LoriDean12345
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2016
- Posts
- 586
"Break Down"
(closed to the J0k3r and me)
Angie Davis
35 years old
36DD-24-34
Bleached blond; deep brown eyes
(For the purpose of the introduction, imagine that the shirt is tied in a knot beneath her breasts.)
Steam rolled out from under the hood of the 1969 Camaro. Angie stood on the shoulder of the road just watching the cloud rise and dissipate. She knew what the problem was, of course. This wasn't the situation of an ignorant city girl breaking down in the classic car that her boyfriend only let her drive because she sucked his cock. Fitzpatrick, named for the letters of the license plate, was Angie's car. She not only owned it but maintained it, too.
Of course, she wasn't in LA, standing in her well equipped shop. She was in the middle of the Nevadan desert, flanked by the huge tanks of an oil refinery. She walked away from the Chevy a couple of dozen yards and listened. There was virtually no noise coming from the facility. That meant probably no one to help her.
Then, as if the Muscle Car Gods had heard her cursing to herself, a cloud of rising road dust appeared on the horizon. It was heading Angie's way. At least, it appeared to be. She was about 30 yards down a spur off a dirt road that itself was a hundred yards off the main road, also gravel. There was a good possibility that the driver and/or passengers of the car might not even see her.
Just when the car was about to burst into view, Angie carefully through the car's hood up. She stepped back as the restricted cloud of steam shot up into the air. It turned out to be a smart move as the vehicle had been on the secondary road, and the occupants likely wouldn't have seen her otherwise.
Suddenly, as it passed the spur, the old pickup truck's brakes locked. It was traveling so fast that it slid in the loose gravel almost a hundred feet before it finally came to a rest. The cloud of dust that had been following it swallowed it like a hungry highway ghost.
After a moment, Angie heard the unmistakable sound of a manual transmission shifting into reverse. The engine revved. And the road's gravel was displaced once again by spinning tires. From within the cloud, the pickup truck appeared. It sped back to the intersection. Again, the brakes locked. Then, it just sat there for a long moment.
Angie began to worry. She wasn't exactly dressed for company. Particularly male company. Particularly male company out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. She was wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a plaid shirt that would have fit her loosely and hid her relatively well. But the shirt was hiked up to her rib cage, with its tails knotted near the base of her sternum. It was unbuttoned all the way down to the knot, showing off the cleavage of her generous bosom.
She hadn't dressed this way to impress. The temperature had been forecasted for triple digits when she checked out of her motel on the northern outskirts of Las Vegas. So, Angie had dressed accordingly. The Camaro had no A/C, of course. Her Ex-boyfriend, a professional mechanic, had pushed her to retrofit the classic with air. That, of course, was the reason he was her Ex! Retrofit a classic? Really?
As she watched the dust clear from around the pickup, Angie realized that she was looking at two men as they, in turn, were looking at her. Goose bumps flooded over her. She hadn't begun the day in the hope of being raped by a couple of toothless rednecks. She moved slowly to the driver's door, casually sat, and reached over to the glove compartment. She opened it, pulled out the little five shot .38 Special, and set it out of sight next to her right thigh.
The pickup turned and headed her way. It's driver wasn't hurrying as before. As it slowed and stopped next to her own car, Angie's lips widened in a relieved smile at the sight of two young men.
Angie rose out of the car, dangling the pistol down behind the door out of sight. The passenger moved into the center of the bench seat to get a better view of her. They were both wearing dark sunglasses. But Angie could tell where their eyes were looking. And it wasn't on her eyes.
(closed to the J0k3r and me)
Angie Davis
35 years old
36DD-24-34
Bleached blond; deep brown eyes
(For the purpose of the introduction, imagine that the shirt is tied in a knot beneath her breasts.)
Steam rolled out from under the hood of the 1969 Camaro. Angie stood on the shoulder of the road just watching the cloud rise and dissipate. She knew what the problem was, of course. This wasn't the situation of an ignorant city girl breaking down in the classic car that her boyfriend only let her drive because she sucked his cock. Fitzpatrick, named for the letters of the license plate, was Angie's car. She not only owned it but maintained it, too.
Of course, she wasn't in LA, standing in her well equipped shop. She was in the middle of the Nevadan desert, flanked by the huge tanks of an oil refinery. She walked away from the Chevy a couple of dozen yards and listened. There was virtually no noise coming from the facility. That meant probably no one to help her.
Then, as if the Muscle Car Gods had heard her cursing to herself, a cloud of rising road dust appeared on the horizon. It was heading Angie's way. At least, it appeared to be. She was about 30 yards down a spur off a dirt road that itself was a hundred yards off the main road, also gravel. There was a good possibility that the driver and/or passengers of the car might not even see her.
Just when the car was about to burst into view, Angie carefully through the car's hood up. She stepped back as the restricted cloud of steam shot up into the air. It turned out to be a smart move as the vehicle had been on the secondary road, and the occupants likely wouldn't have seen her otherwise.
Suddenly, as it passed the spur, the old pickup truck's brakes locked. It was traveling so fast that it slid in the loose gravel almost a hundred feet before it finally came to a rest. The cloud of dust that had been following it swallowed it like a hungry highway ghost.
After a moment, Angie heard the unmistakable sound of a manual transmission shifting into reverse. The engine revved. And the road's gravel was displaced once again by spinning tires. From within the cloud, the pickup truck appeared. It sped back to the intersection. Again, the brakes locked. Then, it just sat there for a long moment.
Angie began to worry. She wasn't exactly dressed for company. Particularly male company. Particularly male company out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. She was wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a plaid shirt that would have fit her loosely and hid her relatively well. But the shirt was hiked up to her rib cage, with its tails knotted near the base of her sternum. It was unbuttoned all the way down to the knot, showing off the cleavage of her generous bosom.
She hadn't dressed this way to impress. The temperature had been forecasted for triple digits when she checked out of her motel on the northern outskirts of Las Vegas. So, Angie had dressed accordingly. The Camaro had no A/C, of course. Her Ex-boyfriend, a professional mechanic, had pushed her to retrofit the classic with air. That, of course, was the reason he was her Ex! Retrofit a classic? Really?
As she watched the dust clear from around the pickup, Angie realized that she was looking at two men as they, in turn, were looking at her. Goose bumps flooded over her. She hadn't begun the day in the hope of being raped by a couple of toothless rednecks. She moved slowly to the driver's door, casually sat, and reached over to the glove compartment. She opened it, pulled out the little five shot .38 Special, and set it out of sight next to her right thigh.
The pickup turned and headed her way. It's driver wasn't hurrying as before. As it slowed and stopped next to her own car, Angie's lips widened in a relieved smile at the sight of two young men.
Angie rose out of the car, dangling the pistol down behind the door out of sight. The passenger moved into the center of the bench seat to get a better view of her. They were both wearing dark sunglasses. But Angie could tell where their eyes were looking. And it wasn't on her eyes.
