Road Trip

A dropout and a runaway find solace with each other

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Author's notes:

1. This is a work of fiction. The activities and practices described in this story are not necessarily either condoned or recommended. If you choose to do anything described in real life with real people you do so at your own risk.

2. All characters are fictional and any likeness to any living person is purely coincidental. The story is purely imaginary and, to the author's knowledge, bears no relationship to any factual occurrence.

3. This story may be the start of a series, or may not. This could depend upon ratings and comments from you.

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Mine weren't the only eyes to watch her as she walked across the room; the conversation in the bar reduced to a dull roar as she picked her way confidently through the crowded barroom. You could see mates nudging each other and nodding in her direction and by the time she placed her trim, leather-covered ass on a stool, you could have almost heard a pin drop. She tossed her head to sweep her long blonde hair from over her face and everyone was able to hear her order to the barman.

"JD, a whole bottle, and two glasses with ice."

The barman busied himself, collecting a bottle from the top shelf and filling two glasses with ice as requested, then placed them on the counter. Meanwhile the blonde had been looking around the bar, making eye contact with as many of the bikies, country hicks, dropouts, farm workers and itinerants as would meet her gaze. Try as I might, I couldn't do it; as she turned her head towards me I dropped my eyes and stared fixedly at a cigarette burn on the worn table at which I sat alone until I sensed her gaze had bypassed me. I then resumed my ogling of her great bod, large tits and rounded ass wrapped in its tight leather sheath.

She threw a hundred down on the bar, told the barman to keep the change and eased herself off the stool, bottle in one hand, glasses in the other. She'd obviously made her decision as she'd surveyed the room and as the normal bar sounds resumed, she picked her way between the tables in my direction. I looked down again, I simply could not meet the gaze of her piercing blue eyes. It wasn't until the glasses and bottle hit the table in front of me that I realized she was standing over me on the other side of the small table.

"May I join you?" she asked in a husky, sexy voice.

I looked upwards, caught, then mesmerized, by her pale blue eyes.

"It's a free country," I muttered in reply, looking down to avoid being burnt up by her unwavering gaze.

She pulled out the other chair and sat on it gracefully while I surveyed her surreptitiously. She was sex personified; her long straight blonde hair hung down to where her nipples would be if she was naked, as I visualized her to be, her breasts standing out from her chest proud and free, her full, womanly hips holding the fountain of life between them. It would be nearly bald, I imagined, a few blonde hairs covering her mound, her strong thighs below able to bend and wrap around a man as he plowed her depths, and what depths, I thought . . .

"I've got a deal for you," she was leaning across the table, trying to get into my line of sight, which was directly at the burn mark. "I'll share this bottle with you if you take me to bed and fuck my brains out. Deal?"

Her words brought me out of my reverie, but for a few seconds I didn't know whether I'd heard right or whether her words were part of my dream. I looked up at her.

"Come again," I muttered, disbelieving my hearing.

She smiled, mainly, I realized later, at my choice of words.

"Exactly. You heard. Do we have a deal or do I find another bum to spend the night with?"

"Deal."

"Good decision. Leave your beer and let's go."

We stood, she took the glasses, I carried the bottle and followed her across the room to the inner door. Another hundred got us 'the best room in the house', according to the buxom receptionist behind the counter, and I followed my blonde goddess upstairs through the door that she opened and into a reasonable room with a king size bed. At least I'd have somewhere to sleep, I thought, remembering the past few nights of sleeping rough. I placed the bottle on the table alongside the glasses.

"A gentleman would pour us a drink," she said pointedly.

"It's been many years, lady, since I was called a gentleman," I replied gruffly, opening the bottle and pouring a generous portion of the amber fluid into each glass.

She picked up a glass, I took the other, we clinked. "To us," she toasted; "To us," I replied, wondering just who the us was that we drank to.

The first glass went down quickly and she poured the second but left the glasses sitting on the table.

"What's your name?"

"Henry, but folks call me Hank."

"Right, Hank it is. If you can be Hank, I can be Celeste. Pleased to meet you."

