Free Strange Bedfellows: My Mafioso Boyfriend, Part 4 by Eliza Stout Page B

parking lot and was lucky enough
     to run into him halfway there, heading back to his own car.
    I called out to him and he stopped and turned to see where my voice was coming from.
    “You aren’t going back in there, are you?” he said. “You really are crazy.”
    “No, no,” I said. “I locked my keys in my car. “Can you give me a ride back to my
     apartment? I’ve got a spare key there.”
    He sighed. “Alright. I don’t have anything better to do.” And with that we were off,
     in his car and headed back to my apartment from the hospital for the second time in
     twelve hours.
    The ride was quiet once again. He didn’t say a word, and I was too embroiled in my
     own thoughts to say anything. This seemed to be the common trajectory of my relationship
     with Tony. Thinks seem to be going great, and then something happens that I probably
     should have seen coming a mile away and I end up just hating myself over it. You know
     what? Not this time. I didn’t deserve this. I certainly didn’t deserve to be sitting
     here beating myself up over something that wasn’t my fault. Sure, I probably should
     have seen it coming, but that still doesn’t change the fact that I was sitting here
     being angry at myself when I should have been angry at Tony. This was just one incident
     in a long string of them. I wanted to do something to hurt him. I wanted to do something
     that would piss him off for a change.
    I looked over at Sal, who was lost in his own world, driving with a bored content
     look on his face. His unusually large hands gripped the steering wheel at both sides.
     I glanced down from there. Through the thin material of his suit pants, I could make
     out the imprint of his manhood resting against his leg. It was big. I mean… really
     big, and he wasn’t even aroused. I snuck my hand quietly across the center console
     as he was driving unaware, and slowly slid it across his thigh until I was gently
     rubbing the soft mass of meat.
    “Whoah, what are you doing?” he said, but he didn’t move to stop me.
    “I want to see your big dick,” I said, squeezing and prodding at the thing.
    “You know Tony’ll kill me.”
    “I want to see your big dick,” I repeated. That was the last protest I had received
     from him. His cock was already starting to swell up just from what little bit of stimulation
     I had been giving it through his pants. I raked my fingernails across it lightly as
     it continued to grow, and then undid his fly and plunged my hand into the warm depths
     it led to. He didn’t take his eyes off of the road,  nor his hands off the steering
     wheel. I felt around inside his pants for a second, feeling his balls and then found
     the quickly hardening cock. I wrapped my delicate fingers around it and tugged it
     forward, causing it to pop out of his now open fly. It stuck straight up into the
     air, bobbing slightly with the blood flow. It was longest dick I had ever seen, must
     have been at least seven or eight inches, and it was incredibly thick to boot. I had
     never been a subscriber to the hand size to penis size correlation philosophy, but
     it was hard to argue with the facts when they were staring you in the face. I began
     to stroke him, squeezing my palm around his shaft at the base, and bring my hand all
     the way up to the top making sure to let each of my fingers glide against the head
     one after the other in a kind of flourish before going back down to the base of his
     shaft and repeating.
    Sal still hadn’t taken his eyes off the road, but I noticed that he had wriggled and
     scooted around in his seat in an attempt to readjust himself, and he was starting
     to give off subtle, primal cues to my small hand as it pumped away at his solid cock.
     He was starting to slightly thrust upward with each of my down strokes, as if he were
     fucking my hand. He was starting to breathe heavy, but he was being a trooper, keeping
     the majority of his senses focused on his driving. I