He wants to see how you move

The white teddy fits you like a snug, one-piece bathing suit made of translucent lace. Your naughty bits are tantalizingly visible beneath the shear material, the soft pile of your breasts nearly overflows the cups and the thong back disappears between your firm cheeks. The stockings and high heels finish the picture, but you don't feel sexy. You feel dirty. Like the lilly-white lace is garbage and the perfume you mist on your neck and over your breasts is the smell of decay. There's no glamour to this, you think, as you turn off the bathroom light and walk back into the motel room.

Gerry is sitting on the cheap motel chair, his track pants and underwear down around his ankles. His cock, with its big, fuzzy balls, reminds you of a broccoli stalk. He grips it tightly in his withered hand and squeezes it, turning the head purple, eyes bulging with lust as you emerge from the bathroom.

"Gorgeous!" He strokes himself as you approach. "Turn around and let me see the back. Yeah, that's real nice. Great ass. You 18? Yeah, you said you were. Bend over and let me see it. Mmmmmm."

You feel sick and you don't want to look at him. You switch on the TV and put it in on a channel playing music and you begin to dance. You're athletic and a good dancer, but you're not skilled in this sort of dancing. Gerry keeps telling you to show him your ass or "push your tits together!" He finally demands you naked and you peel off the teddy, leaving the stockings and high heels, trying not to look at his cock or his leering face. You can hear the slap of his flesh as he jerks himself to the sight of your body.

"Let me see that pussy. Ohhh yeah, turn around and keep your legs together. Bend over real low. Lower. Touch the floor almost. That looks tight girl. You getting wet?"

"Mmmm," you answer, which he takes to mean "yes."

"Come closer baby. Let me feel you."

You dance closer to him and you can smell him now. The smell of ointments and stale piss and sweat and cigarettes. You shiver as his hand runs roughly over your thigh and he sinks his fingers into the firm meat of your ass. He squeezes and you hear him furiously pounding his prick.

"Yess," he groans and makes a weird gasping sound, almost like a child crying. His fingernails dig painful crescents into your soft assflesh as he clenches your cheek in his talon-like hand. He finally grunts and releases you.

"Goddamn," he pants. "Look at what you did."

You turn and are confronted with the disgusting sight of what looks like a cup of semen dumped onto the chair between Gerry's thighs, all over his pubic hair, pooling in the folds of his gigantic ballsack and oozing from his shrinking cock. He holds up his hand and spreads his fingers and white, gooey strands connect one finger to the next. He holds his filthy fingers out to you and you get a revolting, musky whiff of his semen.

"Big load," he says. "Usually don't cum that big the first time, but you are hot with a capital H. Well, guess you'd better clean me up so we can go again."

The idea of cleaning up Gerry disgusts you beyond words, but you reach for the packet of wet wipes in your purse.

"That ain't what I mean," laughs Gerry. He thrusts his cummy hand at your face. "Clean it all up."

He wants you to lick up his filthy cum. The thought makes you heave with disgust. Then you remember Sammy's threat and look at Gerry, the old man is grinning, his wet tongue running around his lips in anticipation.