Chapter 11 - For a Car

The concrete truck’s drum groaned as it spat out another gray slurry onto the rebar grid. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of a gloved hand. The rhythmic scrape of Mike, Hector, and Enrique’s floats against the setting slab was hypnotic - back and forth, back and forth, until I decided it was smooth and firm enough. My loud clap snapped them out of it. “Lunch break!”

Hector’s mouth dropped open and Mike tripped over a bucket, staring at something behind me. Enrique turned and emitted a quiet whistle.

I faced left and discovered my sexy oldest niece. Stormi leaned against a wooden fence in a tight black tank top and green miniskirt that barely covered her ass. She licked an ice cream cone with exaggerated mouth movements and a few slurps. Her long red hair blowing in the breeze was attractive, but not nearly as arousing as her tongue, the shape of her breasts, or the trail of vanilla softserve she’d “accidentally” dribbled down the front.

“Brought you lunch, Uncle Pete,” she called, holding up a bag and feigning innocence.

I commanded my team, “Go to a restaurant. I’ll meet you guys at the Walsh job in an hour.” They tried to avoid staring as they walked to their trucks, but mostly failed.

Stormi and I kissed a few times, then I quickly wolfed down the cheeseburger she brought me. She stroked my chest and commented, “I wish we were home, in bed.”

“If you can stand the smell, this will do.” I held her hand and led her into the porta-potty. The door clicked shut behind us with a sound like a shotgun racking. Stormi didn’t bother locking it, just hiked her up her miniskirt while I dropped my pants. I sat on the dirty seat, legs spread. “Hurry,” I breathed, fingers pulling down my shorts.

The stench of chemical blue water, shit, and stale piss couldn’t mask her arousal when she guided me inside her with a gasp. I braced a hand against the flimsy plastic wall. The other tangled in her hair as she moaned, bouncing on my stiff cock.

“Fuck, Pete – FUCK!” Her voice cut off with a hitch as her pussy clamped down. I barely heard the distant rumble of a truck engine over the wet slap of our bodies. I could feel her shaking as her climax tore through her, then my own release hit me like a live wire. She slumped against my chest, breathing hard.

I drove home one-handed, the other kneading her thigh as she hummed along with the radio. In my driveway I kissed her goodbye. “Love you, Sweetness. See you tonight.”

“Hurry home.” She offered, “If you eat me, I’ll let you play with my butt? Will you?”

“ABSOLUTELY!”

At the Walsh site, the scent of fresh-cut lumber mixed with the smell of rubbery plastic cable insulation. I ran wiring through the skeletal walls, while Mike plumbed the kitchen and first floor bathroom. I thought of the rhythm of Stormi and I fucking, while the rest of my team shot nails into wooden stud after wooden stud, on the second floor above. I smiled. It was great to be Stormi’s stud.

The afternoon sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink by the time I pulled into my driveway. Stormi leaned against the porch, barefoot, in just pink panties and a yellow camisole so thin I could see the shapes of her nipples through the fabric. She crushed out her cigarette on the wrought iron railing and tossed it into the bushes.