Indecent (The Cage Sessions Book 1)

By

Skylar Cross

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

D2Rev Publishing / Skylar Cross on
Smashwords

Indecent: The Cage Sessions Book 1

Copyright © 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Skylar
Cross

All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any
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of this author.

All characters depicted in this work are
fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

Adult Reading Material

*****

Chapter 1

It's all Damien Cage's fault that the cop
wrote me the ticket. Fuck, I'm lucky I wasn't arrested for public
lewdness.

After my interview with Damien and his
glorious tattooed chest, all powerful and stony as it glistened in
the sun by his pool, I left his mansion a wet steamy mess of
unfucked girl.

After a couple of pit stops, I take the ramp
onto the highway heading back home. There I hit a wall of Miami
traffic.

"Fuck!" I shout.

Goddamn, this means forty-five minutes before
I'm home. Fuck me!

Not to mention my AC is shaky. Keeps making
weird noises. I have it on high but I can still feel the late
afternoon South Florida sun doing its best to melt the roof of my
ancient Toyota Corolla.

But I'm comforted by my new friend on the
passenger seat.

I reach over into the purple plastic bag. I
put my hand inside and touch him.

Ooooh, he feels so massive and jiggly! I
sooooo have to get this monster in my pussy... my ass if I'm daring
enough... and fast!

I had to, okay? Don't fucking judge me.

I threw away my old dong... long story... and
I had been meaning to get a new one. After my interview with
Damien, I made a beeline to Jared's office hoping for a quick fuck
to release some tension. When that didn't work out, I hit the sex
toy shop over on Grand.

That's where I got my new electric blue buddy
whose fake little veins are now being probed by my fingers.

I knew he was the one when I saw him hanging
on his hook all lonely in his packaging. Electric blue. Smooth on
the front side, all veiny on the backside. Big juicy balls. Massive
flared head.

It was lust at first sight.

What if I just take him out of his plastic
packaging right here? Nothing wrong with that, right? Nobody will
notice, right?

Right?

I reach down to where you twist the package
open. It parts easily. Thank God they don't seal these things like
electronics! No scissors required.

My fingers do a little walk in the packaging,
past the flared base up to the fake balls.

Oh God, they're massive!

My clit is on fire. Shit, I'm going to have
to replace my seat cushion again. Am I normal? Do I think about sex
too much? Do I get wet too much?

But how can I not think about sex after
sitting down for a half-hour with rock god Damien Cage? Shit, when
Steve told me he was sending me to interview the lead singer of Eon
Sphinx, I had a gash attack right there. Thought I was going to
drip all over Steve's chair.

"Fuck!" I shout again at the traffic.

And now I'm sitting here baking as my AC
growls at me.

What's a horny girl to do?

I look around.

Can any of the other drivers see me? How much
can I get away with? God, I wish I had an SUV that rides high off
the ground instead of this oven on wheels with its mismatched
door.

I squeeze my new buddy some more, moving my
fingers up to the massive head.

Oh God!

My fingers crawl up to the top and tap the
fake little slit, imagining the moment... soon... that it will
first part my pussy lips.

I slam on the brakes, almost hitting the
Impala in front of me.

Shit, Annika, don't get in a fucking
accident!

I bought an eight-incher this time. Usually
I'm a seven girl, but after meeting Damien Cage I fucking need
eight!

Damien Cage! I interviewed Damien Fucking
Cage!

He's the reason I have to get through this
fucking traffic so I can fuck myself before my mom gets home from
work!

What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm better
than this. Ever since I took the job at
MiamiImproper.com
,
I've met some semi-famous people. No biggie.

As for actual celebrities, I've met a few
over on South Beach. Talk about pretentious asswipes.

But Damien Cage.....

Fuuuuuuuuck!

He sat there on his outdoor patio nursing a
big pink drink in the largest martini glass I had ever seen. When I
sat down for the interview, he offered me one but I declined.

Now I'm thinking that wouldn't have been a
bad idea.

But at the time I feared that a drink would
cause me to lick his abs. God, they are perfect! He must workout
every fucking day.

Grrrrrrrrr!

I bang my steering wheel.

Everybody move! Can't you see? I'm a horny
bitch and I need to fuck myself with this giant dildo!

Did I say that out loud? Hope not.

What if I fingered myself here in the car?
That could get messy.

But maybe not.

I look to my left. A Latina woman bopping to
salsa in a green Accord.

I look to my right. A man in his fifties
wearing sunglasses talking animatedly into his phone in his silver
Jaguar. Bet
his
AC is nice and cool.

Okay, going to give it a go.

Glad I wore a skirt today, at least. Jeans
would have been impossible.

I reach down between my legs.

Fuck, I need to undo the seatbelt. It's in
the goddamned way.

The warning light comes on, squawking that
I'm in danger. Yeah, what the fuck ever. I was in danger the moment
I set foot on Damien Cage's property.

I get under my panties and find my drenched
clit.

Hi, babe.

I rub my outer lips up and down, squeezing my
hood inside of them. I picture Damien Cage at his outdoor table.
Deep blue eyes piercing my soul. Pierced left eyebrow. Tiny jagged
tattoo around the right one. Dark hair with bleach-blond
highlights.

