Sweet Hitchhikers

I have never been able to see things through. It's like a negative superpower. College, jobs, relationships... I quit everything. I abandon movies before the end; I walked out of my sister's wedding. I even quit vacations.

The following is a true story I will try not to quit before telling.

In my mid 20s, some male friends and I bought a used VW camper van and we drove it from London to Morocco. We enjoyed about three weeks of enjoyable but exhausting 'relaxation', with way too much drinking and hashish smoking (especially in Morocco), erratic sleep and dietary insufficiency, and by the time we'd been hanging out for a month at the same campground, I was feeling burned out and longed to return home.

It had been the holiday of a lifetime, but every lifetime comes to an end, and despite the fact our vacation was due to be over in less than three weeks anyway, I decided to quit now; because, after all, that's what I do. I quit everything.

At first I tried to persuade my unruly comrades we should drive home sooner than planned, but they were enjoying themselves more than me, and I couldn't get any of them to agree. I endured another two days of paradisiacal buffoonery, but then one afternoon, after being pushed, partially clothed, into the pool by the most juvenile member of our gang, I decided I'd had enough and resolved to leave for home the next day on my own.

I returned to Spain by boat and hired a car that I could drive back to London. It cost a small fortune, not just because of the distance I planned to drive, but because someone would apparently have to drive it back to Barbate de Franco in Andalusia. There was a surcharge of several hundred Euros, on top of the already inordinate rental fee. But I was committed to being a quitter (I wasn't going to quit that), even if it cost me the limit on my Amex; I figured fuck it, I wanted to get home and sleep in my own bed. I had been living in a van and tent for almost a month and it would be a joy to be home in London, where I could recover and grow bored of my life all over again, as I had before I left. Maybe this time I would even get a job.

The drive home was at first scenic and uneventful. Spanish radio was lively and the roadside snacks horrendous. But the part I need to tell you about occurred on the second day, after I had crossed the border to France and was driving up toward the Loire valley.

As I was stopping to get gas and buy lunch at a rest stop, I noticed two petite young women, whom I presumed were French, at a table close by.

Were they talking about me?

For a moment they seemed to be; stealing glances my way and appearing to confer and laugh about something. They were adorable, especially the one with big sunglasses, and each had smooth, sun-bronzed skin. I drank an Orangina and surveyed them from behind my own sunglasses. They had backpacks beside them on the bench and I wondered where they were going. But beyond noting what a couple of hotties they were, I thought little more about it and left the cafe.

It was a few moments later, as I returned to the rental car, I heard a voice call out something in French. I turned and realized the cutest of the two girls was addressing me.

"No parlez Francais", I called back with a smile, adding "English" for good measure, and pointing at myself weirdly as I said it.

The most beautiful of the two girls beamed back at me, flashing her white teeth. They continued to approach as she asked in broken English, "Please we can drive with you to Nantes?"

"I'm not going to Nantes, I'm going to Calais," I said, emphasizing the word Calais strangely.

"You take us to Nantes?" she asked again, as if I had said nothing at all.

"I can't take you to Nantes", I said, "I go to Calais". Nantes was hours out of my way and northwest from where we were. I was headed north in a more or less straight line.

"Please?" the second girl asked now.

As they drew close it was clear quite how hot the pair were; petite, tanned, scantily-clad bodies, revealing inviting glimpses of flesh, in a mini skirt and hot pants respectively. It would be a joy to have these young women in my car.

"Well, I guess I could take you some of the way", I said.

"To Nantes?" the second girl asked hopefully.

"No. Not to Nantes," I said, "but like, 50 miles closer to it."

They seemed to understand - or did they care - and throwing their backpacks in the trunk, climbed into the car. The hotter and darker haired of the two (they were both brunettes) took the front passenger seat, while her quieter, but no-less gorgeous friend (now I could see her up close), took the rear.

The first thirty minutes of the ride were fun. I tried to quiz them in poor, pigeon-French, which made them laugh, and in their own, not much better English, they only marginally more successfully quizzed me back.

