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Pumping Station
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
A first effort at this genre . . .
Vernon Jackson didn't work at the gas station because he liked it; it was a
job and that was what he needed. All he wanted was some money and to be
left alone.
So he went to the station every night to work the 11 to 7 shift. It was
boring more than anything else, but he knew too many young men his age who
were is all kinds of trouble, or worse, dead or in jail, all because they
didn't keep away from temptation.
The nights were long, and August was not the best time of year in south
Georgia; the nighttime temperatures in the 90s and the humidity just as
high made it hard to relax and too difficult to do much of anything else.
He had been able to finish high school, a rarity in the poorly maintained
all-black school he had attended, but college was an impossibility. He was
wary of anything that represented change or making waves, no matter how
small.
He saw few customers most nights, but being close to the interstate meant
they still needed to be open 24 hours. Vernon's uncle owned the station,
and wouldn't hear of closing during those hours, even if Vernon only sold
one tank of gas.
As he looked out the window, he could see the twin beams of a car on the
off-ramp. He reluctantly straighted up to man the cash register, in case
this was a sale.
The car pulled into the station and stopped at the furthest pumps. He could
see a couple of heads emerge.
Two people rounded the pump island, a man and woman, both young. He was
about 6 feet tall, light build, had shoulder-length sandy brown hair, and
black tee-shirt with no sleeves, jean with no knees and boots. He looked
surly, bored, detached; Vernon couldn't tell what, but he was uneasy. She
was a few inches shorter, long blond hair, an hourglass figure in a
halter-tied shirt, cutoff shorts and no shoes. She looked friendlier, an
open face.
"Ten dollars unleaded," he said, passing the ten across the counter. Vernon
nodded.
"You want anything?" the man asked her as he slipped few crumpled bills
into her hand. "I'll get the gas."
In the light, Vernon found he couldn't keep his eyes off the girl. The
cutoff shorts were cut such that her cheeks hung out, and she she turned
around he saw the shirt she wore might have been lace for all the
concealment it offered. She had large round breasts, like halves of a
melon, with light brown nipples, and even a tan line showing how creamy
white her skin was. Her belly was flat and tight, with the button on the
shorts drooping a good 4 inches below her navel.
Suddenly he looked and noticed her looking at him with the slightest of
smiles on her face. She put a large soda bottle on the counter and pushed
across a dollar bill.
"Gets boring here, doesn't it?," she said. He nodded and handed her her change.
She took the drink and the change and walked out to the car, getting in as
her companion finished pumping the gas.
They drove off, leaving Vernon alone with his thoughts. He knew how
dangerous it was to stare as he had done, but he tried to tell himself
nothing would come of it. They were passing through and would have even
forgotten the name of the town by tomorrow.
He locked the front door, as his uncle instructed, and went to take a leak.
When he came back to unlock, the same car was pulling into the station
again. They didn't pull up to a pump but drove over by the air and water
service. Both got out and walked toward the station. He could go and
re-lock the door, but he decided to see what they wanted. Directions
perhaps.
They both walked in, him first and approached the counter.
"Can I help you?"
"Cheryl told me you looked at her pretty hard when she was in here," the
man said softly, looking straight into Vernon's eyes.
"I didn't realize, but if I did, I didn't mean nothing by it," Vernon stammered.
"Is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Should we teach him a lesson?" he called over his shoulder.
"We could," she replied, as Vernon's guts tightened and his scrotum
dwindled to the size of a pea.
"In the cage," said the man, pointing to the bulletproof enclosure where
Vernon usually spent the evening hours.
Vernon complied reluctantly, not knowing if the man had a gun or not. He
backed into the cage slowly, wondering what story his uncle would hear in
the morning and whether it would be from him or the police.
"Drop those drawers."
Vernon stared incredulously.
"Drop them!" came the second command. He complied without taking his eyes
off his captors.
"And the skivvies," he was ordered.
Vernon was worried now. What was this guy up to? What was this lesson going
to be?
"What do you think, Cheryl?"
The woman walked up and peeked in the cage.
"He'll do."
"Alright then."
Cheryl quickly pulled the knot out of the halter and unbuttoned her shorts,
stepping out of her clothes in what looked like one motion. Vernon had no
idea what was happening, but he was afraid his body was out of his control.
Her breasts was as he had imagined, though there was little left to imagine
, and her crotch was cropped and shaven to just a small swatch of hair in a
light brow tuft.
His cock started to stiffen, and he was still unclear what this lesson was.
Cheryl strode up to him, looking him in the eye the whole time. He felt a
hand grasp his cock firmly and quickly slide down the length of it,
slipping down his bush to cup his balls. He let out a gasp and felt his
knees tremble. She continued to look him in the eye while she dropped to
her knees and put both hands around his tool, milking it, pausing to cup
his balls and reach between his legs to cup his ass.
His cock was large, but in proportion to a 6-foot-6, 250 pound man. He
looked down at the dark brown shaft between her white hands and watched as
she took it into her mouth a good four inches, sucking her cheeks in as she
released it. Then she licked up and down all over it, from the menacing
purple head, all the way down the shaft to his black thatch, pulling on it
with her teeth as she slid back up to the head. After coating his cock with
her spit, she resumed sucking it. The pleasure was excruciating.
Vernon stood there like a statue, hands at his sides, unwilling to look up
at the other man, unbelieving this was happening to him. As her efforts
intensified, he found his hands in her hair, guiding her head back and
forth. Quickly she worked him to an orgasm, pulling her mouth way and
milking his cum onto the floor some 5 feet away.
She reached up and took his hands and pulled him down to his knees on the
floor. She was still kneeling, her breasts and almost bare crotch right in
front of him. She leaned forward and pressed her lips into his, gently,
then more enthusiastically as he gradually responded. His hands reached up
to cup her breasts, her hard nipples moving in his palms, while her hands
alternated between being wrapped around his shoulders to stroking his
now-stiffening organ. She pulled her body up against his, forcing him to
wrap his arms around her slender shoulders. As he did so, she slid her legs
up and over his hips, dropping onto his lap ready to accomodate his cock.
It was climbing up her belly as he leaned forward to tongue and nip at her
breasts. She threw her head back and he could hear her sharp gasps and
little moans, as he gently tortured her nipples. She reached down to take
his pulse and finding he was ready, she lifted herself up and slid onto his
shaft, with a gasp. She couldn't take it all at once, but gradually raised
herself up and down until it was all the way in. Vernon had never felt such
a tight fit. He was afraid he was going to explode any second. She had her
eyes closed, locked into her own rhythm, lifting herself all the way to the
head of his cock and slipping back down, then rocking herself quickly up
and down. Vernon wasn't sure if she was trying to tease him or what, so he
grabbed her under the arms and between rocking his hips back and forth and
lifting her light frame, he was able to control the rhythm. Cheryl didn't
seem to mind, as she kept her eyes shut and gasped with each downstroke. In
a matter of minutes, she had come three times, and Vernon was practically
tossing her in the air as he strove for an orgasm of his own. Finally he
was rewarded, and fell back on the floor, an exhausted Cheryl, collapsing
on top of him. He could feel the mixture of fluids seeping out and over his
balls.
"You about ready?" came a soft voice.
Vernon was so surprised he almost threw Cheryl to the floor. She slowly sat
up, and extricated herself from Vernon and dressed herself. Vernon,
remembering where he was, quickly gathered his things and slipped them on.
Not another word was exchanged, and the two of them walked out of the
station and drove off.
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