Gloria, Marsha, Sabrina, Mark and Kevin turned out to be a small commune going west to join up with a larger commune.
"Oh, the little fish getting swallowed up by the bigger fish," I joked as the van moved towards the city and home. We were out of the desert, moving towards the suburbs.
"Well, sort of," Mark said. "But it's a necessity."
"Why?" I asked.
"Strength in numbers," Gloria said.
"I don't understand," I said.
"The establishment," Kevin said from behind the wheel.
"Like the cops?" I said, remembering how Lambert and Honeycutt had wanted to bust them just because they were hippies.
"Right on," Marsha said.
"They bust us every chance they get. We've gotten so we just expect it," Sabrina said.
"Wow, that must bug you," I sympathized. "It does," Kevin said. "That's why we're joining up with the bigger commune. The cops'll be less likely to bust us if there're a lot of us. I just hope we can make it there without being hassled."
I was thinking about whether to tell them how close they'd come last night, when I saw that it would be anticlimactic. In the rear-view mirror was a flashing blue light, joined within seconds by another.
"Aw, shit," Kevin hissed, "the fuckin' pigs. They'll tie us up for hours."
I shuddered at the thought of being manhandled by the Highway Patrol again. I was clothed now, in a granny dress one of the girls had loaned me, and we were on the outskirts of civilization, but I still dreaded it.
My rescuers must have noticed my nervousness. After a pause, Mark said, "Listen, Sherry, there's no use for you to be hassled along with us."
"No… that's all right," I said unconvincingly.
"No, we can see it's bugging you," Marsha said.
"Listen," Kevin said, "there's a truck stop a few hundred yards ahead. I'll speed up and pull in there and you can get out before the cops catch up with us. You jump out when we get there. If they ask, we'll tell them you went to the john."
"Go in the cafe," Mark said, "and you'll be able to get another ride."
"All right," I agreed as Kevin speeded up the van, racing towards the truck stop.
When we turned the corner, momentarily shielded from the cops, the van lurched to a stop. One of them opened the door and I scrambled out.
As they accelerated again, trying to leave me in safety behind a truck, I called, "What about the dress?"
"It's yours," Gloria's voice called back. "Peace."
I couldn't bear to watch them hassled by the cops. As I heard the Highway Patrol car bullying its way into the parking lot, I ran towards the cafe, ducking inside just as I heard their doors slam.
The diet thing I noticed inside the cafe was the sound of a jukebox blaring. It was some country tune, all about a girl doing some guy wrong.
From the counter you would have suspected that the only nourishment truck drivers take is beer. Bottles fined the counter like soldiers at attention. The room was full of burly guys in windbreakers and T-shirts. Anybody could tell from their unshaven faces and rumpled, grimy clothes that they were men's men. The legion of trucks parked outside meant they were truckers.
The masculine aroma of their sweat filled the air. Mixed with the odor of stale beer, the room was intoxicating with an incredibly macho scent.
In the hippie granny dress I stood out like a sore thumb in the place. However, nobody noticed me, because half a minute after I came into the place a circle of light illuminated a tiny stage in a far corner and a nearly nude woman emerged from between makeshift curtains.
I'd heard a few things but this was the first time I'd seen the new liberality in truck stops with my own eyes. The last time I'd been in one was back when Phil and I had been dating. A few years ago they were still dreary greasy spoons, with nothing stronger served than red-eye gravy. Now there was beer and girls.
I winced, thinking of my Phil hanging out in this kind of place. Pangs of jealousy shivered through me as I focused in on the dancer, noting that she had a flawless body, covered only by a flimsy halter and a pair of see-through bikini panties.
Even from my distance I could see the patch of hairy blackness at her crotch. It was even clearer when she thrust her pelvis forward and began socking her crotch towards the audience in time with the primitive rock 'n' roll that was suddenly blaring from the jukebox.
The heavy thudding beat of gut-level r 'n' r seemed to power her loins. Working her way to the edge of the small stage, she brushed the noses of a couple of truckers sitting at an adjacent table with her thrusting gyrating pussy.
The light that followed her showed that the crotch of her panties had turned shiny, glistening from a growing circle of wetness. There was no doubt about it. She was creaming in her panties from slinging her meat at these horny truckers.
The atmosphere of the place became electrified as the dancer became more and more suggestive with her movements. One lunging pelvic oomph sent a spray of pussy-juice bathing the guys at a nearby table.
While the record changed on the jukebox, guys in the audience started to yell for her to take it off.
The clanging of beer bottles beating up and down on linoleum filled the room, the truckers way of giving applause.
