The Only Difference is the 'S'.

I agreed to do the late shift because it suited me. My wife had run off with a neighbour, leaving me with a pile of bills to pay, and as a result all I was doing in the evenings was mooching about watching the television and seeing off cans of lager. So the chance to start work at four and finish at midnight for a twenty percent pay rise was welcome. And that was how I met Sam.

It was only my second week of lates and I was driving home on a bitterly cold night when I saw a girl standing at a bus stop. She was young and thin, dressed only in the skimpiest of clothes and I could see that she was shaking with cold. I had no idea if there were any buses running at that time of night, but in any case I couldn't leave a damsel in distress, so I pulled over and offered her a lift. It turned out that she lived only a half mile further on than me, so running her home was hardly inconvenient and it was worth it if only because it made me feel like the white knight.

She was so cold she could hardly fumble in her bag for a cigarette, but after a minute or two in the warmth of the car she began to relax and the shivering stopped. I looked sideways at her, appreciating what I saw. The first thing I noticed was that her makeup was a bit over the top for my taste, but I must admit that it was very skilfully applied, complete with a glitter eyeshadow that made her blue eyes seem even more alive. She tall for a girl, and very slim with hardly any boobs and long skinny legs -- certainly not the most feminine of women. But she also had one of those husky voices that ooze sex and make up for any physical shortcomings. Yes, she was attractive, and yes, I fancied screwing her.

As she warmed up she told me that her name was Sam, that she worked in a bar and that she'd jumped out of the cab supplied by her employer because the driver wanted more than the usual tip. He had apparently wanted a blow job instead.

"How do you know I won't?" I asked her, not completely sure myself if I was joking or fishing.

"At least you're not seventy, fat and bald." She responded in that sexy voice of hers.

That reply had definite possibilities, I thought.

The rest of the journey was spent in innocent conversation. It turned out that she was nineteen, six years younger than me, had worked in that bar for about seven months, was unattached and lived alone, having fallen out with her parents who didn't like her lifestyle -- I didn't push her on that, it would become clear eventually - and wanted her own beauty salon someday.

When we pulled in outside her place I did wonder if I might get asked in for a coffee, or something, but no such luck. As soon as the car had stopped she had the door open and was scrambling out, all the time thanking me profusely. Obviously I wasn't going to get an invite, but it was nice thought.

What I did get was just as nice though, and less expected. Before closing the door and disappearing home, Sam leaned across and kissed me full on the lips. It wasn't a long kiss, maybe a second or so, and then the door slammed and she was gone. I sat there for a good five minutes trying to get my head around how good that kiss had made me feel, before driving home with Sam firmly in the forefront of my mind. She was on my mind for the rest of the night too, as a load of cum in a wad of tissues will testify.

I expected that to be that, a one-off lift home for a waif who had strayed and who I wouldn't see again. In fact I almost hoped that would be the case, for I was unexpectedly and overwhelmingly attracted to this strange girl and I couldn't get her out of my mind. Why I should feel so turned on by a girl who looked more like a gangly youth than a sexy young lady I had no idea, I just knew that I did. I tried to push her out of my head, but it was a losing battle.

But then, a few days later, just as I was making progress in forgetting her, I spotted her again, this time walking along the road in the direction of that same bus stop. I stood on the brakes and swerved into the kerb, almost oblivious to the horn that sounded from behind me and hardly hearing the language of the driver who nearly tail-ended me.

"Want a lift?" I shouted. "No blow jobs involved!"

She giggled throatily and climbed in.

"Thank you." She said, as she fastened her seat belt around her narrow waist.

"No problem." I told her. "I enjoy company when I'm driving."

"Well, thanks again. But if you keep stopping for me, I'll end up owing you something."

"I'm sure we can think of something if need be."

She favoured me with a quick smile at that, but she didn't rise to the bait and we settled back into a nothing conversation.

The journey ended outside her place, but this time she kissed me before opening the car door, and this time it was longer. Long enough, in fact for me put my hand around the back of her head and pull her closer. Long enough too, for her tongue to find its way between my lips and explore my mouth. But then, just as I thought things were making progress she broke free, slipped away from my restraining hand and was gone again.

