Sala’s Vibrator

Sala’s Vibrator
Literary Fiction
by Lord Malinov

I met Sala in Baltimore at a friend’s wedding. She was dating my weed connection and the consistent periodic communication that a weed source implies meant I knew a great deal about her before we actually met. She was almost pretty, blonde and optimistically positive, using excitement as her normal path to getting her way. We went back to their place after the wedding, smoked big bowls of pot, grooved to the Chili Peppers and left with promises to do it again soon.

Her relationship with my dealer soon ended; apparently he had no interest in sex and that proved incompatible with Sala’s rampantly blossoming sexuality. Her big breasts constantly swayed into view from loose décolletages, her big bum filled out her thin worn and holey jeans. I would have lost contact with her in the breakup but in the meantime she became close to another friend of mine, not as a girlfriend but as a pimp, setting him (and his big cock) up with her panoply of female friends.

But other than sharing drugs, music and some dirty talk, my relationship with Sala remained fairly distant and given the distance from southern northern Virginia and Baltimore, it seemed inevitable that our friendship would have fizzled out.

When I left Virginia for Texas, I had a going-away orgy with all my naughtiest friends. Sala was there because my large dicked friend was there. I don’t know what she was expecting but when she realized it was an orgy, she went wide-eyed and happy. I’ve rarely seen anyone enjoy an orgy so much. She had a good time.

About a year after I moved to Dallas, I received a phone call from Sala; she was originally from Dallas, she told me, something I’d never known before, her entire family was here and she was moving back. She didn’t want to live in her parents trailer home, so she asked if she could move into my guest room until she was situated. I agreed, thinking it might be fun.

Sala and I were never lovers; we shared a few strokes in group situations but never just one on one. After about a week, she confessed that she needed a ride downtown. Her best vibrator had broken and she needed to replace it soon, or things would get messy. I drove her to the biggest sex shop in town and waited as she sifted through the artificial electrified dongs. She finally found the one that was just right and we started the long drive home.

“I’ve been dying,” she said as I merged onto the highway and she tore away the vibrator’s packaging. A slender purple penis emerged from the cardboard and plastic. Twisting the bottom, buzzing filled the finite car space and Sala smiled salaciously. “Almost two weeks.”

“Wow,” I said as Sala stripped off her pants and put her bare feet on the dashboard. The buzzing was muffled as she slipped the faux dong deep into her snatch.

“Fuck yeah,” she said. “This will work.” Then she looked over at me, cocked her head slightly and said, “Sorry, you don’t mind do you?”

I assured her that I was totally comfortable with a woman masturbating in my passenger seat, as though it happened all the time. Which wasn’t far from the truth.

“Okay, but don’t drive by any trucks.” I understood that the high vantage point of a trucker would give him a serious view of her naughty bits being fucked royally purple.

I drove and drove while she teased her clit and fucked her cunt. I think a finger slipped into her ass just before she began to cum and cum and cum again. Buzz. Squeal. Sigh. Buzz. Squeal. Sigh. She kept on and on as traffic began to thicken, to congeal, to slow to a dull crawl. Sala kept her eyes closed as she pushed the vibrator deep into her dripping wet pink spread pussy, pulling it out, rubbing her clitoris, toying with her labia.

“BLAAAAT” went the horn of big rig. Sala opened her eyes and looked up to see the lusty gaze of a severely appreciative and horny truck driver. Sala withdrew the vibrator, dropped her feet and covered her muff.

“I told you to stay away from trucks,” she said, both annoyed and amused. She’s more of an exhibitionist than she let on.

“I tried,” I said, “but once we got into traffic, I don’t have any control.”

“Well, all right. Good vibrator.”

“Looked good to me. And I’ll be glad to take you downtown anytime.”

I did, but that’s another story.

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, cannabis, fiction, literature, personal, reading, short stories, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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