20 comments/ 303648 views/ 153 favorites Car Show Slut By: Car Show Slut "OK girls, I think it's show time," Rick said. He was right. Within half an hour of the place opening, the crowd was starting to swell. Now or never, I thought to myself as I stood up and unbuttoned the coat. I couldn't help but notice that Paul, who hadn't said much to this point, took a keen interest in me as I slid the coat down over my shoulders to reveal my 'work uniform'. Kelly grabbed the team stickers and we positioned ourselves on either end of the race car. Before long I was handing out my first stickers. It was easy. Just stand there and wait for passers by. I even recalled some of the things I had learned in modeling classes all those years ago – how to stand, with one knee bent across in front of the other leg, toe pointed, to accentuate the curves of your body, your legs, and to make you look taller. "You're good at this!" Kelly said from across the other side of the bonnet as she watched my pose. "Thanks, I did a bit of modeling in another life – when I was much younger." "Show me how you do that," she said. For the next 10 minutes we practiced poses, and pretty soon she had the hang of it. Actually, it felt good. It felt, in a way, like I was up on stage, although the way some of the guys were looking at me was a little disconcerting. Still, it was an interesting exercise in the study of human social behavior, especially when a couple wandered by. There'd be a young man and his girl, the guy trying hard to conceal from his woman the fact that he was ogling the two sexy car show models; she with a blank look on her face, as though she was none the wiser. Did she know? Probably. The interesting thing was that she, like so many of the girls that had been brought along to this show by their men, actually looked in some ways sluttier than Kelly and I, with her tight hipster pants hanging almost obscenely low on her hips and tight top showing an enormous amount of cleavage. But guys that were by themselves, or there with other friends, they were free to look as long as they liked – and many did. It's funny what effect uniforms can have on people – for that's what, it occurred to me, I was wearing: a uniform, like any other work uniform. You see a policeman in uniform in the street and almost without thinking you start acting in a more restrained way than you would, say, a man wearing casual clothes. The uniform and all that it stands for is designed to elicit a particular reaction. And my uniform, such as it was, was designed to get a reaction, too. And that was to show off my sexual desirability, and that alone. I was not here for any other purpose than to give the boys a thrill. What my opinions about anything were, my business skills, education qualifications, whatever, were of no consequence here. My role was simply to be looked at by men. And that unstated fact gave them license to view me as an object of sexual desire. They could look me up and down, admiring me, lusting after me, in ways they never could get away with in a normal everyday environment. In this environment, it was perfectly socially acceptable for them to do so. Pondering this, I soon got over the fact that I was exposed in front of an endless parade of men checking me out. In fact, I was actually warming to the whole deal. And with my 'uniform', with the hat and rose glasses, I felt a sense of anonymity – no one was going to recognize me. And the license analogy, I thought to myself, wasn't a one-way street. They were licensed to look at me, just as I was licensed to look and act sexy, if I chose, without fear of unintended consequences. They could look as much as they liked, but not touch. The thought sent a little tingle down my spine. This might actually be a lot of fun... Well, there's only so much fun you can have when you're on your feet for three hours. I was enjoying myself, true, and I had a lot of fun interacting with the passers by, especially the shy ones. I'd pick the odd guy out and fix on him with a sexy, smoldering gaze just to get a reaction. And the reactions varied: some stared straight back, with a look in their eyes as though they were about to rape me; others would actually turn away in embarrassment at the overt sexuality of it all. But none of them ignored me. Just as I was starting to get a little bored Kelly decided it was break time. "Come on," she said, grabbing my hand. "Let's go and grab a sandwich." We strolled off together, still hand in hand, checking out some of the other stands as we went. The guys were checking us out too, no doubt with fantasies of lesbian car show models invading their thoughts. My instinctive reaction was to remove my hand from Kelly's – I was a just a kid the last time I walked hand-in-hand with another girl – but the sight of the two of us together like this made us the centre of attention, and that gave me a feeling of power when I saw the reactions we were getting from the men. I felt a sense of freedom that all these guys could look at me, an anonymous car show