On holiday in 90's with my family, based on a tru-ish story
The claw machine let out a pathetic *clunk* as the metal fingers grazed the stuffed frog's head before lifting away empty. Sara groaned and kicked the machine lightly with the toe of her sneaker. "Absolute scam," she muttered, fishing another coin from her hoodie pocket.
"Aw sweetie, need a hand?" The voice came from behind Sara, smooth and just a little too confident. She turned to find a guy leaning against the prize counter, late thirties maybe, with that practiced slouch people adopt when they know they're being watched. His grin made her immediately suspicious.
Sara's fingers tightened around the last coin in her pocket as she eyed the stranger. His grin widened, revealing teeth too white for someone who spent their days lurking around caravan park arcades. She forced an awkward laugh, shifting her weight between feet. "Ughhhh yes please!" The words came out louder than intended, and she stepped back with exaggerated defeat, throwing her hands up. The scent of cotton candy and stale popcorn clung to her oversized hoodie as she bounced on her toes. "This thing's rigged! I've wasted like, ten quid already."
"Stand in front of me, sweetie, I'll show you how to do it," the man said, already stepping closer before Sara could react. His hands settled on her shoulders with a weight that felt both casual and deliberate, turning her body toward the machine. Before she could protest, his arms slid around her from behind, his chest pressing against her back as he grabbed her wrists and forced her hands onto the joystick. The sudden closeness made her stiffen; his breath smelled of peppermint gum and something faintly sour underneath.
The coin slot ate his pound with a happier sound than it ever made for hers. "Secret's in the wrist," he said, his voice too close to her ear, his chest pressing against her back in a way that made her stomach flip weirdly. His hands covered hers on the controls, big, warm, with a silver ring that dug into her pinky finger when he adjusted her grip. Sara could smell his cologne, something expensive and musky that didn't belong in a sticky-floored arcade next to the bumper cars.
The claw shuddered to life under their combined grip, his fingers interlacing with hers in a way that felt deliberate, too deliberate, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist when he guided her hand left. Sara swallowed hard, her pulse thrumming where his skin touched hers. She could feel his breath against her temple, warm and slow, like he wasn't the slightest bit flustered.
Something sharp prodded Sara’s lower back through her thin hoodie. She flinched forward instinctively, her shoulder blades pressing into the stranger's chest. The claw machine lurched violently to the right, sending their prize, a neon green frog with lopsided eyes, tumbling uselessly into the corner. "Hey" she started, twisting her head to glare over her shoulder, but the man was already stepping back, hands raised in surrender, grinning like he’d planned the whole thing.
"Stealing my technique and still losing?" Sara snapped, jerking away from him completely now. The air between them felt charged, like the moment right before thunder cracks, but his grin never wavered. Up close, he looked older than she'd first thought, early forties maybe, with a sharp jawline shadowed by stubble and dark eyes that flicked over her face like he was memorizing it.
Sara giggled nervously, the sound too high-pitched in her own ears, as she noticed his gaze lingering, not on her face anymore, but lower, where her hoodie had ridden up just enough to expose a sliver of skin above her jeans. She tugged it down fast, her fingers fumbling over the fabric. "Creep," she muttered under her breath, but the word lacked bite. Her pulse still hadn't slowed.
"Stand in front of me, sweetie, I'll show you how to do it properly this time" His voice was smooth, laced with a confidence that made Sara's skin prickle. Before she could protest, his arms encircled her again, his chest pressing flush against her back. His hands slid over hers, guiding them back to the controls with deliberate slowness. Sara stiffened, acutely aware of how close he was, too close, the heat of his body seeping through her hoodie.
"O-oh," she stammered, her cheeks flushing pink as her fingers tremble on the controls. "Um... l-like this?" Sara's voice came out embarrassingly breathy, the words catching in her throat when his fingers tightened around hers. The claw jerked forward with more precision than any of her solo attempts, hovering directly above the neon frog. His thumb traced slow circles against her wrist, definitely not part of any claw machine strategy she'd ever heard of.
The claw machine whirred ominously as his fingers pressed hers down harder on the controls, the plastic creaking under the sudden pressure. "Yes, sweetie, you've just got to grip it hard," he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as he pushed her flush against the glass. Sara could feel every ridge of the machine digging into her hips, the cold surface doing nothing to dull the heat spreading up her neck. His hands slid over hers, guiding them roughly across the joystick, his fingers pressing into the spaces between hers like he was mapping her knuckles.
