Bad Little Good Girl

A few days ago, I saw him again. I will need to come up with a name for him besides D.F.–and I will elaborate on why another time.

Before our last encounter, he told me I was going to finger myself as he drove us to his place. So, despite the fact that it was FREEZING out, I wore a short skirt, bustier tank top and heels (and a cashmere sweater–I didn’t want to get hypothermia). We were driving for about a minute before he told me to start playing with myself. As I opened my legs and started to finger my pussy, he grabbed one leg and slung it over the compartment between the two seats, so I was totally exposed.

“I would finger you,” he said, “but I need to keep my eyes on the road.”

By the time we hit the highway though, that plan had gone…

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