The Jag Lady
Part 1

Copyright┬ę 2005 by Al Steiner

Sex Story: Part 1 - Mark, a young college student, is starting to think that sex is the most over-rated thing on the planet. It's boring, it's the same thing every time, and the girls he dates, though young and attractive, seem to treat it more as an obligation than anything else. But then he attracts the attention of Taya, the older, attractive, self-confident Jag owner who patronizes the coffee establishment where he works. She invites him for a drive in her car he won't soon forget.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Teenagers  


The Sundollars Coffee chain liked to put up signs touting how the Wall Street Journal and several other business-oriented publications considered them one of the world's best employers to work for. Mark Grogan was not exactly sure what factors these publications used in order to make this determination but he was pretty sure they had never asked the peons who actually worked the counters. Granted, Sundollars was a few steps above the fast food sweatshops he did time in back in high school - the pace was a little slower and the pay was a little better - but they did not offer him medical or dental benefits, they did not match funds for the 401k, and the only real opportunity for advancement was to assistant manager, which meant he would be salaried and forced to come in far beyond his normal working hours with no additional hourly pay. He had been there for almost two years now and could not quite bring himself to accept that promotion though they repeated the offer at least once every quarter. Working at Sundollars was a McJob, just like any other. It was a means to get him through college and, as far as that went, it fit the bill rather nicely. He came in four mornings a week at 6:00 AM and worked until 10:30, which left him just enough time to get to the California State University at Heritage Campus where he was carrying eighteen units a semester towards a Criminal Justice degree.

One of the interesting things about working at Sundollars was the regular customers. Since they were dealing in what was, after all, a legal addictive drug, the same people came in every day at about the same time. Most of them were bleary-eyed and anxious to get their morning fix. The Sundollars employees who worked the same shift for any length of time got to know them after awhile - at least as far as first names and choice of drinks went. An endless game between them was speculation on the other, hidden details of their customers' lives.

It was this game that Mark and Cindy Smith, the eighteen year old counter girl he had started dating a few weeks ago, were playing one morning during the 7 to 8 AM rush.

"Here comes Stan and Marla," Cindy whispered to him as they stood side by side behind the counter. Mark was taking orders and Cindy was filling them, operating the espresso and milk machine with the absent expertise that comes with repetition.

Mark looked up and saw the couple she was referring to just parking their cars outside. Stan was a straight coffee man. He was a nerdy-looking guy with a thin mustache and thick, horned rim glasses. He drove a mini-van full of car seats and had a gold wedding band on his left ring finger. Marla was a frappachino girl. She was young, petite, and liked to dress in short skirts and tight tops. She drove a Mustang and had no wedding or engagement ring. As was usually the case, they parked side by side, arriving within seconds of each other, and then met near the rear of their vehicles for several seconds of tight hugging, intensive kissing, and whispered words of love and endearment.

"They're gonna get caught one of these days," Mark whispered back. "Mark my words. Someone who knows one or the other of them will just happen by and see them making out and the next thing you know, someone will call his wife."

"You don't know that they're having an affair," Cindy protested. "Maybe they're actually married to each other and she just lost her ring or something."

Mark gave her the look that one gives a hopelessly naive person - which, he was coming to find out, she actually was. "Have you ever seen married people making out in public like that? Every day?"

"Well... no," she admitted. "But maybe they're just really in love. It can happen." She looked around, making sure no customers were in earshot. "After all, you make out with me in public, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," he confirmed, and that was true. They had had an extended session of tongue-lashing and finger groping just the previous night while at the movies. Of course, he had then gone home with a raging case of blue balls since she had been unwilling to progress their passion to the point of actually allowing him to orgasm in some way, shape, or form. "But we're not married. By the time you get married, you've gotten all of your making out in public out of your system.

"Is that so?" she said, half glaring, half joking. "Is that based on the wisdom you've acquired in your twenty years of life and love?"

"Maybe you're right," he conceded, though he didn't think so at all. He was just trying to head off an argument before she could get one started. It was true he didn't have all that much experience with the opposite sex, but he had enough. He had been laid ten or fifteen times with four different girls since that first time with Allison Michaels on his parent's couch when he was sixteen. If there was one thing he'd learned it was that sex was overrated. Sure, nailing a girl felt better than jacking off, but only barely. It was certainly not the sublime, exquisite experience that everyone liked to make it out to be.