Oh, God!

I let my middle finger drift inside me as I
draw little circles on my nub with my thumb.

Mmmmmmmmmm...

With my left hand, I grip the steering wheel
tight. Have to pay at least
some
attention to my spot on the
highway.

Time for a second finger.

I put my left leg up a little for better
access. I look around. My traveling companions are now two
gamer-type guys in an old gray Taurus and an old lady in a peach
Cadillac. Nobody seems to notice me.

Nonchalantly, I duck down in my seat like I
have to seriously study my tachometer. This is only so I can get a
better angle.

In go my fingers.

Fuck!

Oh God, what's wrong with me?

Why am I masturbating in traffic? Really? I
mean come on, is this truly necessary, Annika?

I pull my fingers out and sit up.

Enough of this! Control yourself, Annika!

I turn on the radio, flipping stations. The
cassette adapter into which I usually plug my Sansa mp3 player
stopped working last week.

But good ol' FM pulls through as I find some
music I like. It occupies my mind and calms my pussy a little. I
sing along with Pop Evil on
Torn to Pieces
and Journey on
Don't Stop Believin'
as the traffic begins to pick up a
little.

But my cooch re-launches her waterworks at
the haunting chords that kick off the next song on the hard rock
station.

Shit.

It's
Drifting in the Sky
by Eon
Sphinx.

Annnnnnnnnnnd we're back.....

A massive gash attack hits me again, harder
this time. I feel it in my thighs and goddamned kneecaps, for
Christ's sake!

Fuck, I think I'm sex-obsessed. Maybe I
should find a therapist.

Then I look over at the big purple bag
again.

What if I could get my new bad boy inside me
while sitting here in traffic?

Annika, shut the fuck up! You're insane. Stop
it. Just wait until you get home!

But I'm obsessed. No amount of singing out
loud is going to help. I think they used to call it nymphomania. I
call it
need-to-get-fucked-right-fucking-now.

That's it. Let's get risky.

I reach over to the package and touch the big
electric blue monster again.

Ahhhhhh.

My pussy twitches.

Then, I look around again. Gamer boys still
on my left. Jaguar guy back again on my right.

I whip the big floppy cock out of its package
and down between my legs.

I have to reach down with my left hand to
move my panties aside.

Ah, there it is. There's my big glistening
boy. Say hello to your new best friend.

I hear myself make a little whimpering
sound.

Then I push it in.

Ahhhhhhhhhh...

All the way in.

Mmmmmmmmm... so fucking huge. I love it!

I look around.

I'm sitting in Miami traffic with an
eight-inch dildo inside me!

Well, okay, seven. That last inch doesn't
seem to want to make it.

The perv in me loves this.

I move the dildo backwards and forwards.

I make a sound. Not sure what it is. Kind of
like a whimpering dog.

Good thing my windows are up.

Slumped down in the seat for better access, I
continue fucking myself, every once in a while checking to see if
anyone can see what I'm doing.

I picture Damien Cage's tats as he rides me.
I pretend the dildo is his cock, exploding in hot white cream.

Then reality interrupts.

I notice a chance to get off the highway. My
exit is the next one, so I decide to pull into the breakdown lane
and just sneak up.

I glance in the mirror and see nothing
coming. So I zip over and round the bend, stepping on the gas. I'm
driving illegally in the breakdown lane, but it will only be for a
few seconds.

Hang on baby,
I say to my pussy,
we're almost home.

As I'm halfway around the bend, my exit
coming right up, I scream.

In front of me is a Florida State Trooper
with his hand up.

I slam on the brakes.

Shit!

He saunters up to my window. I fumble to get
it open. My right hand is still on the base of the dildo, hidden
deep inside me.

"I'm sorry, officer," I said.

"Are you?" he said. "Because I really don't
believe you are."

He's about fifty with gray clipped hair.
Pudgy face, big shoulders, expanding gut.

"License and registration, please," he
says.

"Yes, officer," I say.

Fuck, what do I do? To get my license and car
registration in the glove compartment, I need to use my left hand
because the right is holding in the dildo.

With my left, I dive over to the glove
compartment and open it.

"Excuse me, miss?" says the trooper.

I look over at him through the gap between my
arm and my breast.

"Uh-huh?" I say.

"What are you hiding down there?" he
says.

Had to ask, didn't he?

"Nothing illegal, officer," I say. "No drugs,
no weapons, nothing like that."

"Hands where I can see them!" he says.

"But officer, I–"

"Hands where I can see them NOW!"

I raise my hands up.

"Step out of the car please!" he says.

Shit.

Today just isn't my day, is it?

"Officer," I say, "I–"

"Hands where I can see them!" he shouts.

Now he's got his silly gun out, pointing it
at me with both hands.

Are you fucking kidding, buddy? Really?

My heart starts beating wildly and I'm in a
full-on sweat. Adrenaline is pumping through my bloodstream. Never
had a fucking gun pointed at me before.

Cars are swerving left now, cutting a wide
swath as they stare at the scene.