The Only Difference is the 'S'

In the end I drove home having made the positive decision that if she was at the bus stop again, then she'd really have to catch the bus. Of course I meant every word I'd said to myself, and of course the next night I pulled up alongside her and offered her a lift again. After all, I reasoned, I'd not had the chance to fuck her yet and I was sure it was on the cards.

"Thank you for last night." I told her as soon as she was settled in her seat.

"That's alright." She flashed me one of her smiles again. "I enjoyed doing it."

There was silence for a mile or so, and then. "I hope I didn't leave to much lipstick on you."

"No, hardly any." I lied. She'd left a bright smear on my jeans as well as smudges all up and down my cock.

I felt sure she must have shares in a cosmetics company because she was never without heavy makeup. I assumed it was because she worked in a bar, but even so it sometimes seemed a bit much. I'd got used to tasting it when we kissed, and to washing my face when I got home, but it had been quite shock to see a red-ringed penis in my jeans.

"You didn't need to do that, you know. I mean, I didn't give you a lift with that in mind."

"You mean you don't want me to do it again?"

She was teasing, and she got the answer she expected when I blushed scarlet and stammered my reply.

"That's not what I meant. I want you to do it, but you don't have to. It's not the price of a lift, that's free. Anything we do afterwards is up to you. But I liked it and I wouldn't mind it again, or anything else you want to do."

I was gabbling from embarrassment and I realised it when I saw her smiling broadly beside me.

"Bitch." I told her.

"Oh, yes, I am that." She answered bizarrely.

I tried to regain the initiative by placing my hand on her thigh again as we drove along, but she put her own hand firmly over mine again with that same unmistakeable message. Never mind, it still felt nice to touch her leg.