The next record was even raunchier than the last one. It was low-down and dirty, and the dancer became even lower-down and dirtier. She untied her halter and sent it fluttering like toy parachutes to the floor. Her tits were fantastic, miraculously holding their melon shape firmly out in midair.
Her nipples looked like they had been drawn on her by some horny adolescent. That's how big they were. And red. Dark-red. Like plums. Unable to take my eyes off them, I realized that I was licking my lips.
I was so boggled by the sensuality she radiated that I had to sit down. I plopped down on a chair, not even bothering to notice whether there was anybody else sitting at the same table. I watched the show goggle-eyed.
The dancer was using the beat now to accentuate the agonizingly slow removal of her sopping bikini panties. She rolled them down her hips, bumping and grinding her ass and hips in time the groin-pulsing r 'n' r. The spotlight highlighted the pussy-juice running down her inner thighs. It glistened.
Finally her panties were down to her knees and there was the first good view of her pussy. It had shiny black hair, dripping with juice. Massive cunt-lips, fatter than I'd known a woman could have, drooped pendulously between her thighs.
When she lifted her leg to pull the panties all the way off, I got a perfect shot up her long pink crack. Her open pussy was like a red sucking mouth, slurping between her legs. I licked my lips some more.
Completely naked, the dancer continued dancing to the crotch-popping music. She was letting herself go now, throwing her tits and ass all over the stage.
As I watched her, my own body started to move. The gut-level rock and her uninhibited dancing sent out contagious vibes.
Closing my eyes, I could imagine I was the one up there throwing my pussy around on stage, stark naked in front of a bunch of horny truckers. God, my own husband could even be one of them. I wondered if he'd dig me bottomless on stage as much as I was sure he'd dig the girl who was really doing the dancing.
When I opened my eyes again, she was down on her knees and a third record was on. This one was so raw it made the previous two seem like classical music. The beat reached all the way back to the jungles of Africa.
Like a human sacrifice the dancer arched her back until the back of her head touched the floor. In the process her knees slid as far apart as they could go. Her open cunt shone between her legs like a gaping wound. I was drooling.
Now she was pretending to be sucking a cock. She used her clenched hand to guide an imaginary hard-on into her open mouth. Her slurping noises filed the air.
With her pussy she pretended like she was getting fucked. I could almost see the phantom prick materialize, engorging her dripping cunt. Her bucking hips and raising thighs made the illusion complete, as I sat breathless, awaiting an imaginary explosion of hot cum all over the stage.
But of course it never came. Instead there was a click and the record was over. As silence filled the air, the dancer gathered herself up and abruptly disappeared from the stage. By the time everybody realized what had happened, the jukebox was a third of the way into a country song about some guy's bride being run over by a tractor on their honeymoon.
You could have cut the horniness in the place with a knife. You couldn't turn a bunch of guys like that who were hard off the road on and off like horniness was tap water. I knew from experience that when a trucker gets it up, it stays up.
Thinking of truckers' dicks naturally set me to thinking of Phil's sweet piece of meat. God, how long had it been since I'd seen it… and felt it and wrapped my mouth around… then wrapped my pussy-lips around it? Jesus, what a sweet dick my man had!
A kaleidoscope of memories whirled through my pulsing mind. I pantingly recalled all the times I'd sucked Phil's sweet prick… and fucked it… and had it fed up my asshole. Oh, Jesus, if I didn't stop this, I was going to cream all over the chair.
It was too late, I already had. The pussy-juice made the bottom of the sopping granny dress cling to my skin as my flow dripped from my cunt to the chair. Instinctively I threw my hand to my lap, pressing down the cloth to stop the flow of my gushing pussy.
"Is there somethin' wrong, honey?" a masculine voice from behind me startled me.
By this time somebody had been sitting at the table with me, watching me. Suddenly I was mortified with embarrassment. Maybe he thought I was a hooker, trying to take advantage of horny truckers after the floor show had turned them on.
My hand flew from my crotch to my face to hide my blush. My nostrils flared from the abrupt reek of fresh pussy-juice.
"Look…" I said uncertainly, turning around to try to explain to him that things were not what he might think they were.
But I was the one who looked. At the enormous bulge in his jeans. The guy had a hard-on that was going to bust his seams if he didn't do something about it.
"Why're you licking your lips?" he grinned. "You thirsty? Wanna beer?"
I shook my head no.
"Coke?" Another shake.
"Then there's only one thing that could make you lick you chops like at… This!" He pointed right down to the throbbing bulge between his thighs that I hadn't been able to take my eyes off since I'd first noticed it.
This time I nodded my head yes.