model, and think that we were a couple of car show lesbian sluts. I liked that. It was funny too, to see the looks from some of the other models. One girl, a blonde dressed in a tiny leather skirt with a series of gaping cutouts up the sides, eyed us up and down with that same lustful stare I'd seen in the guys. Others almost turned their noses up at us, as if to say: how dare you be so slutty, how dare you upstage us! One girl we passed was wearing a ridiculous black lycra jump suit with flames up the legs. She had enormous boobs, obviously fakes. She looked absurd. As we strolled on by, I glanced down at my own cleavage and had a little chuckle to myself: nothing plastic here – girl, you're 100 percent woman! It was just so very nice to hold Kelly's hand as we continued through the stands. I really liked her, and I was happy to be here helping her. Walking through the parades of men together with her, hand in hand, dressed so sexily as we were, standing out from the crowd like a pair of exotic princesses, it gave me a very warm feeling. I gave her hand a little squeeze and we glanced across at one another, grinning. This place was a zoo. Every stand we passed, it seemed, was pumping out trashy, booming dance music. It was loud and coming from all directions, so that it just blended together into a strange, awful cacophony. My ears were going to be ringing when I get home tonight, at this rate. As we headed for the food area we passed a stall featuring graffiti-style airbrush art demonstrations and offering fake spray-on tattoos at five bucks a piece. "Oh look!" said Kelly. "Let's get one." She pulled me by the hand and we wandered over to check out the designs. Kelly couldn't decide between a '50s-style sex siren caricature and a Playboy bunny tattoo. "Let's get both," she said. "Let's get matching tattoos!" I didn't really care for either of them, but at five dollars I could hardly object on the basis of price. I would just have to scrub them off when I got home. The grotty, bearded tattooed man led us behind a black curtain into the rear of the stall where we were to be 'tattooed'. He was wearing jeans and a faded blue singlet. He had tats all over his arms and his hairy shoulders. He looked like a biker. "OK girls, where do you want them." "Um, I don't know," Kelly said. "This one," he said, pointing to the bunny, "would look fine on your ass." "Um, OK," Kelly said. "And we'll put the other one here," she added, placing the stencil plate on the top of her cleavage. "Alright then," the gravel-voiced man said, "who's first?" Kelly went first. She handed him the '50s Siren stencil. "I want it right here," she said, pointing to her left boob. "Alright, lift up your top, darlin'." She paused for a moment, then in one swift movement pulled the singlet clean over her head, her generous boobs bouncing free under the surprised but intent gaze of the old guy. He placed the plate on the upper section of her breast, carefully lined it up and sprayed the ink across it. I was shocked. I couldn't believe that Kelly had so readily exposed herself, just like that. I started to panic. No way was I taking my top off for this lecherous old guy. I wouldn't do it. "Ok, now for other one," he said. I thought he meant me, but he was referring to the Playboy bunny destined to adorn Kelly's ass. He knelt down behind her and placed the plate across her left cheek. He fiddled around a bit until it was in position, and with a quick application of ink the job was done. "Darlin', leave your top off for a minute or two – gotta let the ink dry." Yeah right, I thought, as I felt the anxiety surge through my body as I realized I was up next. "OK, sweetheart," he said, turning to me. "Your turn. Top off." "I'm not, I'm not taking it off," I said firmly as I stretched the material down across my cleavage, hopefully enough for him to apply the ink without me having to remove the singlet. "Honey," he said, a hint of exasperation in his voice, "it won't work like that. I'll get ink all over your pretty little shirt. If you want it, top's gotta come off." Kelly was watching from the corner, still topless. She looked at me as if not knowing what to say. "Anne it's OK," she then said, "you don't have to..." It didn't bother me whether or not we had matching fake tattoos. I didn't really want to disappoint her, but I mostly thought: if Kelly could do it, why can't I? Most of all I didn't want to be seen weak in front of Kelly, or worse, a prude. I'm no prude, but I don't show my boobs to just anybody. I've never been to a topless beach, and I'm not even comfortable being naked in the women's changing room at the gym. "Girlie," said Mr Tattoo firmly, "make a decision. I've got a line of customers out there waiting." The look in his eye said it all. He was tired, it had already been a long day, and here he was wasting time with a car model – some silly 'girlie' - who came in to get a fake tattoo on her tit, but then wanted to debate whether to take her top off or not. What the hell, I thought: am I a car show slut for the