It was close to eleven when Cindy stepped outside. She expected the weather to be more aggressive, but out on the sidewalk the rain had eased into little more than a wet, spotty drizzle. The streets glistened below while up above the clouds hung swollen and low, swallowing the tops of the city's taller buildings.

Aggressive. Wet. Glistening. Swollen. Swallow. God, even the way she was thinking to herself was horny, horny beyond horny, so horny that the feeling was more like a gnawing hunger.

She felt so raw, so alert. Her blonde hair was still wet and she could smell her own heated excitement in the air around her, her freshly washed and plumbed pussy already lubricating in anticipation.

Anticipation of what? She had no particular plan, everything felt strangely vague and unfocused except for the feelings inside of her body. Her nipples ached and her pussy felt like it was starving yet also alert, attuned. With her brain all cloudy it was easy to know what to do — she would just follow, follow the directions that her pussy sent to her brain.

The signals took her south one block, told her to turn left onto Eighth Street. She smiled to herself whenever pedestrians passed, their eyes devouring her curves. They could see how sexy she was, perhaps even smell her excitement as they passed, but could they feel her heat? That's what she felt like, an animal in heat, prowling the street...

A buzz of pleasure shot through her body when a car drove by and some lusty teen-ager howled at her from the window like a drunken wolf. On another night she might be annoyed or feel like the guy was a total loser. Tonight: a fellow animal, calling to her, responding to her heat, speaking her language.

Another car passed and she heard a guy cry out, "Sexy baby!". If either of those cars stopped, would she want to crawl through the driver's window and bury somebody's face right between her big tits? Would she want to fuck and suck and...

She felt heat flood into her breasts and her hot pussy vibrated, answering her silent question. She cried out from the delicious ache and had to stop walking for a few seconds, and ended up leaning against a parked car to retain her balance. Cool beaded rainwater soaked into the side of her short shorts and she liked it. Without really thinking, she walked to the front of the car and leaned over, pressing her boobs into the curved hood, smushing them around in circles and spirals as though waxing the front of the car with her tits.

When her top felt saturated, she went back to the sidewalk, found a large rear-view mirror on the driver's side of a neighboring SUV. The rain-spotted reflection of her upper body made her smile. Instant wet T-shirt, the little bit of yellow cloth holstering her boobs now wonderfully translucent.

In that same mirror, she noticed a group of Asian guys approaching along the sidewalk behind her. Chinese or Taiwanese, she thought, and speaking heatedly in their native tongue. They were young like her, dressed down in jeans and sneakers, probably students.

She rested her ass against the parked SUV and casually reached under her short top, undoing her bra's hooks. What good was a tight wet shirt if the liquid transparency didn't reveal her large, round aureoles?

The Chinese guys stopped talking as they got closer, all eyes on what she was doing. She never looked directly at them, just undid her bra and worked it off, then calmly pulled it out from under her shirt like a magician completing a sleight-of-breast trick. She absently twirled the bra on her index finger as they approached. Stunned into gaping silence, the Chinese guys noticed the size of the cups, stared open-mouthed at what had filled those cups. Her aureoles and hard pierced nipples, all visible through the clingy damp patches she had created on her top, felt like they could catch the wet fabric on fire.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance. She became aware of her every breath, the rise and fall of her breasts, the humidity in the atmosphere, the heat in her blood. The Asian guys passed silently, nervously, the air filled with electric tension. Maybe they thought she was a hooker. Maybe they thought she was crazy. She gave them no verbal clues, said nothing, allowing her body to do all of the talking, to speak volumes.

Slowly, deliberately, she lowered both hands down her hips, then drew them in, spreading her legs to allow better access to her hot, throbbing box. Under her shorts she was damp beyond damp, her clitoris screaming, singing, her entire body boiling with excitement. The touch of her fingertips between her legs was electric but she wanted more, wanted greater participation. She remained silent but she knew that one word, one whisper or gesture from the passing men, and any one or all of them could have her, could do anything in the world they wanted to do with her. All of this is for you, she silently thought. Every smoking inch of this gorgeous body and all of this heat...