The next night she was at the bus stop again, and this time I had the distinct impression that she was waiting for me rather than a bus, at least I hoped so. We sat quiet this time, each I think, wondering what would happen tonight when we reached the end of the journey. I decided to give things a little push in the right direction, or the right direction as far as I was concerned, and so I placed my free hand on her bare thigh, just south of the hem on her short skirt.

Her skin felt wonderfully smooth, still cool from the night air, but gorgeously silky and softly firm, if that makes sense. She made no complaint, but she did place her hand over the top of mine, as if to say 'that's fine but no further'. That was ok by me, at least she hadn't pulled it away, and we rode the rest of the way in silence with me soaking up the almost juvenile sensation of resting my hand on her leg. It wasn't until I needed two hands to bring the car to a stop outside her place that I moved my hand, and it was a journey that I thoroughly enjoyed.

The kiss this time was longer still, and more passionate, right down to a little mewl of pleasure from Sam as my tongue invaded her mouth. But then, once again no invite and all of a sudden she was gone.

The next night I didn't see her and I was scared, yes scared, that I'd frightened her into avoiding me by touching her leg. But I needn't have worried, for the night after she was there, apologising that she hadn't told me of her night off and explaining that she only worked four nights out of seven because she worked some weekend lunchtimes as well. I hated to admit how relieved I was, even to myself.

This time as we drove to her home I deliberately kept my hand to myself, not wanting to give her the impression of being on the make all the time. She didn't comment and once again the conversation was inconsequential, with neither of us letting much slip in the way of personal information. But then the ordinariness of the ride changed the moment we stopped outside of her door. This goodnight kiss was unrestrained, full on sexual, and there was no mistaking the overtones from either side. That was the moment when we both knew that things were destined to go a lot further.

"Wow." She said when we broke for breath. "That was some kiss."

She paused for a second or two and then remarked, quite matter of factly. "You fancy me, don't you?"

When I didn't reply she simply moved a hand that she had rested on my chest, and slid it down to my groin, finding and outlining the rock hard erection that I sported there.

"I'll take that as a compliment." She smiled, "But I'm not really sure that I'm your sort of girl."

She was gently stroking my cock through my jeans as she spoke, so I didn't argue with her in case she stopped. Then I felt that exquisite vibration that tells you that your zip is being gently undone.

"Now I'm going to pay my bill for your time bringing me home each night."

As she wriggled down in her seat and leaned further over I felt my cock spring free of my pants and into her hand. It felt good for it to be free with just the coolness of her fingers wrapped around it, and I kind of sat there waiting for what I hoped was coming next.

After a few moments I looked down at the top of her head, realising then that she was simply gazing at my cock, not doing anything much except running her gentle fingertips up and down its length and gazing at it. I liked that, but I was hoping for more and trying very hard to stop myself from pushing her head down onto it.

I could tell that for some reason she was fighting with herself, wanting to do it, but not sure if she should. I didn't know why so I just had to let her take things at her own pace, waiting with bated breath. She'd unzipped me with complete confidence, but now she was hesitating for some reason and I just had to hope.

Eventually I felt a soft wet contact right on the tip, and I knew with absolute heart racing certainty that she had actually licked my cock, just touching it with her tongue. I could hardly believe my luck. Here was the girl I had fantasized about every night since meeting her and she was getting herself set to suck my cock. She was going to do it, I knew now that she was really going to do it.

When her mouth finally closed over the head of my cock I was in heaven, my dream was coming true. All I needed now was for her to invite me in for coffee, so that we could get it together properly. God, how I longed to fuck Sam, and how I believed now that it was just a matter of time, so long as I didn't force the issue.

Sam didn't deep throat me but she took me right into her mouth as far as she could, sliding herself up and down the shaft, running her tongue around the head, and gently wanking me with her hand at the same time. My God, she was good. It wasn't long before I could feel that wonderful tightness begin in my balls and that old familiar fire begin to burn inside me.