day, or what? With that, I took a deep breath and reached down to grab the material of the bottom of my singlet. I pulled the top over my head and placed it on the table. Standing there, half naked in front of a putrid old man whose name I didn't even know, I felt the rush of cool air around my newly exposed boobs. Looking down at my topless figure, I hoped the old man wouldn't suspect anything else as the cause of my nipples standing proudly, almost obscenely, erect as they now were. I had to admit, being the centre of attention all day, it had been slowly but surely pressing my buttons, and pressing them hard. Oddly enough, he didn't look so tired now as he moved in closer, studying my boobs as he placed the stencil on my body close to where he'd done the one for Kelly. As he did, he glanced across at her topless form to check for positioning – and she proudly thrust her chest out so he could get a better idea of where it should go on me. "You girls have got the prettiest sets of titties I've seen all day," he said as he lined up the stencil on my boob." "Well thank you," I almost giggled, hardly believing such a silly utterance - just the thing you'd expect a car show model to say with her tits out getting a fake tat - had come from my own mouth. Meanwhile he had moved in closer to position the stencil. His rough, bearded face was now right up close to my chest, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my breast. My nipple bristled. Quite obviously it had nothing to do with the cold air this time. He placed the cold steel against my breast, holding it there with his hand. He hand was on my breast. He gently nudged it back and forth until it was in position, glancing back one more time to check out Kelly's boob. His outstretched thumb was right alongside my nipple, now utterly erect, and even aching. I felt a sense of shame boiling through my bones. Shame that I was almost naked in front of a disgusting tattoo artist who was virtually feeling me up; shame that my junior work colleague was there witnessing the spectacle. Shame that deep inside I was actually enjoying it. The more he fiddled with the stencil, my breast, the more it was turning me on, the more my pussy throbbed. Then his thumb gently flicked up so that now it was resting ever so lightly against my extended nipple as he held my breast firmly in place. He was holding my boob, touching my nipple, and I was letting him! It was obvious he was taking more time than he really needed to get the stencil in the right position. More time to fondle and admire my body. And I was doing nothing to stop him. Still lining up the plate, suddenly I felt his thumb begin to rub up and down the side of my nipple. His touch was like an electric shock. I almost gasped as his finger grazed lightly across the tip of my nipple. I almost bit my tongue, desperately trying to not to let him see the effect his touch was having on me. It felt like minutes, though it can't have been more than 10 or 15 seconds, but eventually he had the stencil in position. He sprayed the ink across my skin. I tingled to the sensation of the ink against my breast, and his finger still lightly rubbing my nipple. The ink applied, he removed his hand and placed the steel plate on the table. He turned back around to examine his handiwork. Then he put his hand back on my breast, as if to get a better look at the finished tattoo. His thumb was against my nipple again. This was way outside the bounds of what should have been normal practice in his job, but again I just stood there. I let him touch me. "Hmm, very nice," he said, looking at the black ink caricature. He studied my boob for a few more seconds. Then he began to move his hand away, only he slid it down slowly, until his thumb and forefinger clasped tight around my hard little nipple. Hard. Ohhhh. I let out an involuntary, muffled gasp as his grip tightened firmly. He would have heard it. He held me like that, firm, not too hard, for a few seconds and then released me. I rested back, mortified, dazed. "OK darlin', now for your ass." I quickly recovering my senses. I'd forgotten about the other tattoo. Kelly was still there in the corner, but in my shame I could not look at her. I stood up so he apply the other tattoo. He knelt down behind me. I felt his hand touch my inner thigh, high up, too high, barely an inch below my pussy, as he held my leg steady. I could feel his hot breath on my ass. I felt the cold steel of the stencil touch the skin of my ass cheek. With his other hand he continued to hold my inner thigh, firmly. I heard the hiss of the spray can as the image was branded onto my skin. He removed the plate, the hand on my inner thigh slowly running up and across my ass as he let me go. He let his fingers linger on my ass, squeezing me gently, for a second or two. My breathing had become short; I could feel the wetness between my legs. He was still on his knees behind me. I desperately worried that he might be able to smell my arousal. Then finally he got to his feet. "OK ladies, all done. That'll