But they couldn't read her mind, or were too afraid or shy to act. Seconds passed and they receded down the sidewalk. About eight car lengths beyond her, they erupted into shouting in Chinese, making unintelligible exclamations between themselves, looking back at her and whistling. One guy made a symbol for big tits with his hands and they all laughed.

Her pussy was vibrating, her nipples were achingly hard... But it was too late for that group of guys. One of them should have been brave as they passed, should have reached right out and squeezed her breasts or shimmied a finger up the crotch of her tight shorts. Would her flesh have burned his hand? If he could have handled her, she would have given him or them everything they ever wanted from a woman, right here on the street.

Which was insane, she wasn't an exhibitionist, she wasn't a whore, fucking complete strangers in the street.

But then she wouldn't have charged them, would she? She would have let them do anything, for free, and if they were unimaginative or inexperienced, she would have cut loose, would have pulled out all the stops...

Funny how she was usually the unimaginative one when it came to sex. Withdrawn, too, like sex could be as much of a chore as a pleasure. Why was tonight so different? Confused, she glanced down at her barely covered wet tits, at her exposed belly and her infinitesimal orange shorts. And dangling from her right hand, her bra.

Wait a minute... Something wasn't right, this wasn't right. She could barely remember how she came to be here, why she had dressed this way. She felt so insanely sexed-up that she had been a hair's breath from allowing herself to be raped by a whole group of strangers!

Something was wrong, all of this was terribly, terribly wrong. Her pussy was insanely damp and so was her chest — her shirt was all wet from rubbing her big breasts on the hood of a car, for God's sake! Everything was throbbing, her whole body was throbbing so profoundly that she almost felt like she was a walking clitoris, all of her, her whole fucking body — but that couldn't be right, could it? What was going on?

Across the street two young women were slowly walking side by side in the other direction. Both were fairly attractive, but one of them, a brunette in a short black skirt and a lavender scoop-neck stretch top, had large-ish boobs that made Cindy's pussy flutter. They weren't as large as her own breasts but still plenty big, more than enough to play with, to go tit-to-tit with. She felt her own breasts ache for that touch, her pussy flowing all hot and...

Wait, wait! She had begun to pay attention to the those two passing women for a specific reason — to cry out for help! Something was horribly wrong here, something was wrong with her and she didn't seem to be able to gather herself to do something about it. Her thoughts were all strange and disconnected, and even when she managed to string a few reliable thoughts together, they bent away from her, twisting into fantasies of indescribably thunderous sex...

She took two steps in the direction of the passing women, opening her mouth to cry out. Instead, she stopped in her tracks and her voice caught as the two young lovelies walked under the warm light of a streetlamp. Just look at the bright light and the shadows showing off the volume of that one woman's tits, she thought. Her own breasts ached from the sight, her nipples growing so hard and hot...

Wait, wait, it was happening again! What was the matter with her? Why was she getting so excited over a woman, over a total stranger? She shook her head, closed her eyes hard and took several deep breaths. Get a hold of yourself!, she thought. Wake up, something awful is happening!

She opened her eyes again and felt small, vulnerable. Everything was wrong, everything! Why had she come out here and why did she keep thinking about sex? Her imagination seemed like it was stuck in overdrive and her body was eating it all up, felt insatiable and out of control. She had to...

Lightning flashed somewhere behind her and soft thunder rolled down the street, across the city. So the storm wasn't through.

And neither was she. So what if she could almost imagine doing anything to anybody, imagine tearing the clothes off of any attractive woman right here on the sidewalk, or sucking off the first guy to pass by, fucking or sucking anybody and everybody. Tonight was an odd night, yes, but it was also a special night. Tonight was a different night, a night dedicated to pleasure, a night for bad girls. Tonight she felt like hidden chambers within her being were unlocking themselves, and deep inside, finally coming out, finally exposing its presence... Pandora's cunt, finally opening.

Pandora's cunt, out on the hunt, searching for food, feeling so good...

