I giggled at the confusion and finally pushed her head back again, letting some saliva drip into her slightly open mouth. “Mmh, you could be a little more eager,” I said about her efforts, then pulled her up again. We went the short trip back to the hotel and got into my car in their garage.I drove through the city, while Dana’s next order was to masturbate on the passenger seat as we were passing cars and people, slowly. The top of her dress was pulled down under her firm, round tits while her left leg was pulled up, its foot resting on the dashboard and both her hands were between her thighs, rubbing frantically on her hot little clit. At each red light, people were staring in at her and some cars were honking at us, so she was slightly relieved when we finally drove out of the city and into the country.When we had finally reached our destination, she was already slightly sore and her hands were tired, but she left a large, dark stain on the seat as she got out. Again I led her. It all began ten years ago. I was nineteen years old, a student at Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts. I had gotten accepted at that school on a student-athlete scholarship for football. I was beginning my college career, majoring in Criminal Justice. I was a normal guy in every way. My father, James Cormier is a forensic accountant. My mother, Jacqueline Brown Cormier is a psychology professor at Boston College. We lived in a nice house on Boston’s Back Bay. A nice, quiet life. Until my freshman year of college. That’s when all hell broke loose. I was walking on Boston Common when suddenly a car came by. The car was full of people armed to the teeth, and these gangsters had just robbed a bank. The Boston Police Department had four cruisers tailing them. Oh, and there was a news van and a helicopter videotaping the chase. They came barreling through the park and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I got shot seventeen times. On national television. Talk about.
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