Stan and Marla came in and ordered their respective drinks. Once delivered, they sat at one of the tables near the door where they would spend the next fifteen minutes holding hands and making googly eyes at each other. Coming in right behind them was Doreen, known in conversation as the flower lady. She was an eccentric older lady, perhaps fifty years old, who always arrived on foot carrying a bouquet of fresh cut daisies with her. She wore black lipstick, black fingernail polish, and talked to no one except to give her order each morning. Her drink of choice was house coffee with two shots of espresso in it - enough caffeine to wake the dead. Both Cindy and Mark suspected she was a schizophrenic being kept under control with medication.

"The usual, Doreen?" Mark asked her as she approached the counter.

"Yes," she mumbled, her voice barely audible, her head nodding rapidly.

While Cindy went about the task of revving up the already potent house brew into something that would power an internal combustion engine, Mark caught a flash of silver as a long, stylish car pulled up out front - a Jaguar XK8 convertible, to be exact. It was another regular. Taya, the Jag Lady.

Taya came in every morning within five minutes of 7:30. She was around forty years old, Mark guessed, well outside the range of what he usually looked at with an eye geared towards judging physical attractiveness - after all, his own mother was only forty-one - but there was no denying that Taya was something to look at. Short and compact, but well built, she sported a trim, firm-looking body equipped with an impressive set of natural-looking breasts that jiggled and bounced in a most appetizing way with each step she took. Her hair was light brown, and always fashionably styled; her face was smooth and unlined, despite her years. She enjoyed dressing in expensive yet revealing clothing. Her shirts and sweaters were designed to show off her smooth stomach with the diamond stud in her navel, and to accent her large boobs. She was always friendly and polite to the Sundollars employees who took her order and prepared her drink of choice each morning, but there was an air about her that she could be unpleasant if crossed, an unspoken demand for respect she thought was due her.

Mark's impression of her was that she was rich of course. That much was obvious by the fact that she drove a $75,000 car. Based on the wedding ring she had on her left hand - a ring containing a diamond of at least three carats - he knew she was married. He knew she had a job of some sort since she showed up at 7:30 AM each weekday morning. Beyond that, however, his impressions were mere speculation. He figured her husband was probably much older than her and the primary source of her considerable wealth. He also figured she worked at something she enjoyed for the enjoyment aspect in and of itself, instead of for financial reasons. He also knew he spent a lot more time speculating about her than he did any of his other customers. Why? He knew not. Maybe it was her car, which he would just love to drive on the open road somewhere. Or maybe it was her self-assured, experienced attitude. He had never really been attracted to older women - not since his junior high school days when he'd had the hots for Ms. Murchison, his English teacher - but there was something about Taya that seemed to call to him. Though he would never admit it to anyone, would barely even admit it to himself, more than one masturbation session in his bed late at night had been conducted with her face, her body, her breasts in mind.

Today she was wearing a pair of low-riding black slacks and a low-cut spaghetti strap top. Her impressive cleavage was displayed perhaps a little more than was usual and, as she raised her arms up to remove her purse from around her shoulder, the bottom of the top rode up, giving a brief flash of her sexy belly. Mark could not help but ogle a bit as she approached the counter.

"Good morning, Taya," he greeted, forcing himself to drag his eyes to her face. "A large, no whip mocha?"

"Yes, thank you," she said, a strange smirk on her face as she dug out a ten-dollar bill to pay for her purchase.

He wrote her name on one of the paper cups and set it next to Cindy. "Large no whip mocha for Taya," he told her.

Taya paid for her purchase, received her change, and then went to the corner of the room to await her order. While she waited, her eyes seemed to be taking in Mark's form a little more than usual. Was it just his imagination? And if not, what was the meaning of it? Before he could speculate too much on this subject, another regular came in - John, a businessman who was perpetually on his cellular phone. While Mark took John's order and rung him up, Cindy handed Taya her mocha. She thanked Cindy politely and headed for the door. As she pulled out in her silver Jag, Mark took one last look at her and then let her out of his head for the rest of the day.

On the following Friday night, Cindy let him fuck her. His parents were out of town for the weekend, and had taken his younger sister with them. He brought Cindy over and put the latest new-release chick-flick on the DVD player. It had the desired effect and soon they were making out on the couch. Gradually his hand worked its way under her blouse onto her firm, delectable teenaged tits. That led to the removal of her shirt and his mouth upon her nipples. Soon after that, he was kissing his way down her stomach, hoping to get his lips on her blonde vulva. She allowed him to open her pants but the moment he made a move to pull them down she stopped him.