It was easy to imagine so many wicked things all of a sudden, so many ways to be hot and naughty, to use this hot body... Like the way she was dressed, and the way her state of dress was becoming more provocative by the minute. She looked down at her big wet boobs and smiled. She was a Goddess of the Night, a triple-D'light.

Below her spectacular breasts she was surprised to see her red boots moving along the sidewalk. She was walking again. Where was she going? No answer, but her aching breasts seemed to know, her dripping cunt seemed to know.

As she made her way east on Eighth Street, she draped her bra on the limb of a young tree and laughed, imagining how the next pedestrian would react when they ran across it. Would a young man or woman find it and read the label, check out its size? Would it be an embarrassing object to avoid, or become trash, or get appropriated and integrated into some Village artist's found-object sculptures? Could it even become some lonely person's most prized fetish object? She could even imagine a young prince stumbling across her bra and searching the city high and low, looking for the mighty breasts that could fill it.

She giggled. She couldn't know the fate of her discarded bra, so she just kept walking. All she had to do was follow. All she had to do was submit, submit to the intelligence she could feel awakening within her body.

It took her through Lafayette Square, alive even at this hour with college students like herself. People stared and no wonder, she was a sight to behold, electric sexuality personified. Farther down Eighth Street to St. Mark's Place, the block filled with couples and small groups of guys and chicks. Lots and lots of attractive young women, but none of them had all that she had, and none were showing their wares so brazenly.

Cowards. She should fuck them all for being so conservative. Maybe they weren't as hot as she was but that was no excuse. She stopped in the middle of the street and threw her head back, shaking her long blonde hair like a lion shaking its mane. She felt like the world's hottest pussy-cat, like the planet's best fuck, and she could see and hear the effect she had on those around her. At least fifty guys whistled or shouted or tried to get her phone number. She felt so alive that she could probably hand out numbers and fuck all of them, fuck them blind right there on the street in front of their friends or girlfriends, and then fuck their friends and girlfriends, too...

Her body felt like it was crackling with energy, that her nipples were going to shoot orgasm-inducing lightning bolts in all directions — but surprise, surprise, her red boots kept moving her forward, as though there was a definite target, a place that she needed to go. Too bad for you!, she thought as she left the staring, lusting crowd behind.

Farther east into the alphabet streets she walked, and then down two blocks. Where was she going? What was she doing? Green neon light in a corner window caught her eye, a yellow neon bird drinking next to a neon green palm tree. A bar, a place called The Drowning Flamingo. She had never been there, didn't know anything about it, but her aching tits and her aching pussy wanted to go in.

Reggae music and the smell of rum and spices rolled over her as she entered the dark space. She smiled. The bar was buzzing with life, so dark and narrow and deep. So much like a vagina, so much like her own moist tunnel. Young cool sophisticates of every color sat around dark mahogany tables, drinking beer or exotic drinks in tall, sweating glasses. The lighting was dim, just a few strategic spots supporting votive candles whose warm light danced on the tables.

Heads turned and all eyes lit upon her as she penetrated the dark space. She could feel the sense of heat and hunger rise in the room and wondered whether a sexier woman ever graced this bar. She glanced at the patrons, more men than women, and giggled. It was so easy to imagine herself as they saw her — perfected pussy, that's what they saw. A beautiful babelicious busty bitch in heat had just thrust herself into this hot tunnel of an East Village bar, raising the temperature in the entire space.

As twenty pairs of eyes or more ate her up, she looked ahead and suddenly knew what must have drawn her here. Behind the bar at the back, staring at her in shock — Lance, Michael's best friend. She beamed her recognition at him and her nipples grew harder than she thought they ever could, pointing at him like two heat-seeking missiles. Well what do you know, target acquired. Had she known that he worked at this place? She'd known that he was a bartender, but she couldn't remember ever hearing specifically about The Drowning Flamingo.

Cindy had met Lance at the same time as Michael, in their Western Philosophy class. Michael and Lance were high school chums and did so many things together that they were almost one unit, including the way they both lusted after her from the very beginning. In fact, her first real date with Michael, going out for sushi after class one evening, had included Lance, and it had been funny to see the two friends tripping all over themselves to be the more witty or charming one, the one to win her affections.