be 20, thank you." I paid the old pervert. I even thanked him. I pulled my top back over my head. "Look Anne," Kelly said, pointing to the mirror in the room. "Don't they look great?" We could see our reflections in the mirror, and the fake tats did look good. You could see the head of the cartoon girl poking out from the tops of our singlets, but her body was concealed underneath. The effect was quite striking, I had to admit. Looking in the mirror it was also plain to see that my nipples were poking out behind the singlet. Kelly's were not. Seeing myself like that only redoubled my humiliation. I grabbed Kelly's hand and hauled her outside. "Kelly," I said very firmly, my face only a few inches from hers. "Not a word of this at the office. Right?" She looked up at me with such sad eyes, almost as though she was going to cry. "Oh Anne," she whimpered, "of course not! You're helping me here and that means so much! I wouldn't ever say anything to anyone. I wouldn't dream of it!" She meant every word. I felt my heart melting. "Oh Kelly," I said, embracing her in a warm hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get heavy like that." I felt so close to her at that moment. Still embracing, we look into each other's eyes, smiling. I gave her a quick kiss. She kissed me back. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed a bunch of guys checking us out. No place to hide when you're the centre of attention at a car show, I thought. But more and more I was getting off on being looked at. I'll show them something. I turned to her and gave her a final quick kiss, just lips on lips, but for a few seconds more than one might expect from a simple, harmless kiss between two female friends. The guys virtually stopped in their tracks, mesmerized by this apparent and open display of lesbianism. If only they knew the truth. But they'd be jerking off later tonight to images in their minds of Kelly and I kissing, I thought to myself. And that thought gave me a warm feeling inside. Very warm. Hand in hand, we pair of newly tattooed car show girls left the airbrush stand and trundled off to get some food. It was good to rest up at the back of Rick's stand for a break while we got stuck into our burgers and cokes. By then the sponsor, Hank, had arrived. Rick introduced us. Hank would have been in his mid '50s, nicely presented though slightly balding, a man who had obviously done a lot of physical labor in his life. He was a tall, thick-set man and with a generous waistline. "How's it been so far girls?" Hank asked, his eyes brazenly feasting on my body as I stretched back in the fold up chair, sipping my coke. "It's been fun," I said, and it was no lie. Almost in spite of myself I was having a great time. Even this lecherous old guy ogling me wasn't bothering me. How could it after the tattoo experience? And anyway, this was the sponsor – the whole objective of this exercise, the purpose of my 'job', was to impress the sponsor. Soon we were back on our feet. Time had flown. It was mid afternoon now, and the crowds were beginning to dwindle a little. Pretty soon I began to get a little bored. Standing there, alongside the hood of the vehicle, I began to go over in my mind the experience with the tattoo guy. How could I have done that, I thought? In my normal life I never even meet ugly biker guys like that, would hardly give then the time of day in the street, let alone allow them to see me topless. And then fondle my boob and tweak my nipples! And with my junior work colleague watching! But whatever the shame and humiliation, I found myself wondering whether or not the old guy had a hard on when he was feeling up my boobs. I wondered... At work, my brain is in overtime almost the whole day. So it was an odd feeling for me to be doing a job (for this was a job) that required so little mental input. With little else to occupy my mind, my thoughts drifted inexorably towards sex. Looking down at the bright red bonnet of the car, I recalled the night I had steamy sex with my boyfriend at the time in the car park of the local mall. We'd been to a movie, and all through the film he'd been fondling my inner thighs. His adventurous fingers had me nicely warmed up by the time we left the cinema, and as we got to his car in the mostly-deserted car park at the top of the complex, he grabbed me and we kissed. "Fuck me now," I remember telling him, although I actually didn't really mean it. It was a kind of rhetorical joke, but he obviously took a yes to mean yes. With that he spun me around and pushed me across the hood of the car. He grabbed my skirt and roughly pulled it up. I felt his fingers slide under my panties. Quickly he yanked them down. His hand was rubbing my soaking pussy as he kissed and suckled my neck, my ears and face. Then I felt the thick head of his cock pressing against my lips, forcing them apart. I felt it drive through the pathetically small resistance my body offered, deep inside me in one hard powerful thrust. I felt so tiny under his solid, muscular build as he took