"Let's go up to your bedroom," she suggested.

They went up and she undressed demurely, baring herself and lying on his bed. She was as beautiful as he'd always imagined she would be and his own clothes soon joined hers in a heap on the floor. He tried again to put his face between her legs but she pushed him away.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. Of course he had a condom. He had an entire fucking box of them in his nightstand in addition to the two he carried in his wallet.

"Put it on," she demanded. "Do it to me."

"Don't you want me to... you know... kiss you... down there?"

"No," she said, feigning uncontrolled passion and doing a poor job of it. "Just do it to me. I want it."

He did it to her, rolling the condom on his hard-on and climbing atop her in the missionary position. She spread her legs for him and he slid inside. She was tight and wet and the friction was enjoyable as he thrust within her, but it was nothing spectacular. She hardly moved during the whole thing. She hardly made a sound. Her hands stroked his back a little, but that was about it. He pounded away at her for nearly ten minutes before having a weak, semi-satisfying orgasm and filling the condom with his sperm. By the time he returned from flushing it, she was already dressed again.

"That was great," she told him, checking her make-up in the mirror. "Let's go watch the rest of the movie now."

The following Monday Mark was putting the wire chairs and portable tables on the patio outside Sundollars when the silver Jag pulled up. Taya stepped out, this time wearing a pair of turquoise shorts and a matching spaghetti-strap top. As usual, her impressive breasts were practically falling out.

"Good morning, Taya," he greeted, his eyes flitting between her bare legs and her bare cleavage before settling on her face.

"Yes it is," she told him. "A beautiful morning. Are you working hard?"

"Always," he assured her.

She smiled, her eyes seeming to linger on him a little longer than usual, and then she turned and went inside. While she was getting her mocha, he pulled another table into position and arranged the chairs next to it. As he finished this task, he found himself standing near the front of Taya's car. He was close enough that he could hear the ticking of the cooling engine and feel the heat radiating from it. This was the closest he had ever been to her car, and he took a moment to admire it. The silver paint was glossy, shining with the brilliance that only a once-a-week coat of wax could produce. There was not so much as a water drop visible, neither on the paint nor on the windshield, nor even the trademark hood ornament. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch it, to feel its smoothness, to palpate this symbol of class and success.

"You like my car, do you?" a voice from behind him enquired.

Startled, he turned around to find himself looking into Taya's face. There was a look of amusement there. "Uh... yeah," he said. "I hope you don't mind me checking it out. It's very nice."

"I don't mind at all," she said, with just a hint of teasing in her eyes. "I spend a lot of time keeping it looking nice just so young handsome guys like yourself will check it out. You know what I mean?"

"Uh... yeah," he said slowly. There seemed to be a double meaning to her words but he wasn't experienced enough with the opposite sex to be sure.

"You like to drive?" she asked him.

"Drive? Uh... yeah, sure."

"You ever drive anything like this before?"

He shook his head. "This is the closest I've ever even been to one," he told her.

"Well I highly recommend it," she said, a pouty smile forming on her lips. "You haven't driven until you've slipped into something like this, know what I mean?"

"Uh... yeah," he said doubtfully. She hadn't even looked at the car when she'd said that. It almost seemed like she was talking about... well, about something else entirely.

She pulled her keys out and clicked the unlock button. "You have a nice day now," she told him saucily. With that, she opened up the car door. As she leaned in to set her coffee down in the holder between the seats, the rear of her shorts rode up considerably, allowing him a brief glimpse of the bottom of her ass cheeks. They were smooth and sexy -looking, with no tan lines visible. She seemed to hold the position longer than was necessary and then finally slipped into the car. She fired it up, and backed out into the parking lot. With one last wave, one last mysterious smile, she drove away to wherever it was she went each day.

Over the next two weeks, Mark fucked Cindy two more times. Once in the back of his car after a Saturday night date, and once at Cindy's house while her parents were at work. In both instances, it was pretty much the same as the first time. They made out, groped each other for a bit, and then he put a condom on and climbed aboard, thrusting within her barely-moving body until he came. His conviction that sex was the most overrated thing on the planet continued to grow.

