Of course, but not the ride he'd like to give. Not yet.

Your mind turns over this latest development and schemes. Could you use them somehow? Either to **** Sue, or maybe even just to get them to pay.

"Sure boys, where do I sit my ass?"

"I know where you can sit it," one them predictably says, followed by laughter.

"Better straddle the stick if you think you can handle it," Craig says, grinning cockily at you. Somehow you don't feel alarmed by his attention, and feel far less leery of sitting next to him than sitting on the lap of the creep in the back.

"Sure can. I've never met a stick I couldn't handle," you say with a saucy wink, and sling a long tan leg over the side of the convertible's passenger door.

"I'd let you handle mine!" the creep in back says with a laugh, joined shortly by the other three in back.

"That twig? I like 'em meatier," you counter. The second guy in the front of the car puts his hands on your butt, ostensibly to steady you, but you feel numerous fingers penetrating the holes of your tight jean shorts.

You decide not to protest since he hasn't done anything else to make you dislike him, and even stop to turn toward the guys in the back to sneer at the ringleader back there.

Wriggling your butt, completely oblivious to the fact that it enlarges the holes the fingers have penetrated, you smirk back at him and add, "Besides, I don't handle them, I have much better places to put them."

You cast a wink at Craig, then decide to grace the guy under you with a smile. He blinks up at you as if dazed, but flashes a quick one in return.

'Cute,' you find yourself thinking, which stuns you for a moment.

"How's the view?" you ask him, your voice sounding a little husky.

He gulps and says, "Best I've ever seen," earning him a shake of the booty and a smile.

Not being able to see your own butt you're oblivious to the fact that the has two or more fingers in various holes. When you move toward the center of the car he refuses to relinquish his grip right away, as if he could pull you back to him.

What were once discreet rips showing a hint of tanned buttcheek have become gaping tears showing off swathes of flesh, including one that comes dangerously close to showing something more intimate. The tugging of his hands has also undone the snap at the front of your old jean shorts and tugged the zipper down half an inch.

"Damn those are fine tits," Craig says amiably, ogling your chest as you ease yourself down behind the stick-shift. You laugh to let him know it's okay even though you don't find it funny.

"The best," you agree with a nod, and watch as he reaches out for the stick. He jerks the car into gear, leaving one hand on the stick.

You're no expert at driving, let alone using a stick, but you can't help but feel like he's trying to draw the trip out and maximize the number of shifts he has to make. Everytime he moves the stick his bare arm rubs against your naked thigh. He seems to keep shifting in such a way that he has to pull the stick toward you, too, which makes the stick bump into your crotch and his hand 'slip' onto your lower stomach each time.

You feel so stimulated by the situation and the crotch-bumping that you don't notice his fingers nudging the zipper of your shorts down each of the many times her touches you.

After awhile you look around, wondering how far from the mall you are.