me, his huge cock driving into me. It felt so, so good, and so bad! He was fucking me from behind, fucking me hard. I felt like a complete slut, my tits slamming hard against the hood as he banged in and out, my skirt around my waist and my panties down around my ankles. It was so wrong, so naughty, and I remember thinking as his cock pounded me: oh God, what if someone saw us? I prayed no one would come out of the elevator. No one did. Car Show Slut "Can I have one of those?" came the question that snapped me out of my saucy little daydream. A tall, fair-haired man of stood before. He was pointing at the stickers. I smiled at up him, and the devilish thought occurred to me: if only he knew what I was just thinking about! Actually, this guy was cute, different from most of the slackers that had come by during the day; tall and muscular, with a chiseled jaw and a wicked smile. His clothes were very smart casual, tailored shorts and an expensive looking short sleeve shirt. Very nice. I hadn't noticed at first, but there was another guy with him. He had a camera. "Hey, I'll take your photo," he said. The cute guy moved in close and put his arm around me, resting it on my hip, close to my ass. I wrapped my arm around him. I could feel the warmth of his body against mine. God, he even smelled sexy! "Hey, do a pose," said the photographer, referring to me. Alright, I thought. I arched my outer leg, model style, and pointed my toe to the ground, trying to look as sultry as I could. Turning my body toward him slightly, my tits pushing firmly into his broad, firm chest, I formed my lips into a pout and kissed him on the cheek. "Nice!" said the photographer. The guy turned his head towards me and spoke softly into my ear. "Honey, you're hot." I could feel his breath on my neck as he said the words. The sensation went straight to my loins. "Babe," he almost whispered into my ear. I thought I felt his tongue graze just for an instant across my ear as he spoke. My pussy throbbed. "I run the company that's got that electronics stand over there. I've got a corporate function on in a couple of weeks and I need models. Here's my card. Call me next week if you're interested." He handed me his card and I nodded. And then with a wave of his hand he was gone. I had hardly time to collect my thoughts when I was distracted by the commotion going on behind me. There was another photographer, this one wearing a silly looking orange vest, taking posed shots of Kelly. There she was, sitting on the trunk, legs spread, then lying down across it, camera flashing away. A crowd of punters gathered around watching the display. Once it was over the photographer came over to the front of the car. "Hi, I'm the official show photographer," he said. That'd explain why it says 'Official Photographer' on his vest, I mused to myself. "We're taking shots for the Girl of the Show competition. Do you want to be in it?" I hesitated at first. Then I thought, 'why not?' I am a car show model, after all. At least for today. "OK, what do you want me to do?" "Right, stand up against the door of the car. Give me a sexy look. Good." He flashed away. The crowd that had been watching Kelly now gathered round me. "OK, now lean across the fender." Rick's racer was a small car and sat quite low, so I had to bend over quite a way. "Rest your boobs across the hood. That's right. Very sexy!" He was shooting me from behind, and in this position my ass, stuck high in the air, felt very exposed. The centre of attention. And now lots of other guys were taking pictures. Pictures of my ass, my bare legs. I could hear the cameras going off behind me, rapid fire, like tiny little cannons. But the guy with the big camera was the one directing the action. "Beautiful, sweetheart. Now spread your legs a bit for me." Spread my legs. I could hardly believe that here was I, respectable corporate executive, bent over a car at a car show like a cheap slut, wearing almost nothing, and letting a crowd of guys check out my ass. But as the cacophony of camera clicks continued, I felt encouraged. These guys were lusting after nothing but my body. I was a car show slut. My whole reason for being here was to be looked at, lusted after. I was a car show slut. I opened my legs for them. I spread them wide. I was wet between the legs. The cameras clicked. I looked back over my shoulder and saw them, lust in their eyes, transfixed on my ass and legs. I blew them a kiss. I felt my nipples rub against the hard, cold hood. It felt invigorating: chilling, but burning. I found myself moving my torso ever so gently, back and forth, rubbing my nipples on the cold steel. "Oh yeah, baby!" I heard someone yell out from the crowd. My nipples tingled. I ground my boobs into the hood. Harder. I pushed down hard on the hood with my hands, clenching and unclenching my fists, as if trying to grab the smooth steel. Some of them were cheering now. My heart was beating fast. My audience began to seem distant as I began to lose myself in the feeling, a burning ache now building between