I'd once again like to thank
meanblackjack
– he prefers
BlackJack
– for his help translating this story too.
This story and all persons and events in it is a work of fiction... Well... Partly...
I'll surely not going to tell you, which parts are true and which are made up... But does it matter anyway?
Enjoy the read and remember:
Feedback isn't only appreciated but actually requested, and the stars at the bottom of the last page are there for a reason... So please vote!
* * * * * * *
I COULD HAVE CRIED OUT LOUD!
We've already been sitting in this jam for more than two hours. About half a mile away from
"Drackensteiner Hang"
- almost right at the edge between Bavaria and Baden-Württemberg –, and the radio kept telling us, this traffic hold-up was going to last at least three or even four more hours. And of all things it was at noon during one of the worst heat waves this country – Germany – had ever experienced.
In the car, there were about 140°F, the sun burned vertically at the roof of our borrowed – flat black – van, and it was pure luck, Monica – like me – only wore light clothes. As all of our clothes were neatly stored into boxes in three different homes, and we only carried one set for change, she wore her
"work-outfit"
.
In her case, this outfit consisted off a almost bleached to white jeans, cut off right beneath the back pockets, leaving her breathtakingly long and slender legs exposed, cream-colored Chuck's and one of my worn out old college sweaters, she had cut off the sleeves and shortened the hem to reach just a hand over her navel, showing off her flat, toned and tanned tummy.
She had her beautiful, by nature wavy, auburn hair tied to a pony tail that, although high up, still reached halfway down her back.
I wore my swim trunks – if I'm going to sweat, at least I want to dry fast – reaching mid-thigh, a muscle shirt and my favorite basketball sneakers.
Just the right clothing for moving two single households from Cologne to Munich in hot midsummer, using an old, stripped 83' GMC Vandura.
As we had pulled up stakes in Cologne and hadn't yet put them down in Munich, the van was our temporary home. Because of this, we had two camping mats, toiletries, a small washing basin and an extra first aid box – just in case – stashed in a compartment behind the co-driver's seat. It wasn't very comfortable there, but Monica's presence helped a lot.
"We don't happen to have any salsas or barbeque sauce on board by any chance, baby?" she moaned and whipped the sweat from her forehead.
I had to smile about the lame but cute joke. No matter what, she always found a way to up the mood and to take the stress out of any situation. For that I loved her, too.
Considering her slender frame and looking in her deep green eyes, you'd never guessed her effortlessly being capable of carrying heavy furniture, like she did these days.
* * *
I have to confess, when she climbed up that narrow flight of stairs to the forth floor of that old building in downtown Munich earlier, carrying a heavy, old carpet, I couldn't help but enjoy both her strength and the view of her shaved cuntie barely covered by the scarce denim.
She had hardly pushed the door open with a kick, when I was all over her. Having already dropped the heavy box of books I was carrying, I slid my hands under her shirt. Because of the heat, we had turned underwear down, and I was now holding two handful of titties. With swaying hips, she pressed her butt into my groin, pushing me away and hoisted the carpet zestfully from her shoulder and on the floor.
"Help me, roll him out." she ordered. "He needs to be laid properly."
"So we should show him how it's done..." I stated deadpan, and gave her a little push, tipping her – as she hadn't regained her balance after smashing down the carpet – over, and we rolled laughing on the – incidentally properly spread – carpet.
"Ooouuupppsss... My finger just slid accidentally into your pussy. But she really is wet and slick. You should hang a sign like >>Slippery when wet<< or something like that." I smirked, but she just looked at me silently. And then she looked some more, while she furrowed her brows. Her look turned stern... Very stern...
And then she knocked me over.
Before I realized it, she already had unpacked my hard cock – working all day under a blazing sun without wearing any underwear and having a sizzling hot babe like mine around can lead to a permanent horniness – and then started chewing and sucking on him so eager, I almost thought she would bite him off.
"Did you think, I wouldn't take my revenge? I'm not going to be the only one to be horny as hell." she mumbled around my dick, while she sucked for all she was worth and I had the feeling, my spunk would start boiling in my balls.
Once she would entwine my shaft with her tongue, another time she would tickle the frenulum of my cock with her tongue's tip or she would gently suck my dick. She let him sink down her throat and massaged me extensively with swallowing motions, making me crazy like hell, nibbled up and down the shaft, licked my balls and circled my glans with pleasure.
Just as I was about to cum, she pulled back, looked into my eyes cockily and breathed over my almost bursting prick: "We better get going, or we'll get stuck in the rush hour."
"I don't see a problem at all. In worst case I'll get stuck in you during rush hour." was my pretty lame reply.
But she stayed adamant – unfortunately so did my dick, too – so I stashed my pole back into my trunks. Monica disappeared in the bathroom for a couple of minutes, and so did I right after her, to "cool down" a bit. Then we sat in the car and drove off... And sat in the jam only three hours later.
* * *
There was some motion in the line of cars a little ahead, and so we started the engine, too.
"Looks like they've been wrong on the radio about the jam's length." Monica expressed her hopes.
"Looks like. Maybe we can still make it..."