"I-I don't..." Sara swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as cardboard. The stranger's body pinned her against the machine, not aggressively, but firmly enough that she could feel the hard line of him pressing into the small of her back every time he adjusted his stance. The neon lights of the arcade blurred around her, the tinny music from the racing games dissolving into white noise. All she could hear was her own pulse hammering in her ears, erratic as a trapped bird.
The button clicked under their joined hands, too loud, like a gunshot in Sara's ears, and she felt him shift behind her, his hips pressing forward in a slow, deliberate grind against her backside. Her breath hitched, trapped somewhere between her ribs and her throat, as the claw descended with eerie precision toward the frog. The arcade seemed to tilt sideways for a second, the candy-colored lights bleeding together as Sara's fingers twitched under his. She could feel him smirking against her hair.
The frog rose in the claw's grip, wobbling precariously as Sara's breath stuttered in her throat. His hips rolled forward again, slow, deliberate, the rough seam of his jeans catching on the thin fabric of her leggings in a way that made her knees lock. The plushie teetered toward the chute, but Sara couldn't tear her eyes from their joined hands, from the way his thumb kept stroking the inside of her wrist like he was counting her pulse. "I-I won?" The words came out strangled, her voice cracking on the last syllable.
The frog plopped into the chute with a dull thud, but Sara barely heard it over the rush of blood in her ears. His hands lingered on hers a second too long, rough fingertips tracing the delicate bones of her knuckles before finally pulling away. "Good girl," he murmured, and the words slithered down her spine like something warm and forbidden.
"I got it!" Sara's voice cracked mid-celebration, the high-pitched squeak echoing embarrassingly through the arcade, but the victory felt hollow when she registered the unmistakable pressure against her lower back, hard, insistent, and very much not part of the machine. Her breath hitched. The arcade's flashing lights suddenly felt unbearably hot, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and something darker, muskier.
Sara's fingers twitched around the neon frog's plush body, the fabric suddenly slick under her clammy grip. The man's smile didn't reach his eyes, dark, unreadable things that tracked the frantic jump of her throat when she swallowed. "Did you like the one I won, sweetie?" His voice dipped lower, rougher, as he stepped closer, crowding her against the machine. The arcade's garish lights caught the silver of his ring when he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a slow drag of his thumb. "How are you going to say thank you?"
The word, "thank you" hung between them like a dare, trembling in the charged air thick with the scent of his cologne and the artificial sweetness of spilled soda. His thumb lingered near her earlobe, rough skin catching on the fine hairs at her nape as he tucked that loose strand behind her ear. Sara’s breath stuttered when his other hand slid down, fingers splaying wide over her hipbone, pressing just enough to tilt her pelvis back against him. The hard line of him against her lower back wasn’t accidental anymore; she could feel the deliberate roll of his hips, the way his grip tightened when she didn’t pull away. "Why did you want that frog anyway sweetie?"
The frog's neon fabric was rough under Sara's fingertips, the stitching uneven where she gripped too hard. The frog's lopsided eyes stared up at her as she murmured, "I just... wanted something to cuddle tonight," her voice dipping into something hushed and deliberate on the last word. The arcade's music stuttered for a second, a racing game's engine revving somewhere behind them, but all she could hear was the slow exhale he let out above her. He spun her around to so they were face to face.
"Well, I know someone you can cuddle, sweetie," he murmured, his voice dripping with something thick and syrupy as his thumb traced the shell of her ear. The wink he gave her was slow, deliberate, his eyelid lowering with a weight that made Sara's stomach swoop dangerously. His other hand slid from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her closer until she could feel the heat of him through their clothes, too much heat, in places that made her breath hitch.
The frog slipped from Sara’s fingers with a soft *plop* onto the arcade carpet, its neon green fur immediately lost in the swirling patterns of gum stains and glitter. His hand, larger, rougher, traced up her ribs beneath her hoodie, fingers skating over the thin fabric of her tank top with a slow, deliberate pressure that made her breath hitch. The arcade’s garish lights flickered overhead, casting their merged shadow against the prize counter in a distorted tangle of limbs.
