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| Cover image for Naughty Little Rich Girl |
One evening, I was driving the pair home from the Met. At the time, they had been married less than two months and she, obviously, still felt the need to put in her best work. From the back of the limo, I heard her giggles; high-pitched screeches that belonged to a five-year-old. Flicking my eyes to the rearview mirror, I watched her manicured hand with long, bright red finger nails, rub its way up his thigh before cupping his groin.
“Ooh,” she crooned. “Nice.”
He gave a soft groan in return. “Do you want it, baby?”
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, her voice even higher than before. “Baby wants it bad.”
His hand, which had been out of view, somewhere at the small of her back, slipped up to her neck and I watched, as he pushed her head towards his groin.
She didn’t resist. In fact, she glanced at him with an impish grin, until she could no longer see his face. All the while, her fingers were sliding down the zipper of his pants, reaching between the fabric and slipping the wrinkled, dark, but surprisingly rigid cock from its confines.
The image of her young, plump, red lips, slowing closing around that old dick was arousing and grotesque all at once. It was beyond captivating. I tried to keep my mind on the road, I even contemplated bringing up the panel that closed the rear of the limo off from view. However, if I did that, there was a chance they would both realize that I’d already seen more than I should have done.
So I sat there, shifting uncomfortable as the swell in my pants became more pronounced. Occasionally, I looked at the empty street ahead, but mostly my eyes were fixed to the rearview, watching the hypnotic sight of her head enthusiastically bobbing up and down, her face completely curtained by her long, blonde hair.
My right hand left the steering wheel and unconsciously dropped to my groin, rubbing through the material of my black dress pants, while the sound of her eager slurping and screeches of pleasure filled my senses. The screeches were too loud, too pornography 101, to be genuine, but that didn’t matter.
“Oh yes, baby,” Stockwell moaned, his head tipped back and his eyes squeezed shut. “Daddy’s going to come!”
The motion of her head became faster, the nails, which clung to his thighs, gripped harder and the her mouth sucked more energetically.
“Yes, baby, yes!” he cried, his hips jerking upwards and his face contorting in that unmistakable mix of agony and ecstasy.
Her head remained at his crotch for a few seconds, as she continued to lap loudly at what, by that point, must have been a flaccid shaft.
His fingers stroked her hair, while his eyes remained closed. “Good girl,” he mumbled. “Such a good girl.”
“Hmm,” she hummed contentedly, finally lifting her face from his lap and sliding the zip closed as she did. “You know I’ll do anything for you, Daddy,” she said in that baby voice, I knew she only used when he was around him. Righting herself, she sat back in her seat, her left hand wiping daintily at the corners of her mouth, while her eyes locked onto the rearview mirror and the eyes she found staring back at her.
I wanted to look away, but I could not. Besides, there was no point pretending I hadn’t seen what I’d just seen. So I waited, heart pounding and cock still straining at my pants, for her to turn to the man beside her and begin an outraged diatribe on the perversity of his driver.
But her head never turned, her eyes didn’t even move. She simply continued to stare into my eyes, until a half grin quirked her lips.
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