Ryan could think of better places to be on a Friday evening than idling in the middle lane of motorway rush hour. Face first in the pussy of Mya/Naya or whatever the hell she was called from the other night would be infinitely preferable. Jostling six deep at the humid cocktail bar, he hadn't pressed for her name after the thumping music and rowdy patrons drowned out her response. And by the time he had the opportunity to find out for sure back at her place, he was beyond needing to know, having established she was his brand of filthy. Way before her juices the texture of olive oil had time to dry on his chin, the exotic, svelte beauty in killer boots amply demonstrated the term 'gag reflex' was not in her vocabulary.

He hardened inside his jeans at the recollection of her kneeling at his feet, strands of the longest hair he'd ever seen plastered to the frothing ring of saliva around her shiny lips as she coughed and slurped, trying to cram him in whole. He wasn't entirely sure if he simply had a knack for attracting dirty women or if he drew out their inner sluts, but his method was immaterial. None of them could get enough.

When he'd settled back on her squeaky bed, the dichotomy between the sweet accented English exterior she presented at the bar compared with her vampish behaviour in the bedroom became increasingly apparent. He marvelled as her flawlessly taut Mediterranean skin tone was revealed beneath each item of clothing. Stripping all but her boots and tortoiseshell glasses, she hungrily climbed onto his lap and sat upright, impaled, her face streaked with make-up, awash with ecstasy. The lamplight picked out glowing beads of perspiration as she settled, stretched, laced her hands behind her head, pert chest proud and heaving, then proceeded to draw figure-eights with her hips, panting hard each time his length probed her deepest parts. Just when Ryan thought he couldn't take any more, she tipped her face towards the flaking ceiling, jet tresses cascading over her shoulders to brush his knees. She then leaned back and rode them both to noisy, sticky completion, his hands gravitating towards her breasts, pawing and pinching petite cones and russet nipples.

Her disgruntled apartment neighbours had made a big deal of vacating partway through their session, amid indignant huffs and exaggerated well-I-nevers from the corridor. Ryan didn't care; their sex continued into the small hours, creating a cacophony that would have given any tenants ample grounds for moving out. The things she'd let him do to her velvety backside made him suspect she was Greek. He shivered, and not only from the cool, late September air that drew with it the stench of hydrocarbons from a thousand vehicles around him.

Denied his exit junction by one measly mile after three hours of virtually hassle-free driving, Ryan drummed the steering wheel as the sixth emergency appliance, all lights and Doppler shifting sirens, careened down the hard shoulder towards whomever had made a life-threatening mistake ahead. He leaned out in an effort to locate the cause of the hold up, but the only thing he caught was his stubbly reflection in the wing mirror. Brown eyes stared back, a light grey umbra visible beneath each, symptomatic of playing as hard as he worked. But, fuck, the women were worth it. He rubbed his chin, the growth sandpapery against his palm, and recalled the manner in which the Greek had responded so favourably to being eaten. The sexy, guttural noises that began as a rumble in her throat and developed into wails of delight certainly made it clear she never wanted him to stop. Ryan knew he was good. Practised. A shave upon arrival certainly wouldn't detract from his ability to deliver equivalent joy to his quarry in the bar of the budget chain hotel.

Out of the window, either side of the M5 cut into the lush English hillside, sheep grazed, oblivious to the rising stress levels on the twin strips of blacktop as commuters, truckers and families went nowhere fast. The mix of drivers around him gradually altered as the traffic crawled or stalled at different rates. People stretched, yawned, nodded to music, apologised into cell phones, or answered backseat pleas of "Are we there yet?" in ever more inventive manners.

At a bend in the road, the extent of the hold-up became apparent and he sighed. The traffic snaked out ahead of him like an uncoiled whip, the opposite carriageway queuing north to bypass Bristol while his lane stuttered south, towards the scene of the crash. If it weren't for the potential of the high profile client he was meeting the following day, he'd have stayed at the office until it was time to hit a club and devour some Friday night pussy.