In seconds it was out. His dick sprang from his fly like a blade out of a switchblade. My mouth had been merely watering before. Now I drooled… at both ends of my quivering body.
"It's a beauty, ain't it?" he grinned, showcasing his prick with his hands. "Eleven and a quarter inches."
"What do you want me to do with it?" I sighed dreamily.
"I'll stick it under the table where nobody can see what we're doing. You get under and suck."
My eyes lit up. "Of course." I peeled off from the chair and slid under the table, licking my chops.
While he sat at the table as though he were just quietly drinking his beer, underneath I went down an him. I took it slow, savoring the salty tang of his three-inch cock-head.
My tongue played lewd games with his vertical smile, reaming the inside of his cum-slit until his prick shuddered. Then I ran the tip of my tongue along the ridges of his flange, thrilling him so he increasingly stiffened between my nibbling lips.
"Jack me off while you're sucking me," he whispered down.
I was only too glad to, seizing his huge shaft with both hands, my fingers not beginning to go around. Tugging the loose skin, my fingers rode up and down his gristly rod. The veins throbbed against my hands, as thick as ballpoint pens.
"Suck harder," he hissed. "Make me come."
I couldn't have been trying any harder. God knew, I wanted to taste his jizz as much or more as he wanted to let it go. I suctioned my lips on his cock-head, pulling the sperm towards me through sheer pressure.
"Ooooooh!" he groaned as he bucked his hips convulsively and the cum suddenly shot like a rocket out of his dick.
It filled my mouth instantaneously, the corners of my lips tearing to let the excess dribble onto my face. I pumped his cock like I was wringing out a washrag, desperately trying to get every last drop.
The more I pumped the more he came. Hot sperm gushed down my throat, intoxicating my senses with its divine flavor.
However, the more I swallowed, the more there was to replace it. Dribbling out of my mouth was not enough drainage and now sperm started to back up in my breathing passages. Within seconds my nose was full of jizz, gobs spilling runnily out of my nostrils.
After he stopped coming, I still had to keep sucking and licking for two or three minutes to get all of his jizz.
"I hope you swallowed," he said, pulling his cock out from my mouth. "Because if you didn't, you'll be eighty-sixed from this place." He got up and left, slamming a ten-dollar bill on the table.
He did think I was a hooker! I blushed again, but this time it would have been impossible to notice it because my face was covered with own.
I came out from under the table and slid down in a chair, feeling about two feet tall. I sipped on my departed customer's beer, washing the taste of sperm from my mouth and wondering why I couldn't control myself lately when it came to sex.
Abruptly, my ears filled with the gutsy rumble of rock 'n' roll again. Guitars and drums and sax were bleating from the jukebox, and another dancer, was strutting her stuff on the stage in the corner. This one really wasn't fooling around. She was completely nude the first time she came out. When I saw her, my pussy lurched between my legs, triggered again by the magnetic lure of raw sex.
"Hey, hey, hey," some guy yelled, "show us more!"
Hey, hey, hey, yourself, I thought, cuddling my foaming pussy between my squeezing thighs.
"Hey, baby," a voice out of nowhere said.
I looked up and saw a strange guy standing over me, trucker written all over him.
"I seen what you done to that other guy. How about a hand-job for five bucks?"
I gulped. But then I looked straight ahead at the immense bulge in his pants and wound up grinning. I could just see it looming out of his fly.
I had no choice but to nod my head in the affirmative.
He sat down in a chair and slid his knees beneath the table, concealing his lap. "Under there, baby," he hissed, "where nobody can see. They'll think we're just talking while you beat my meat."
It was sheer pleasure to wrap my fingers around his big cock. It wasn't as long as the last guy's, but what it didn't have in length it made up in girth. God, it was a brutal tool!
I lovingly stroked it, feeling the foreskin slide tantalizingly over his knotty cock-head and then lurch down in my grip halfway to his balls. His cock-skin was electric in my grasp, pulsing with the excitement that only an impending delivery of molten jizz could generate.
When his cock bucked in my fist, I knew the lime had come. "Two more bucks if you go down on it and swallow my load," he whispered urgently in my ear.
Hell, didn't the bastard know I would have paid him for the privilege? I ducked eagerly under the table.
My lips instantly caressed the prolonged knot of his prick-head, getting there just in time for the first onslaught of cum. It bolted down my throat. After the third spurt I started gagging, choking on liquid joy.
"Swallow, baby, swallow," he said, "it's the rule of the house."
I gurgled my assent with tradition, choking down a scalding mass of sperm.