my legs. My conscious mind seemed to be drifting away under the mounting sensations engulfing my body, but there was still enough self awareness to know that had to stop this now, and stop this now. Before it - before I - got completely out of control. I stopped, rested on the hood for a few seconds and then got up. I turned to face the crowd, all their eyes on me, and did a little mock curtsey. They cheered. The feeling was exhilarating. I felt like a supermodel, some kind of princess. I felt 10 feet tall. Hank had been watching the display. He came over. "Hey, let's get a shot of the two girls together," he said, grabbing Kelly by the arm. "OK," said the photographer. "How about with them in the car?" We climbed inside the small sedan. It was strange to be sitting in a car that was stripped off all the usual creature comforts – no carpets, no normal instrument panel or anything, just a small collection of gauges and every where bare steel panels and solid steel bars. It felt more like a small metal cocoon than the inside of a car. Kelly was in the driver's seat, I in the passenger's. The photographer positioned himself at Kelly's side of the vehicle. "OK girls, arms around one another," he said. "Now look this way." We huddled in close, looking across to the photographer, our hands around one another's waist, heads close together. "Sweetheart," said the photographer to Kelly, "just give her a little kiss." Kelly looked at me with an uncertain smile, as if asking whether we should do it. I looked her in the eyes. She looked so sweet. How could anyone not want to kiss her? "Yes," I nodded. She smiled and moved in close, and our lips met. We had kissed not an hour or so earlier, but that had been a loving, sisterly kiss. This was different. We were now kissing for an audience. Her lips on mine felt incredibly soft, delicate. I felt her soft hand fall gently onto the side of my face. I felt her lips opened ever so gently against mine. I felt the tip of her tongue slide across my lips. I heard the camera flashing, saw the crowd from the corner of my eye peering through the windscreen from across the hood of the car. More cameras flashed. A part of me wanted to stop. But inside our little steel cabin, I somehow felt safe, somehow removed from the chaos of the show. I felt emboldened. And Kelly's lips on mine felt just so exquisite. I could taste her lipstick. I could feel her tongue gently probing, sliding between my lips. I had never been kissed so tenderly! I didn't want it to end. I parted my lips a little and she slid her tongue inside until it met mine. Oh, it felt so, so delicious. I pushed harder against her lips, kissing her passionately, like a lover. And at that moment, I loved her. I felt the combined heat of our bodies embraced, her beautiful big boobs rubbing firmly against mine, her hard nipples against my own skin, her hand cradling my face. But then I felt her hand slide down off my cheek, so that it rested on my thigh. High up, close to my pussy. I felt the heat from her hand as she grabbed and lightly squeezed my inner thigh. The cameras clicked. The men were cheering. I felt her hand move, higher, till it slipped in between my legs. I let my legs fall open for her as she clasped her palm around my pussy. I could hardly believe what I was doing, what I was letting her do to me - but how wonderful it felt! Still we kissed. I let out a small moan as I felt her finger rub up and down my slit through the material of my little red hotpants. I let her touch me. I was wet. She could feel it. Oh God, she was rubbing my pussy and I was loving it! I felt Kelly let out a moan as her hand continued to play with me. I suddenly opened my eyes and noticed Hank standing at the front of the car, looking in, devouring us with his eyes. From where he stood, he would have seen everything. I gently pulled away from Kelly. "I think we better stop," I whispered. "Yes," I think so!" she giggled, and we both laughed. We climbed out of the car. "Girls, that was so hot!" said Hank. "That's just made my day!" Kelly giggled. "Why thank you sir," I said, putting on a mock southern belle accent, just for a laugh, just to ease the sexual tension in the air. I could hardly believe my composure after such an experience. Yet strangely, I felt no shame. I just felt, well, special. And that in itself shocked me. Here I was, tongue-kissing a girl in front of dozens of guys, and her feeling me up... and I'd never even been with a girl before! And being photographed doing it? Was I bisexual? Was Kelly bi? Yet even when kissing Kelly, any such thoughts and questions never entered my head. I didn't think of it as making out with a girl, but making out with someone whom I loved. But kissing her was so... just so sexy. Where was the guilt I was supposed to feel? It was odd. After that experience I'd have kissed her again in a moment (though maybe in less public circumstances) and yet the desire to do so wasn't burning up my soul. It didn't feel as though I'd crossed through into a different sexual realm. The more