As the traffic to his left began edging forward and he considered changing lanes for the fiftieth time, hollering and laughter and four-to-the-floor drums drifted in through his window. The music gradually grew louder until it almost seemed as if his own stereo were blaring, the track familiar yet he couldn't place it. Alongside his empty passenger seat, a rented minibus, corporate logo splashed among stripes of garish primary colours, drew level and braked sharply, narrowly missing the camper van ahead. Behind the wheel was a seriously fit blonde, nose jewel glinting from the low sun, her arm, inked with indecipherable scripture, hanging out the window. She was tapping the metalwork and jigging up and down in time to the pounding beat.

Directly behind her in the rear compartment was a considerably less fit frizzy-haired brunette, drink in one hand, a black T-shirt sporting some slogan in the other. She started making a thumbs-up gesture at Ryan and waving the garment like cheering on a team at a stadium. He couldn't read it, raised a quizzical eyebrow and she eventually cottoned on, spreading the front against the window with her forearm: "I like fat boys."

He grinned. The slogan fit; she was certainly no Mya/Naya. Nor was her mate who appeared alongside, another brunette, sporting a high ponytail and wobbly rack peeking above a low-cut white top. She toasted him with some pale amber liquid in a plastic cup, a slug of it spilling on the upholstery of the bench seat that lined the length of the vehicle. Giggling, she sucked what she could from her fingers.

A bunch of girls the wrong side of sober in a van? Ryan laid odds on a Hen party.

The middle-aged woman in the car behind pipped, and Ryan rolled forward into the space, smiling as her face reddened in the rear view mirror. The girl with the slogan T-shirt didn't seem to care from whom she tried to solicit a reaction.

Less than a minute later the minibus was alongside him again. More hollering ensued as the members of the inebriated gang grinned and waved dementedly. He waved back as a gap opened up and their vehicle lurched off, the driver clearly unaccustomed to the clutch bite point. Ryan indicated and swiftly cut in behind them.

Ponytail started for the rear doors, clambering over something in the process – possibly luggage, or a passed-out friend – and put her palms on the rear window before pressing her face to it, creating a seal and puffing her cheeks. Ryan laughed as she backed off and wiped her mouth. Afforded a captive audience and clearly two of her three sheets already to the wind, she lifted her top with one hand then shoved her considerable cleavage against the glass, flesh spilling above her white T-shirt bra and deforming. The act deserved a double thumbs-up and Ryan motioned for her to continue, but she shook her head, wagging a finger.

In the adjacent rear window a cute, wiry, freckle-faced brunette appeared, copying her friend by hoisting her top and mashing her bra against the glass. The bolder or drunker of the two, she then reached in and scooped out an apple-sized tit, pressing that to the window too.

Almost an automatic response, honed from years of bedding women just like her, Ryan's mind flashed, scheming to come up with a method of boarding the van and locking his mouth around her rosy nipple. He desperately wanted to suck the pebbled peak until her breathing came in short rasps and she surrendered other rosy parts of her limber anatomy to his firming cock. Maybe he could even whisk her away with him to the hotel and treat her to his energetic brand of tongue play and primal rutting, promising the others he'd return her in one piece. At least that's what she'd resemble to all outward inspection. Internally, she'd be a fucked-up wreck, dishevelled, used, fulfilled and, most importantly, deliriously happy. She looked like dirty fun and he wondered if she preferred stubble or smooth raking against her trim, drooling pussy lips.

Miming applause, he held up two of his fingers. From between the curtains of her shoulder length hair, she flashed him a further grin and complied without hesitation, beaming above her modest boobs deformed against the window. So fucking pretty.

The first girl, clearly not to be outdone and wanting a chunk of the deflected limelight, picked up her drink, drained it and ditched the cup before reaching into her bra and doing likewise. Ryan gaped and rearranged his jeans to relieve the pressure a little. If he'd been anywhere besides the motorway, he'd have considered whipping out his cock and stroking himself. Her pair was far more impressive owing much to her overall size. Voluminous, easily a C-cup in the forty-inch range, perfectly white with proud bubblegum centres nestled in caramel pools, spreading against the cool glass. The remaining girls in the minibus fell about in hysterics, hooting and encouraging the dare.

