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Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [72]

By Root 1844 0
’ legs to one side and onto the pastor’s lap. He reacted as if someone had thrown something hot onto his crotch, which—in a way—someone had. He spasmed around in his seat, trying to be free of Waboombas’ legs, but she made every effort to keep them right where they were while continuing to rub them into the affected area. After a moment, he forced himself to relax and—moving slowly and deliberately—lifted her legs off himself using his Bible as a shield to avoid any actual physical contact. I was surprised it didn’t burst into flames.

Moving cautiously, as if her limbs might attack again at any moment, the pastor placed her ankles back on the seat behind my head, one strapped high-heel on either side, then gently replaced The Good Book securely in his lap.

It didn’t help. Everyone had already seen he wasn’t ‘dinky’.

Ms. Waboombas smiled at him—or more at his crotch—then returned her attention to me and began rubbing her toes against my ears.

Mindie, not to be beaten, grabbed Waboombas feet and lifted them high, and hard enough to yank the stripper to the floor between the back seats. Wasn’t anyone wearing a seatbelt in this car? Ms. Waboombas sat there a moment, apparently enjoying how this action had pulled her half-shirt up to reveal most of her breasts, and wedged her shorts and underwear deep into her…

Well…you know.

She looked up at Mindie and slowly grinned that evil smirk of hers, then let her legs fall apart, again, to reveal all. For a brief moment, I thought I could see a hot, radiant light from down behind the seat somewhere, as if the gates of hell themselves had cracked open. Mindie could see how this was affecting both Morgan and the pastor, and grabbed Ms. Waboombas legs once more—bending the knees, shoving the leggy woman over, and pressing her down as if crumpling an irritatingly large cardboard box down into a too-small trash can.

Ms. Waboombas seemed remarkably timid about all this, and folded up rather efficiently, probably realizing that this only put other of her clothing wedged ‘assets’ on absolutely fabulous display. Morgan began to drool. The pastor crossed his legs and abruptly decided the view outside the car needed his immediate and undivided attention.

All Mindie had done was roll Ms. Waboombas over to reveal just how far a pair of shorts, shirt, and underwear, when the proper force is applied, can wedge up a woman’s well shaven thingsis and whatchamacallits. I realized this a moment later when the tall stripper stood behind me, and I could see—pretty much everything—as she turned her backside toward me and made a grand show of bending over to brush nonexistent crumbs from her former seat. As she leaned, she managed to give the pastor a good hearty sniff at just how efficiently she practiced personal hygiene. He, on the other hand—in trying to save himself from just such an experience—likely snapped all seven cervical vertebrae.

Mindie didn’t help matters when she decided this was ‘all just far too much’, and began to shove, repeatedly, on Ms. Waboombas prominently displayed nether-regions in a futile attempt at forcing her to take a proper seat. Instead, all Mindie managed was to knock the por-nog-ra-pher’s ample behind—repeatedly—into the side of my and the pastor’s heads like some kind of intrusive, sexual beach ball thrown by a baseball fan that—no matter how hard you try—you just can’t get off the field of play.

The pastor’s breathing had begun to sound like an out-of-control locomotive speeding toward a collapsed bridge.

I didn’t blame him. This was all just too much. I turned away from the insanity and tried to focus on the road. But as Ms. Waboombas finally situated herself—only marginally returning her shirt to its manufacturer’s recommended position—I, like the pastor, began to hyperventilate.

“See that, pasty-tits?” said Ms. Waboombas, returning her attention to Mindie. “I got him breathing hard. Bet you never even got that much hard.”

I could feel Mindie’s fury explode from within her like flames engulfing the Hindenburg. Oh, the humanity.

I so wanted to be elsewhere.

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