Features a variety of sex tales.

Sick of being alone in my hotel room on this business trip, I decided to take a cab and head out to find someplace with live music and a stiff drink. I love to travel but I don’t like to socialize with clients more than the obligatory business lunch or the occasional dinner with their wives. On the last night out of town, the night is my own and I need to wind down. Do you know what I mean?

I told the cab driver to drop me off at a country bar. I like cowboys that can dance, and my jeans and ruffled blouse should fit in most anyplace that plays George Straight, Miranda Lambert or the Zac Brown Band. My jeans are nice and tight – they show off my ass and my flat stomach. The blouse has a nice deep cleavage and only 4 buttons down the front – so very easy for the right guy to pop open with one hand.

My rule about not buying more than one drink at a bar for myself was safe and sound at this place – I ordered a White Russian and before I could dig out my credit card, a nice guy at the bar next to me put his huge, tan hand over my hand and shook his head, “No,” with a smile. “You don’t need that, honey. Tour money’s no good here.”

I said, “Why thank you! That’s so sweet!” in a too loud voice, as Eric Church was banging his guitar over the DJ’s speakers.  It was difficult to talk over the loud music, so we mostly just nodded and smiled at each other a  lot. He bought me a second drink to match his Jack Daniels on the rocks, and then we ended up on the dance floor for a slow song. He smelled good and he was a good dancer, holding me against him with just the right amount of pressure as he moved us around the wooden dance floor.

A few more drinks and dances, and next thing I knew we were out in the back parking lot, my back against the cold metal of his white Tahoe as he pressed against me and kissed me hard. I could hear the muffled music still playing inside the bar and the moon shone just enough light to prove that we were alone. So I didn’t mind when his hand reached down the front of my jeans and worked their way under my panties. His finger touched my clit and it sent a shiver through my whole body.

“Like, that, little honey?” he asked in my ear, biting gently on my ear lobe and tugging on my earrings with his teeth.

“Yes,” I whispered back. I arched my back and presented my pussy up and toward his hand. My jeans were straining, so I reached up and unbuttoned them. Then I eased the zipper down and thrust my hips forward, crushing his arm between our bodies. I could feel his rock hard cock, packed in his Wranglers.

I took his free hand in mine and awkwardly led him around to the back of the truck, away from the parking lot entrance for a little more privacy. I fumbled with his big belt buckle, but got it loose, popped the button on his jeans and the zipper gave way easily as I reached in and freed his huge dick, swollen and throbbing in my hand.

Silently, he pushed on my shoulder with one hand and turned me around. Using his other hand he pushed down my jeans and panties to my knees and pulled my bare ass up toward his hips. I pushed my jeans down with my foot so I could spread my legs. I felt his dick pressing against my pussy, so I reached down and helped guide it home. I was so wet it slid in easily.

With both hands, he grabbed hold of my hips and pulled me in, then pushed my away with dozens of fast thrusts. I had to hold onto the truck fender so I could keep my balance and didn’t fall down in the gravel. With his grunts and his deep thrusts I knew he was cumming fast. He didn’t seem to care if I was cumming or not – but I didn’t care – the ride was fun and it felt good to be fucked. When he was done I finished myself with just a couple of rubs and pushes on my clit.

He offered to drive me back to the hotel, but I passed on the invitation. To be honest, i didn’t want an awkward 20 minutes in the truck with him, and I wasn’t about to invite him up to my hotel room for a second fuck. He walked me around to the bar entrance and got me cab. I saw him in the cab’s rear window, standing on the sidewalk, watching us disappear into traffic.



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