Birthday Sex: Gas Station Style

by Taylah Morgan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  Birthday Sex Gas Station Style

  Copyright © 2017 by Taylah Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviews may quote brief passages in review.

  In a way, it’s my best friend’s fault for forgetting my birthday that I’m giving head to a stranger behind the counter of a gas station right now.

  My day was going great. The coworkers surprised me with my favorite butter rum pound cake and a forty-dollar Visa gift card and I had a plan to work for a few hours, get ready, then go out clubbing with my best friend.

  After work finished, I spent the gift card on a Brazilian wax because the jungle of pubic weeds spreading and sprawling down my legs needed to be manicured. I wanted to show miles of leg at the club and more to whoever took me home. I wanted to be silky smooth to anyone (and everyone) who touched me. And somebody better touch me – I didn’t go through the pain of having Helga rip out my pubic hairs to have my vagina remain untouched.

  Unfortunately, plans changed after checking Snapchat and viewing videos of my best friend out on a date. The bitch forgot about me again while she was chasing after another boy.

  My best friend is like a gas guzzling SUV. She meets a man and for a while their relationship is wonderful. They have a fabulous and indecent adventure together, full of cocktails and lots of cock. But like gas, her passion burns out quickly and soon she’s ready to be refilled again with a different boy. She loves me, I know she does, but she loves her boy toys more. We’re only friends because, if the position were reversed, I’d do the same thing.

  So seeing the posts of my bestie in a low-cut dress with the hash tags: #datenight #bae #relationshipgoals let me know that she'd be occupied for the next few days and I would be spending the start of my twenty-fifth year of life alone.

  After realizing my birthday shenanigans weren’t going to happen I decided to watch Dexter. Dexter is a television show about a sociopathic serial killer that murders bad people who were missed by law enforcement. The main character, Dexter, is my spirit animal. In order to cover up his vigilante ways, he has to keep up appearances at work and in his personal life. The people around him think of him as kind, charming, and considerate. They don't know that he just washed the blood off his hands before handing them donuts.

  I don’t kill people, and I’m not a sociopath (in my opinion), but I am good at keeping up appearances. At work, I’m always smiling and appear very modest – sometimes blushing when somebody says a cuss word and refraining from speaking discourteously of anyone. I shy away from dirty jokes and never ask anything too personal. At home, I watch porn and secretly fantasize about my boss bending me over and slamming his uncut Russian penis inside of me while pouring vodka all over my body.

  Dexter has two sides, and so do I. See? Spirit animals.

  I watched the episode where Dexter had sex with his pyromaniac love interest. He pushed her Lila onto the bed with a savage look on his face, and Lila gave him a come-hither smile. I had a great come-hither smile. So tuned into the show, I didn’t realize my hand had itched into my underwear until Dexter moaned when Lila bit his shoulder. I didn’t have a shoulder to bite dammit! I became unbelievably frustrated at my lack of shoulder and even more so when I realized I was at home, watching soft-core porn, alone on my birthday.

  There are two vices I typically indulge in when I start to feel like shit – either solo sexy times with my intergalactic dildo named Bob or alcohol. Since both seemed a little pathetic, I created a third option and ended up at a gas station. Twizzlers, Red Bull, Almond Joys and Gummy Bears along with a midnight screening of Brad Pitt’s older movie would be my companions for the evening.

  I unloaded my single-people food on the register and watched the cashier start to ring up my purchases. My eyes were drawn to his dirty hands. Maybe he was cleaning something, I'm not sure, but dirt laid under his nails and dark grime smudged in between skewed hair on the outside of his hands. This guy needed a pair of cleaning gloves, Dexter would never let his hands get dirty. Shit, thinking of Dexter reminded me of the titillating scene I left playing on my television and warmth rose in my cheeks.

  Don’t think about sex. Don’t think about dark, passionate, serial killer sex.

  Shit. Stop thinking about sex.

  Sex with Dexter.

  “Rough night?” the cashier asked as he started to check me out.

  Rough sex. Up against a wall. Dirty hands wrapped around my throat…Dirty hands? Dexter wears gloves... I looked back at the cashiers dirty hands.

  “What’s wrong?” His question pulled me out of my thoughts. Embarrassed, I took my focus away from the gloveless limbs I fantasized about and took in the rest of him.

  Tall with short dark hair, he had a five o’clock shadow. Most people – including myself – would think he appeared plain or average, but the slow burning warmth in his eyes and the laugh lines around his mouth hooked me. His large broad nose guided me to the curve of his slightly chapped lips. His ears, too large for his head, had dark little curly hairs brushing out from a dark curly-haired black ear hole. The dark dense baby hairs reminded me of my boss’s similar-looking ears. On more than one occasion I’ve imagined running my tongue along the outer shell of those ears as moaned Russian cuss words while pounded the hell out of me.

  Fuck.

  Fuckity-fuck-fuck! I’ve got fucking on the mind tonight. How long was it since I’ve last been fucked? A fuckade. I'm a fuckaholic in need of a fucking fuckathon.

  Fuck.

  “Are you okay?” He stopped ringing up my purchases.