It was hard to say why she decided to date either one of them. They were both okay guys, about equal in the looks department, although Lance was lankier and more angular while Michael was more solid and baby-faced. She chose Michael, although to this day she couldn't really say why. She had dozens of guys hitting on her every day, she could get almost any guy in the world or have sex with a different partner every night if that was what she wanted. She could even wrap her boobs around some ultra-rich Uptown stiff and get gifts or money for her attentions, or go full out and live the trophy wife life and have more money than God.

But for some reason she chose to keep things more real than that, to keep things simple. She took Michael home after that sushi dinner and gave him his first tit-job, after which he was practically her slave. And maybe that was why she settled for him — she liked being worshipped and she liked having a guy that wasn't too precious. He was hers to keep or dispose of as she pleased.

Lance ended up in a relationship with a rather tame half-japanese woman named Sara a couple of months later. Cindy liked Sara, even though the other woman was kind of conservative and shy. In the spring they had become okay friends, going out together for morning coffee a few times, double-dating together at the movies once or twice...

But Cindy knew that Lance still desired her, that he had never stopped desiring her. The way that he got nervous around her, the little double entendres that slipped out, the way he stole glances at her tits — she got to him, or at least her body got to him, and he couldn't hide it.

It was so obvious that Lance went weak in the knees over huge racks, and she'd bet anything that he had spent some time seriously checking out her pictures at HardBods, probably jacking-off to them. Sara, by contrast, was cute in that soft Japanese way, a sweet face and a nice enough body but with nothing remarkable going on up top. And yet there they were, Sara and Lance, the seemingly happy couple. Was that "true love", being okay with your partner's deficiencies even when you lusted for what others had in abundance? Maybe Lance was a better or more disciplined person than she was. Maybe he knew more about love. Or maybe he had just given up on ever getting his hands on a pair of big tits.

Anyway, Lance was involved with Sara now, but anyone could see that Sara was far from his first choice, at least sexually. She glanced down at her own amazing tits. How many times had he imagined himself playing with these? Had Michael told Lance how great they were, how they were even more lovely naked that anyone would dream? Had Lance ever handled beauties like these, had he ever been tit-fucked?

Sara would be crushed when she found out that her boyfriend had been unable to resist her tits. Seducing Lance, using her terrific titty-torpedoes and her super-hot looks against him, making him betray his girlfriend — that was kind of a shitty thing to do. It would be so mean, so cut-throat, so...

Wait a minute! She blinked her eyes several times, feeling like she was snapping out of the world's most convincing daydream. Why was she even thinking about seducing Lance in the first place? Was she crazy? And how had she even come to be here? She looked around the dark bar, saw the way that so many guys were sitting at their tables or standing around the bar, blatantly ogling her.

Dammit, what was happening to her? Something awful was going on, she was too disoriented to say exactly what it was, but it kept happening, she kept blanking out, at least part-way.

She needed help, and thank God a friend was here. Maybe Lance could ground her, or maybe there was a place to lie down in the back. She had to clear her head, put her thoughts together and figure out what was going wrong.

Above the music she heard a crack of thunder outside. A jolt of electricity shot through her pussy and she literally jumped, then found herself swaying up to the bar, resting her ass on a tall stool right in front of Lance. She leaned forward, "innocently" compressing her boobs with her arms. In a long mirror lined with liquor bottles, Cindy got an excellent view of the excellent view that Lance was getting. Her water-soaked shirt and the semi-visible treasures within were utterly magnetic, even to her. She had honestly never looked sexier in her entire life, not even on the Web.

"Cindy? Wow! What are... Are you going to a costume party or something?"

She gave him her best bedroom eyes. "What, a girl can't try to look nice on a Friday night without a special reason? I came here to see you, sweetie."

He laughed nervously, said he'd mix her a Margarita on the house. Before he could move away she grasped his wrist and squeezed hard.