As luck would have it, Taya showed up again one morning just as he was putting the patio furniture out for the day. On this day, she was wearing a short skirt that came to mid thigh, and the inevitable spaghetti strap top. Her breasts, as usual, were practically falling out. She gave him her smile as she approached him but instead of walking by, she stopped to talk.

"Your turn in the barrel, huh?" she asked, nodding at the assortment of patio furniture.

"Oh, I don't mind," he replied. "It gives me a chance to get outside for a little bit, to get away from the register."

"And to flex those strong muscles?" she asked, a glint in her eye.

"Uh... yeah, I suppose," he answered.

She glanced over at her car for a moment. "I just had it waxed yesterday," she said.

"Did you?"

"Uh huh," she affirmed. "It's nice and smooth now, silky even. I think it looks sexy like that, you know what I mean?"

"Uh... yeah," he said slowly. "I guess I do." Like before, he had the strange feeling that she was not really talking about her car.

"Maybe you'd like to give it a try," she suggested.

He swallowed nervously. "Give it a try?"

She nodded. "You want to drive it? I'll let you."

"You'd let me... uh... drive it? Your car?"

She giggled a little. "You bet," she said. "You look like someone who would really appreciate slipping into a Jag. What do you say? What time to you get off?"

"Uh... well, at 10:30," he told her. Was she really offering to let him drive her car?

She stepped closer to him and reached in her purse. She pulled out a business card and slipped it into the pocket of his Sundollars apron. "This is my boutique," she said. "Come by after you get off work and we'll take a little spin."

His head was reeling now. Just what was going on here? "Uh... well, I'd love to," he said. "But I have to go to school after I get off work. I have an 11:00 class over at the..."

"Skip it today," she told him, reaching out with her finger and tweaking his nose. "I think you'll learn more with me."

Before he had a chance to reply to her, she turned and went inside without glancing back. He stared after her for a moment, trying to figure out if she was talking about what he thought she was talking about. He reached into the pocket of his apron and pulled out the business card. It was expensive looking, printed in gold calligraphy on cream-colored paper. TAYA'S BOUTIQUE it read. TASTEFUL YET EYE-CATCHING FASHIONS FOR ALL OCCASIONS. TAYA WITHERSPOON - PROPRIETOR. Below this was a phone number and web address. Below that was the address. Mark recognized it as being in one of the more ritzy shopping malls in Lemon Hill.

He put the business card back in his apron and then went to grab another table. His mind continued to turn over what had just happened. She wanted him to skip school and meet her at her boutique. Why? What was in it for her? Was it really just to drive her car? Or was there another reason? To his surprise, he found himself getting erect beneath his slacks as he considered the possibility that there might be another reason. The idea that Taya might be attracted to him, that she might want to do things to him, was exciting in a way that thoughts of Cindy could not even begin to compete with. As to why this should be, he could not even begin to guess.

You're dreaming, a part of his mind whispered to him in disgust. You don't really think she's inviting you over so she can fuck you? Do you? I mean, think about it. She's a high-class rich chick, she's married, and she's old enough to be your mother. Do you really think there's anything about a Sundollars employee that she would be the least bit interested in? She's just taking pity on you because she's seen you ogling her car so many times.

"That has to be it," he whispered aloud. "She's taking pity on me. What else could it be?"

She emerged from inside a few minutes later, mocha in hand. She deliberately altered her path to pass close to Mark.

"I'll see you around 10:45," she told him. It was not a question. It was a command.

"Uh... listen... uh, Taya," he started.

She didn't allow him to finish. "Be ready for some serious driving," she told him. "And one other thing - I wouldn't mention this to your little girlfriend in there if I were you. She probably wouldn't understand."

While Mark gaped at her, speechless, she licked her lips, slowly and deliberately. With that she clicked her alarm button and walked to her car. Once again, she made a big show of bending over, allowing her skirt to ride up on her legs. Finally, she got inside. She didn't look at him as she drove away.

He mentioned nothing to Cindy, as advised. Though he was not quite sure how Taya even knew there was anything going on between the two of them, and though he was still half convinced that she really just wanted to let him drive her car, it seemed prudent advice nonetheless. Cindy was acting weird lately. Ever since she they had begun to screw each other she had become possessive of him, as if that gave her the right to know what he was doing every minute of every day, to know who he was with, and what their relationship was. In short, she was getting clingy to the point of intolerance. She was calling him six and seven times a day and becoming infuriated if she couldn't get hold of him. He was already starting to turn the thoughts of breaking up through his head.

