Homewrecker
- 4 years ago
- 29
- 0
Wrecker free porn video
CAT (ghostgirl)
It had been a long week, but midterms were a fading memory and the last minutes of her Friday evening shift at her uncle's tow yard and garage were ticking by, slowly. She saved the accounting spreadsheet and shut down the computer, then laced her fingers and stretched her arms up and back over her deep copper ponytail, arching her back as her cropped t-shirt slid up over creamy skin, high enough to confirm her disdain for bras.
The ancient rolling office chair creaked and threatened to topple her over backward, but the stretch felt so good after hours of sitting and staring at glowing plasma numbers, cooking Uncle Red's books. Her slim, lithe body wasn't made for stillness; every inch from her well-toned gymnast's calves and thighs, small round ass, smooth flat belly and high, tight little breasts, to her pretty green-eyed face, just a shade too intelligent and feral to be beautiful, gave the impression of heat and motion, barely contained. The fiery hair topping it all off made her a dancing flame even at rest.
Jake stuck his head in the door, flashing a smile she recognized all too well. She relaxed her arch and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him from under a thick fringe of dark lashes.
"Cat, take one last call for me? I have a really hot girl waiting impatiently." He swung the door a little wider and curled his torso around it, eyeing her cautiously.
She narrowed her eyes at him, her face tightening into a scowl. "And I give a fuck...because?" She'd been dateless for a month, since Zane had dumped her for that treehugging, doe-eyed blonde Kirstie.
"C'mon, sis, don't be a bitter little puss." His smile was gentle; he knew how betrayed she'd felt, how hurt. He had roused her from her self-pity by amusing her with revenge fantasies, deliciously cruel little scenarios that all featured the soft, sweet, and completely blameless Kirstie. Soon he and she were sharing, the imaginary torments escalating in viciousness as they worked through a twelve pack, giggling drunkenly and shouting addenda from the bathroom to one another as they took turns pissing the beer mostly into the toilet.
She smoothed her face impassive and uncrossed her arms, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk, steepled fingers to her lips, her brows arched over emerald eyes. Careful not to let her brother know she'd already decided she owed him one.
"It's an easy run, Cat, just fix a flat, no tow." He noted her non-reaction to this, rolled his eyes, and reached into his jumpsuit pocket, withdrawing a set of keys which he dangled enticingly in front of her face. "You can take the Snatch..."
Her arm shot over the desk and ripped the keys from his grasp as a triumphant smile spread over her face. The Snatch was her uncle's repo rig, the boom and wheel-lift integrated and operated from inside the cab for a quick, stealthy vehicle grab. "Pure pussy," the wreckers called the self-loader, light-weight and built for speed. Cat never got to drive it; she only knew how to operate it in theory. But she knew about the thick wooden baseball bat under the seat and the small pistol in the glove compartment because her brother and uncle both thought she should know where all the weapons were when she worked alone in the garage office after hours.
She waved him away with the back of one hand, clutching the keys tightly in the other as she rose.
"Silver Prius at the rest stop, interstate west," he said, chuckling as she slid past him. "Don't forget to gas up."
***
A bloated yellow harvest moon was already hanging over the eastern foothills as she pulled up beside the Prius, the only vehicle in the deserted parking lot at the backside of the rest stop, behind a pair of cinderblock restrooms. A girl in a fuzzy pink sleeveless sweater and very short black denim skirt sat on the curb near the rear bumper, her shapely brown thighs and satiny knees pressed tightly together. Sunny butter-blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, obscuring her face. Cat peered through the passenger window at her, biting her lower lip.
Kirstie.
She eased the Snatch up to the curb in front of the Prius and backed a few feet, then popped the stick into neutral and set the parking brake. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel; it took her a full minute to turn the ignition off.
She grabbed the lug wrench as she hopped out, letting the door slam behind her, and walked up to the blonde, now standing at the right rear bumper. Kirstie looked up as she heard the truck door and fixed huge brown puppy eyes on Cat, though her smile of relieved recognition quickly faded as she caught the redhead's expression. With a clang that made Kirstie start, Cat dropped the wrench in front of the flat tire and turned on her heel, back to the truck for the jack.
***
Cat crouched on the curb and sullenly went to work. It wasn't until she was loosening the first nut that she spoke her first words to Kirstie, without looking up.
"Get your spare."
