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The Ride Home

You don't really see many hitch-hikers these days
Late night. Lights glisten on the surface of the road where it rained not long before. I’m about to put my foot down on leaving the village when I catch sight of her.

I bring the car to a halt, watching in the mirror as the rear lights redden the black nylon on her legs. Her skirt is short, jacket only waist-length. High heels. Something’s odd about this. You don’t really see hitch-hikers anymore, certainly not ones that look like her.

I press the button, letting the window slide down. She crouches down, peering in. Her face is strangely doll-like, framed by a blonde bob cut. “Where are you heading?” she asks.

“Where are you going?”


“And where’s home?” She tells me. “Hop in.”

And we’re driving through open farmland, headlamps sweeping across fields, fauna dashing hither and thither in the glow. My hand is on the gear stick, my mind on the black nylon stretched tightly across her firm thighs.

“So what’s the story?” I ask.

“It’s a long one.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Maybe we have, but I don’t want you to get ideas about me.”

“So it’s that kind of story?”

“Perhaps, but that’s for me to know.”

Silence, save for the hum of rubber on road, swishing through the landscape. One or two vehicles pass in the opposite direction spraying water onto the windscreen. Hand on gear stick, mind on black nylon, thighs, wondering what her boobs look like.

“You don’t see many hitch-hikers these days,” I say.

“Still fishing?”

“Making conversation.”

“Well don’t.”

“So bite my nose off, why don’t you? I’m doing you a favour, you know.”

Silence, save for the hum of rubber on road. Another car overtakes, water splashes up onto the windscreen. Hand on gear stick, eyes glancing in her direction; black nylon, thighs, seatbelt pulled tight across her chest.

“So what ideas don’t you want me to get about you?” I ask.

“That’s for me to know.”

“Are you afraid I’ll think you’re a slut?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Is that your idea of conversation?”

“For someone who’s being done a favour, you really have an attitude.”

“You practically accused me of being a slut.”

Hand tightens round gear stick, eyes slide over black nylon.

“Well, are you?”

“You know, this is making me very uncomfortable.”

“Do you want me to drop you here?” Dark, open fields; middle of nowhere. Small droplets on the windscreen threatening a new shower. “It’s still a way home.”

“Just don’t…”.

“You look terrific.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?”

Silence, save for the hum of rubber on road. Hand on gear stick tightening, black nylon stretched across thigh, seatbelt stretched across chest. Ire rising.

“Maybe not, but you could stop being a stuck-up bitch.”

She stares, wide mouthed. I avert my eyes, keeping them on the road.

“Would you rather I said you looked like a slut?”

“Why say anything at all?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Well don’t.”

Long straight road ahead, foot down, hand moves from gear stick, lands on black nylon.

“What are you doing?”

“Not making conversation.”

“Well don’t.”

“Would you rather walk home?”

“Just don’t touch me; don’t talk to me.”

Fingers begin to slide, sensing nylon and lithe skin beneath. “Sorry, the ride now comes at a price.”

“I’ve got money. How much do you want?”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Then what?”

Nylon against fingertips, ardour rising. “Show me your tits.”

“Are you crazy?”

Foot on brake. Bodies tilt forwards, held by seatbelts. Fingers leave nylon. “Do you want to walk home?”

She stares; mouth opens and shuts. Opens again. Closes. Opens. “You bastard.”

“Sticks and stones.” I smile. “Are you gonna show me your tits or just get out?”

“You bastard.”

Her hand moves. Seatbelt is unfastened. I reach up to flick light on. She leans back, fingers unzip jacket. She leans forward, struggles out of jacket. Underneath is a low cut top, cleavage instantly visible. She glares at me. Hands move, pulling top up, above breasts. Black lace bra underneath, hand slides into one cup, then the other. Big, fleshy mammaries emerge with spread of succulent areolae.


I reach out, pinching first one nipple, then the other.

“Ow! You didn’t say anything about touching?”

“My car, my rules.” But my hand goes back to the gear stick, the other flicks the light off. “Belt up.”

Car back in gear, foot on accelerator. Rain falling now, windscreen wipers doing their regimented dance. I look at the woman, at the seatbelt stretching down between her large breasts. She’s looking out of the window. One mile to start of dual carriageway. Hand moves from gear stick to nylon thigh; rubs, strokes.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything more, you pervert.”

“My car, my rules.”

“Are you?”

“That’s for me to know.”

Silence, save for the splash of rubber on watery road and the swishing of windscreen wipers. A car overtakes. My fingers squeeze, hold the nylon thigh tighter. Desire grows, throbs; an urge that will not be quenched. Dual carriageway commences.

“Stop touching me, I don’t like it.”

Hand moves from thigh to steering wheel. Other hand moves from steering wheel to fly, unzipping. Thank goodness for open front boxers. Erection emerges. I can sense her looking. “Then you touch me.”

“No fucking way.”

“My car, my rules. Or would you rather walk?”

“Well it’s not like you’re going to stop here, is it?”

Cars overtake. The sign comes into view. Lay-by up ahead. “I can always stop there.”

