horrified, thinking that she might not want him to continue.
"Ooooh, don't you dare stop," Belinda whispered.
And Bill, who would rather eat out a snapper than anything except fuck one-or maybe sell that green Chevrolet-dropped his head back into her crotch.
He used only his tongue at first.
Lapping and laving, he tongued the frothy labia and slurped across the taut clit. Then he stabbed his hot tongue right up her love hole, tongue-fucking her furiously. This brought his lips in contact with her cuntal lips and he began to suck steadily. Sex juice ran over his licker and into his mouth, and he gulped it down ravenously.
His prick was screaming for attention, but he was so happy with a faceful of hot pussy that he ignored the demands of his penis as he sucked merrily away.
His tongue swept up in a long, fluttering slurp that laved her from love bud to sweet asshole. Pausing at the top of the stroke, he licked her anus, then pushed his tongue right up the taut nether hole, rimming out her warm rectum joyously while she writhed and moaned and humped against him.
He pushed his middle finger up her sex slot and began to finger-fuck her. Her twat lips pulled on him. He added his index finger, then began to shove all four digits up her at once, filling her pussy to the hilt. He was amazed at how tight she was. Sometimes he put both hands up his wife's huge snatch and clapped them together inside her.
Vaginal juice poured down his forearm and streamed down her widespread thighs as he finger-fucked her cunt and tongue-fucked her chocolate speedway.
He lowered his face to her crotch again and began to suck on her clitoris and cunt lips while he continued to shove four fingers steadily up her sex hole.
She started to climax.
Her pussy was flooding so heavily that he could barely manage to swallow it all; it was like draining some carnal crankcase, giving her an oil change-with the oil that was building up in his balls.
Her ass flashed; her thighs vibrated; he grasped her by the hipbones and tilted her crotch up as if it were a goblet he was draining to the dredges.
She shuddered and whimpered, then collapsed across the top of the desk with a happy, dreamy smile.
Bill sucked away until he was sure he had pulled every spasm of her thrill and every drop of her quim juice out of that tasty love box.
He emptied her cunt.
Now it was time to fill it up again.