I was gasping with pleasure by this time, not daring to do anything to Sam in case she stopped, but wanting desperately to pull up her top and run my hands over her skin. In the end I just sat there with my fists clenched into tight dutiful balls hovering over her back.

She seemed to sense that I was getting close, because her hand speeded up, pulling at my shaft, and her tongue started to swirl around my tip, turning that oversensitive part of me into a point of pure ecstasy, so good that it hurt. I felt the pressure build and the heat in my balls reach melting point, I was going to cum any minute and I so wanted Sam to swallow it.

"I'm going to cum." I warned her in a strained little voice, receiving a quick little squeeze on my shaft in acknowledgment.

"You don't have to take me in your mouth." I told her, hoping against hope that she would, but feeling the need to let her opt out.

She nodded slightly in answer and wanked my shaft even harder.

I tried to hold back to give her the chance to break free, but she didn't want to and I couldn't postpone for long, and so with a long warning groan I let go and shot my load into her mouth. She never hesitated, sucking and wanking hard on my shaft as if to milk every last drop from me, while I tried not to push up into her throat or to grab her head and ram it right down onto me. The sensations she generated were amazing, every spurt was met by her mouth descending onto me, every time my hips juddered from pure pleasure she ran her tongue around my cock to heighten it. It was the best blow job I had ever received, except for one thing.

The very minute I had finished ejaculating and she had swallowed everything I'd given, she pulled away, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and scrambled out of the car without so much as a goodnight smile. It was as if the job was done, the bill was paid and that was that. Not the sort of thing to boost a man's ego.

It was a good fifteen minutes before I could drive away. Apart from the fact that my legs were like jelly, my chest was heaving and my heart was going like the favourite in the two-thirty, my mind couldn't take in her behaviour. First she did want to blow me, then she hesitated, then she did it and did it so well that she'd obviously had practise, and then she raced off as if regretting ever doing anything. I was confused to say the least.

In the end I drove home having made the positive decision that if she was at the bus stop again, then she'd really have to catch the bus. Of course I meant every word I'd said to myself, and of course the next night I pulled up alongside her and offered her a lift again. After all, I reasoned, I'd not had the chance to fuck her yet and I was sure it was on the cards.

"Thank you for last night." I told her as soon as she was settled in her seat.

"That's alright." She flashed me one of her smiles again. "I enjoyed doing it."

There was silence for a mile or so, and then. "I hope I didn't leave to much lipstick on you."

"No, hardly any." I lied. She'd left a bright smear on my jeans as well as smudges all up and down my cock.

I felt sure she must have shares in a cosmetics company because she was never without heavy makeup. I assumed it was because she worked in a bar, but even so it sometimes seemed a bit much. I'd got used to tasting it when we kissed, and to washing my face when I got home, but it had been quite shock to see a red-ringed penis in my jeans.

"You didn't need to do that, you know. I mean, I didn't give you a lift with that in mind."

"You mean you don't want me to do it again?"

She was teasing, and she got the answer she expected when I blushed scarlet and stammered my reply.

"That's not what I meant. I want you to do it, but you don't have to. It's not the price of a lift, that's free. Anything we do afterwards is up to you. But I liked it and I wouldn't mind it again, or anything else you want to do."

I was gabbling from embarrassment and I realised it when I saw her smiling broadly beside me.

"Bitch." I told her.

"Oh, yes, I am that." She answered bizarrely.

I tried to regain the initiative by placing my hand on her thigh again as we drove along, but she put her own hand firmly over mine again with that same unmistakeable message. Never mind, it still felt nice to touch her leg.

This time when we arrived at her place we kissed long and affectionately, our new intimacy reflected in the way we now cuddled as we kissed. But kiss was all that we did. This time there was no blow job on offer, and when I tried to slide my hand along her leg I was met with a definite blocking tactic, she simply grabbed my wrist and pulled me away. One step forward and two back, or so it seemed.

That kind of set a pattern that lasted for several weeks. I would pick her up, there was no pretence of waiting for a bus anymore, we would drive to her place, park up, kiss and cuddle for a while, until I got hot and bothered, and then she'd be gone. It really would have been unbearably frustrating if it were not for the fact that every few nights she would grant me one of her superb blow jobs.