No movement. Hand moves from fly to steering wheel. Other hand moves from steering wheel to her hand, pulling it, making sure it lands in my lap. My hand moves back to thigh, fingertips grazing the nylon. “Go on, touch it, or you can walk.”

“Fucking pervert!” But her fingers clench. She’s holding me now, fingertips pressing against my swollen flesh. My fingers dig into her thigh. “Are you expecting me to jerk you off?”

Exit road to lay-by immediate. I indicate, give a slight turn of the steering wheel. Her fingers shift slightly. Mine dig into her thigh. Lay-by deserted, in darkness save for sweep of headlamps. Foot on brake. Engine off. Hand moves from thigh to press button, undoing her seatbelt. Buckle whizzes up, making for home.

“Ow! That burned!”

My arm finds the back of her head, indicating what I want. She’s not budging. “Do you want to walk?”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to lean over.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had your fun now?” Her hand moves, fingertips no longer holding rigid cock.

I flick on overhead light, bare my teeth. “Lean over and suck my fucking cock, you fucking slut.”

“You fucking pervert!

“Maybe I am, but you’re the one who wants to get home tonight. Or would you rather I dropped you here?” My free hand moves, clutching at her right breast. Fingers dig into the flesh, nails too. I won’t stop now until I’m satisfied.

“What about a tit fuck? Would that be enough?”

I leer. “Fucking well suck my cock or get out!”

She sits, my fingers digging into her flesh. Then she shifts. I pull my hand away from her breast, the other hand following her movement. I’m holding my cock, aiming for the mouth that slowly opens. Her eyes find mine. “Don’t think for one moment I’m going to enjoy this.”

Her lips close, my cock disappears between them. There’s not much movement. Both my hands are on her head, holding her in place. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never done this before. You look like a right randy little cocksucker. I bet you’ve eaten tons of cum.” I push upwards, thrusting further into her mouth, my hands pushing down, making sure she goes deep.

Warmth, damp, saliva. I’m oozing pre-cum. I force her down further, pushing up all the while. My cock inches further into her mouth. Warmth, damp, saliva. Down, down. Up, up. Then my cock’s no longer to be seen. Every last inch in her mouth. She’s grunting, giving little gasps. “Looks like I was right. No slut could take all that if she wasn’t used to it. Little cocksucker.”

I let go of her. Hand goes to thigh. Nylon beneath fingers. She gasps, gives a little snort. Saliva, a huge string, dangles from her mouth. Separates, falls.

“Look what you’ve done to my trousers, you fucking slut!”

“What did you expect?”

“Get out!”


“Don’t worry.” Other hand goes to door handle, opens it. She looks at me, then opens door on her side.

Outside the rain’s falling harder. Cold, steady drops. I move round to her side of the car. “It’s ruining my hair, this weather,” she complains.

Does she think I look like I care? “On your knees, bitch.”

“I’ll ladder my stockings!”

“Well then walk home in unladdered stockings.” She gives me a look that speaks volumes, then drops to her knees. “Open your mouth!”

I push her head back against the unforgiving metal. Rain falling, hard drops, cold. Darkness surrounds us, save for the glow that filters back from the inside and outside lights. The swish of tyres and the hum of engines filters across from the dual carriageway. My cock enters her mouth. Her lips close. I give a huge thrust, then another. I’m fucking her mouth. Nailing her head to the side of the car. Warmth, damp, saliva. Saliva spills out around my piston-like cock. She gurgles, she grunts, she gasps. I thrust. “Take it, you fucking slut,” I tell her. “Take my cock, you bitch.”

She sounds like she’s trying to say something. I pay it no heed. Rain falling, cold, hard. Darkness, save for the dim glow filtering back. Cock fucking mouth. Cock fucking face. She gurgles. She’s drooling. Strings of saliva dripping from her. “Take it!” I command. “And when you can’t take any more, I’m gonna pound your pussy even harder!”

She sounds like she’s trying to say something. This time she twists her head. I could just keep nailing her. Instead I pull out. She stands up, spluttering, saliva dripping from her chin onto her fleshy breasts. “You really think I’m going to let you…”

“Oh yes. Unless you want to walk home.”

“Maybe I will!” Said defiantly.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Because it’s raining and it’ll ruin your hair.”

“It’s already ruined.”

“And because deep down you want it, because you’re a fucking slag.”

“You really are the limit!”

My hand shoots out. Rain falling, hard. Hand pushes, dress rises. Stocking tops dimly visible. Hand finds the spot. She tries to pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. “No panties! The mark of a true slut.”

“You bastard!”

I grab hold of her, twisting her round. She stumbles in her heels, catches herself on the roof of the car, but I’ve got her where I want her. Rain falling, hard. I pull her into position. Fingers move to twat. Damp, moist, warm. “Cunts don’t lie. You’re up for this, aren’t you, you fucking slag?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Your cunt’s fucking dripping.”

“Just get it over with!”

Cold, hard rain. Warm, wet cunt engulfing my prick. Big, hard thrusts. Hands go to her tits, squeeze, fingers find nipples, big swollen nipples; twist.

She whines. “Tell me how much you’re loving it,” I say.