"I don't need a drink, Lance. What time does your shift end?"

"A...at two. But I have to stay longer, help clean and..."

She stroked his hand, making little touch-spirals on his palm with her index finger.

"Ohh...", he sighed. "Uh, Cindy, what are you... Uh, have you heard from Mike?"

"Michael and I broke up yesterday, over the phone," she lied.

"What?!"

"He told me he met somebody else, out on the trail. I suppose... I suppose that things happened really fast, the call of the wild or something."

"I can't believe it!"

"He dumped me, Lance. I'm a free girl again," she sighed.

"Holy shit! That... idiot! But... Christ, are you okay?"

"I guess. It was shocking and all... But you know, I think it's helped me to see things more clearly. It's helped me to see what I've wanted all along."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell your boss you need to leave early."

"What? Why?"

"So we can go somewhere and fuck, that's why. I... I've been dying for you for months, Lance. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

His jaw hung open and his gaze slid from her eyes to her tiny translucent shirt, as though weighing the goods now available to him before his brain could even comprehend the possibilities of the new situation.

"I made the wrong choice, Lance. I regretted not choosing you almost from the beginning, but I couldn't tell you that. You and Michael are such good friends, and it would have been awful to come between you, to torpedo your friendship. But now... Now I can tell you how much I've wanted you, how I fantasize about you in my bed at night. I...I've really got it bad, Lance. Let's go somewhere, anywhere. I've been waiting so long to fuck you."

"Holy shit! Uh... look, Cindy... You know how much I like you... But I'm really tight with Sara now. I couldn't just... Fuck, I wish this had happened six months ago! I wish you'd told me!"

Such a boy scout. Honor and sensitivity and all of that shit. And such a trusting sap, buying the crap she was feeding him. Over-inflated ego, too, believing that she actually thought about him while playing with herself.

"Laaance," she purred, leaning forward more, putting her face just inches from his. "Did you notice the way I dressed for you tonight?"

He'd noticed. He was breathing hard and she figured that he was already just plain hard, even though she couldn't see down there.

"You know what nipple rings mean, don't you?"

He stared at them openly, easily seen through her wet T-shirt.

"They're a universal symbol, Lance, the symbol of being incredible in the sack. No girl wears these unless she knows she can back up that message."

"Hollyyyyy..."

"I'm sorry if this seems so sudden, so insistent. I'm pulling out all the stops, no dodging around what I want and how I feel about you, okay? It's all yours, Lance. I'm all yours, all of this, every fucking inch of me."

"B...but Cindy... I can't..."

"You're worried about Sara?"

He nodded yes, looking like he might faint.

"Tell Sara whatever you want or never tell her anything at all. You can keep seeing her and fuck me secretly if that's what you want. I'll... I'll be anything you want me to be, I'll do anything you've dreamed of a woman doing. I'm offering you a dream situation, Lance, anything you want, any way you want it, no strings attached unless you want it that way."

"H..holy sh...shit..."

She had him shaking so badly that he could blend drinks just by holding them in his hands. She figured she could get him to come in his pants if she kept talking dirty to him, but that would be letting him off too easy.

"Listen to me, Lance — Cindy isn't used to taking 'no' for an answer, and she's not going to. You really think you're going to resist all of this?"

She backed up from the bar and swayed to the music, fixing her eyes on Lance, clutching her breasts through the wet fabric of her top, squeezing them, caressing them, moving them up and down, around and around...

Somebody whistled loudly and another guy behind her yelled out, "Oh, baby!" She whirled around, seeking out her admirers.

"You boys like these tits?", she asked.

"Hell, yeah!", one Hispanic man answered, and another table full of guys started to pound the bottoms of their beer bottles on their table, giving emphasis to the beat of the music.

Everyone had appeared so New York cool and sophisticated when she'd entered the bar — now they were more like beer-guzzling rednecks in a Hooters restaurant, her swaying ass and terrific tits stripping things down to their base level. This crowd responded just right to the charms of a great-looking woman and they liked a good show.