Kirstie opened the empty trunk and stood peering into it, arms crossed under her ample pink-fuzzed tits, rounded and bouncy like the rest of her. Cat cast her a couple of sidelong glances, more patently disgusted by the second at her fluffy blonde defenselessness. She sighed heavily, dropped the nut into the upturned hubcap next to her, scrambled to her feet, lug wrench still in hand, and went to join Kirstie under the open hatch. After a long, mocking minute, Cat reached in, pried up the carpeted floor, and stared down at the donut in silence.
"This is it?" She turned to fix Kirstie with savage green eyes. "This is all you have?"
Kirstie nodded. "I didn't even know I had that," she murmured quietly.
Cat closed her eyes and drew a long breath. When she opened them, Kirstie was still there, with her big brown heartbreakingly luminous eyes, and so was her flat tire and her little black rubber balloon that wouldn't get her stupid politically correct car even a mile closer to home at freeway speeds. Cat raised her empty hand in a gesture of frustration, preparing to launch into an explanation. Her eye snagged on a wide black grease stain in her own palm. She froze, mouth open...relaxed by degrees...and smiled. Slowly, deliberately, Cat reached out and wiped her greasy paw on blondie's left breast, smearing it with oily dark smudges, giving it a hard little squeeze as an afterthought, watching the girl’s face.
"Wow," she purred. "Your sweater is really soft. What is it, cashmere or something?"
Kirstie stood, stunned, for at least 20 seconds before she whispered, "Angora..."
"AnGORah," Cat repeated. She canted her head, studying Kirstie. "What, doesn't your vegan compassion extend to yaks or goats or long-haired possums or whatever the fuck they make angora out of?"
"They're rabbits, and they aren't harmed," Kirstie was infuriatingly earnest. "They aren't even sheared, just combed. This sweater is a charity thing. The money goes to Rosco Rabbit Rescue."
Cat stared at her through a haze of red that quickly darkened into black. This was who Zane had dumped her for? A blonde bubblebrain who "rescued" bunnies?
Kirstie continued, "I'm sorry for all this trouble, Cathy. I tried to call Zane to come and get me, but my cell kept dropping it. If it hadn't been for that nice trucker who promised to call it in, I'd be totally stranded. I should have caught a ride back with him and left my car. He did offer, but I didn't think Zane would be comfortable with it..."
Her eyes locked on Kirstie's, Cat's arm lashed out and drove the lug wrench through the rear passenger window.
***
Cat tore the wrench from the window, bringing with it a shower of safety-glass pellets that rained over her boots and Kirstie's nearly-bare, sandaled feet. Methodically, she strolled around the Prius, knocking out each window and leaving big, ugly dents in the side panels. She knew she ought to feel scared...no, appalled at her loss of control and looming consequences; she felt...great. Better than great. Energized, buzzed, on top of the world.
She felt wet.
She knocked out both headlights and looked in Kirstie's direction, half-expecting to spot her in the distance, scampering down the shoulder of the interstate, frantically trying to flag down a state trooper.
Kirstie wasn't scampering; she wasn't even standing. She was sitting in the middle of the cement walkway, tanned legs sequined with random safety glass pellets and crossed in full lotus, miniskirt hiked to her hips, modesty abandoned. Her palms were upturned on her knees, forefingers and thumbs pressed together. Her eyes were closed.
Cat loaded the wrench and jack, turned the ignition, and hitched the Prius in one try. She left the idling truck in neutral and climbed back out, locking a pair of blinking amber safety lights to the rear bumper before walking slowly over to the meditating girl.
The redhead hunkered down on her heels in front of the blonde and watched her for a few moments. Then Cat reached out and slapped Kirstie's face, hard.
Kirstie swayed backward from the waist under the blow, her cornsilk hair swirling around the red handprint materializing on her cheek. Her eyes remained tightly shut, squeezing out tears that glittered under the parking lot phos lamps.
Cat stared, spellbound. Her blood fizzed maddeningly in her veins; she was unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think. Her nipples tightened under her t-shirt. Her green eyes, pupils dilated, drifted down between Kirstie's spread thighs. Her hand, fingers poised for a cruel pinch, followed the same track....hovered, trembling, less than a millimeter from Kirstie's pink thong...but then switched directions...slowly, slowly floated upward to the fading red mark on Kirstie's face, as Cat's other hand moved to her own waistband, in the small of her back.
"Kirstie, open your eyes, princess." Cat stroked the blonde's cheek, feather-light, with her fingertips. Kirstie's lids fluttered, opened; she blinked several times, finally focusing her huge brown eyes on the barrel of the pistol, briefly, before Cat pressed it to her forehead, wrapping a thick hank of golden hair tightly around her other fist.
Cat leaned in and whispered huskily in her ear, "Your chariot awaits."