Naturally, as a red blooded male in full working order, I tried to get whatever I could from her, but all my efforts were expertly and emphatically countered. She would let me stroke her back, and even occasionally her thighs, but if I ever tried to fondle her breasts or feel between her legs, then she would either turn away or block me in some other way. Never once did I manage to touch any part of her body that she didn't want me to. Nor did I ever get invited into her home or have an offer of a date accepted. It was, to put it mildly, a strange sort of relationship that we had going. You have to realise that I was besotted by her, perhaps not in love with her but certainly addicted, and prepared to put up with an awful lot just for her attentions.

But then that all changed in one night, and all the missing pieces fell into place. It was what I had come to think of as a blow job night, but this time Sam wanted to take things just a little further. Later I wondered if she's been sounding me out, looking for a reaction, but at the time I was just pleased to take things one step further, even if it was an unfamiliar step.

Sam had fished inside my jeans and found my cock, but then instead of coaxing it from hiding and out through my flies, she undid my belt, unfastened my jeans and started to wriggle them down a little as if to give herself more room to play. I obviously had no objection to that and lifted myself off the seat to let her do whatever she wanted, with the result that my jeans ended up around my ankles along with my underwear. I don't think she had originally intended to take it that far, because as far as I could tell, her plan was just to play with my balls as she sucked me and all she was trying for was enough slack to insert her hand, but pulling my jeans right out of the way obviously made that easier still.

I didn't mind whatever her intention had been, because to have a girl's mouth around my cock and her cool gentle fingers cupped under my scrotum as she rolled my balls in the palm of her hand was heaven as far as I was concerned.

She's clearly done that before, too, because she began stroking and fondling my balls in such a way as to have me climbing the wall, even without the feel of her tongue around my helmet. I opened my legs as far as I could to encourage her and then leaned back to enjoy it.

But you know what it's like when something feels that good, it's impossible to stay still. I couldn't relax, I squirmed, moaned, wriggled and thrashed about as her fingers and mouth went to work on me. In the end I started to stroke the back of her head and her back, just to keep my hands occupied while she had me in that state of impossible arousal.

That night she was wearing a short, rah-rah style skirt and a tee-shirt top, and I soon had my hand under her top and was stroking the skin of her back, cursing her bra strap as I did so and wondering if I dare undo it. In the end I decided not to jeopardise what she was doing and settled for stroking softly up and down the long length of her spine under her tee-shirt, starting at the nape of her neck and ending at, or just under, the waistband of her skirt.

It wasn't long, of course, before I was burrowing under the back of her skirt, descending just a little further each time until I encountered, and infiltrated, the top of her panties. Maybe Sam was enjoying things too much to notice, or maybe she knew that she was too tall and the length of her back too long for me to reach very far under her skirt, but whatever the reason for once she raised no objection and I was soon exploring bits I'd never been allowed to before.

Maybe I'd been too engrossed to notice things either, because I suddenly became aware that Sam's fingertip had strayed down from my scrotum, across my perineum and was now knocking gently on my back door, while all the time her mouth engulfed my cock and her palm kneaded my balls. It was a peculiar sensation to feel a woman's fingertip exploring my anus, wriggling gently as it tried to find the entrance, and if truth be told, it was an oddly erotic sensation as well. Erotic enough for me not to want to stop it and in fact I even tried to spread my legs a little further to show my assent.

By now, of course, I'd got two of my fingers exploring the top of the cleft between her buttocks and so, by leaning a bit to one side, I found I was able to reach further down until my fingertip just, and I do mean just, found her own rosebud and I was also probing the tradesman's entrance. Now we were both probing each other's bottoms, with very little success it must be said, as neither of us had any lubricant, but it was nevertheless a novel and exciting activity. Once again and to my surprise she had raised no objection and I revelled in the new sensations of investigating her cleft. It did seem a bit strange that a woman who wouldn't let me feel her tits would let me prod her bum-hole, but who was I to argue.