She held out her hand to me and I shook it, thinking of the incongruity of shaking the hand of a blonde sexpot, who I'd mentally stripped in the bar a few moments before, as we stood in the bedroom of a crummy hotel getting drunk enough to fuck. The thought passed as she used my hand to reel me in until we were standing chest to chest. She lifted her head a little and I bent mine as we kissed, our whisky breaths mingling as her sweet soft lips met mine and transported me to heaven. I felt emotions rising, the kiss bringing memories of my previous wife, killed in a bike crash six months ago, shattering our dreams, shattering my life. I felt tears start in my eyes and tried to blink them away. I felt her tongue teasing my teeth, which I opened, allowing her to explore inside my mouth; I met her tongue to tongue as the kiss deepened and she pressed her body against mine.

After we broke that first kiss we held each other, panting from emotion and from holding our breaths, and we looked into each other's eyes.

"You've seen a lot of sadness," she said at last.

I nodded. She laid her head against my chest and held me.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

I started back, holding her at arm's length. "It's not your fault, you know. You don't need to be sorry."

"I know, but I am. It's sad when bad things happen to good people. It's part of life, I know, but you need to move past it, move on to what you're here to do. Right now, you're here to fuck me and we can't do that while we're wearing leathers."

She reached out and unzipped my jacket, removing it off my shoulders. It dropped to the floor and she followed it, kneeling in front of me as she unfastened my leather bike pants, removing my boots before pulling the pants to the floor. I stepped out in response to her unspoken command. She stood and removed my shirt and tee, then again dropped to her knees and slowly pulled my undershorts to the floor. My semi-hard cock sprang outwards, hitting her forehead, and she ignored it completely.

"Your turn, cowboy," she said as she stood once again.

My mind went back again to Sandy, thinking of the countless times we'd stripped each other before spending passionate afternoons making love. I strove to push those thoughts out of my mind and was totally unsuccessful. As I well knew, you cannot simply push thoughts away, you must replace them with something. With a supreme effort I returned to the present, looking at the present that I'd been given right now. With trembling hands, I reached out and pulled Celeste's jacket zipper downwards, watching as each tooth that unzipped revealed more of her pale, flawless skin. It wasn't until the zipper was below her breasts and the jacket flaps were curling open that I realized that she wore nothing underneath; under the jacket was just skin, and I could already see the bulges of her copious breasts as I continued to move the zipper slowly floorwards, unwrapping my present slowly and, I hoped, erotically.

I removed the zipper from the handle and spread the front open wide, revealing her beautiful breasts with their pale aureoles and large, engorged nipples. The jacket dropped unheeded to the floor as I bent forward to kiss, lick and suck her nipples. She held my head against them, presenting them to me as a gift, nurturing me as she would a small child who had been hurt.

After a time, I pulled away and knelt before her as she had before me. I unzipped the ankle zippers, removed her boots, unfastened the waist belt then slowly pulled the zipper down the front of her pants. Again, there was nothing underneath except her. Slowly her pussy came into view, with sparse, blonde hairs just as I'd imagined; once the zipper was fully down, I was able to pull the upper part of her tight leather pants over her shapely ass so she was now naked down to her crotch.

"Sit," I instructed, and she sat on the edge of the bed, allowing me to pull each leg of her pants off, leaving her naked and gorgeous.

I offered her my hand and we stood once again, wrapping our arms around each other in an embrace, pressing our bodies together, skin on skin, we kissed slowly, languorously, erotically. Our lips met once again, sweeter this time, our arousal was higher, my cock was harder, pressing upwards between her legs, feeling her juices beginning to flow; she smelt sexy as well as feeling it. This time it was my turn to notice her response; it was she who had the tears this time. I watched her try to blink them away to no avail.

"What's wrong?" I murmured in her ear.

"It's nothing."

I held her close, realizing I was now the provider of support rather than the receiver. Slowly she opened up to me, telling me of the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her one true love, so she thought; of the betrayal she'd felt and of finally gathering the mental and emotional strength to leave. I listened in silence; it was the least I could do for this wonderful woman who had already done so much for me.

She wept, silent tears running between our bodies after she'd told her story. We kissed again, lovingly, longingly, then finished our drinks in one gulp, refilling the glasses. We mixed our whisky breaths in another kiss which ended as we fell onto the bed, holding each other tightly as though we were afraid the other would magically disappear.