"Where are your folks, sweetie?" His thumb lingered at the waistband of her leggings, tracing idle circles through the fabric as his other hand cradled the back of her neck, too intimate, too possessive for a stranger in a sticky-floored arcade. The question slithered out between them, casual as a weather report, but Sara felt the weight of it settle low in her stomach. His breath hit the side of her throat when he added, "Not keeping an eye on you?"
"T-they're at the club till midnight..." Sara's whisper frayed at the edges, her fingers twisting in the loose strings of her hoodie until the fabric bit into her skin. The admission left her mouth too easily, the words tumbling out before she could clamp her teeth around them. His hands slid lower in response, fingers splaying wide over the jut of her hips with a possessiveness that made her knees buckle. The neon frog still on the carpet, forgotten as Sara's hips arched instinctively against him, a reflex she didn't understand, couldn't control.
"Want to come see my caravan sweetie? You can bring froggy" he smile's at her darkly. The words slithered into her ear like oil, viscous and deliberate, his lips barely brushing her skin as he spoke. Sara felt his fingers tighten around her wrist, not painfully, but with a possessiveness that sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. The arcade’s neon lights flickered, casting his smirk into sharp relief, shadows pooling in the hollow of his throat. "Got a whole collection of prizes back there," he added, his thumb pressing into her pulse point as if counting each erratic beat. "Better than that cheap frog."
Sara's breath caught as his fingers slid higher, the rough fabric of her leggings doing nothing to mute the heat of his touch. His aftershave, something expensive with a bite of cedar, clung to the inside of her nostrils, mingling sickly-sweet with the scent of burnt popcorn from the concession stand. The neon frog lay abandoned at their feet, one stitched eye staring up accusingly. "You want to," he murmured, not a question, his thumb pressing into the soft skin just above her knee. The bowling alley's distant cheers sounded like they were underwater, muffled and distorted beneath the roar of blood in Sara's ears.
"I don't bite," he chuckled, the sound vibrating against the side of Sara's throat where his lips lingered. A whimper escaped her before she could swallow it back, her fingers trembling where they'd been tracing idle circles on his forearm, now dangerously high on his thigh, the rough denim warm beneath her touch. "Y-you promise?" Her voice cracked like a pubescent boy's, the words dissolving into a shaky exhale when his other hand slipped under her hoodie, fingers splaying wide across the dip of her waist. The abandoned frog watched from the floor with its lopsided gaze as Sara nodded.
He bend down and retrieved the frog, his other hand closed around hers with a possessive squeeze, too tight to be casual, the silver ring biting into the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. Sara’s pulse fluttered like a trapped moth as he tugged her toward door, their footsteps out of sync, her sneakers scuffing against sticky linoleum, his boots clicking with deliberate rhythm. The neon frog stared up from his hand with its crooked smile. "Here," he murmured, pressing it into her chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of her breast through the hoodie fabric. "Hold tight to this, sweetie. Wouldn’t want you dropping it." His grin showed too many teeth.
The frog's neon green fur scratched against Sara's chin as she clutched it tighter, its lumpy stuffing pressing unevenly against her ribs. The gravel path shifted treacherously under her sneakers, too loud, every pebble crunching like a firecracker in the quiet between caravan rows. His grip on her hand didn't loosen as they passed under a flickering security light, its sickly yellow glow catching the silver of his ring when he tugged her closer. "Cold?" he murmured, though his hand was already sliding up her sleeve, fingers skating over goosebumps she couldn't blame entirely on the night air.
The caravan door creaked louder than Sara expected when he shoved it open, a high, protesting whine of hinges that hadn’t been oiled in years. His hand lingered on the small of her back as she stepped over the threshold, fingers splaying wide to guide her inside with a proprietary pressure that made her breath catch. She felt his gaze like a physical touch sliding down her spine, lingering where her leggings hugged the curve of her ass, and suddenly the frog in her arms felt absurdly small, inadequate armor against the way his shadow loomed behind her.
The caravan smelled faintly of whiskey and leather as Sara stepped inside, her oversized hoodie brushing against the narrow doorway. The air was thick, not just with the scent, but with something else, something heavy that clung to the walls and made her swallow hard. "I-it's nice..." Her voice trailed off when she turned and caught him staring, his dark eyes tracking the way her fingers dug into the neon frog’s plush body. She hugged it tighter against her chest, the stitching straining under her grip. Behind her, the metallic creak of the door locking sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, sharp as a fingernail dragged over skin.
