For those of you that have read some of my other stories, I'll just say that this a little different. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
We were in the middle of long drive, going south on 257. Harry had been driving for over an hour, and we had more than an hour to go. Grace was riding shotgun, I had the back seat. Grace always rode shotgun. So either Harry or I drove and the other occupied the back. That's what husbands do--sacrifice a little to the preferences of their wife. We were in our early thirties; at the age when time spent in a car is easy time, no matter how long.
Harry and I were dressed the same: gym shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, Harry in black and white and me in gray and gray. Grace wore a light blue sundress that extended to just above her knees when she was standing.
We did not expect to see any hitchhikers. The weather was good for it--mid-seventies with a thin overcast. But we were many miles away from anything, and traffic was light on a Monday morning.
But there she was, trekking along with a light step and shoulder bag, dressed in a subdued yellow one-piece, shorts and shirt. Also, a soft wide-brimmed hat of the same color.
She gave us a cheerful thumb as we slowed, and Harry pulled onto the shoulder about twenty yards past. I looked out the back window. She had her phone in hand, texting, probably. She jogged up to the front door and looked in the open window. Grace gave her that irresistible smile, and our hitchhiker returned it with one of her own. She climbed into the back seat with a grateful smile and said hi. She took off the hat and set it by the door.
I responded, "Hi back. That's Harry and Grace. I'm Frank."
"Call me Evie."
Grace turned in her seat and asked, "Isn't it risky for a single cutie to be out hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere?"
"Probably. But I try to reduce the risk. I texted this." She showed us her phone. It showed the text: "slvr suv, mmf, lp WE3 R 1"
"I texted that to a state trooper I know. If you folks had suddenly turned bad, I'd show you that.
"I've used that once already."
"Smart girl. And pretty, too. Where you headed?"
"Minersville."
"Great. We're going even farther. Sit back and enjoy the ride."
You'd expect a pretty young woman in those circumstances to put her shoulder bag between us and sit by the door. Nope.
She was pretty. Short black hair, round face with a slightly upturned nose and a small mouth with full lips that seemed to be in a constant half-smile.
She put her bag by the door and scooted across the seat right next to me, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh.
She put her hand on my thigh, her fingers flirting with the growing bulge in my shorts.
She smelled like sunshine and cinnamon.
"Do you mind?" she asked, softly, lips close to my ear.
I had to grin. "Not one bit."
"Will they?"
"Same answer."
She kissed me, hard and passionate, offering her tongue to mine while she squeezed and rubbed my dick. We continued to kiss, lips to lips, lips to ears, lips to neck; she slipped her hand into the leg of my shorts and squeezed my dick, this time skin to skin. I took some initiative and started unsnapping her top.
No bra. Just inviting perfect wide cones with nipples already hard in the middle of mid-sized areolae. I kissed and suckled on them, one after the other. She arched her back and pushed her breasts into my mouth.
She undid the thin belt around her waist and unsnapped the snaps so that the shorts were opened. She grabbed my left hand and guided it to her soft and moist labia.
"Me first, please?"