After he had stopped shooting, I kept lapping, licking his dick squeaky clean. I knew he felt he'd gotten more than his money's worth the way he moaned. When he finally got up and left, he slammed a ten on the table – the fee he'd set and a three-dollar tip.
The three-dollar tip really excited me. I'd never before realized my cock-sucking skill was of such high quality. Phil's had been the only prick I'd ever sucked before I'd left home three days ago to get a magazine. Phil'd always told me that I sucked a mean cock, but it had never occurred to me that he might be stacking me up against other women.
Well, apparently from the money in my tight fist, I stacked up pretty well against other women. Twenty bucks more and I could call a taxi to take me all the way home.
While I was waiting for more action, I looked up on the stage. The naked dancer was slithering like a serpent on the stage, giving the audience a rear view of her shiny pussy. Her performance was getting dirtier and dirtier, her sopping cunt seeming to take over her whole body. The dripping sight of it mesmerized the audience. Me included.
I was so horny I couldn't wait to be asked. I got up and waked right over to a guy sitting at a nearby table. His eyes were riveted to the dancer's flexing cunt so I couldn't see what he looked like in the darkness.
I grabbed his hand and shoved it between my legs, catching it between my thighs and the wet fabric of my dress. "How'd you like to feel my cunt while I give you a hand-job?" I whispered torchily.
"How much?" he said into his beer, his eyes riveted on the obscenely gyrating dancer.
"Ten," I breathed into his ear.
"Start earning your money," he said, keeping his head turned from me. But it was so dark in there that it didn't make any difference if I saw his face or not. Besides, it wasn't his face that I was interested in.
My hand slid under the table, groping for his cock. I found it throbbing under his denim pants, nestling about eight inches along the inside of his leg. It pulsed under my cares, obviously swelling larger by the second. I bet myself that it would be just a shade over ten inches long when it was swollen to maximum hardness. The exact same sic as my darling Phil's.
Only the zipper on his fly separated me from his dick. It screeched under the table as I pulled it down, my fingers trembling at being so close to touching his cock.
Just as I reached in to claim my treasure, his hand slipped into my lap. His fingers wiggled towards my cunt through the sopping dress.
"Under the dress," I whispered. "I haven't got anything on underneath. My pussy's bare. And wet. I'll pull up the hem for you."
His fingers found my dripping cunt and my hand his hot, throbbing cock at exactly the same time. I clamped my thighs around his hand, sealing it to my horny cunt. Simultaneously my fingers encircled his uncoiling prick, pulling it out along with a set of hairy balls from my mystery man's pants.
I loved giving hand-jobs. I loved the way the cock-shaft felt so strong and sturdy in my hand. So smooth. Like I was stroking some piece of priceless art sculpted from marble.
The veins pulsed against my hand like they would burst at any moment. They throbbed with the blood rushing to the quivering, swollen cock-head.
I stroked all the way down to his churning balls and back up again, loving the feel of every inch of his cock. And I'd been absolutely right. My fingers told me it was just a shade over ten inches. The perfect length as far as I was concerned.
Between my legs, his hand was working up a storm on my cunt. Two fingers penetrated me as he gave me a double-pronged finger-fuck. He sent each finger in an opposite direction, spreading the interior of my cunt to the ultimate. My pussy-juice wouldn't stop flowing.
Above the table we both watched the floorshow as though it were the only thing going on. Actually, the steamy entertainment was part of what was going on below our waists. Every move the naked dancer made turned each of us on even more. I could sense it in the way the guy's cock jumped when she did something really filthy… and the way my cunt spasmed.
Low-down from the first moment she walked on stage, by the third record, this dancer was like an animal in heat. Her cunt seemed to blaze all the way across the room at us. Looking at it was like an invitation to terminal horniness. There was nobody in the world who could have looked at her hairy, dripping, constantly split pussy and not be turned on.
And her tits were just as fantastic. They were glistening because she had smeared her own cunt-juice all over them. Globs of twat-cream soaked her strawberry nipples.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I whispered in the guy's ear, steadily stroking his long, thick prick.
"You mean the number?" he said, using a favorite expression of Phil's.
"Yes," I chuckled. "Or if you'd like me to spell it out for you, F-U-C-K."
"R-I-G-H-T O-N," he said, grabbing his cock and stuffing it back inside his pants.
"Where? We can't do it here."
"In the back of my truck. I'm hauling a load of furniture. Except for the fact it's pitch black inside, it'll be just like home."
"I can dig it," I panted eagerly. "Which truck is it?"
"I'll go first and open up. Then you follow a few minutes later. It's right outside this place, parked second from the left. You can't miss it."