Ryan looked away then back to check the traffic fumes hadn't caused delirium. Within the space of three minutes, his world had changed from abject frustration to rapt interest, a quartet of gorgeous breasts pointing his way, the road almost forgotten until the guy in the nearby souped-up Impreza also spotted the vista and hammered his horn. The girls loved the attention and waved madly, not noticing he was far too old for the car and one mid-life crisis away from buying an MX-5 with personalised plates B16 GAZ .

The chunkier brunette cupped and jiggled her breasts as the indicators of the minibus winked and it eased into the middle lane. Ryan considered following them but, despite the prospect of losing sight of the fabulous pink-peaked terrain, he recognised a better opportunity and pulled forward into the space alongside the van's left.

He took in the shape of a second blonde, electric blue highlights in her comparatively short hair, leaning against the partially open side window, music spilling around her as she nodded to the beat. The setting sun cast a blue-orange halo as it cut through the van's windows opposite. She glanced over, waved and cheered, her tiny button nose perched between high cheekbones looking as if it should belong to someone else. Reedy lips sat below and, further down, tits straining against a turquoise vest, a perfect handful even if they were a pale imitation of the buxom girl at the back of the minibus.

Ryan called out, "Where're you heading?"

"WHAT?!"

He mimed turning the music down and she leaned in to tap Driver Girl on the shoulder, passing on the action before sliding the window fully open.

He repeated: "Where are you going?"

"Newquay!" she yelled loudly over the din that was no longer there. Her mates all whooped.

"So who's the lucky lady?"

She jerked a thumb back at Ponytail tucking her considerable breasts away. "Christina. Marrying next week."

"I thought celebrating her last weekend of freedom was a time to do crazy and daring things. All I've seen so far are her hot tits."

Blue Streak relayed this to her crew and they all laughed, one of the others making a wisecrack he only half heard. Freckleface lurched to the window, her chest already stowed. "If she shows more, what's in it for us?"

Christina shoved her friend. "Oy!"

"Oh come on, Chrissy, do it for the team. Don't you wanna see what we can get out of this?" She turned back to Ryan, who was thinking the same. "So, mister, what's it gonna be?"

Despite wanting to feel Freckleface from the inside, he'd settle for his dick sliding between Christina's gorgeous cleavage or ramming into her puffy pussy. Even Blue Streak would do. He'd take whatever he could get, but said nothing, waiting the freckled cutie out. She cocked her head.

"How about you show us yours first, yes ladies? Then Chrissy will show you her arse."

Christina opened her mouth to object but was drowned out by her louder friends as the traffic inched along the tarmac, Driver Girl rat-a-tat-tatting the horn. Ryan looked ahead, the half-mile sign to his exit visible in the middle distance. Maybe not much time left if the road cleared.

He checked his surroundings, including the rear view mirror. As long as they kept pace, being in the inside lane meant he could only be overlooked by emergency vehicles whizzing by. And they'd be far more focused on whatever carnage lay ahead than to worry about his state of undress.

He checked again.

Twice.

Fuck it. Worth the risk to see more.

Keeping the steering wheel steady with his knees and lifting his butt a little, he unsnapped his fly. There was a commotion and five eager faces stampeded to the side windows, including a new girl with sparkling green eyes, rounded features and dark, wavy curls. The driver swung the minibus closer to the white line on request so the troupe could better see his equipment, semi-erect above the lap belt.

Blue Streak squealed and clapped. Christina gave a thumbs-up and then, egged on by her mates, let them help her onto the bench seat, spinning uncoordinatedly to press her butt to the side window. Pausing with her clothed derriere squishing against the glass for effect, Ryan held his breath as she thumbed the waistband. Whether as a tease or genuine hesitation, she waited a few tense seconds before peeling her tight leggings down. Shortly after, her lilac panties dipped the same way before being pulled back up quickly. The flash revealed an echo of her tits, the cheeks perfectly spherical full moons, white and meaty. Ryan's cock bobbed and Blue Streak applauded again.