I thought about it, the more I kept going round in circles. And anyway, I told myself, a car show model's not mean to be a deep thinker. And at least for the next hour or so, a car show model, a car show slut as I was being more inclined to think of myself as, was what I was. Anne Johnson, Car Show Slut. The rest of the afternoon passed slowly as the crowds dwindled and some of the other stall holders began to pack up. Pretty soon we were also calling it a day. Paul set off and came back with a six pack of Bud. A cold beer after such a day – great idea, I thought. We sat around enjoying the beers, Rick talking to Paul about a stand at the other end of the show featuring one of his competitors. Apparently their stand was pretty impressive. "Yeah, but we had the best girls!" said Rick, looking across at Kelly and I. We were seated together, across from the guys. "You girls put on a great show today!" said Hank. "Especially when that photographer came by." Kelly and I grinned at each other. "Yeah, I guess we got a bit carried away trying to put on a good show," I said, while inwardly glowing at their approving words. And rather enjoying the fact that they were sitting there checking out us girls. As usual, the sponsor was virtually undressing us with his eyes. "Yeah," Kelly giggled. "We did, a little." Yep, sure got the punters in!" Rick said. It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't considered what Rick might have been feeling. Because in effect his girl had been cheating on him – with me. I hadn't thought about it like that. Then again, he's a guy: isn't it every guy's fantasy to see his girl with another girl? I shouldn't worry myself too much over his feelings. I just hope he doesn't think this is going to mean a three-some with Kelly and me, I chuckled to myself. Soon it was time to pack up. I pitched in to help the guys carry all the stand gear – banners, bunting, posters etc – back to Kelly's car. Paul would stay behind and collect the race car. I didn't bother putting on my coat. I was quite happy to stay in my car show uniform. I liked the way I looked. Even as we were carrying stuff out to the car I found myself actually keeping an eye out for any guy I might see checking out my body. This had been a good day. Some odd things had happened, some very odd things, but I had had a great time. I felt almost like a star. Hank was getting a lift back with us; he'd caught a cab out there and apparently lived not far from Rick and Kelly's place. We loaded up the trunk of Kelly's little hatch, but there was so much stuff we had to use some of the rear seat area. Rick got in the front with Kelly; I was in the back with Hank and all the gear. We still had a couple of beers left. Hank and I took one each. With all the stuff piled in the right side of the car, I was sitting in the centre, alongside Hank. I sat back and sipped my beer as Hank and Rick chatted about the racing season which was starting in a few weeks. "It was a good rollup, Rick," he said. "I can see there's plenty of interest in this, and you've put on a good show. Well done. And the girls," he said, now putting his hand on my thigh, as if to emphasise 'the girls', "looked magnificent. They did a great job." "Thanks Hank," Kelly and I replied almost in unison, as I gently but firmly removed his hand from my leg. About 30 seconds later his hand was back on my leg, gripping it firmly this time. I couldn't believe the nerve of him. I was outraged. Who did this guy think I was? Some cheap slut? I made to remove his hand again, but he gripped me even tighter. How dare he! But his hand was huge. My hand on his looked tiny, insignificant. He was a big man; he was too strong for me. I turned to give him 'the look' but he wouldn't return my gaze. He kept staring straight ahead. What a sleazebag! And then he started talking about the sponsorship, asking Rick what sort of exposure his company could expect and would the deal be worth his while? Quite obviously, in his mind, the way he was talking, I was part of making it 'worth his while'! This asshole was actually trying to tie me in with the deal – as if feeling me up was a sweetener! It was outrageous; this asshole... Now he was inching his hand higher... The fear and panic rose within me. I couldn't do anything. How could Hank do this? Then I suddenly realized - what Hank was thinking. About me. How he saw me. He's thinking I am a slut. That's what he is thinking. He knows nothing about me, except that I'm a car show model, and one who tongue kissed another model in a car, and allowed the girl to feel her up, and didn't mind who saw it. Why wouldn't he think I'm just a cheap slut? Who wouldn't? And if I made a fuss right now, chances were Rick's sponsorship would be off. And that's why I was here, to help seal the deal. As his hand grew inexorably closer to my pussy, I realized that I would just have to put up with him pawing at me at least until we got to Rick's place. Just another 20 minutes or so, and then I would be free. But now his hand reached across, his