“You must be joking!”

Cold, hard rain. Warm, soft pussy. I fuck harder. Fingers dig into her tits, nails scratch at her skin. “Go on, tell me how much you’re loving it.”


Nipples twisted. She whimpers. But she’s panting heavily too. Cars swish by in the near distance. My cock lays into her, pounding her, ramming into her. She’s panting and gasping. Hard rain falling, splashing in puddles, the sound mixing with the sound of her wet cunt as I drill her.

“Admit it! You’re just a slut with a wet, cock-hungry cunt!”

“You’re mad!”

I move faster, harder. Rain pouring down, cold, wet. Cock pumping warm, moist pussy. I’m going as fast as I can now, fucking her as hard as I can. Her nipples push against the palms of my hands as my fingers dig into her tit flesh. “Admit it!”

“Never!” She’s panting hard now as the rain falls mercilessly.

“No? Maybe I’ll have to see how you react to my cock up your arse.” She gives a gasp. “Like the idea of that, do you?”

“No fucking way!”

“No? Then tell me how much you’re enjoying this!” She gasps again, pants. I pound her. Tit flesh fills my hands. I gasp. Rain falls, hard. “Tell me! Or else!”

She gives a little squeak, a gasp. “I’m loving it,” she says.

“Loving what?” Cock pounding, heart racing.

“Being fucked.” She can hardly get the words out. I fuck on, shoving my cock right the way up her. It’s bucketing down. Still I fuck her like an animal, driving my rampant cock up her, feeling her grip tighten.

I can hardly get the words out, panting, gasping, sweating. “Being fucked by what?”

“Being fucked…” gasp, pant, “…by…”, pant, wheeze, “…your cock.”

“Why do you love it? What are you?”

“I love it…” gasp, pant, “…because…” pant, wheeze, “because I’m a slut.”

Fingers dig into ripe tit flesh, nipples are twisted. She cries out. One hand leaves tit to grab her by the hair. I stop fucking, my cock buried to the hilt in her moist twat. “I’m gonna tell you something about sluts.” Rain falling, hard, skin-soaking. Cars swish by as I yank on her hair and she whimpers. “Turn around and get back on your knees!”

This time she obeys without protest. In the dim light I see her looking up at me, but not quite her expression. My cock is in my hand, slimy, slippery from pummelling her cunt. I push the head up under her chin, sliding it across her skin. The rain falls, wet, damp. “There’s one thing every good slut loves. A good face full of cum!”

“What if I’m a bad slut?”

She gasps as I strike her on the cheek with my cock. Her cheek is damp with rain, possibly with sweat. “Don’t get uppity, you fucking bitch, not unless you want it up the arse.”

“You fucking pervert!”

Cock head sliding across rain-soaked skin. Cars swish by. Rain pounding on roof of car. Loud, deafening. “Maybe I am. Whatever.” Cock head sliding across skin, foreskin pulled back. I don’t have to wank, I can feel the sperm coming to a boil, readying itself to push up and out. “It doesn’t matter. You’re just a fucking slag who’s going to get cum all over her face whether she wants it or not.”

Rain hammering, heart pounding, a gushing in my head. Cock head slides over her cheek, lips, up over other cheek. Sperm rising. Now! Now! “Take it, you fucking slut!” Sperm emerges, spurts.

“Ow! My eye! I hate you!”

Cock head slides over rain-drenched skin. Noises blur. I’m giving ecstatic grunts. Cum flows, cum spurts, anywhere on her face my cock slides. I’ve been saving up. Large creamy dollops keep on coming. She gasps. Soon my cock is sliding through my own cum, sliding until the last drops are squeezed out.

I pull back. She raises a hand as if to liberate her face or correct her attire. “Stop!” I say. She stops in mid-movement. “That’s how I want you until you get home. Tits hanging out, cum dripping from your face.”

“No way!”

“Then you can walk.”

Rain falling, pouring down, hard, cold drops, washing some of the spunk from her face anyway. “You really are the most disgusting fucking pervert I’ve ever met!”

But she does as I demand. Back in car, engine on. Rain hammering on roof. Windscreen wipers on. Foot on accelerator, pulling away.

Silence in car, hurtling through landscape, hardly able to stop glancing all the time at the slut beside me. Newly fucked slut, newly creamed slut. Tits glistening from rain, from strings of drool, from drips of cum. Face sticky with cum.

Silence for 20 minutes. Rain pounding, lets up just before I pull into driveway. Engine off, doors open. We stand on either side of car, just about hidden from the street, staring at each other across the roof of the car. Both bedraggled.

“You owe me,” the woman says.

“Really? I’ve given you a lift home, and given you a good fucking. What more do you want?”

“At least three orgasms. And that arse fuck you promised.”

I crack a smile. “Oh I think that could be arranged. Anything for my darling wife.”

She smiles back, expectantly, licking her lips where cum still lingers. “But first a hot cup of tea and a shower,” I think.

I nod, letting my wife walk ahead of me so that I can watch her luscious bum, which she wiggles a little for my sake, knowing full well that the thought of that arse fuck will have me ready and willing again in no time.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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