"Looks like he approves, Chrissy."

The brunette eyed his manhood over her shoulder, its head flaring. In her current state of inebriation with the peer pressure of her friends around her, Ryan wanted to see just how far he could push her: "Bottom half is as amazing as the top," he called out. "Bet you won't go any further."

Climbing from the bench and tilting her head to one side, Christina considered her response as the vehicles crawled along the carriageway, his with considerably more finesse than the minibus. "You think?"

"You're not the type."

"You think?"

"I know. Too straight-laced. You still insist on turning the lights off."

She coloured amid the 'oooohs' of her mates and Ryan congratulated himself at a successful prognosis. Despite her flamboyance in the presence of alcohol, he figured her for a traditionalist, trying to fit in with her more outgoing friends and being swept up in the moment. The gold cross nestled between her voluptuous tits had been a dead giveaway.

Half the trick in getting what you want is knowing which buttons to press.

Ryan knew enough about run-of-the-mill Christian women that they were often of a cautious disposition when it came to spreading their charms. Sex wasn't just an act, it carried meaning. Weight. A symbol of love, given away only to those who deserved it. But by adding alcohol, their repressed sexuality blossomed, just like the reverent athletic strawberry blonde he'd fucked a few weeks before. On their first date, Sarah had told him in no uncertain terms that she was a good girl, her place in heaven assured. Four days of gentle persuasion later and she'd swapped that assurance for a one-way ticket to hell, the ink on the devil's contract signed in a mixture of their bittersweet come drizzling from her delicious, deflowered, bare cunt that he'd convinced her to let him shave completely. He allowed himself a smile. All it took was employing the correct triggers, something at which he was remarkably adept.

Christina puffed up in defiance. Obvious bravado, but convincing nonetheless to the untrained eye. "You're wrong."

"So prove it."

"How?"

Textbook. He paused, just long enough to let her mind formulate its own possibilities. Fear was a powerful persuasive force. "Play with yourself."

"What? No!"

Ryan regarded the traffic, before sliding his gaze back to her and shrugging. "Told ya."

Christina was indignant. "Wait. You think I won't do it?"

"I know you won't." He refrained from using the word 'chicken', its meaning clearly implied.

She stared him down. Ryan could see her in exactly the predicament he wanted: trapped between the alcohol, her peers and her faith. In a three-way tug-of-war, he knew the alcohol invariably won, so he gave her time as the traffic crept towards the junction.

The remainder of the trick in getting what you want is knowing exactly when to press those buttons.

Without breaking his gaze, she held out her hand to Dark Wave. "Bottle."

Taking a long slug of fizz and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she eyed Ryan, splitting her gaze between his face and cock. Still considering.

He gave her a verbal nudge: "Just touch yourself. Inside your underwear."

Another pull of the Dutch courage preceded a noisy breath. "I can't."

"Of course you can."

Freckleface cut in. "Yeah. Do it."

Christina sighed. "What's in it for me?"

He searched her eyes for clues. "Isn't the thrill enough?" She shrugged and Ryan looked down at his erection. "If you do a good job you'll make this bad boy bigger for starters."

She gave a nervous laugh. Blue Streak giggled and called out, "You have to play with yours too. Give her an incentive, yeah?"

The girls all voiced their support for the terms. Ryan checked the mirrors again and returned his gaze to the expectant faces.

"Deal."

Christina bit her lip and Freckleface nudged her playfully. "Go oooon. We don't have all day, girl. And we all wanna see his come, don't we ladies?"

A high-energy chorus of affirmation rolled around the interior. Christina hesitated and guzzled a further mouthful before passing the bottle back, then nodded sharply.

Her mind made up, she slithered her leggings down amid cheers from her friends, revealing the cotton underwear that arced a mauve path to converge between her sexy thighs. They reminded Ryan of Imogen's. She'd been a dirty live wire too, her milky complexion and chubby exterior masquerading the debased slut inside. She never had God in her corner though.

