Twok-Tuk

The tuk-tuk swerves hard left and Karina chokes on your cock.

Not from the turn. From your hand in her hair, pushing her down until her nose hits your stomach. Your buddy’s behind her—shorts around his ankles, hips slapping against her ass in the cramped backseat. Every thrust shoves her pretty little mouth further onto you. She gags. Drools. Doesn’t pull off.

The driver takes another turn. Quieter road. Fewer chances of getting caught, still public nonetheless.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” your friend grunts, one hand gripping the overhead bar for leverage because there’s nowhere else to hold in this rattling yellow box. His other hand reaches around—squeezing her huge tit, pulling her nipple until she whines around your shaft. They’re spilling out of that grey top, bouncing with every pothole, soft, heavy and ridiculous on her frame.

You cum down her throat. She swallows. Eyes squeezed shut, fingers curling against your thighs. Swallows again. You pull her off by the hair. Spit and cum connects her swollen lips to your tip in a thin, filthy string. She’s panting, eyes wet, cheeks red from the heat and the shame and the fact that she’s dripping down the vinyl seat.

“Both,” she manages. Her voice is wrecked. “I want—both—”

You slide between her tits. Still hard. Your buddy doesn’t stop. He pulls her hips back onto him harder, and she yelps, and the sound makes you throb between her chest. She’s sandwiched, knees on the sticky vinyl, pressed between two local strangers in a vehicle built for groceries. The driver turns down a dirt road. You’re at the outskirts now, less traffic.

She presses her tits together. Spit from her chin drips between them. Looks up at you through wet lashes. Bites her lip.

The tuk-tuk rattles over something and she comes so hard her thighs give out—clenching around your friend, shaking, mouth open against your cock, moaning like she’s forgotten what country she’s in.