"Well that depends," he said slowly. "You have proof you're eighteen?"
Jessica nodded eagerly, opening her purse. After a moment she pulled out her driver's license and handed it to him. He seemed to be inspecting it carefully, even letting the other guys look at it to check if it was fake. Just in case they jotted down her details.
"The picture's got some scratches or something," he said, and Jessica blushed a bit.
It wasn't scratches on her photo. It had taken ten tries for the idiot photographer to get her picture right. Ten times that she sucked him off and he sprayed her face. Of course that was nothing compared to the five driver's tests to get her permit, the six months of constant fuck-bribes to get the tester to hurry up the paperwork, and then another year of the same to get the permit upgraded to an actual license. God she hated paperwork.
"Still, you're eighteen alright," he said. "I'll have to get the paperwork for you to sign."
Jessica put a hand on his thigh, right beside his now-flaccid dick, giving him her most seductive smile. "Do we really have to do that?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. "I hate all that paperwork stuff. I just can't figure out that income tax thing, y'know. Besides, I've heard it's better to have an... under the table arrangement," she winked.
The man looked down at her impassively; people he grew up with had always thought he was a retard because he seemed so slow to react. Slowly they learned that he wasn't slow to react he was just thinking through all the angles before he set them up to get arrested, expelled, or beaten to a pulp. In this case he had come up with some ideas of how to use this newly-eighteen bitch. |