The frog slipped from Sara’s grip again, landing face-up on the threadbare caravan carpet with a muffled *thump*. His fingers curled around her wrist before she could bend to retrieve it, his thumb pressing into the delicate blue veins beneath her skin. "So sweetie," he murmured, his breath too warm against her temple, "I think it’s time we decide how you're going to thank me for winning that." The words dripped slow as syrup, his other hand already sliding up her ribs beneath her hoodie, fingertips skating over the thin cotton of her tank top.
The caravan felt smaller with every second, the walls pressing in, the ceiling dipping lower, until Sara could barely breathe without inhaling the musky cedar of his cologne. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her hoodie. "W-what did you have in mind?" The whisper left her lips before she could swallow it back, her voice cracking like thin ice underfoot.
The frog’s lopsided eyes stared up at her from the carpet, one stitched pupil slightly higher than the other, giving it a perpetually surprised expression. Sara barely had time to register its abandoned state before his fingers closed around the frogs body, lifting it with deliberate slowness. "Well, sweetie," he murmured, his voice a dark purr that sent an unwanted tremor through her, "I think we should use this frog for something fun." The neon green fabric brushed against her collarbone first, soft, almost teasing, before his knuckles pressed it firmly against the curve of her breast through her hoodie.
The frog's fur rasped against Sara’s hoodie, rough and slow, the friction deliberate enough to make her toes curl inside her sneakers. She felt the exact moment the frog’s stitched mouth dragged over her nipple, a sharp, unexpected jolt that punched a tiny gasp from her lips. His chuckle vibrated against the nape of her neck, hot and knowing, as he pressed the toy harder against her chest. "See? Told you we'd find a use for it," he murmured, his free hand sliding around to cradle her ribs, fingers splayed wide beneath her breast like he was measuring its weight.
The frog's lopsided eyes stared up from between Sara's thighs, its neon green fur pressing insistently against the thin fabric of her leggings. "Don't be shy, sweetie," he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as he guided the plushie in slow, deliberate circles. "He wants to play." The stitching along the frog's belly caught on the cotton weave, tugging the fabric taut against Sara's skin in a way that made her thighs twitch.
The frog's rough fur caught on the damp fabric between Sara's thighs, each tiny drag sending sparks up her spine that pooled low in her stomach. She bit down hard on her lower lip to stifle another whimper, but it escaped anyway, a thin, reedy sound that made her face burn hotter than the friction beneath her leggings. His chuckle behind her was dark with satisfaction, his breath humid against the side of her throat as he angled the plushie just so, letting the seam along its belly press harder where she throbbed the most. "T-teasing," Sara gasped again, her nails biting into the meat of his shoulders through his shirt as her hips jerked forward involuntarily.
"I think he wants to see you nakey," he murmured against the shell of her ear, his fingers already curling under the hem of Sara's hoodie. The fabric lifted slowly, inch by inch, exposing the sliver of skin above her waistband, pale and goosebumped under the caravan's dim bulb. His grin widened when she didn't stop him, her breath hitching but her arms remaining limp at her sides, fingers twitching like she couldn't decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. The frog, dropped, laying abandoned on the floor, its neon green fur dull in the low light, one stitched eye watching as his knuckles grazed the newly bared skin beneath her ribs.
The frog's abandoned body lay forgotten on the caravan floor as his fingers hooked under the hem of Sara’s hoodie, lifting it with excruciating slowness. The fabric dragged against her overheated skin, bunching just beneath her collarbones to reveal the lacy edge of her bra, pale pink and slightly crumpled from the day’s wear. Sara’s breath hitched when his thumb traced the scalloped border, the pad catching on a loose thread near the centre clasp. Pulling her hoodie along with the tank top over her head throwing it on the sofa behind her.
"Well, I think it's time you showed me your knickers too," he murmured, his voice dropping into something rougher as his fingers opened the bra strap, pulling it off, his fingers trailing down her stomach. His touch was deliberate, unhurried, skating over each rib until he reached the waistband of her leggings. Sara shuddered when his fingertips slipped beneath the elastic, tracing the damp skin just above her pubic bone. "Come on, sweetie. Let's see what you've got hiding under here."
