Twenty-Three
The posted speed limit on the highway was sixty miles per hour. Jerry drove in the slow lane at a constant forty-five miles per hour. I pressed my a*s into the cloth-covered passenger seat and got no vibration. There was no friction from the rubber hitting the road, no moisture seeping out of my p***y at high velocities. I was bone dry and bored.
Jerry reached over and patted my knee. The gesture reminded me of a mall Santa patting my knee at eight-years-old after I told him I wanted a butterfly net for Christmas. I’d been a good girl that year, and I’d gotten my Christmas wish. I’d been a naughty girl over the past week and I was getting a lump of coal in my panties.
I looked out the car window and sighed. The scenery wasn’t a blur like it had been when Hawk sped down the