fat fingers reaching for between my legs. I boiled with shame and outrage, hoping, praying that Kelly or Rick didn't look over their shoulder. At least it was dark now, so this wasn't happening in broad daylight. There was nothing I could do. Soon enough his hand was between my legs. His hand was on my pussy. He had such big fingers. He slowly started stroking me, up and down. And I was wet. I had been that way most of the day, I shamefully had to admit to myself, and oh my God, this disgusting man was about to discover it for himself. His index finger was gently probing my slit now. Though I tried to will it otherwise, my lips were opening almost involuntarily under his surprisingly light touch. My breathing quickened against his attentions. Soon he found my opening. I felt his finger push against the fabric, probing ever so gently. Probing inside me. Ooh, and it felt good! I glanced down – what a slutty display; without even realizing I had spread my legs ever so slightly. I was aiding his access. Looking down across my near naked form, I watched in morbid fascination as he played with me. Then, as the lights from the street shone across the back seat of the moving car, I saw it - his finger was glistening. With my juices. Shame welled inside me. He knew. I felt humiliated, defeated. I thought for a moment I was going to cry. Then he took his hand away. He reached across and took my beer out of my left hand. Then he placed it in my right hand. What was going on, I thought? I soon found out. My now-free left hand he moved across to his crotch. Oh my God, he's going to put his cock in my hand! His fly was already undone. He slipped my hand inside his pants, forcing it down onto his cock. I felt it. He trapped my little hand in there with his huge paw. My fingers wrapped around the shaft. It was huge. We stayed like that for a minute or two. Then he took his hand away. But I left my hand where it was, wrapped around his huge member. Then he grabbed my wrist and removed my hand from his groin. I thought that might be the end of it, but I was wrong. With one swift movement, he reached into his pants. His enormous, fat cock burst free, standing proudly erect in the open air in back seat of the car – and all the while he continued chatting with Rick sitting directly in front of him. As he spoke, his right hand moved back to my leg, slowly and carefully snaking its way across until once again his big palm engulfed my wet pussy. Still he wouldn't look at me. And he made no effort to put my hand back onto his cock. I felt suddenly as though I'd reached a kind of cross road. He was expecting me to put my hand back. What if I didn't? The man would look foolish sitting in the back of a car with an exposed hard-on next to an attractive girl. But he'd pulled it out, not me. I had never seen a cock like it. Sitting in close proximity, it looked 10 inches long, but no doubt was something less than that. But it was massive. And so fat. I'd never seen anything more lewd in all my life. The tip was dripping precum. Just as I was wetting my panties. As his hand once more began to rub up and down on my outer lips, I felt the sensations in my loins building. He knew I was wet, and I felt ashamed that he knew, ashamed that he was taking such liberties with me and I was doing nothing about it. I was just getting wetter and wetter under his touch, his big thick fingers as the rubbed along my slit. We were still some way from home, now traveling along a suburban street. It was darker now, and as the car hummed along the light from the street lamps shone across the rear seat of the car at several-second intervals. His wet cock was shining against the intermittent light. I watched partly in fascination, partly in horror as a huge bead of precum forced its way out of the head, the shiny nectar then sliding slowly down the front of his cock. Like hot wax dripping down a burning candle stick. I felt the saliva building around my tongue. My mouth was watering. Meanwhile he had picked up the official magazine from the show and placed it on his knees, as if reading it, though I knew he wasn't. He had erected a visual barrier, so that if anyone looked across from the front of the car, they at least wouldn't immediately see his cock. Wouldn't see my hand sliding up and down on his cock. My hand on his big, fat, hard cock. That is what must happen now, I thought to myself, as I found flashing through my mind images of the cum shooting out of the head of this massive appendage. I must do it. I must seal the deal. I reached across, careful with my movements so that Kelly would not notice from the front seat, and slid my hand over the slick, shining head. There was so much lubrication there that it slid down effortlessly. Resting my palm now against the base, against his thick pubic hair, my hand felt tiny against this massive, powerful shaft. I paused for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling of his cock in my hand, how warm and hard it was, and then I began to stroke him; up and down, up and down.