  “Ye-yeah. It’s just been a fuckless night,” shit. “I mean a rough night.” I tried to reign it in, no need to let him know I wore my we vagina on my sleeve.

  If he caught my slip up, he didn’t act like it. “What happened?” He must have been one of those conversational gas station attendants, I figured telling him about my night might help get my mind off sex and fucking.

  “The short version? Today is my birthday and my best friend left me alone for a guy with a tiny penis and a large truck. Her words, not mine. Apparently he fucks like he’s bigger than he is and has an oral technique belonging to the Greek Gods. Again, her words, not mine. I strongly believe bigger is better. Well, I guess, small size is better than no size, which is what I’m getting tonight.” I patted my crotch, what a waste of a wax. “No birthday peen for me.”

  He chuckled at my word vomit. “I kind of want to hear the long version now.”

  I shook my head at my own nervous chatter. “Sorry about that.”

  The cashier didn’t say anything, he just bent down behind the counter, I assumed, to get a bag for all of my candy. Instead, he brought out a mini bottle of tequila. “Happy birthday,” he said.

  Surprised, shocked, and a little touched, I picked up the mini bottle of tequila. The micro of amount alcohol in a cheap plastic bottle being the best gift I received today and it was given to me by a stranger just trying to comfort me. I opened the microscopic bottle and held it up to him in salute. “Slainte,” I hailed and chugged the tiny bottle down in just a few gulps. “What was it they said about tequila? That it makes your clothes come of
f?” I asked.

  He laughed at me and I realized he had completely abandoned my purchases and just stood there behind the counter, watching me, with a smirk on his face. That smirk, I thought, was like a small breadcrumb leading the way to the buffet in his pants. His body leaned halfway over the counter with his arms open wide, his molten chocolate eyes watched me.

  Time to drop a crumb of my own.

  I held out my arm with the now-empty bottle of tequila and dropped it on the floor. “Oops,” I smiled. Instead of moving to pick up the pocket-sized bottle, I looked straight at him, bit my lip, and gave him my practiced porn star face. “I dropped your present.”

  He grinned at me. A large, lascivious grin that made his overly large ears move up and again, my attention was drawn to his dark ear hair. I wanted to put his ear between my teeth, bite down hard, and shake my head from side to side like a cat attacking a mouse.

  He brought one dirt-smudged hand up to rub at his ear lobe as his head tilted in question.

  I shook my head and smiled before leisurely bending down to pick up the bottle. I paused my descent to take a quick look over my shoulder to make sure he watched me. He did.

  I’m getting laid tonight.

  Once I reached the ground, I shifted my hips from side to side, teasing and seducing. Another peek revealed a pleased smirk on his face. He knew what I was doing.

  “Need help?” He got down on the floor to pick up the dropped bottle and our hands collided. Taking advantage of his new position, I bent forward enabling gravity to move my breast closer to his face and let my décolletage tease him.

  I lilted my voice. “That tequila was strong. Maybe I should stay here awhile.”

  “Are you okay? Do you need some water?” he asked, beaming down at me as he stood up.

  I took a full look at his body – his fuckable body – and nodded my response.

  My future sex partner walked to a door behind the counter. When he noticed that I hadn’t moved, he threw me a lustful look and gestured for me to follow.

  “I hope there are more birthday presents for me back there.” Like his penis. I wanted his penis for a birthday present.

  As soon the door closed, he pinned me against the wall and kissed me. He came at me with all the fury and eagerness I’d been craving sex since Helga ripped my pubes out that afternoon.

  “We’re going to have sex, right?”

  “Is that what you want?” he responded with a smug smirk. I pushed him away from me, removed my underwear and tossed them to the great beyond.

  “Does that answer your question?” I pulled him back and kissed him. The sharp hairs of his beard scratched against my skin. His breath flowed into me tasting of Jolly Ranchers, sweet and moist.

  A knee wedged between my legs to part my thighs and rough, calloused hands pulled me closer, making their way under my skirt to grip my naked butt. I felt dulled nails dent my skin as he squeezed my ass and leaned his body forward, driving the hard bulge in his pants against my crotch.

  “Oh.” I chirped. He may have looked average, but the invading force inside his pants was not an average-sized penis. No, 'penis' is too wimpy of a word to describe that thing, that meat monster, that phallic impaler, cervix crusader, fallopian fiddler, the fucking Excalibur in his pants! Only a knight should be able to wield that shit!

  My knight with a hardening member grabbed both my hands and placed them above my head. “Do you want me to stop?” I found his face in the dark room and looked at his kiss-swollen lips. His face appeared calm and his eyes searching, but his hips kept moving, provoking.

  “Hell. No.” I rose and pulled his lips towards mine again.

  He lifted and pulled my legs around his waist and walked me over to a little couch. Sex was happening, with a stranger, in the back room of a gas station. Happy birthday to me!

  He laid me on the small sofa started unbuttoning my top but pulled away after just a few moments. “Wait. It’s your birthday.” He fingers never stopped moving. “We should have some fun.”

  “Fun?” I prompted after a few more minutes of his exploring fingers and heated gaze.

  “Fun.” He leaned down to kiss me, his tongue moved slow with mine, creating a rhythm that matched the pulse against my throat.

