Motorway Stories

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...