So they wanted a show, they wanted to see what she was made of? Cindy closed her eyes and fell into the beat of the music and the thumping beer bottles, unbuttoning her shorts to allow freer movement, reaching up under her tiny top to play with her boobs for real. Shouts, whistles, and she could swear that she could hear all of the dicks going hard even over the sound system. Without the use of her eyes, everything seemed heightened — the pulsing of her blood, the feeling of her nipples aching like they'd never ached before, the sensation of the fragrant dampness saturating her panties and shorts.

"Come here!", she yelled to no one in particular, reaching out her hands in front of her.

Somebody's big hot hands joined hers. She kept her eyes closed and drew her mystery dancing partner in close, close enough to reach around and grab the guy's ass and grind her pussy into the hard-on that she knew would be there.

"Ohhh, damn!," she heard him moan.

"Oh damn you haven't felt anything yet," she purred, lifting one arm to rest her hand on the back of the man's head. With her eyes still closed, she felt the texture of his short-cropped hair as she pushed his head down and towards her, jamming the guy's face right between her tits.

"Mmmmph!", he said.

She held him there, gyrating and jiggling, dancing faster and faster, her big boobs energetically conforming to this stranger's face. The crowd was going wild, whooping and hollering, She threw her head back, losing herself to the hot dance inside of her, eventually shaking free of her invisible partner.

"Who else wants a piece of this?", she yelled out, keeping her eyes closed.

A perfume-scented cheek brushed against hers and she turned her head, eagerly accepting the tongue that pushed into her mouth.

Ohgod, yes, a woman, finally! She reached out, blindly letting her hands trace the curves of this mystery woman from the bridge of her nose, down her face, lingering on the soft lips, taking the moisture of that mouth down the chin, the neck, heading for the rise of the breasts...

"Cindy!"

Lance's voice was in her ear, full of tension.

"Jesus Christ! What are you doing? Are you on something?"

Of course she was on something. She was on a mission, a mission to get his dick inside of her mouth.

He pulled her back towards the bar and she let him, almost toppling into him. She pressed in hard, squeezing her body against his. She could fuck the guy's brains out right here and now... But it would be so much better outside, out on the street.

"I'm fine, Lance. But you have to listen to me. Bottom line — I'll blow you right where you're standing if you make me, and I won't do it quietly, I'll suck and smack my lips and moan so loud... I'll create a scene with your dick in my mouth, I swear I will. Now tell somebody that your grandmother died or your cat is sick or some damn thing to shake free, dammit!. I'll count down from ten, that's all the time you have. Ten, nine, eight..."

Tick-tock, tick-tock, almost time to suck some cock...

She finally opened her eyes and saw Lance staring at her with a weird mix of lust and horror, and at four he knew she would do it. He rushed into the back and she only had to wait another ten or twenty seconds before he re-emerged, and they left together.

"I probably just lost my job," he lamented once they were out in the damp air. "I might not have my girlfriend after this, too."

The wind had picked up and she thought she saw a flicker of lightning in her peripheral vision.

"Trust me, you won't even remember what's-her-name after I'm through with you."

She pushed her aching boobs into him and thrust a hand right down the front of his pants, finding him hard and his briefs already spotted with pre-cum.

"Christ, Cindy! I never knew you could be so... Man, how could Michael ever give this up?"

She unbuttoned his fly to gain better access, tickled the helmet of his dick with her fingers.

"Get a hotel, whydoncha'?", an old man yelled at them from across the street.

"I...it'll have to be your place," Lance said, his voice shaky. "I don't know how I'd f...feel if Sara called while we were, you know..."

Lightning flashed, followed a second or two later by a crack of thunder. Every cell in her body buzzed, so electric, so insistent, and her breasts, especially, felt like they were going to explode.

"Ohgod I can't wait! Let's do it right here on the street, Lance! Right here, right now!"

"What? That's crazy! We can't just..."

But she was already grinding her pelvis against the hard lump in his pants, already pulling her wet shirt over her head, her naked breasts exposed to the wind.

"Cindy! Stop! What are you..."