The dance music was cranked up to about half its original volume, and Christina picked up the beat, gyrating her hips, tracing hands up and down her curvy sides. Ryan let her courage build, more than happy to enjoy the show, before gesturing for her to take the next step. Biting her lower lip once more, she cupped her boobs and gave them a squeeze, shutting her eyes a moment before seeking his stare from the adjacent lane.

Her actions slowed before she knelt up on the van's bench again, facing him this time, one hand pressed to the glass to steady herself while fingers of the other inched to the centre of the waistband. Toying with the elastic, expression unsure, it looked for a moment as if she was going to bottle it, until she eyed Ryan's hardness and her fingertips crept beneath her panties. She paused, a full-body breath lifting and relaxing her chest before pressing on, jolting as her exploratory fingers brushed first curls, then the gemstone at the apex to her hidden riches.

Ryan tore his eyes from the spectacle a moment as the van inched forward at the same pace as Christina's fingers moved lower towards her sex. He caught Freckleface casting alternating lusty stares, first at her friend, then at him. A chink in her expression made it clear she was aroused and Ryan capitalised on it by brushing his fingers across the head of his cock, making it nod and her eyes sparkle.

Returning his attention to the busty brunette, he witnessed the last of her self-imposed inhibitions melt. Whether it was the realisation that she was being revered or the booze dulling her cares, her hand dug hungrily inside her slit. Her fingers began to wiggle and gently thrust in and out of her body. The other girls roared, passed the bottle around and clinked plastic glasses of fizz, spilling plenty. It seemed to Ryan that popcorn would have made a perfect accompaniment to the live porn show unfolding before them.

The girl at the centre of their attention was already lost in her own fantasies. Perhaps she was trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, the crushing need stampeding her system. Maybe beneath the layers of guilt that her faith prescribed, exhibitionism was her true calling. As the fingers of her right hand became further animated, clearly enjoying herself, she started to concentrate more on her thoughts and actions, worrying less about keeping her eyes open to watch for other road users seeing her usually private moments. Ryan's member appreciated the change in attitude, firming fully in the cool evening air.

A gap in the traffic opened up ahead, but he didn't care. The people behind would have to wait despite the occasional blast of an impatient horn; nobody was going anywhere ahead and he wasn't giving up his position for anyone.

Blue Streak leaned out the window and taunted him. "Hey, ever-hard. Keep your end up."

Ryan brought one hand to his cock and slid his palm over the thick tip, smearing pre-come around the head that was bobbing at the appreciative audience. Christina, now thoroughly into masturbating and only keeping a fraction of her attention on Ryan, picked up speed until her hand was furiously undulating inside her knickers. The indignation at being told she wasn't good enough combined with the alcohol proved to be the perfect potion, seemingly on a mission to finish quickly and explosively.

As her fingers worked her body towards its chemical and emotional peak, her free hand left the window to roam her chest, squeezing each full breast in an alternating rhythm. She stole a look into the other vehicle, her eyes widening at the sight of Ryan slithering his hand up and down his length in long, measured strokes. Focusing on his actions, she changed her pace to match his, the two of them connected only by circumstance on the motorway, yet enjoying mutual self-exploration as if they were lovers not strangers.

Flushed, Christina momentarily stopped masturbating, grabbed the base of her top with both hands and yanked it over her head, flinging it across the van, then dug her hand back into her panties, barely missing a beat. The other ladled her impressive rack out of its confines, allowing her to pinch and squeeze each nipple in earnest, the forgotten cross bobbing and bouncing between the milky flesh. A rose tint to the upper surface of her chest confirmed her arousal and indicated the orgasm thundering ever closer.

Ryan's cock felt as if it was going to burst from the excitement. Watching women jilling was up there on his all-time leader board of fucking awesome acts. Probably in the number two spot after doing it for them, the smell and taste of a woman in heat his ultimate prize. Mya/Naya had certainly adored his languorous attention to her wet centrepiece. Immediately after her trembling orgasm from riding him, she'd slithered upwards to straddle Ryan's face, grinding until her cries grew to a crescendo and she came again, his insistent mouth and probing tongue bearing the brunt of their creamy fusion. He'd then rolled her over and nestled his stubble between her legs to coax a third climax from her still twitching frame, all the while watching her face for the tell-tale signs that his tongue was having the desired effect on her mind as well as body. The expressions of pleasure she'd pulled were not a million miles from those of Christina as her final stages approached.