PITCH (VVV)
He drove at the speed limit in the right hand lane of the interstate, anxious to go nowhere, going at all only for the hunt. The 14 foot unmarked white Chevy box truck was neither old nor new. It looked like a hundred others hauling goods or a tradesman’s equipment along the highway, but Pitch was driving this one and he was going nowhere in particular.
If any other drivers had cared to observe they might have seen how Pitch looked at back at them. Male drivers would have noticed a glance, at best. Most female drivers the same. But young, pretty women, behind the wheels of their cars alone, might have noted somewhat more attention paid to them as Pitch looked down from his perch above.
Had those other drivers looked back at his face they would have been deceived. The short curly brown hair on his head was not his, nor was the wide nose and cleft chin. Altering his appearance was a necessity, Pitch had learned. Seeing one’s sketch in the newspaper following a misunderstanding about “consent” can shock a young man and force him into an inconvenient move a thousand miles away from his home even though family and friends never did connect that sweet mannered man they knew with that sketch.
The box of the truck behind him hauled no goods, and if he was a tradesman the equipment he carried betrayed and odd and disfavored trade. Stored or carefully arranged and fixed to the floor were all the things he might need to entertain a female guest in considerable discomfort. This mobile room – Pitch might even call it a “chamber” of sorts, but then only to himself or to the rare guest of the box’s unusual amenities – lacked a guest at the moment.
Pitch saw the rising moon. The harvest moon, he thought, his favorite other than the hunter’s moon, of course. Either way, they boded well for his quest tonight, which was taking nature’s bounty.
He turned off to drive through the rest area as a matter of course. He’d passed through in past hunts and knew this place was unattended at night and had no security cameras. It was quiet this night, the traffic towards the city not in need of these accommodations, drivers and passengers anxious to get to their restaurants and clubs. Pitch saw two unpromising vehicles in front on the highway side: a minivan with child seats and a beaten up Ford pickup with decals on the rear window showing the silhouette of a stripper bending over. Pitch hauled his truck into a U-turn and drove around the rear of the unlovely cinderblock restroom building.
Pitch knew the moment he saw the blonde standing next to her Prius looking at her cell phone. Smooth, carefully tanned legs rose into soft, but still firm thighs of which a generous amount was displayed by the short black denim skirt that covered her womanly hips. The girl’s waist was narrow; her big tits covered by a pink, fuzzy sleeveless sweater. By the time Pitch’s eyes had come back up to her face she was still looking at her cell phone and not moving, just standing pigeon toed. The waves of blonde hair floating around her sweet, round, clueless face fluttered ever so slightly with the gentle breeze. And still she looked at her phone but did not move.
He drove slowly closer. As Pitch pulled in next to her car the girl still looked at her phone, now finally pressing a button. The man was struck by her large, brown eyes.
Pitch knew the type and loved it. She exercised enough to keep her pulchritude riding high now, at twenty, but would be a total mess by thirty when life had become not so easy for her anymore when things began to settle and the boys had stopped looking and doing and buying. Not that this bothered Pitch, of course, because he would be plucking this delicious fruit at its ripened peak. Tonight.
When he saw that the car’s right rear tire was flat Pitch smiled.
His prey now found, Pitch moved into his approach. Sliding down from the truck he moved towards the beautiful girl, walking stiffly, back straight.
“Hi, miss,” Pitch started. “Flat tire?”
He marveled how she hadn’t even looked up as he had pulled the truck up next to her.
“Um, yes? Can you help me?” she asked. “My cell phone keeps dropping my calls when I call my boyfriend. I can’t get anyone.”
To the girl Pitch appeared to be a little over six feet tall with brown curly hair and a coarse face. Around forty, he wore the blue shirt and pants of an electrician or plumber.
“Sure, I’ll try. I’m Bill,” Pitch said.
“Uh, I’m Kirstie,” the blonde said.
Pitch walked closer to Kirstie, moving just by her in order to see the flat tire. She smelled great.
“Flat, alright,” Pitch said. “I’d change it for you, but I’ve got this back problem,” Pitch said, palms of his hands pressed against the small of his back. Then he turned his palms up.
“Can I use your cell?” Kirstie asked.
“You could… but it looks like I don’t have service here either,” Pitch said as he pulled it out of the holder and examined the full service bars.
Pitch pointed to the restroom structure. “And I can see that payphone is no good.”
Kirstie turned and looked at the building where the public telephone’s handset was missing. Pitch stared at down at Kirstie’s ass, barely covered by that skirt. For just a moment his mind swam with the things he wanted to do to that juicy young scoop of female flesh. The breeze blew her scent into his nostrils again.