  I tugged on his lower lip when he started to pull away.

  “Stay here,” he whispered and disappeared into the lobby.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to cool my body down but the lingering touch of his fingers against my skin kept me on edge. Frustrated, I sat up and looked around. The room looked plain with dark walls, a plaid couch and rusted lockers. It was no Red Room of Pain from 50 Shades of Grey.

  I looked up and noticed, with some disappointment, the lack of cameras. I kind of wished there the room had some for recorded proof of my spontaneous birthday sex. My best friend would flip. Instead, I took my phone out of my bra and snapped a quick Snapchat selfie with the hashtag: #birthdaysex. Good enough.

  My body started to normalize in temperature when he came back in holding a tub of Cool Whip and a case of something… red?

  I quirked an eyebrow as I moved back deeper into the couch. He set the things at its foot then moved to position me so that I laid down with my legs slightly parted.

  I kept my curious mouth shut.

  His eyes danced in mischief. “I’m going to decorate the birthday girl.” Moving himself between my legs, he opened my unbuttoned my top and pulled the cups of my bra down. He had just freed my nipples and removed the Cool Whip lid when my phone came tumbling out but at that moment, that moment where I sat topless with a warm body between my legs, I could care less where that cock-blocking phone landed. Bye Phoneica!

  He dropped a dollop of cream around my nipple. It was cool and my body responded with raised bumps down my arms. He repeated with my other nipple and then he brought my shirt down lower and created a trail of Cool Whip from one nip to the other, leaving my chest covered in cool, melting whipped cream. But before I could get lost in the feeling of the cold sensations, his tongue moved like a wet bulldozer, cleaning the sticky mess with slow lingering swipes.

  “You’re sweet,” he said and my head felt fuzzy. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the feel of his tongue flicking my nipple. He licked, sucked and pulled all around my sensitive peak before moving to the other.

  It felt too good and my need for more stirred. “Bite harder,” I requested.

  He did.

  As he dug his teeth deeper into my flesh, his hand reached between my legs. My body arched in response of his fingers skirting the inside of my thighs. A cry escaped my throat when his teeth released me and his hand withdrew.

  “Be patient, there’s more fun to be had.”

  Pissed, I began to yell at him to get his fingers back to where they belonged when I saw his hand hold up a strawberry. The unidentified red object from earlier.

  His wrist moved, shielding the strawberry, and disappeared between the gaps of my thighs. Before too long I felt the rough skin of the strawberry start to penetrate me.

  With light ministrations, he thrust the strawberry in and out a few times before pulling it all the way out and licking my juices off. The sight of his tongue wrapped around the piece of fruit was easily the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. Just imagining him tending me the way he handled that strawberry made me throb.

  After an audible bite, red juice trailed down his chin before disappearing into the dark of his beard. I reached to lick the juice off his face while maneuvering my body into a striking distance.

  Time to switch things up.

  Distracted by my tongue caressing the edge of his face, he let out a surprised groan when I pushed him down on the couch. This time, laying him at my mercy.

  I threw my legs over the outside of his thighs, straddling him, and started to ride. The rough weave of his jeans hurt against my bare mound but I craved the movement. I needed to be filled and the slow back and forth became the closest I could get at that moment.
>
  Deciding to perform a little strip tease to hurry things up, I unclipped my bra and pulled my skirt up over my torso. I started to reach my hands down his body, ready to unbuckle his pants, when he pushed me off and stood up, making his crotch eye level to my seated position.

  He unbuttoned his pants, pulled down his underwear and out popped one glorious piece of man meat. So large and so close to my face, it almost hit me. I almost wish that it did. I purred happiness at the sight in front of me and nuzzled my birthday penis, licking at it to show my affection.

  The tip of him brushed against my lips, seeking entrance, when we heard a loud ding, indicating someone just walked into the lobby.

  “Fuck!” He yelled.

  “You didn’t lock the doors?”

  He looked down at my chest. “I was a bit distracted.” He got up and pulled his pants over his erection. It wiggled around under the fabric, protesting the time-out.

  With feminine pride, I watched his retreating figure with clothes and hair going in a hundred different directions. But as I lay there waiting, throbbing, and ready to be fucked I realized I missed him. I missed his strawberry flavored kisses and his birthday-present penis. With an annoyed huff, I sat up and stamped my feet off the couch, accidentally hitting the Cool Whip.

  An idea formed.

  I let out an internal squeal and gathered my things before heading to the door. Like a lioness stalking her prey, I crawled with great stealth out of the break room and into the lobby. I kept my naked body close to the floor so nobody in the lobby would be able to see me, except him. Finding my prey, I eased myself into his line of sight.

  He jumped.

  I slithered to the front of his legs and pushed my back against the lower counter, completely hidden from innocent eyes. Any customer that walked in would just see a cashier waiting to ring someone up and not the naked girl performing fellatio.

  Once in position, I unzipped his pants and reached in to grab my unforgettable fleshly treasure. It tumbled, hard and heavy, into my hand. Grabbing the Cool Whip, I started to cover him the phallic vagina whisperer until it became a sticky, gooey mess in need of a good licking.