At 10:30, they entered the parking lot together, and headed for their separate cars. They had removed their Sundollars aprons and carried them in their hands. They paused at Cindy's Saturn, told each other goodbye, and exchanged chaste kisses.

"Have fun in school today," she told him. "And stay away from those co-eds."

"Right," he said, biting back his annoyance. "And you do the same."

She dutifully laughed at his lame joke, gave him one more passionless kiss on the lips, and then climbed behind the wheel. A moment later she was off, heading for Heritage Community College and the load of afternoon classes she carried there.

He walked to his own car-a six-year-old Honda Civic-and climbed inside. He looked in the back seat, where his backpack and his three hundred dollars worth of books were stored. He really should head off to class. There was test scheduled in his biology elective, and there would more than likely be a pop-quiz in one of his Criminal Justice classes. Cutting school was something he had done on occasion in high school but it was not something he wanted to do in his second year of college. Not with all the money his parents were spending on sending him there.

He debated with himself for the better part of a minute, while his engine warmed up and the air-conditioning system blew a blast of tepid air at his face. Finally, he reached in the pocket of his crumpled up apron on the passenger seat and pulled out Taya's card. He looked at the address again and then set the card down in the ashtray. He backed out of his spot and then headed for the street. A left turn would take him towards the freeway and downtown Heritage, where CSUH was located. A right turn would take him toward the fashionable section of Lemon Hill and the boutique owned by Taya. He hardly hesitated as he turned right and put on the speed.

Taya's Boutique was near the back of what was essentially a high-class strip mall. The parking lot was full of late-model luxury cars and huge SUVs. Mark's battered Honda looked very out of place. He slid it into a slot across from a hair salon where a simple trim would probably cost him a day's wages. He walked to the entrance of the boutique, and saw the Jaguar parked directly in front. He opened the glass door, and stepped hesitantly into a shop that probably few men had been in before.

The shop was not very large, only slightly larger than your average convenience store in square footage. Most of it was taken up by a tastefully decorated display area stuffed with racks of feminine clothing of all shapes, sizes, and function. A few mannequins sat here and there, displaying fashions similar to what Taya habitually wore. Near the back was the entrance to a fitting room and another entrance that led to an employees-only area. There were two smartly dressed women standing near one of the racks of blouses. Both were in their mid-thirties, and quite attractive. It was obvious that one of them was a saleswoman and the other was a customer, but Mark was unable to tell which was which. Taya herself was sitting behind the register leafing through a fashion magazine. She looked up and smiled as he entered.

"Well, hello there," she told him. "I'm glad you decided to accept my offer."

"Uh... well... yeah, you know," Mark said and then mentally cursed himself for his lameness.

Taya didn't seem to mind though. "You're so cute when you're shy," she told him. She put away her magazine, stood up, grabbed her leather purse and came around the counter. "You ready to have some fun?" she asked him, her eyes gazing at him meaningfully.

"Uh... yeah. I guess I am," he said.

"That's the spirit," she said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a key ring and handed it to him. "Shall we go?"

"Sure," he said, taking the ring.

"Liz?" Taya said, looking towards the two women. The younger of the two looked up at her. "I'm heading out now. You'll be okay?"

"You bet, Taya," Liz replied, her eyes unabashedly looking Mark up and down. "You have yourself a good time."

"I always do," Taya said. "I always do." She turned back to Mark. "Shall we go?"

They went. Mark, remembering his manners, opened the door of the boutique for her and then, after some fumbling with the alarm button, got the Jag unlocked. He walked to the passenger side and opened the door here for her as well.

"Thank you," she said, sliding perhaps a bit closer to his body than was necessary, close enough so he could smell her perfume. She sat down demurely, her skirt riding up considerably on her upper thighs. He could not help but look down and admire what he saw. She saw him looking and smiled up at him. "You like my skirt?" she asked.

He swallowed nervously. Never in his life had he encountered a woman so flirtatious and forward. Just what was going to happen here? "Uh... yeah, it's very nice," he said slowly.

"Nothing but the best," she said, and then closed her door.

He took a few deep breaths, and then went around to the driver's door and opened it. He slid into the leather seat and found it extremely cramped for his long legs. He reached down between his legs, searching for the handle that adjusted the seat backwards. Taya put her hand on his shoulder.

