1. Maga


    Date: 11/4/2015, Categories: Supernatural, Author: gilrenard, Rating: 7, Source: LushStories

    Raven hair and ruby lips - Sparks fly from her fingertips. Witchy Woman, by the Eagles, was playing on my car radio while I waited to enter the parking lot of the convention center behind a long line of cars. I had missed the previous, Classic Car Expo and had booked that Friday off months in advance to ensure I wouldn’t miss this one. Seeing the dream machines I dreamed of as a kid still excited me. The convention center was buzzing and bustling. Classic Rock n Roll songs filled the convention center. Cameras and cell phones flashed and clicked. Mostly in the hands of middle aged men, taking pictures of the near naked models as they posed in sexy positions next to the cars. I caught a brief, bright flash in the corner of my eye and turned to see where it came from. I had no doubt the light didn’t come from a camera’s flash. A big, white sign with the words, Trans Am, printed in blue letters caught my eye. I weaved in and out of the buzzing crowd and made my way to the, Pontiac Firebird exhibit. She was a beauty. 1969, the first year Pontiac offered the Trans Am. White, with blue racing stripes. It was in show room condition. I snapped a few pictures of it with my cell phone. “You like 69?” I heard a soft voice asking the question from behind me. I turned around to make sure the question was directed at me. She was a vision. In her mid-thirties, long, almost jet black hair, blood red lips and dark, sparkling, bottomless pools for eyes. She stood five foot-eight. The ...
    sleeveless t-shirt hugged her ample breasts, and stretched out the, Rolling Stones’ lips and tongue logo. Her slender legs jutted out from beneath the short, jean skirt. It hugged her hips tight and clung loosely to her flat mid-section. My heart pounded hard, a sudden rush of excitement roared through my veins the instant our eyes met. “Yes, it’s my favorite year for the Trans Am,” I replied with my lips barely curled in a smile. “It’s nice, but my favorite is, 68,” she matter-of-factly replied as she crossed her arms across her chest. I couldn’t stop myself from looking down at her breasts as they swelled under the pressure of her arms. I lifted my eyes to meet hers and replied, “69, was the first year Pontiac produced the Trans Am.” She flashed a wicked smile at me and replied, “I was referring to sex.” I chuckled, “I am not familiar with 68. Please enlighten me.” She giggled, twirled a lock of her long, black hair around her finger and replied, “You know. You do me now, and I’ll owe you one.” My cock twitched and strained against the hard fabric of my jeans. I laughed hard at what she had just said. She laughed and replied, “You have a sense of humor. I like that in a man. Most guys would have assumed I was easy, and would come back with a rude reply that they mistakenly would believe to be clever and sexy.” I suddenly felt light headed and closed my eyes. “You like 69?” I heard a soft voice asking the question from behind me. I turned around to make sure the question was directed ...
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