Carol Maples glanced at the speedometer and eased the pressure of her dainty foot on the gas pedal. A speeding ticket would be all she required to make the waning day a complete disaster. Even the elements seemed to have joined in some mysterious conspiracy to complicate what she had thought would be the simplest conclusion to a rapidly deteriorating marriage. In the southwest, surging like an angry sea, storm clouds advanced with frightening and deep-throated rumblings, sending out jagged streaks of lighting, causing the radio to crackle with irritating frequency.
If only there had been some area of possible cooperation, she remained herself she would have been willing to give Harry another chance. But, after two years of listening to his rasping snores while she laid fingering her hungry cunt in a desperate bid for some measure of relief, any attempt at reconciliation seemed utterly useless. At thirty-two, Carol was married to a man who had screwed her exactly four times, pouring his semen into her greedy vagina after only a dozen ineffective thrusts of his semi-hard penis.
Last night, finding her need becoming almost painful in its intensity, she had pleaded with him to let her bring him to an erection with her mouth, an act he had never before permitted. His reaction had been almost violent, accompanied by a lurid verbal description of her effort as a perversion, which would be employed by only the sorriest of whores.
After a restless night on the living room couch, Carol had prepared their breakfast without comment. Then, as soon as Harry had departed for the office, she had hurriedly packed two large suitcases, called the bank and arranged to withdraw her considerable savings, loaded the bags in the trunk of the big Lincoln and headed north to the highway before turning west.
She paused for lunch at a roadside diner, ignoring the admiring stares of the males and the envious glares of their female companions. Carol knew that her tight blouse showed every curve of her high firm breasts, betraying the absence of any bra by the bold thrust of her pronounced nipples. She was also conscious that the donned skirt barely covered her well-rounded ass, revealing the tanned perfection of columnar thighs and tapered calves, an enticing display which she accentuated by letting her buttocks sway with an uninhibited rhythm as she walked.
Admittedly, she wondered how many cocks had stiffened as their owners watched her entrance. But her personal bitterness diluted the interest to one of casual concern. Back on the highway, she admitted the lack of any real plan. She was headed west. If she continued on her present course, she would end up in Nashville where her sister Bonnie lived with her two teenage children. It had been several years since her last visit. Since then, Bonnie and Raymond had separated, leaving the kids, Noreen and Danny, with their mother.
Carol remembered them as awkward youngsters, but she realized that time had transformed them into individuals she would probably not even recognize. Noreen would be fifteen, while Danny would be approaching his eighteenth birthday. It seemed impossible that the years could have sailed by so rapidly. Christ! It seemed like only a few months ago that she had accepted Harry Maples' proposal, justifying it with the belief drilled into her by her mother: If a woman wasn't married by the age of thirty, she would be considered either a whore or a lesbian.
Carol was neither of these, but she had enjoyed the sexual calisthenics of more partners than she could readily recall. Nor had she failed to investigate the possibilities of achieving release with one of her own gender. Regardless of the social stigma attached to such activity, she could find nothing wrong with two people doing anything, which made them feel good. However, once she married Harry, she had limited her satisfaction to the skilled caress of her own fingers. Grateful for her oversized clit, which permitted her to jack herself off almost, like a man.
Easily guiding the big car with one hand, she slid the other between her warm thighs, pressing the thin rayon against the pouting lips of her hungry cunt. Damn! She was already wet down there! Her mind painted a vivid picture of an impossibly huge cock, long, hard and thick, its crimson head poised at the exact point where her fingers massaged the sensitive labia, causing her ass to squirm on the yielding seat. It had been too long, she reminded herself, since she had really been fucked! Harry's clumsy and swift mountings had done nothing but increase her desire. What she needed was a man who could ride her until her pussy was completely satisfied.