Despite the free-flowing alcohol, her friends could sense Christina's elevated level of arousal and started cheering, culminating in them chanting, "Come! Come! Come!" in time to the music as Chrissy fingered her bush beneath the fabric. She was clearly going to finish hard. The girls descended into a clamorous drumroll against the metal panels of the minibus with hands and feet, and Ryan watched the mouth of the bride-to-be fall open as events overtook her capacity to hold back. She came, a sexy display of need creasing her brow, eyes squeezing shut while one hand crushed her chest, fingers of the other circling animatedly in her underwear, panting through her desperate release against the lightly tinted glass.

Ryan could barely keep his composure, his cock thick and pulsing. He let his touch drift away to regain some control, the shaft involuntarily jumping at the thoughts of what he'd do to Christina when they were alone. The softness of her soaking pussy enveloping him as she bounced atop his steel, the pillowy flesh quaking with each powerful thrust, face screwed up in desire as he unleashed into her squishing insides. Perhaps she was imagining the sound of their orgasms echoing from the walls too.

She drifted down slowly from her peak and opened one eye, then the other, raising her head a fraction, like a meerkat in an enclosure, grinning at Ryan's solid erection. Plucking her fingers from her panties, she gave them a quick sniff and then nodded at him, calling out. "Your turn, hot shot." She gently and provocatively massaged the outer edges of her breasts and her friends roared, starting another chant of, "Cock! Cock! Cock!"

Ryan checked the road then made eye contact with Christina, tipping his head in salute. He returned to touching himself some more, still surprised at the level of excitement flooding his veins at performing for his minibus harem. With half an eye on the traffic ahead, he gripped the shaft of his veined rod and pumped his fist up and down, feeling the skin ripple and tighten in a gratifying rhythm. The girls all watched. It was a new experience for Ryan. He'd only ever had one pair of women at the same time before, under very different circumstances, and found the extra attention of more eyes intensely arousing.

Each face was hanging on his every stroke, all five harbouring private fantasies of what it would feel like to experience him in their own way. It made him hot. Powerful. Excited. The thoughts kick started his head into overdrive, conjuring images of filling every serviceable, gaping wet hole on board, and all of a sudden he was closer than he'd given himself credit. His belly began to tense, the weightlessness that preceded orgasm taking over, the fluttering followed by the flood of natural chemistry that coursed his system and fulfilled his need.

Yanking his fly wide to avoid mess and holding his cock straight up, he pumped twice more, groaned and felt his spunk bubbling from deep down near the car seat, firing from his throbbing meat. He breathed deeply as the warm jets spurted vertically a few inches from the reddened tip and mercifully landed back on his hand, slithering along and down his manhood with his continued wanking, pooling among his mid-brown pubes. Release felt fantastic, especially as the girls all watched and applauded, wide-eyed excitement apparent in spades.

Ryan let out a contented breath as his real-world senses gradually returned to full alert and he nudged the accelerator to keep pace with the traffic that was flowing a little faster. Without even attempting to clean up, he tucked his member back in his boxers and saluted the girls. Freckleface especially was aglow at witnessing his orgasm and he suspected she'd love to join the exhibitionism club, fingering her own bush like her friend, thoughts of filling herself with all of Ryan's length occupying her fractured mind. But something was holding her back despite her obvious earlier brashness. Ryan longed to exorcise whatever it was.

He wiped the errant globules of semen from his hand on his underwear and buttoned his fly carefully. First stop after checking in would be the shower. Aware of running out of time, he quickly schemed to think up a way to wrestle Freckleface from the group and take her with him. Showering with her, soaping and probing her lithe frame against the steamy walls of the confined cubicle was an especially attractive thought. From what little he had to go on, he drew the conclusion that she was the right kind of dirty. Maybe he could convince both her and Christina to join him. Plying them with alcohol and coercing them into fucking one another would be insanely hot as a prelude to ploughing the pair. Maybe they'd all join him now they'd seen the goods.