Suffice to say we didn't learn much about one another except that my name was Steve and I was 25, and they were named Matilde (in the passenger seat) and Audre (in the rear); they were 23 and 22 respectively, and from Nantes. They had backpacked to Seville for a (U2?) concert. (I couldn't understand if they were saying U2 with a strange inflection, or naming some French band I didn't recognize. I mentioned Bono and The Edge but they didn't seem to react). They had traveled from Seville, I presumed, by hitchhiking, although that also wasn't entirely clear.

They asked for permission and then smoked a few hits of pot from a vape pen, becoming infectiously giggly. At one point Matilde took a deep hit and, leaning back through the seat gap, blew a curl of vapor into her friend's expectant mouth. I might have crashed the car, seeing the proximity of their soft lips. They were achingly hot. I was extremely happy to be sharing a ride with them, even if it was only for a short distance.

The pot, and whatever they were less frequently sipping from a hip flask (it smelt like Tequila) made them relaxed in my company. They were feeling quite sensual, I think, from the various substances they had ingested, because I noticed Matilde's legs had become spread; her white-sneakered feet up on the dashboard; olive-skinned thighs splayed; a devastating glimpse of her pink thong. She turned up the radio when a song she liked came on and let her mini skirt ride up further, until virtually her entire hips were exposed as she swayed sensually to the beat, legs sprawled. She was quite inebriated but it was mesmerizingly weird and hot. I had to remember to keep my eyes on the road.

Audre, from behind, was also becoming more relaxed and sensuous, at one point running her fingers through my hair from the gap in the headrest. It was brief but electrifying; these two carefree beauties becoming so tactile and familiar with me.

As the journey went on, they became looser still. Matilde took off her sunglasses and asked me, "do you like sex?" which made her friend snort with laughter.

"Yes. I like sex. Do you like sex?" I replied dumbly. Matilde replied "mmm hmm" in a tone that probably meant "duh".

"You have nice legs" I told her, still dumbly, but truthfully.

"You have nice legs" she repeated -

was she mocking me?

"Thank you very much," I said, enunciating the words oddly, as though I too were now a limited communicator in my own language.

"How is your chest like?" Audre asked next. And before I could think up another dumb reply, Matilde reached a hand out to discover for herself, tugging my tee shirt up over the seatbelt to expose my abdomen, permitting them each a glimpse of my chest. I wasn't in perfect shape, but I was young enough to have a slim, decent body, quite tanned from my summer lying by the pool.

"Bel," I think one, or both of them said.

Not content merely to inspect my torso, Matilde rubbed it casually with her hand. The feeling of her warm fingers on my flesh was intense. Was this on? It suddenly seemed to be. I was shocked and excited; my entire life felt like it might have been preordained for this moment.

"How is your bitte like?" Matilde asked next, giggling at the audacity of the question. This excited her friend even more, who leaned forward through the seat gap, as close as she could get. "Yes", she said, practically in my ear. "Bitte. Bitte!"

I wasn't familiar with this word at the time, but I also wasn't stupid, and if I had wondered for a moment what my bitte was, I quickly understood when Matilde, uninvited, reached down and began feeling for it in the crotch of my slacks.

As her hand located my bulge and squeezed it, I had to work hard not to press my foot down on the gas pedal. I could feel myself growing hard. Dear Lord.

Was I going to fuck these hitchhikers?

My life was never this exciting, let alone so straightforward.

"Grande," Matilde reported to her friend in the backseat, indicating a formidable length with her thumb and forefinger (it was more flattering than demonstrably true at that point). I do have a big penis but I'm not convinced the fact had accurately been established. Audre was practically perched in the seat gap: "Show," she said eagerly. "Show us!"

With a mischievous grin, Matilde began to pop open the buttons of my fly, pausing with mock suspense for each one. Her friend shrieked with delight when she reached in, and following a little complex maneuvering of my underwear, pulled out my fat, semi-hard cock and removed her hand to let it bob in the air, while they both stared. Don't forget I was still driving. At 100kph.

"Magnifique", said Audre, clapping like a child. She seemed more energized than at any previous part of the journey. I found myself growing quite quickly to full hardness. In fact, I had never looked so big; it was practically touching the steering wheel. The girls exploded into fits of laughter, while I just continued to drive, an enormous erection protruding from my buttonhole.

