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Julie
"OK," she said, "truth! "My name is Julie, I'm eighteen and I've been
on the road for three weeks." Closer to it, anyway, Steve thought with a
smile as he continued to steer into the vortex of light on the ribbon
highway. Not quite as far-fetched as some of the stories she had told him
in the 45 minutes since he had picked up the young hitchhiker just outside
of Palm Springs. But still not truth. Subconsciously, his foot backed
off the pedal and the red Maserati slowed from 85 back to the acceptably
illegal 65 miles per hour. No rush. They were closing in on Barstow,
2 a.m. Slower would allow another hour to get to what this beautiful
young lady is all about, he thought. Steve Hatcher was paying 60 percent
attention to the road, 40 and rising to the beautiful young woman beside
him in the tight silk blouse and jeans. The dash lights and reflected
headlights gave just enough illumination for him to determine that she had
no bra on. Big nipples, though. Another smile. But who is she? "I'm
gonna be a dancer in 'Vegas," she volunteered a few minutes later. "I'm
going to play poker," Steve replied. The Hold-'em tournament did not
start until late the following night, but Steve always tried to show up a
day early and get settled in a bit. The World Series of Poker. Payday.
If all went well. No reason to think otherwise. Hatcher had won in two
of the past three years and finished second in the third year. He didn't
often pick up hitchhikers these days. But this beautiful, lithe young
woman was definitely an exception. She had been sitting on the duffel bag
near a sign as he pulled back onto the highway after a coffee/restroom
stop in the middle of the warm desert night. And he had whipped the
sports car over and stopped. She got in, giggling, and had proceeded to
be, in less than an hour, a teacher named Miss Smith, a hooker named
Honey, a young student named Crystal on her way to see an ailing
grandmother, and now Julie. And she revealed all the identities with the
same smile, the same sparkle in her eyes. Unbelievable, in more ways than
one, Steve thought. "Well, Julie, why'd you leave home?" he asked. Her
smile flickered and faded and a curtain drew down over the sparkle in
her eyes, replaced by a stern, faraway look. "Too many restrictions," she
answered succinctly. Then, as soon as the thought had formed and been
stated, her smile returned. She reached behind the seat to her duffel bag
and produced a hand-rolled cigarette. Suddenly a new sweet smell covered
that of her perfume, of which he had partaken many deep and longing
breaths since she filled the close quarters with it. She handed him the
joint, still smiling but holding her breath now. No wonder she rolled it
so skinny, he thought as the first wave rolled over him on the first hit.
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Excellent. By the time they had smoked it down, he was thankful that he'd
gotten the alignment problem dealt with before this drive. The Maserati
was once again eager to steer straight, sort of automatic pilot. The
percentage had shifted, to about 30 percent driving and 70 percent focus
on the girl/woman beside him. He found her awareness of his attention
also increased after the pot. She reached past the gearshift and
purposefully cupped his semi-hard cock with her hand, through his cotton
shorts. He felt himself seemingly double in size with each squeeze of her
cupped hand. In seconds his cock swelled to its rigid best. He gripped
the wheel a bit tighter. Miss Honey Julie Crystal Smith, whoever she was,
brought her legs up under herself on the seat at the same time she slipped
his cock out from his shorts, allowing it to stand erect. She began to
lightly lap at the head of his prick, sending shivers up his back and down
his thighs. "I want to thank you for the ride, Steve," was all she said
before taking the head into her mouth and sucking, running her tongue
around the ridge. Whatever her name was, she obviously knew exactly what
she was doing and how. Wonderfully. Steve's concentration now was
running about 5/95, but the Maserati was taking care of it beautifully.
So was she. With a mouth half again as hot as the desert night, she
gently nibbled him, pulled at the skin with her teeth, lightly, and
insinuated the tip of her tongue into the orifice, then quickly and softly
lowered her head, letting his cock fill her mouth completely. Slowly,
sucking in pulses, she withdrew and then again, down the shaft and again.
He felt her touch, fingers inside his shorts, fingernails gently raking
over his balls, but only as counterpoint to the main theme, her head now
bobbing rapidly as she sought to devour him again and again. All too
quickly he was pushed to the edge and over. Thank God for straight roads,
tight cars and loose women. Steve's cock erupted at her. Her efforts
were rewarded with an explosion of hot cum that she drank eagerly, as
still her lips and teeth and tongue gently glided over and around the
electric skin of his throbbing member. It could only have been seconds
later that Steve's consciousness coalesced again. He hadn't been aware of
leaving entirely, just of somehow drifting back from a brilliant, warm
limbo into the reality of steering a rocketing car through a desert night.
Whew. Still here, he thought first. Against the oceanic tide, the ebb
and flow of her coverage of his penis, Steve now was managing about 20/80
attention, the car picking up the deficit. He had a strong premonition
just then. Gonna make it 3 wins in 4 years, for sure. It was already a
very lucky trip and he was not even over the border into Nevada yet.
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