"B-but..." Sara's protest died in her throat as her hoodie peeled away, the sudden rush of cooler air raising goosebumps along her exposed arms. His fingers lingered at the hem of her leggings, the elastic waistband taut against her hips where his thumb had slipped beneath, just enough to graze the sensitive skin below her navel. She swallowed hard, her pulse rabbiting under his fingertips as he studied her through half-lidded eyes, dark with something that made her knees threaten to buckle.
The caravan's single bulb flickered as his fingers curled into the waistband of Sara's leggings, the elastic snapping softly against her hipbones when he tugged them down just far enough to reveal the pink lace trim of her panties, matching the bra that was thrown on the floor, like some coordinated surrender. Sara's thighs trembled violently, her knees knocking together as she stared fixedly at the ceiling where a spiderweb swayed in the draft from the air vent. "W-wait," she breathed, the word dissolving into a shuddering exhale when his thumb pressed into the divot of her hipbone, his fingertips skating lower to trace the damp lace where it clung to her skin.
"Don't be shy, sweetie," his voice curled around her like smoke, thick and intoxicating. His fingers lingered at the waistband of her leggings, the elastic stretched taut against her hipbones. Sara could feel the fabric slipping lower with agonizing slowness, every inch of exposed skin prickling under the stale caravan air. His knuckles brushed the sensitive dip of her pelvis as the leggings pooled around her thighs, pink lace panties clinging obscenely to her damp heat.
His lips traced a slow, wet path down Sara’s stomach, each kiss deliberate, lingering just long enough for her to feel the heat of his breath through the thin cotton of her tank top. She gasped when his tongue flicked against her navel, the damp fabric clinging to her skin as he dragged it lower with his teeth. "Do your knickers always get this wet?" he murmured against the lace, the words vibrating against her trembling thighs. Sara’s fingers twisted tighter in his hair, her hips jerking forward involuntarily when his nose nudged the soaked fabric. "O-only when..." Her voice shattered into a whimper as his thumb pressed hard against the lace, the friction sending a jolt up her spine that made her toes curl inside her discarded sneakers.
"When, what, sweetie?" His whisper was a hot slide against Sara's inner thigh as his fingers hooked into the side of her panties, dragging the lace aside with a slow, deliberate rasp. The sudden exposure to the stale caravan air made her gasp, but not half as sharply as the first flutter of his
tongue against her bare clit.
Sara's fingers twisted violently in his hair, her hips jerking forward before she could stop them, pressing herself harder against his mouth with a desperate little grind. The sound she made wasn't language, just a shattered, high-pitched noise that bounced off the caravan's thin walls. His answering chuckle vibrated against her skin, smug and knowing, before his tongue dragged through her pussy in one excruciatingly slow lick.
The taste of her, salt and something indefinably Sara, flooded his senses as his tongue pressed flat against her clit, savouring the way her thighs jerked in response. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, kneading roughly as he dragged his mouth lower, tracing the slick seam of her with deliberate, open-mouthed kisses. "And how often does this lil clit get touched?" The words vibrated against her overheated skin.
Sara’s moan fractured into a high, breathy whine when his tongue circled her clit again, slow, torturous revolutions that had her fingers yanking his hair in sharp little tugs. Her hips moved with a desperation that surprised even her, grinding against his face with shameless abandon, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "N-never like this before," she gasped, the admission slipping out between clenched teeth as her thighs trembled violently. The sharp suction of his mouth on her clit punched a broken cry from her throat, her back arching, only his grip on her hips kept her from tumbling backwards.
The wet slap of his tongue against her clit stuttered when his fingers abandoned her hips, Sara barely had time to register the loss before the metallic, snick, of a belt buckle unfastening shattered the humid air between them. Her thighs jerked instinctively at the sound, but his hands gripped harder on her hips, as his tongue continued its relentless circles. The rough denim of his jeans scraped against her calves as he shifted, the fabric dragging lower until, oh, the sudden hot press of his erection against her skin punched a shocked gasp from Sara’s throat.
The words slithered out of him like oil dripping from a cracked engine, thick, dark, inevitable. "Think we should go in my bedroom," he murmured against Sara's inner thigh, he picks her up and carries her to the bedroom, placing her on the bed, pulling her leggings, knickers and trainers off and throwing them on the floor.