The girl was almost his.
“Well,” he said, “I’m sure a trooper will be through here within an hour. You won’t have long to wait for some help.”
Kirstie looked at him. Her sweet face and big brown eyes almost glowed with helplessness.
It couldn’t be this easy, Pitch thought, but tried.
“C’mon, Kirstie, let me give you a ride to the next exit. I’ve been through before. There’s a garage there. I’m sure they can help you.”
The girl shifted one sandal, looked at Pitch’s truck, then said, “That’s nice of you, Bill, but my boyfriend would tell me I shouldn’t.”
“Of course,” Pitch said as he walked to the cab of his truck to get the flex cuffs and duct tape he had prepared for a snatch. “I understand. You can’t be too careful.”
Leaning into the cab of the truck the man picked up his restraints. Just the thought of capturing this girl had started his heart beating a little faster – given him a little wood, even – but this was a place he had been before. He was calm and prepared.
Pitch turned back towards Kirstie, now standing looking at her cell phone again. He held a clipboard in front of him. The flex cuffs and tape were on it. A stun gun was ready in his pocket.
“Kirstie, I’ll just write down your plate number and call that garage when I get a cell signal. How about that?” Pitch said as he moved closer to the girl.
The wind kicked up a little, and Pitch watched it blowing Kirstie’s hair and the fuzz covering those tender D cups he would soon get his hands on.
“Thank you very much,” Kirstie said and smiled for the first time. “I knew someone would help.”
He was just a few feet away from Kirstie when Pitch saw another minivan pulling off the highway. He stopped, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and wrote down the plate number for the Prius even as he glanced at the minivan.
Pitch cursed under his breath when the Caravan stayed right and headed for a parking space behind the restrooms. A few young teens tumbled out of the van and headed for the bathroom, but their mother stayed behind the wheel staring at nothing.
“Got it,” Pitch said and went back to his truck. Up in the seat with the truck’s door still open, Pitch took a long look at the blonde while she looked at her phone again.
“Good luck, Kirstie.”
The girl looked up at Pitch.
“Thank you!” she called.
Pitch couldn’t help watching her for as long as he could in his side view mirror as he made his way to the highway. He was going to get this bitch.
Now driving fast, Pitch considered the angles. He would swing around east at the next exit, reverse again to come back west then hang back from the rest area until he could see it was clear. But what if it never was?
As Pitch got off at the exit he saw that his recollection was correct. A place called Red’s Garage and Tow sat next to the exit. He pulled out his pay-as-you-go cell phone, purchased for cash. He called information and got the number. A man answered Pitch’s call for a wrecker, though plainly he was not happy about it.
By now Pitch was back on headed east. If little Kirstie was never alone, Pitch now had a back up plan. Follow her and the tow to some spot and moment more opportune for abduction. He drove quickly, determined not to lose this prize.
This time he pulled off on the shoulder within sight of the rest area. He took out a pair of binoculars and found he could see Kirstie now sitting next to her car. The rest area was otherwise empty. Pitch had only just put the glasses down and put the truck in drive when a wrecker flew past him in the right lane. “Red’s Garage and Tow,” was painted on the side in white lettering on a vehicle that was otherwise painted all red. It pulled into the rest area.
Fuck, Pitch thought. He had driven fast, but this wrecker driver must have been doing a hundred to get there. He picked up the binoculars and was surprised at the hot little redhead who got out of the truck. She was a slender thing wearing low riding jeans and a high riding shirt that showed off a flat belly. Her tits were smallish but her trim thighs let out into a surprisingly prominent round ass.
Pitch watched her coppery pony tail bounce and swing as this girl moved energetically around the truck and the Prius. The tow truck driver was talking with Kirstie and must have gotten angry because she smashed the car’s window with a tire iron. Pitch hoped he was about to witness a cat fight, but saw instead Kirstie collapse onto the ground into a lotus position while the tow driver smashed all of the glass on the Prius. Then she lifted the car onto the wrecker.
When the driver had finished with the car she came back to Kirstie. Pitch’s cock pulsed when he saw the redhead slap the blonde across the face then lean in. Pitch recognized the moment. The redhead was taking the blonde. His blonde.
A moment later Pitch’s belief was confirmed. The tow driver had pulled out a pistol and seized Kirstie by the hair. She dragged the blonde up onto her feet and herded the girl over to the tow truck, shoving her into the passenger side before she climbed into the driver’s side.
Pitch put his truck into gear again and prepared to follow. This hunt promised to be interesting.
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