Our first time was short and sweet. She lay on her back and wrapped her legs around me. Her thighs around my hips felt just as I'd imagined they would earlier, but my cock planted deeply in her pussy was something that was beyond imagination. It took only a few thrusts before she bit down on my shoulder to stifle her scream as she came; I spurted my juices inside her at the same time.

We lay together for a long time, silently, lost in our own thoughts, in our joy for the moment, both aware that joy is a temporary affair, intangible and insubstantial. Slowly we each came to peace with the thoughts that had been aroused.

"How did you end up here?" she asked at length.

"I've been drifting for the past few months; couldn't settle after Sandy's death. Did a few odd jobs here and there, mostly slept rough, under hedges, in barns, usually down side roads. Here I was just settling the dust before heading out to find another barn or hedge. How 'bout you?"

"Yeah, much the same. After I escaped from my sadistic partner I've been roaming the countryside. Unlike you, it appears, I have my bank account still with my inheritance money in it, so money's not a problem, at least not so far. I usually sleep in hotel rooms, usually alone. But I get horny, often, and then, like tonight, I select a likely looking cowboy who appears to have suffered at the hands of life in general. Tonight, it was you."

"Thanks, I think. So, we've fucked; I satisfied the itch between your big toes; what now? Do I thank you and leave? Or do you kick me out?"

"Oh, honey, you really have suffered, haven't you? Do you really think I'd do that before we've finished the bottle?"

I didn't know how to take this comment. Was she serious? Really, was that all I was good for, to help her drink a bottle of whisky? I was about to get up and leave, when she rolled onto her back and began laughing, helplessly, breast wobblingly. I watched her, puzzled, horny again from her unabashed display of her gorgeous body to a guy she'd only met an hour ago. Was she laughing at me or with me?

She rolled towards me and reached out, taking my hand.

"I'm sorry, darling, please don't be mad at me. I want you for far better reasons than simply your whisky drinking skills. In the bar I thought you looked like a guy who'd seen hard times, a guy who needed to clear out past memories that were eating away at his soul, just as mine are at mine. I'm sure I picked right. Please, honey, tell me your story, then I promise I'll tell you mine."

Over the next three hours we accomplished four things of note. I told her my story, draining my soul into her ears, feeling completely empty afterwards, ready to start life over. She told her story while I listened to her pour her woes, fears, pain and anguish out of her soul and into my ears. How she could have stayed with her scumbag of a partner for so long while he tortured her, mentally, emotionally and physically, I do not know. I guess it's often harder to unlove someone than to love them. Our third achievement was to drain the bottle of JD, which seemed to have little effect on our sobriety, and the fourth achievement was to make sweet gentle love to each other, lying side by side, stroking each other as we allowed our emotional traumas to drain and vanish in the pleasure of our coupling.

We slept. I slept more peacefully and contentedly than I had since Sandy's crash. Judging from Celeste's breathing, she also slept soundly. I awoke the next morning to find it had not been a dream; Celeste was lying beside me, sleeping peacefully, her naked body glowing in the early morning light filtering through the dusty glass in the window. She must have sensed I had woken and was watching her because she stirred and opened her eyes gently.

"'Morning lover," she greeted me.

"'Mornin', darlin'," I replied, bending to kiss her.

She met my kiss and turned it from an early morning peck into a deep, tongue tangling erotic event. After a while I broke away and rolled her onto her back before tracing the line of her breasts and nipples with my fingers, just touching her skin, watching the goose bumps appear from the sensations, aided a little by the morning chill.

"You are beautiful," I told her.

"Thank you."

After a while of this play, which caused her nipples to stand up and engorge in a very sexy manner, she turned on her side and began caressing my chest. I tried to continue stroking her, but she gently removed my hand from her chest.

"Relax and receive, honey," she whispered.

I did, feeling the physical touching causing my arousal but also something much more; it seemed to go deep inside me, causing me to relax my grip on the emotional traumas I had made my own during the past few months. I felt myself releasing the sadness, grief, loneliness, fear and hopelessness that had dominated me since Sandy. Tears welled up and flowed down my cheeks, only to be kissed away by Celeste as she continued with my therapy.