He figured it was worth a shot and raised an eyebrow, calling across. "Fancy a detour? Next junction."

Blue Streak laughed, thinking he was joking at first. Then she paused and cocked her head. "You serious?" He nodded and a slow grin spread across her thin lips. "You couldn't handle us all."

"Wanna bet?"

She considered briefly then shook her head. "Thanks, but we have a town to paint red."

Pandemonium from inside the minibus drew their attention as Chrissy began to shriek. It took Ryan a moment to realise that a couple of her mates were wrestling to hold her still, while Dark Wave tore her panties down. The group then proceeded to play piggy-in-the-middle as Chrissy tried to snatch the underwear from mid-air. Though she'd put her tits away, the girl's jiggly bare butt streaked this way and that as she tried to retrieve what remained of her modesty from her so-called friends.

Watching the caper unfold like some scene in a Carry On film, Ryan settled back, smiling at the spectacle. After several drunken throws, Freckleface received the underwear and Chrissy lunged for her. With no avenue available to pass them beyond the looming girl, she lobbed the knickers out the window. They landed in Ryan's lap, half across his deflating bulge. Chrissy yelled, "Hey! Gimme those back."

He looked down at them. Warm. With a wet spot glistening, tempting his dark side. If he couldn't have the women for real, her underwear would be a fucking perfect consolation. He shook his head. "Finders keepers."

"No fair!"

"Way fair. I bet you won't need them tonight anyway. Go and let off steam without them. You'll have way more fun. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

She faltered. "Are you?"

Ryan grinned. "No."

Five car lengths separated him from the next vehicle. Smiling and waving out the window, he hit the accelerator, leaving the party and the pantyless bride-to-be behind.

At the next pause in traffic, he reached down to touch the sticky oval in her panties, cock stirring against the restrictive jeans, even so soon after release. He estimated how long it'd take to reach the hotel, check in and settle into the room; maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. Half hour tops. By then he'd be ready again, raring to go, with time to kill before he hit the bar. He'd take his sweet time over himself, teasing, building, edging towards a second orgasm, using the scent and tacky residue from the woman's underwear to fuel his debauched thoughts of what he'd have done if he'd been on board the minibus. How he'd have taken them all, one by one, lined up on the bench, arses out as he licked and fucked them in turn. Wet pink pussies, dirty tight butts and hot slurping mouths all his for the taking, in any order. He'd finish off by jumping into the front passenger seat and fingering the driver until she could barely keep the van between the white lines on the road.

By the time they'd have reached Newquay he was confident the girls wouldn't want to go out clubbing, preferring to hole up in their hotel and continue to use Ryan as their own sex toy. And like a chivalrous gent, he'd let them sit on his face, his cock, and his fingers for as long as they needed. Let them take him to places he'd never been. A sprawling orgy of limbs, fuelled into performing acts they would never have considered sober. Girls on girls, a blur of soft skin, tongues, lips, teeth, fingers, and wet, wet cunts surrounding him while he pulled hair and spanked bubble butts, pinching, squeezing and biting doughy white tits and cerise nipples. Watching them eat one another, hair plastered to damp skin, their tongues and faces slick with juice, would make him harder than a conversation about contraception with the Pope. Then he'd fill hole after wanton hole with his unrelenting rigidity as their cries filled the room.

He bunched up the material that had been pressed against Christina's sticky pussy and inhaled her musky release, more blood surging into his groin, senses absorbing her heavenly pheromones. The sight of her masturbation session was burned in his mind, and he was confident the look of want across her freckled friend would haunt his fantasies for some time.

Tossing the flimsy garment into the passenger seat, he flicked the indicator and pulled across the last remaining chevrons, avoiding debris from the crash, accelerating off the motorway towards his hotel, destination one-handed pleasure.