The Game and the Hitchhiker

I was having increased difficulty seeing all that I wanted to see in the mirror, so I made an on-the-spot decision to pull the car over. I parked well off the roadway onto the hardpan shoulder, some six feet from the path of passing traffic. Once at rest, I was then able to turn around and see what was transpiring.

Debbie and Ben lost no time in cementing their attraction, albeit brief in duration, as they hugged and kissed with abandon. By this I mean that they were abandoning any pretense and were plunging tongues. And I hoped that something else would soon be plunging—into Debbie’s most hallowed and inviting receptacle.

As Ben began pawing at her breasts over the material of the dress, then pulled the neckline down and under them to touch her bare nipples, I impulsively opened my trousers and bared my erection for access to my hand. There was a lot of pre-orgasmic fluid seeping out, which provided adequate lubrication for my stimulation. I didn’t take my eyes off of them as I stroked myself to even more rigid extremes.

Ben had commenced kissing and nibbling on Debbie’s nipples, which drove her yet further to distraction. His hand had made its way to her crotch, and was fingering the swamp that was engulfing his touch. I saw that her hand was atop the bulge in his jeans, kneading it to greater proportions. It wasn’t long before she was fumbling at the clasps on his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping the cage that contained what she was seeking to liberate. Soon, his stiff member sprung into view, which Debbie wasted no time in grasping.

She unabashedly zeroed in on it, kissing first, then licking, then taking the head into her warm mouth. Ben noticeably reacted to this, his mouth opening and his head lolling back, as Debbie consumed his erection with her tongue, lips and palate. I felt a sudden twinge of concern that she would overwhelm Ben and prematurely bring an end to the excruciating excitement that was unfolding in front of me. They both seemed to sense the same foreboding, as she readily allowed herself to be flipped around and down so he could bury his face against her pussy.

Ben hungrily attacked with finesse her gaping and swollen lips, licking her most sensitive tissue, then plunging his tongue as far as it would reach into the volcano that churned out the lava of her innermost molten core. Debbie was spasming with orgasmic release in mere seconds. He kept at it, bringing her to another climax soon after, as he alternated between her clit and her pulsating cunt. I’ve seen Debbie come many, many times, even with Chris, but I’ve never witnessed her convulsing, writhing so violently as she was under Ben’s oral assault.

It was predictable but nonetheless incredibly welcome, when Ben arranged Debbie on the car seat so her pussy was open and vulnerable to his penetration. His pants were only down at his knees, and Debbie’s legs were splayed as far as the confines of the car would allow, but all that was needed was for him to be able to stick his stiff prick into her waiting cunt. And that was accomplished without delay or impedance. Ben slipped it into her and promptly buried it up to his balls.

I, in the meantime, had a monster in my fist that wanted nothing more than to spit fire.

Ben banged Debbie with determination, as she kicked and bucked against his thrusts, both anxious to achieve whatever goals their respective hormonal and atavistic impulses demanded. I banged away too, my strokes careful and calculated and reserved, not wanting to be the first of this trio to achieve release and pursuant indifference.

Debbie was firing off one orgasm after another, even though she had only achieved this with me when I was doing her from behind, and rarely in the classic missionary position. With Chris, he had brought her off with her on top—twice—and only once when he banged her while he was on top, and that was when he was accelerating his pace in the waning seconds before he unloaded in her. I intuitively knew that Debbie’s responsiveness in the back seat was a product of the intensity of the whole scene, and the fact that a desirable man more than twenty years her junior was between her legs. Yes, Debbie and I are both in our early forties. Surprising?

Ben was not immune to the affect of Debbie’s orgasmic response. He quickened his thrusts and murmured something about his need to ejaculate. Debbie gave him the go-ahead by uttering, “Come! Come in me!” And that’s what he did, with cars and people whizzing by only a few feet away.

Ben locked his hips and spasmodically used his entire body to pump his seed, jet after jet, into Debbie’s depths, as his balls quavered against her anus. She locked her left leg around his thigh, the only leg she could free, holding him tightly to the receptive embrace of her femininity. She accepted all that he could ejaculate into her, the spurts warming her already hot vaginal vault and cervical portal, knowing that natural expulsion and gravity would soon drain from her all but a trace of these precious fluids, however deep within her the semen was deposited.

My own precious fluids were bottled up and bursting at the seams. I managed to employ will power—and a promise to myself that I would indulge my urges in due time—in order to stay the impending flood that threatened to max out the capacity of mydamn . . . balls!

Ben finished up, and Debbie purred accordingly, while they remained coupled for several more minutes. I decided to sublimate my urges and fired up the car. In no time we were back on the highway, and it took Debbie a few minutes before she climbed back into her designated seat alongside me. Ben arranged himself and sat there without uttering a word. In fact, no one said squat until we reached the off-ramp that Ben had earlier mentioned as his drop-off point. He got out and gave his perfunctory thank you’s to both of us, pausing to touch Debbie’s arm as he exited. She, in turn, didn’t offer so much as aThanks for the fuck, only telling him to take care. That surprised me, but also reinforced in my mind that she was accepting the reality that a fuck is a fuck, but her love—for me—is much more enduring.

Back on the road, my semen still simmering and ready to boil, Debbie had the presence of mind to recognize the state I was in. She said not a word as she dipped down to expose my semi-flaccid member. In three shakes of a lamb’s tail, it was up and anxious. It took mere seconds for me to inundate her tonsils with a grateful expulsion of pent-up, husbandly sincere load of vicarious outpourings. She damn near choked on it.