Their wild vacation

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God, he was bored.

He could tell already that this trip was going to be a big, fat mistake. He swore softly under his breath. Why had, he let Doris talk him into spending his vacation driving across the country? She thought it would be romantic.

Romantic. That was the trouble with Doris. She was never satisfied. He kept her well-fucked, but she wanted more. She wanted to own him, that was what she wanted. They were good together. Why wasn't that enough for her? It was for him. Steve Bradley glanced at the woman sitting in the passenger's seat of his jazzy red Mustang.

Doris Coleman was thirty; two years younger than Steve. But with her short cap of curls and big wide eyes in a still-unlined face she could pass for twenty-five easily. And she still had the body of a teenager. Her cone-shaped boobs with the little pink nipples were really too small for his taste, but they were firm and high, and not yet droopy. And even though she was barely five foot tall she had long, lithe legs that met in a curly brown bush that hid one of the sweetest pussies he'd ever had the pleasure of sinking his cock into. It was nice and tight, like a silk-lined glove.

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