You can't turn down your crush

Evidently, you knowing you shouldn’t do something isn’t much of a roadblock for you these days.

Conflicted (but not enough to overcome the appeal of Jane’s trembling lips) you offer little resistance as your longtime high school crush urges you into the back seat of her new car.

The tomboy girl doesn't seem to know exactly what she's doing, but she pushes ahead anyway. Clumsily, she kisses you a few more times - her lips light and fleeting on your mouth, your cheeks, your chin. Then her hands trail hesitantly down to your athletic shorts. You let it happen.

You lean back on the seat, watching raptly, unsure whether to help out or simply enjoy the show.

Quicker than you expect, Jane yanks down your shorts and boxers in one go. Your full erection springs out, suddenly. The shock of air on your shaft makes you suck in a breath - you feel totally exposed, more so than you did with Pearl, where you knew what was happening and why.

Jane’s face develops into a shade so exquisitely red that you question if its like has ever been seen in the local solar system. Tentatively, she lays a freckled hand on the swollen head of your dick.

Her touch is like a live wire. Your whole body jolts in response.

“Oh fuck,” you groan. “Jane…”

You’re still unsure how you feel emotionally, but physically, few things have ever made so much sense. You want Jane to touch you, to keep touching you, to never stop touching you.

“Uh. You don’t have to do this,” you say, sounding incredibly insincere even to your own ears.

Jane ignores you and leans into the car overtop your hips - it’s impossible to dissuade her from a course of action once she’s decided on it herself - and she focuses wholly on your erection. Finding her courage, the redheaded skater wraps her hand around the head and squeezes.

The pressure is intense. Your heart skips a couple of beats and you moan, your hips surging involuntarily to push yourself deeper into her grip. “Oh fuck, Jane.”

Jane steals a glance up at you at your powerful reaction, pressing her bottom lip with her teeth. "Finally doing something for you for once,” she mutters to herself, faint smugness in her voice.

Remembering she has another hand, Jane glances to her right palm. A look of determination passes over her face, and she flexes her fingers. Without preamble, she licks the hand from palm to fingertip, then grips your shaft at the base with it - just beneath the first - and gives your shaft a sure two-handed squeeze.

Your whole body boils with high-pressure lust.

"Is this good?"

You nod dumbly.

More smug now, Jane grins and starts pumping your hard dick in earnest. Her basic but effective technique is helped along greatly by the textured calluses on her hands, by the mixture of her saliva and your precum lubricating your shaft and her tough fingers.

She continues biting her lower lip in concentration. It’s such a Jane expression - and so unexpectedly nervous and weirdly out of place, given the circumstances - that seeing it sends pleasurable pulses up from your thighs through your chest.

Jane's angular, somewhat elfin looks have always been appealing, but with her working your cock with both hands, all her attention focused on you and every twitch and grunt, you see her now in a new light. Jane’s not just cute. She’s sexy.

This is just like with Pearl. How had you never noticed just how toned, how slim, how wildly attractive Jane’s become over the last few years? She’s no coltish Freshman anymore, to be fawned over from a distance. She’s a woman. A freckly, athletic, sexy woman, that you want to keep close.

Jane rhythmically squeezes your dick - her grip is tighter and rougher than you normally like, but she keeps licking her hands before you dry out. With the extra lubrication of her saliva, liberally applied, the pressure and strong pumping work together in good ways. Very good ways.

Your breath hitches in your throat and your hips circle Jane’s hands, almost of their own accord.

She has your number now, and judging by the skewed smile on her face, Jane knows it. She intensifies the pumping, jerking you off with more certainty and style.

“You’re - uh - not bad at this,” you say.

Surprised at the comment, Jane’s motions slack for a second. “I am?” Her eyes evade yours and she finds her rhythm again. “Yeah. Er. I mean. I watch a lot of porn, so.”

Jane watches porn? Girls don’t watch porn, do they? Lying with Jane between your legs, pumping away at your dick on the side of the road, though, the evidence is strongly in favor that they do, or at least that Jane does. You struggle to wrap your mind around just how good Jane’s hands feel, stroking up and down and up and down.

You're getting a handjob from your longtime friend and crush. It was awkward at first, you admit, but it doesn't feel that way anymore. Why did you try to talk your way out of this? If Jane wants to stroke you off like this to repay you or whatever, fuck, why not let her repay you?

Jane's own awkwardness fades the longer you thrust into her pumping hands. 100% of your friend’s attention is on you, your reactions, and how what she's doing provokes the best response. Every time her hands twist in a way that makes you grunt in pleasure, Jane is quick to do so again. And each time you hold your breath to keep yourself from coming on the spot, Jane lightens her grip and slows her strokes to grant you a reprieve.

After seven or so minutes of this treatment (you're not looking at the clock, you can't take your eyes off Jane's sexy hands, her expression, her freckled shoulders), you erupt. Pulse after pulse, jet after jet of cum, all over Jane’s hands, your shorts, and the back seat of Jane’s newly claimed jeep.

In the aftermath, you're left breathing hard, as if you actually continued your run with Jane this morning, rather than making an excuse to go car and computer shopping (i.e. stealing).

You collapse flat onto your back, staring at the ceiling of the car. Your whole body burns with satiated excitement. You’re left totally, wonderfully, spent. "That was..."

"Messy," Jane finishes, inspecting her spunk-covered hands and upholstery with dismay.

“Way to kill the mood.”

She gives you a genuinely confused look. “You didn’t like it?”

You laugh and touch Jane’s forearm. “No! I mean - I wasn’t going to say it was messy. That was awesome.”

Jane’s confidence returns. “Good. I’m glad. I wanted you to… y’know. And you did. So that’s good.” With a nod to herself, Jane hops out of the jeep and wipes her hand on the nearby tree, then the grass. “Didn’t think about what would happen after, though…”

"They don’t usually show this part in porn," you say, joining Jane outside the car.

“No they do not. It’s kinda gross. Not that you’re gross, you’re not! Well, no more than usual. I mean…”

While an increasingly flustered Jane tries to backtrack out of calling you gross, you wipe yourself off as best you can on whatever unfortunate plant life is within easy reach. Her cleanup strategy isn't a bad idea, but in no way is it optimal.

"Let's stop someplace and clean up,” you say, interrupting Jane mid-explanation about how much she appreciates that you shower ‘almost every day’.

"Right,” says Jane, relieved at the opportunity to change topics.