I was on fire. My first little stunt had two effects on me. The first was that I was now so horny that I couldn't sit still. The second, and more importantly, was that because I was so horny, I knew that I would continue on my adventure.
My face was covered with the slime from my throat and the mixture of come and sweat that had puddled on the leather of the car seat. My little jacket and blouse were missing some buttons and my bra was pulled down around my stomach. My pantyhose was pulled up over my hips. It was soaked from my orgasm. The thong that was underneath my panties was now in my mouth, one strap hanging out like spaghetti. I was a whore.
I had just masturbated publicly at the side of the freeway, although no one had stopped to take me up on the implicit offer. I was at the beginning of another journey in which I would satisfy my addiction. Every so often, my need to be used gets too distracting. It becomes all I can think about. I am useless until I head out looking to get used hard.
As before, I knew I would pull progressively more daring stunts until I got caught by the wrong crowd and then put through my paces. I needed to feel the thrill of the danger. I needed to disconnect my mind and live only through my body. I needed to give my body away to strangers. I was addicted to the danger, to the possibility that I might get killed or seriously injured. I know it was irrational, but it was the very irrationality that compelled me to do it. In my normal life I was an in-control professional woman. When I succumbed to my addiction I became a reckless slut.
My heart raced as I drove along the freeway. I sucked my panties, tasting my desire. My sweaty hands gripped the wheel. I didn't drive quickly, rather I cruised along and let my brain disengage. I knew that I would become more and more open to suggestions. I would pull over when I saw something that seemed to be a sign. In my real life I would never be so superstitious, but now I was open to anything, and further I wanted my actions to be controlled externally. My number one rule on these excursions to the bottom was, obey everyone. Once I got caught by the wrong group, I would be theirs until they tired of me.
I had been driving now for over twenty minutes. The freeway was endless. The cars moved steadily, carrying me away. A car whipped across the lanes in front of me, moving quickly from the fast lane all the way over to an exit. I followed.
I exited off the freeway and into the collector lanes. The little red hatchback that prompted the move was already weaving its way out of sight. But there, at the side of the road, was a hitchhiker.
With a sigh and a trembling jaw I signaled and pulled over about a hundred yards past him. In the rearview mirror I could see the dried saliva on my face. I looked down at my crumpled jacket and pointy little nipples that peeked out. I saw how silly my bra looked across my abdomen. I inhaled and smelled my sex. I could see the strap of my panties dangling over my chin. I felt a little silly, and a little scared.
My hands were nervous in my lap. I ran them up and down my thighs. Then I spread my legs and rubbed my pussy through my hose. That helped. In the mirror I could see a guy in his twenties walking up to my car. He looked young. He was dressed in a maroon sweatshirt and jeans. He had a baseball cap on and was carrying an army surplus pack. He was wearing old hiking boots.
He came to the passenger side and looked in the window. With a sigh and a click I unlocked the door.
The door opened and the boy got in. I could see him hesitate when he got a closer look at me. He froze half in and half out of the car. "What the hell?" he said.
I looked up at him and slowly pulled my panties out of my mouth. I threw them in the back seat. The boy sat down and closed the door. "What the hell?" he said.
I had only one hard and fast rule when I was giving in to my addiction—obey everyone. But I also had one other unofficial rule—don't speak unless directly ordered too. It was part of giving up control. I would do whatever was asked, my body would be a puppet. If I spoke independently then I would be taking a hand at my own strings.
I turned and looked directly at the boy. His brown hair feathered out from under his cap. He was clean, although a few days away from a shave. His was a little soft around the edges, but his eyes were wild.
We looked at each other for a moment. I could see his eyes darting down to my breasts. My cheeks reddened. He licked his lips nervously. I was in absolute heaven.
"What do you want?" He timidly asked me. I looked at him in silence. My mouth pouted open and I raked my lower lip with my upper teeth. I wanted to pull my jacket and blouse open for him. But instead I waited.
His pack was awkwardly at his side, resting against the dash as he sat sideways looking at me. "Do you mind if I put this in the backseat?" He asked.
I tipped my head and slowly blinked at him.
"Well, okay then." He clumsily reached back and opened the door, stumbled out and threw his pack in the back seat. He got back in the front. "Are you okay" he asked. "Were you attacked? Are you hurt?"
I slowly shook my head no. My tongue snaked out and licked my lips. I couldn't wait. My hands reached up and pulled open my jacket and blouse. The boy's eyes widened. I held myself open.
Both of the boy's hands slowly reached out, and tentatively moved to my breasts. Their touch was electric. He held his hands still for a moment, and then he started to squeeze.
I moaned softly. He squeezed harder.
I moaned harder. He pinched my left nipple while his face pressed in and started to suck on my left. I closed my eyes and smiled.
The boy bit down on my nipple and my hands flew to the back of his head, pushing him into me. He grinded his teeth lightly and I screamed and twitched.
The boy pulled away and looked at me anxiously. "Is, is this okay?"
I nodded.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
I looked him in the eye, weighing whether or not I needed to speak, and the answer came out, "Anything."
"Anything?" asked the boy.