"Right here, on the street, now! I need you! Now!"

"Holy shit! Stop! What..."

And then the rain came, a smattering of large drops that congealed into a torrent within seconds.

"I have a car!", Lance yelled at her, taking her by the hand. She clutched her crumpled shirt to her breasts and they ran uptown two blocks, other drenched people yelling and whistling as her big wet boobs rose and fell with every step.

Lance pulled a remote key out of his pocket, clicked, and the lights of a silver Camry flashed. They ran to the street side of the car and Lance started to open the front door but she slammed it shut with her foot, opened the rear door and shoved him inside.

And then she was on top of him on the back seat. His head hit the opposite door just before she smothered his face with her boobs. He mumbled something into her wet tit-flesh that sounded like "Muh muh duh!", but she ignored him, pulling off her wet shorts and panties and using both hands to unzip his fly and unbutton his shirt.

She felt his tongue on her right nipple and she almost came right then and there. Lance used his arms to push her body up, her compressed boobs descending with gravity, still in his mouth. As she made headway with his pants, he momentarily shifted his face and cried out, "Shut the door!"

Indeed, rain was spraying in behind her, wetting the car seat, but it was probably the lack of privacy that had Lance concerned. She didn't get it — why not let others see them screwing their brains out? Why not let others get pleasure from the sight of her beautiful body, all naked and wet?

She adjusted herself and pulled the door shut, then straddled Lance and pulled off his shoes and pants before he could come up with some other safe suggestion to curtail the intensity of the moment. Wet hair clung to her face and her nipple rings were dripping. Streams of water cascaded down every window, lit in bright reds and greens and pinks and yellows by every kind of city light, and the car rocked on its shocks, buffeted by gusts of wind and sheets of water.

"Fuck, you have an incredible body!", Lance moaned, and he really did look overcome with awe or maybe guilt, guilt at betraying his girl by succumbing to Cindy's overwhelming assets.

She glanced down at her body and saw her flesh alive with the squiggly pale shadows of rainwater. She dangled her big rain-spotted boobs in front of Lance's face again and he sucked on her nipples in turn, his tongue playing tentatively with her nipple rings, probably afraid he would do something wrong and hurt her.

If only he could have a clue what it felt like, how insanely sensitive her breasts felt, how insanely sensitive she felt everywhere. It had never felt like this with Michael sucking on her boobs, it had never felt like this with anyone anytime ever. She knew they weren't, but it felt like her nipples were ten times their regular size, like her boobs were as big as freight cars. Every cell felt swollen, enlarged, engorged. Every nerve ending felt electrified, screamed for touch, screamed for more current, screamed to be fed.

Lance came up for air and hissed, "Ohgod, your tits are fantastic! L..let me drive us to your place! We can..."

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked, and before the brilliant blue light had faded she had his cock deep inside her mouth. He groaned and with the very first swipe of her tongue she knew that something was totally different. She had sucked-off nine guys in her life — blow-jobs had always been a no-brainer event for getting boys or men do whatever she wanted them to do — but the touch of her tongue on this cock was wholly different. Lance's cock was a good inch longer than Michael's, a little bit thicker...

But the real difference was in her mouth itself, not the cock in her mouth. Her tongue felt incredibly attuned to this cock, almost supernaturally attuned, like her taste buds could X-ray Lance's meat and know exactly what was going on inside.

What was going on inside was that Lance couldn't believe how great she was at giving head, just like she couldn't believe how great it felt to be giving it. He gasped, gurgled, mumbled unintelligible words as her tongue circled around and around. She could literally feel his nerve-endings firing and blood circulating and cells screaming and even read the connection downward to his balls, and on and on, up inside his body to his brain...

In his brain he was overcome by the sexiness of the situation, overcome by the talent of her mouth, overcome by the beauty of her body. These feelings clashed with thoughts that he shouldn't have let this happen, that he should have dodged this encounter to stay faithful to Sara... But now that it was happening he could never give this up, he had to have Cindy again and again, he had to. He'd never even suspected that sex could feel like this, that a mouth around his cock could feel like it was blowing his soul. He'd known that Cindy would be a major upgrade from Sara in the looks department, but he was stunned to discover that she was also like the bringer of sex from an entirely different planet, a different universe...

