* How's Your Favorite Muggle? * (pepper__impps) wrote,
* How's Your Favorite Muggle? *

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So I started doodling...

Her breath came in hot moist pants in his ear and spurred him to crush her against the cherry red hood of the nineteen eighty-five Lamburghini, her crimson nails digging half-moons in his ass.

" -- Fuck -- "

Her tongue lashed the pale lobe before taking it fully in her mouth. There was the sudden tremendous squeeze of her pussy and his vision doubled, his knees threatening to buckle --


From somewhere within the house, the single thundering call rumbled cheerily.

He froze in mid-thrust.

She bolted upright, unsnaking the long delicious tangle of tanned limbs from his hips and shoved him hard. He came out with a wet pop, his dick jutting stupidly like a tilted flagpole.

"Shit! Go, GO!"

She whipped the filmy white robe shut, damp flesh squealing against metal as she quickly slid off the car. It was the soft thud of feet hitting the floor that abruptly launched him into action.

He fumbled stupidly at his zipper, quickly (but carefully) tucking himself in, his penis sticking thickly to his thigh.

There was another ringing burst from the house. A pause, a quickening of curious footsteps.



In the same instant, both heads snapped to the door which lead to the kitchen. He stared blankly at the garage door which entombed them.

" -- Kit?"

Razor sharp claws were digging into his shoulders and wrenching him to the ground.

"Under, UNDER!" she hissed, the robe flying open. He stole one last glimpse of the dark silky thatch of pubic hair as the undercarriage of the car scraped hotly at his back.

"Kit, are you -- "

The house door swung open, the words dead in the air. The crisp black Italian leather shoes halted. There was a low throaty chuckle.

"Well...here you are. Thought you might've tried to sneak out for a little test drive."

The shoes suddenly moved forward and planted themselves between the bare feet.

His stomach, flattened painfully against the biting concrete, churned at the slick sound of tongue/lip/spit. She gave a whimper and he saw her legs slacken and fall apart. He recognized the sound.

He knew without seeing that the elegantly manicured fingers were working her swollen, throbbing clit.

"Jesus, you're soaking wet -- "

A fierce loathing spiked through him like a lightning bolt. He clenched his teeth against the drilling double clutch in his chest.

She murmured something, a dare, and the low electric whirl of motor went up and the gap of light at the bottom of the garage door widened. The cool air of summer tickled his nose as it mingled with the stifling musk of sex. He licked away the band of sweat pooling on his upperlip, gratefully the grinding gears drowned out the other noises.

The door suddenly stopped at two feet.

There was a grunt of protest and her quick, cooing reassurance. Her bare feet suddenly disappeared from view and she gave a squeak of surprise. The crisp leather shoes now scuffed the ground, a leg raised momentarily to kick away the house door.

He watched the shoes lumber away, listened to the girlish giggle for as long as senses could discern. And then silence, and he listened to that for a while, too.

He finally inched himself from beneath the Lamburghini, heart still pounding, but in a way he could live with. The glint of the brilliant early afternoon sun caught the car's gleaming hood. It was marred on the driver's side where the smudge of ass and cum stain clotted its luster.

He was suddenly thinking of the last thing she'd whispered in his ear before she did the thing that nearly almost always broke him.


He abruptly snapped away from the car and his thoughts and ducked under the garage opening, managing to bang his too-broad shoulders on the underside of the door. He tossed a cautious glance about the perfectly manicured neigborhood before shuffling down the drive. He didn't bother looking back at the house.

He knew the man in the expensive Itailian loafers. He played it safe. Safe was in the bedroom at the opposite end in the very corner of the house. No sex in the garage for him.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked slightly stooped, the sun riding his back, his penis and scrotum congealed thickly in his boxers. He tried not to think or waddle. He had a long hump back home.

Figuratively. Literally.

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