Once she saw, and I felt, that the emotional release was complete for now, she began caressing lower down my body, over my stomach and eventually, teasingly, down to my rigid cock and aching balls.

"I like what you have for me down here," she told me huskily, "I know just where he'd like to go."

Celeste straddled me, like she did her bike no doubt, and held her crotch above my searching cock, teasing, smiling at me as she remained just out of reach. I couldn't help it; I thrust my hips upward, trying to let my cock touch her pussy, but she easily rose out of reach, then sat down a little as I relaxed.

"Patience, sweetheart, patience. Relax and receive."

I did, focusing instead upon her beautiful breasts; reaching upwards to cup them, caress them, roll her hard nipples between my fingers and thumbs, causing her to tilt her head back, revelling in the pleasure, dropping slightly lower, allowing my cock to just graze her short, sparse pussy hair. I looked downward, thinking how she'd look with it totally shaved, as Sandy's pussy had been.

It took what seemed to be an age, but eventually, after almost teasing me to oblivion, she mounted my cock and sat down on it, hard, the head pressing against the end of her sopping wet love tunnel while she ground her hips against my crotch, seeking stimulation for her clit. She kept this up for a long time, gradually arousing herself, treating me as a human dildo, focused entirely on her pleasure. I continued my breast massage, squeezing harder as she became more aroused, listening to her panting breath increasing in pace, until she sat up straight, arched her back so her breasts were thrust forwards, and came silently on my cock. I could feel the contractions of her vagina around my organ, enough to arouse but not to make me cum, not this time.

After her crisis passed, she opened her eyes again, leant forward with her hands beside my shoulders, bent down and kissed me, another wet, deep tongue tying kiss.

"You're wonderful. Thank you, darling,"

"I didn't do much, just lay here," I replied with a grin.

"Well, now it's your turn. Do with me what you will."

"You mean that? Anything I want to do, I can?"

"Yes, honey. I trust you not to hurt me too much. Remember, I have come from a very abusive relationship; I am well used to pain and punishment and torture. I doubt that anything you can do will come anywhere near what I've already experienced, but you are more than welcome to try. The reason is that in the past anything done to me was done sadistically and specifically designed to create the maximum amount of pain. I know that whatever you do will be done from love, and that will make all the difference."

I thought on this for a few minutes, and also thought on the incongruity of lying here beneath this gorgeous, sexy woman, with my cock completely engulfed by her recently orgasmed pussy, while she told me I could do anything I wished to her. When I had Sandy, we occasionally played with spanking each other and once I had even used a leather belt on her, leaving welts on her ass cheeks that stayed for a week. But as Celeste said, they were given in love and hence were accepted with love. I couldn't imagine a situation when I would have struck Sandy in hate, nor could I imagine such a situation with Celeste. I made up my mind.

I pushed Celeste sideways so she fell onto the bed, causing my cock to pop out of her tunnel. I then positioned her so she was on all fours on the bed, knees wide apart at the edge, head on the bed, ass in the air. What a beautiful sight she made, I thought as I looked between her legs, deep into her gaping opening which I had so recently vacated. I swung my arm back and brought my hand down on her ass, hard. The impact made a loud slapping sound but she made no response at all; no movement, no sound. I repeated the blow on her other cheek; again no response. I watched as the imprint of my hand developed in pink on her cheeks. Was I enjoying this? Was she? Why was I doing this? Was it simply to show who had the power? She did, I realized, it was she who had given me permission to do this. Suddenly it seemed pathetic; a grown man striking a gorgeous woman for no reason. I lay down on the bed beside her.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her ear, "I don't know why I did that, darling. Please forgive me."

She turned her head. "That's fine, darling, that anger has now gone. You were angry that Sandy had been taken from you and you didn't know who to punish for it. So, I offered you me, and as soon as you began you realized that the anger has gone now and that no amount of punishment of anyone can make it better, you just had to release it, which you now have, completely. From the other perspective, I needed to feel that I was worthy of being punished out of love, not hate. Your doing that has helped me no end. I now realize that I can enjoy someone striking me, provided they do that with love. For that I thank you and, of course, forgive you, although there really is nothing to forgive. Now, honey, please fuck me."