The mattress springs groaned beneath Sara’s weight as his tongue plunged deeper, wet, insistent strokes that curled against her inner walls in a rhythm that left her gasping. Her thighs clamped around his head like a vice, the muscles trembling violently as her hips stuttered against his face. The sharp scent of her arousal clung to the stale caravan air, mingling with the musk of leather seats and something faintly metallic, like the tang of her sweat on his tongue. "I-I can’t..." Her warning shattered into a high-pitched keen as his mouth sealed over her clit, sucking hard enough to make her vision whiten at the edges.
"Good girl" he growled against her thigh, the vibration of his praise sending another shudder through Sara's overheated body. His tongue lapped at her slickness with a hunger that bordered on obscene, each stroke deliberate, each flick against her clit calculated to draw out another broken whimper. The bedroom's single bulb flickered overhead, casting their tangled shadows across the floral-patterned duvet, her legs splayed wide, his shoulders flexing as he pinned her hips down with bruising force.
Sara barely registered the weight shifting on the mattress before the blunt pressure breached her, a slow, inexorable stretch that punched the air from her lungs in a ragged gasp. His hips rolled forward without hesitation, the thick heat of him sinking deeper as her fingernails scrabbled against the floral duvet. "Fuck..." The word fractured in her throat when his palm smacked down on her thigh, the sting radiating outward as he bottomed out with a groan that vibrated through her pelvis.
Sara's breath hitched sharply when his hips jerked forward, a brutal snap that drove him deeper than she thought possible, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around the thick intrusion. Her nails scraped across her own breasts, the friction sending sparks through her oversensitive nipples with each ragged inhale. The caravan's flimsy walls trembled with every thrust, the rhythmic *creak-creak-creak* of cheap springs syncing with the wet slap of skin against skin. She could feel the exact moment his pelvis ground against hers, his pubic bone pressing her clit with delicious, unbearable pressure that made her vision blur at the edges.
"I knew you'd like it, sweetie," he panted between thrusts, his hips slamming forward with a wet slap that echoed off the caravan's thin walls. Sara's fingers clawed at the floral duvet, the fabric bunching in her fists as her back arched, every nerve alight with the crude stretch of him, the way her body clenched around his thickness like it was trying to pull him deeper. His chuckle was dark with triumph, his breath hot against the sweat-damp curve of her shoulder. "You naughty girl," he murmured, nipping at her earlobe, "letting a dirty old man fuck you like this." The words dripped into her ear, viscous and possessive, as his thumb pressed against the base of her spine, forcing her hips higher.
The moan ripped from Sara's throat before she could stop it, a raw, unguarded sound that echoed off the caravan's flimsy walls as his cock stretched her wide, the slick glide almost too much after the sudden emptiness. Her fingers scrabbled against his shoulders, blunt nails catching on the damp fabric of his t-shirt as he pulled out with a filthy wet sound that made her toes curl. "W-wait..." The protest dissolved into a gasp when his hands clamped around her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with effortless strength. The mattress springs shrieked beneath them as her cheek smushed into the stale pillow, the floral pattern scratching her flushed skin.
The caravan shuddered with each brutal thrust, the cheap aluminum frame groaning as Sara's knees dug into the mattress, her hips held aloft by his bruising grip. His fingers bit into the soft flesh of her thighs, the silver ring leaving crescent-shaped indents as he yanked her back onto his cock with a wet slap that echoed off the thin walls. Sara's whimper dissolved into the pillowcase, cotton fibres catching against her parted lips as his balls slapped against her swollen clit with every piston-like drive forward. The floral sheets twisted in her fists, the rough embroidery scratching her knuckles raw while her nipples burned from the friction against the mattress.
"Like it then, sweetie?" His voice was a rough scrape against her ear, breathless and predatory, his teeth grazing her earlobe between words. Sara couldn’t answer, not with the way her throat kept closing around moans, her body arching involuntarily every time his cock dragged against that spot inside her that made her vision flicker.
"Ohh fuck..." His groan punched through the caravan's thin walls, guttural and raw, his hips stuttering mid-thrust as Sara clenched around him like a vice. The pressure coiled at the base of his cock, thick and insistent, but he gritted his teeth, forcing his rhythm to stay steady even as his fingers dug bruises into Sara's hips. Her whimpers were high and fractured beneath him, every erratic snap of his pelvis dragging a fresh sob from her throat. The mattress springs screamed under their weight, the metallic screech harmonizing with the wet slap of skin as he bottomed out inside her again and again.