"It's electric," she told him. "Start the engine up and then you can adjust it any way you want."

With hands that were trembling ever so slightly, he put the key in the ignition and started it up. It caught immediately, with a roar of finely engineered power. The tachometer jumped up and then settled at idle position. Before he could even begin to search for the seat controls, Taya twisted in her chair and leaned over him, grabbing his left hand.

"Here," she said softly. "Let me show you where it's at."

He was too flabbergasted to even answer. In the position she was in now he could see almost completely up her skirt, was only kept from seeing her crotch by the fact that her legs were closed. At the same time she was leaning over in such a way that her cleavage was practically in his face. He could see the entire tops of her breasts, could see the gap between them. Her perfume was in his nose again, adding to the excitement. She leaned forward even more, so her breasts were actually against his shoulder. Her hand gently guided his to a bank of switches and dials on the left side of his chair.

"Right there," she whispered, practically in his ear, her voice dripping with innuendo. "Those are the buttons you want to push."

"Th... th... thanks," he stuttered, feeling his erection unfolding in his pants. The possibility that she was simply going to let him drive her around seemed a ridiculous one now.

She let go of his hand and resumed the normal seating position. There was a teasing smile on her face. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself, and then began to play with the buttons. It only took him a few seconds before he figured out how to move the seat back and down.

"Comfy?" Taya asked him once this was done.

"Yeah," he said.

"Good. Now put it in gear and lets get it on, shall we?"

"Right," he said, feeling his cock take another lurch in his pants. "Let's get it on."

He backed out and headed towards the main street. She told him to turn right and head for Highway 99, which was about twelve blocks down.

"We'll get you out on the freeway first," she said. "That way you can go fast and get it out of your system. I know you youngsters like to go fast when you get your hands on something like this, right?"

"Uh... yeah, I guess we do," he said.

He was only able to drive slowly in the dense, late-morning traffic so he wasn't able to get much of a feel for the Jag at first. He could, however, sense the power that was waiting for him when he accelerated, could sense the handling the machine was capable of. As they stopped and started through traffic, as they waited at lights, Taya looked at him almost hungrily.

"Your little girlfriend," she said. "She thinks you went to school today?"

"Yes," Mark replied. "Like you said, I don't she would've been too happy about... about this."

"A little possessive, is she?"

"You could say that," he said.

"Is she good in bed?"

Mark nearly choked. "Jeez, Taya," he sputtered. "That's kind of a personal question, isn't it?"

"I suppose," she said with a shrug. "But then I'm letting you drive my car so that means you have to answer my personal questions."

"It does?"

"It does," she said. "At least if you want to drive it the way its supposed to be driven. So let's have it. Is she any good?"

"No," he answered. "Not really."

"Just kind of lays there, does she?"

"Yeah," he said, glancing over at her.

"She's young and inexperienced," Taya said. "But then, so are you, right?"

"I've had my share," Mark said toughly, as if he was out scoring every weekend.

"Yes, I'm sure you're a man of the world, aren't you?" she asked. "We're at the freeway now. Head north."

"North?" he asked, raising his eyebrows a bit. Northbound Highway 99 led out of town, into the vast agricultural lands that made up most of the Sacramento Valley.

"North," she confirmed. "You want to go fast, don't you?"

He did not answer. He was unsure of the rules of the game. But he took the northbound onramp. It was here that he first got a taste of the Jag's power. As he accelerated to merge he felt himself pushed backward in the leather chair, saw the speedometer swing smoothly upward at a rate his Civic could only dream about. The engine purred with power, still only hinting at what it was capable of.

"I see you like it," Taya said as he settled into the number two lane. "Just cruise until we get out in the boonies. Then we'll see what you really got."

"Okay," Mark mumbled, half terrified and half excited.

Taya continued to chat at him as they went further and further north, passing out of Lemon Hill and into Gardenia. Her words continued to drip with thinly veiled sexual innuendo, mostly references that seemed to be about the car but really weren't. The traffic slowly thinned out, mile by mile, exit by exit, and the number of lanes steadily decreased. Finally, about fifteen minutes after entering the onramp, they were completely out of the city and into the country. The freeway was now only two lanes each way and the surrounding landscape was nothing but rice fields and tomato fields as far as the eye could see.

"Okay," Taya said. "Let's do it." Her hand dropped to his thigh.

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