I think they had another vape hit at this point - I can't remember; I know they became distracted. But I couldn't have put my cock away if I'd wanted, it was too big and engorged to fit back in my pants. It felt sensational being exposed like this to two strangers, even if they weren't now paying attention.

They were looking at a map on Audre's phone. We weren't far now from where I had intended to drop them and they had a new proposal. It was possible to follow a couple of different routes to Calais and the longest one for me would take them a little closer to Nantes. They asked if I would consider taking this route instead.

I imagined the request was not unrelated to getting my dick out (which was still hard and jutting out obscenely from my lap), and I was hardly going to inhibit the progress of my own delicious violation, so I agreed to take this proposed new route, closer to Nantes, and was rewarded instantly with their cheers of approval.

The problem was, now that I had made the commitment to take the girls closer to Nantes than was convenient for me, they lost interest in the progress of their flirtation. I had agreed to extend my own trip only because they had pulled my cock out. But now they didn't seem to care, watching instead, endless cat videos on one of their phones.

It must have been clear how desperately I wanted attention because I was bucking my hips not so subtilely and practically fucking the air. But they didn't so much as look over.

I tried to remind them I was there. Lifting my butt from the driver's seat, I pressed the head of my erection against the steering wheel and made it briefly trigger the horn (I know, the irony). This got their attention and they laughed, but it didn't reawaken any interest in my molestation.

I realized with increasing despondency that this was not a seduction; it was a manipulation. I had been played. They hadn't got my cock out because they wanted to fuck me, they needed a ride home and were high and fooling around, feeling loose and sexy from the drugs and alcohol. I was just some guy they figured was desperate enough to fall for it.

I was wracked with disappointment and my hard on began to wane. Here I was in life, once again, being forced to quit something that had started out so promising. Because, after all, that's what I do.

As the girls continued to watch their inane YouTube videos and laugh hysterically, I felt increasingly bummed out, eventually covering my flaccid state with my tee shirt. I started to lament that I hadn't played this very well. If they were so eager to be driven closer to Nantes, I shouldn't have agreed so readily, but set a higher fee for the ride.

As we passed a motorway sign that said the Nantes exit was approaching in 20 kilometers, I decided to see if I could adjust the balance of power in the situation. Instead of getting into lane to take the impending exit as promised, I kept driving to the left and said, "I'm sorry, I just remembered. I can't take you the any further. I have to drop you at the next stop". I was deadly serious, and sounded surprisingly convincing.

At first they were annoyed. Had I not just literally agreed the opposite about ten minutes ago? They exchanged frustrated words in French, but then softened, perhaps when they realized it wasn't too late. Audre's fingers returned to tousle my hair and the back of my neck. "Please Steve", she purred in a sweet voice. "Please take us".

Matilde joined in. She reached a hand across and grasped my floppy penis. "Please", she said, jiggling it back and forth in her palm. It started to uncurl. She unclipped her seatbelt, and bringing her head over to my lap, screwed up her face and planted a single delicate kiss on the tip. She returned just as quickly to her seat and winced, as if to imply it had been an ordeal. Audre loved this and howled with laughter. "See. You must take us", she said.

From its brief contact with Matilde's lips, a pearl of pre-cum had emerged from the tip of my glans. But these girls weren't interested in my pleasure or my relief. They were negotiating. And the terms were not yet to my liking. So I continued to insist they would have to get out at the next stop.

Audre seemed irritated. She reached through the seat gap, almost aggressively, and began to jerk my shaft. "Please drive. We make you feel good", she said, with little pretense of sensuality now. Matilde agreed and returned her head to my lap. With visible reluctance, she closed her lips over my glans and let her friend jerk me back to full hardness in the glory hole of her mouth.

It was a passive aggressive blow job, but it felt sensational. She could barely contain me. I noticed that her eyes, when they weren't closed, remained focused on Audre, and not on me or the solid cock that was fucking the cavern of her throat.