"Are...you...ready....sweetie..." The words came in ragged bursts against Sara's sweat-slicked shoulder, his cock throbbing deep inside her with each stuttered thrust. The caravan bed shrieked beneath them, aluminum frame rattling like it might buckle as Sara nodded frantically, her thighs trembling around his hips. She could feel him pulsing within her, thick, insistent waves of pressure that made her nails shred through the polyester sheets. Then, without warning, he pulled out completely, the sudden emptiness wringing a shocked gasp from her throat.
Grabbing her ponytail and pulling her around to his cock, the first thick stripe of cum clung to Sara’s eyelashes like glue, gluing them shut in a sticky blink before she could react. Her tongue darted out instinctively, just a quick, reflexive flick, but the taste flooded her mouth anyway: salt and something darker, musky and warm, clinging to the roof of her throat. "O-oh god," she breathed, the words trembling as another hot spurt painted her parted lips, the viscous fluid pooling in the dip of her lower lip before spilling over. She swallowed convulsively, the movement dragging another whimper from her chest as a final thick pulse landed directly on her tongue, the weight of it making her gag slightly before her throat worked around it.
His shadow swallowed her whole, the caravan's dim light haloing his frame as he loomed over her, cock glistening. Sara's breath stuttered when his thumb dragged across her lower lip, smearing the sticky remnants of his release deeper into the seam of her mouth. The taste bloomed across her tongue, salt and musk and something faintly bitter, forcing another convulsive swallow that made his grin widen. "D-do I..." Her whisper fractured when his fingers tangled in her ponytail, tilting her face up to the light where every glistening streak on her skin shimmered under the bulb's yellow glare.
The bulb flickered again, casting Sara's shadow in fractured fragments across the floral duvet as she knelt on the mattress, her lips still parted, her tongue hesitantly tracing the seam of her mouth where his taste lingered. His fingers remained tangled in her ponytail, not painful but unyielding, the pressure just enough to keep her chin tilted upward. She could see the pulse in his throat, the sweat beading along his collarbone where his shirt clung damply.
"Did you enjoy that, sweetie?" His thumb pressed harder against Sara's lower lip, the pad rough with calluses as it smeared his cum deeper into the seam of her mouth. The question hung between them, thick and cloying like the taste on her tongue, not really a question at all, but a demand for the right kind of whimper. Sara's throat worked convulsively, her lashes fluttering against the sticky streaks drying on her cheeks. She nodded once, sharp and jerky, her ponytail pulling taut where his fingers still gripped it.
"You best get dressed and back to the arcade, my family will be back from the theatre soon" he told her coldly. The words hit Sara like a bucket of ice water. One second his fingers were tangled in her hair, his thumb pressing into her spit-slick lower lip, the next he was stepping back, buttoning his jeans with brisk efficiency as if she were nothing more than an inconvenient stain. The caravan’s overhead bulb buzzed louder in the sudden silence, casting jagged shadows across his face as he tossed her hoodie at her chest. It landed with a damp slap against her bare skin.
Sara's fingers trembled as she reached for the leggings he'd tossed onto the mattress beside her, the fabric still warm from where it had pooled around her ankles earlier. She yanked them up too fast, the elastic waistband snapping against her bare stomach with a sting that made her flinch. "My..." Her voice cracked when she glanced down at the discarded pink lace crumpled near his boot, the damp spot where she'd soaked through the fabric now glaringly obvious in the caravan's yellow light.
His chuckle was a low, satisfied hum as he bent to scoop the panties off the floor, deliberately holding them up between thumb and forefinger so the lace dangled like some grotesque trophy. Sara's face burned as he brought the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply with closed eyes before tucking them into his back pocket with a pat. "Mine now," he murmured, the words curling around her like smoke. Her throat tightened when his fingers lingered near the pocket's edge, tapping twice against the denim in a silent reminder.
The caravan door clicked shut behind Sara with a finality that made her shoulders flinch. The humid night air clung to her skin, thick with the smell of frying oil from the snack bar and the metallic tang of the nearby swimming pool. Her hoodie sleeves, still damp from nervous sweat, chafed against her wrists as she walked stiffly toward the arcade's neon glow, hugging the frog tightly, each step sending a dull ache radiating from between her thighs. Behind her, the caravan's curtains twitched shut with a whisper of fabric.