Gertie tries not to gag as his rancid breath is forced down her throat, and instead attempts to fight back his over eager tongue, pounding against hers like a slimy sumo wrestler. All the while, her elegant hands explore the alien terrain of Terry’s Y-fronts, searching for a way to release his swelling joystick from its cotton prison. Finally, she wrenches them halfway down his caber-like thighs, where they become drenched in treacle-like sweat. Glancing down at her prize, she feels distinctly like a runner-up in the sex lottery. Her eyes not so much feast as snack on his stubby little member, resembling as it does an angry gherkin motorcyclist. She curls two fingers around it and proceeds to tug, ignoring Terry’s groaning and writhing and general carrying on. Taking the time to acquaint herself with his comedy genitalia, she notes that his testicles resemble tiny desiccated gooseberries, and pray he doesn’t ask her to suck them or something equally repulsive. After a few minutes of this charade, Terry manages to bring himself out of his ecstatic stupor and speaks.
“How about we take that silver spoon out of your mouth and replace it with a pork sword?”
More like a pork cork, she thinks, but says, “Oh yeah baby, fuck my face arse!”
Terry starts fencing away like a dirty dentist, and wonders how he came upon such a find. It’s not every day you stumble across royalty, and now here’s one, kneeling on the floor of my cab and taste-testing my todger! Still, he ponders, as he repeatedly impales her face on his veiny rapier, how could she not resist? Even without my boundless charm and dashing good looks, there’s still the Terryminator to contend with.
After a while, he instructs her to lay flat across the seats and, with his pale arse cheeks pressed against the unforgiving metal of the door, plunges straight into her inviting gulch. He enjoys watching the Terryminator’s head disappear squelchily between thrusts, and leans forward to mine her more deeply for twat gold. At the same time, he grabs at her jiggling breasts like a hyper-active child trying to pop two balloons by squeezing them.
Oh great, now he’s found them, he won’t leave them alone. She watches with apathy as he paws at her chest with his gorilla hands, then begins gobbling at the nipples greedily. After a while, he starts to mumble sweet nothings into her ear. Well, they may as well be nothing.
“I’m gunna fuck you for an hour.”
“Your pussy is like fucking a watermelon.”
“I’m gunna come in your face.”
“I like your thumb up my arse.”
And so on. She looks around the cab for some mental stimulation; lord knows she’s given up finding any from him. Spying the dashboard, she begins fingering the many puckered buttons thereon, then one by one presses them out of sheer boredom.