I wondered if they had done this before. Perhaps it was how they had hitched to Seville and back - pretending to desire unsuspecting, lust-addled men who would drive them miles out of their way. Maybe they found a young Spaniard who, like me, thought these adorable hitchhikers actually fancied him. What did I care? I was fucking the face of one of them now.

Matilde grimaced as she sucked me off. She may not have seemed thrilled but the sensation was dizzying nonetheless. Her tongue lapped at the underside of my glans; an acute pleasure I don't know how to describe. And yet I still insisted they had to get out at the next stop.

Audre's own exasperation was apparent in the controlled indifference of her wrist, perfunctorily wanking me more vigorously now into her friend's suckling mouth. I felt the surge of an orgasm rise within.

Making no announcement, a massive stream of cum shot out of my cock and flooded Matilde's throat, who realized with alarm and quickly shut her mouth, just as a second rope hit her closed lips and exploded over her face. She pulled away in alarm. My balls were so full that it poured like water from a jet. Audre, less horrified but no less shocked, released her grip, as third, fourth and fifth spurts erupted, as far as the windshield; showering and spattering the steering wheel and dashboard. I had to focus hard not to swerve the car, my cock still pumping out blissful wads over my shirt. I was delirious from the ecstatic event, and only at the last available moment able to take the motorway exit the girls had begged me to.

They were satisfied with my commitment to the detour, but didn't laugh this time. I think they felt they'd been forced to pay a price higher than expected. They weren't grossed out, I don't think, but Matilde was definitely pissed. I don't think it was part of her plan to make me ejaculate at all, let alone in her mouth and all over her face; she was virtually painted in it. I don't think either of them had realized how close I was or they probably would have stopped to tease me again.

If you play around with a loaded gun, you can't complain when it goes off. But Matilde was visibly perturbed by the mess, and spent a good few minutes removing globs of sperm from her face and neck with a tissue. Her mascara was running, from cum that had flooded her eye, and the resulting black tear complemented her sullen expression. I was too embarrassed and delighted to do much except smile and keep driving.

We passed the sign for a rest stop approaching. I announced we would stop there to clean up. I'm not sure they understood, but they voiced no objection when we exited the highway for it. It was more of an off-road dirt track that led to an area of picnic benches and a primitive toilet block.

I parked the car and got out to take a piss in the small, foul smelling restroom, while the ladies headed to the Ladies. Matilde, in particular, was stony faced; a stark contrast to her sunny demeanor earlier in the day. She had barely said a word since I shot cum all over her face. But seriously, what had she expected?

While I was pissing into the abyss of the grim urinal - basically a pipe-sized hole in the wall - I wondered if I should drive the girls all the way to Nantes. It would only take a few more hours than the current detour, and it would be a gentlemanly thing to do, now that I had won the war and had one of the great orgasms of my life. Just thinking about it made me horny again.

I came out of the toilet block and sat on a picnic bench, waiting for the girls to reappear. I was excited to deliver the good news that I would drive them home. But when they appeared, something had changed and they were in a much better mood, especially Matilde, who seemed to be flirting with me again. She put a long arm around my neck and took my hands in hers.

"Steve", she said sweetly, "We have talk. We say if you drive us to Nantes... you can fuck us," and she stuck out her adorable little bum and shimmied it suggestively.

This was a priceless development. For once in my life, I thought, I am ahead. I had outplayed my sexy, conniving hitchhikers once again. I was about to give them this exact ride for free.

"Both of you?" I asked.

"Yes." They nodded.

"Where?" I asked, wondering suddenly if it was a trick.

"In Nantes. At my apartment," Matilde said.

Was this a revenge plan? Would I drive them to Nantes only to find they flee the car somehow? Perhaps they would lead me to an angry boyfriend's address, and he'd come out with a baseball bat to scare me off. I didn't trust them.

"No," I said. "Here."

"Here?"

"I fuck you both here. Now. And then I drive you home."

They looked at each other, and then looked around. We were the only ones in the rest area and it would soon be dusk. The cars passing on the motorway had a clear view but they were hurtling by at great speed; if their passengers were lucky enough to glimpse something, it would have passed by the time they could comprehend it. And we would have a clear view of any car approaching the rest stop itself.

"No," Audre said, and seemed resolute about it.