And she was. Everything she was doing was beyond incredible, from reading Lance's thoughts to detecting the currents of his body to feeling like her tongue was the most sensitive instrument of pleasure ever created. She swirled saliva around him, licked and flicked, swirled and circled, sucked in and blew out and bobbed down and then back up, slowly at first, then faster, then at breakneck speed...

His groans were so loud that you'd think she was cutting his dick off. It seemed impossible, but her sensitivity kept opening, the heat kept rising, the feelings in her mouth and her tongue became insanely connected to the buzzing excitement everywhere, became linked to her own hormones in a way that she had never felt, in a way that she had never imagined could be true.

"Ohhhhmmmm!", she cried into Lance's hard meat. He kept groaning, growling, and with every swirl she could feel his excitement linking with her own, feel his excitement throwing gasoline onto her own boiling heat.

She bobbed and swirled faster and tingling jolts shot through Lance, electrifying his fingers, scrambling his brain, hijacking his heart. She felt the signals within his nerves intensify, going from cruise to all engines igniting, and her pussy felt like it was positively on fire and her breasts tingled with electricity, tingled so much that they throbbed achingly, throbbed like her heart had split in two and each half had migrated and become centered within her tits, pumping, pumping, beating, beat, beat meat, eat meat, eat, eat, EAT!

It was so much that it was too much and she screamed, her scream vibrating within Lance's cock. She could feel the vibrations reach out inside him but also inside of herself, feel his balls go insane and then he was screaming, too, and she sensed the flood surging within him as her own pussy let loose, tore loose, gushing, firing, consuming.

Hot semen flooded into her mouth as Lance's body jerked on the seat like he'd been hooked up to electrodes. She swallowed, came again, sucked, swallowed and came and sucked more and came more and she felt like she could never drink enough cum, like she could never have enough orgasms, like she would never be able to fully satisfy this gnawing ecstatic hunger...

She was exploding but even so she needed his dick in her molten cunt, needed to fuck, she needed to be filled, so fucking hungry...

Somehow she managed to move her body even though she was exploding everywhere. Straddling Lance's herky-jerky body, she grabbed hold of his cock and jammed it inside. In this new position she could see the rain sweeping along the sidewalk, the wind buffeting the car. She was wet just like that, so wet and slippery inside, a storm raging within.

She bumped her head on the car roof and had to bend forward more, which thrust her boobs back onto Lance's face. He licked and sucked spasmodically, it felt like he was disoriented, maybe even delirious from the blow-job she'd given him.

And he was beginning to go soft in her tunnel. No, dammit! She quickened her movements, tightening her pussy around him, slipping and clenching and stroking him back to life.

"Come on, Lance!", she cried. "Come on, come on, come come come!"

Faster and faster she slipped and rocked and clenched, and she could feel the reversal, feel his withering tool begin to grow hard again. More and more she gave him, her head repeatedly bumping the roof of the car. She didn't care, all she cared about was fucking, fucking fast, fucking furious, fucking this cock back to life so she could fuck it senseless again. More, more, faster, faster...

Lance stopped sucking her tits completely, his head thrashing side to side. He was overcome, maybe barely there in a way, lost to the sensations of her fiery cunt. It didn't matter to her, let him become a living dildo and nothing else, it didn't matter. She just needed more, more and more and more, and ohgod, ohgod, ohgod...

A bus or some other big vehicle rushed by, splashing the car with a fresh torrent of water. As the water hit the windows she detonated, exploded as she had never exploded before. It was like the storm in her pussy completely let loose its fury, cracking and firing like it was shooting electricity everywhere. She bumped her head hard and heard thunder crack all around, the sound, the power inside or outside she didn't know and it didn't matter. The power rolled through her, penetrated her to her core, rumbled on and on, rolling her into the night, into the darkness, into sweet oblivion...