Ahead of her, standing with an arm extended and thumb jutting in supplication, she saw a small figure. Growing in size as the car ate up the separating distance. Before she realized what she was doing, her foot had tapped the brake pedal. Slowing the big Lincoln until she could get a better look at the would-be hitchhiker. Hell! She murmured to herself. He was only a kid. Sandy-haired, muscular, but with an innocent face that calmed the usual fear she felt at the thought of picking up a stranger on the highway. She brought the Lincoln to a halt a few yards beyond the lad, pulling onto the level shoulder of the road and watching the rear view mirror as the youngster loped toward her on tanned bare legs. His jeans, which were cut into shorts that hugged the narrow hips with a tightness that displayed an astonishing, bulge at his crotch.
Carol had already estimated his age at about sixteen. If she was right, it was impossible that the massive mound could be real. He must, she thought with a grin, be wearing one of those gadgets that made every man look like a stallion. The youth halted beside the car, shifting the small canvas pack from his shoulder as his fingers reached for the door's handle. Carol flicked the switch that unlocked the doors, waiting until the boy had opened the heavy hinged panel before she spoke.
"Where're you going?" She found her eyes examining his broad shoulders and narrow hips with increasing admiration. With his unruly blond hair and ready smile, he seemed even younger than she had first thought. But his body was that of a man. It was even possible, she mused, that the provocative bulge at the junction of those powerful thighs was the real thing. If so, it would be a formidable weapon. The possibility increased the dampness of her own crotch and Carol patted the seat beside her.
With an answering grin, the youth swing his pack into the back seat and slid in beside the older woman pulling the door closed before answering. His voice was reassuringly soft and laced with a pronounced accent that betrayed his Southern origin. "Just anywhere, ma'am," he said, leaning back against the soft upholstery and stretching his tanned legs. "As long as its west." His gaze drifted over the expanse of bare thighs where Carol's skirt had drifted upward with her recent self-caressing.
"I'm going to Nashville," Carol offered. "Is that far enough?"
"Couldn't be better," he answered, the grin broadening. "I got a few friends in the music business there. Maybe I can sell some of my songs." Carol set the Lincoln in motion, not bothering to pull her skirt down. Hell! It was good to have someone admire her legs.
Lighting sawed a jagged path through the menacing clouds, followed by a peal of thunder that made Carol's body jerk. Jiggling her firm breasts and raking the sensitive nipples against the clinging blouse. She could feel the boy's eyes follow the provocative motion and found the prominent nubs swelling under his visual caress.
"Looks as if I came along just in time," she said, aware that her voice was more husky than usual. "Those clouds are really black."
The lad shrugged, shifting his bare legs, brushing his knee against her right thigh and causing her muscles to tighten at the momentary contact. The sensation seemed to drive up her lush flesh and burrow into the hungry dampness of her crotch, creating a tremor of painful need in the plump-lipped cunt.
"I kind of like the rain," the youth said. "Especially at night. The sound of rain on the roof turns me on."
Carol shot him a questioning glance. "Turns you on?" she repeated, clamping her thighs together in an effort to still the demand of her ripe young body. "How?" His eyes met hers before she could turn her attention back to the highway, the brown orbs displaying innocence she found both disquieting and arousing. It was, she mused, like being eighteen again and exchanging remarks with a boy who was dying to get his hand between her legs and his finger into the hot, little slit that could squeeze it with a slippery grip that promised pleasures beyond his wildest dreams-if he succeeded in slipping his throbbing cock into the pulsating corridor of her skilled pussy.
"I guess I shouldn't have said that," he murmured. Dropping his eyes and lacing his fingers together over his bare thighs. Unobtrusively, his heavily tanned forearm pressed against the ridge of his semi-hard cock. "I hope I didn't offend you ma'am."
"Don't be silly!" Carol soothed. "And don't call me ma'am." She shot another quick look at his handsome face, almost smiling at the flush that crept upward from his open collar.
"Heck, no!" he corrected. "Your so beautiful I hadn't even thought about how old you are." The forearm was moving, sliding over the bulging outline in his faded shorts, slowly and carefully.
