Roadside assistance

The dashboard lit up like a damn Christmas tree as I cruised down the quiet suburban road, the check engine light blinking insistently alongside an engine temperature warning that had my heart skipping a beat. I eased the SUV to the shoulder, cursing under my breath, and stepped out into the afternoon sun. My blue jeans hugged my hips snugly, but it was the purple blouse, thin cotton, no bra underneath, that let my massive 38KK tits shift freely with every step, heavy and unbound, swaying pendulously as I rounded the hood and popped it open. Steam wisped faintly from the engine bay, and I peered in, hands on my hips, feeling the weight of my breasts tug downward, nipples brushing the fabric with a teasing friction.

Before I could even think about dialing AAA, a sleek sedan pulled up beside me, the window rolling down to reveal a guy in his early thirties, cute as hell, with tousled brown hair, a trimmed beard, and a button-up shirt that hinted at a lean, athletic build. “Everything okay?” he called out, his voice warm and concerned, eyes flicking over me before settling on the open hood.

I turned toward him, my pulse quickening at the sight of him, and in a quick, discreet move, I slipped another button free on my blouse. The neckline dipped lower, framing the deep valley of my cleavage, the soft swells of my pale flesh spilling forward invitingly. “Yeah, just some warning lights,” I replied, leaning against the car with a smile that matched the subtle arch of my back. “Hood’s up, but I don’t see anything obvious.”