Three (and More) For The Road

We all tried myth-building around Suzi. Ain't gossip fun?

Another water and fuels refill and then we resumed the two-hour-driving-shift schedule. Rolf seemed fucked-out; when I drove and he and Rhonda went back to play, I didn't hear the usual sounds. They probably sat tantric with her in his lap, barely moving, only breathing, as he and I did when she drove her shift.

Instead of claiming the front seat on Rolf's next shift, Rhonda led me to the bedroom. We got naked. We cuddled. We kissed. We talked quietly. Javanese gamelan music swirled.

"We're getting closer, you and I," she said after a long tongue-tingling kiss.

"You and I are getting closer," I agreed, pressing closer, "and I think I'm falling in love with Rolf. A great guy, a great fuck, a selfless hero, smarter than the average bear, and he treats everyone well. You're sweet too." I rubbed her ass.

"What a difference a week makes," she said, nuzzling my breasts. "Just a few more days to go and we're only halfway across America. I feel I'm on a mad gyroscope and it'll only speed up." She licked one nipple, then the other, and then lazily nuzzled again.

"I just wonder what happens in the next couple weeks," I said, still rubbing her ass. "You and I will be busy, separated by a river. Rolf will be nearby at his gigs but he'll be gone before long, might not come back for many months or a year. I can't fall in love now. And I bet we're not Rolf's only cross-country girls." I adjusted to nuzzle and lick her breasts.

This was nice. We didn't suck and fuck, only quietly cuddled and kissed. Well, maybe we fingered a little...

=====

It was another long early-summer day, over twelve road hours to roll almost 500 miles with music playing and lazy almost-fucking. A few vicious thunderstorms attacked but Twiggy easily ran them. We stopped at a Forest Service camp below Lake Superior's southwest corner. We weren't alone there so we couldn't run around naked nor scream too loud.

We feasted on enchiladas and wine at the concrete camp table, played music, drank more wine, and retreated into Twiggy to strip, puff a fat joint as incense burned, and take to bed.

I lay on my back between Rolf and Rhonda. He kissed my mouth. She kissed my mouth. Our three mouths joined and breathed and lived together. Our three tongues danced together.

He kissed an eyelid, an ear, my neck, my throat, and so did she, their tongues tangling. She left a trail of kisses from my shoulder to my tit, and so did he. She suckled, and so did he. Her hand migrated to my hip and navel and vulva, and so did his. She slid a finger inside me, and so did he.

They nursed and probed. I groaned.

He left my nipple and kissed his way down my breast and belly and thigh, down to my knee, and up inside my thigh to my vulva. And so did she. He slid his tongue into my pussy. And so did she. And I knew I would reciprocate. I am a college girl. I can do that.

Their tongues at my twitching twat. One hand each reaching to abuse my nipples, the other hands taking turns stroking my legs and fingering my vagina, reaching for my G-spot. Wow.

Their teamwork succeeded. Sooner than I expected, I came loudly, and again. Sooner than I expected, I tugged Rolf away by his longish dark hair and cried, "Fuck me! Fuck me now." About as I expected, he settled between my thighs and Rhonda settled on my face. And I knew how to lick her pussy.

I felt the way he moved. I know he leaned forward to suck Rhonda's tits. I know her hands were on my breasts. I know she was enjoying my tongue and lips. I did all I could for her until Rolf's fucking had me scream into her. Bu Rolf kept pounding, pistoning, rocketing into me, and he came, spurting fire into me again, sacred fire, human fire.

We fell apart, collapsed on the bed, breathing heavy.

"I can't do that again soon," Rolf said. "I need to revive."

"Will this revive you?" Rhonda asked. She pushed us around

We went triad. I sucked his used cock for our combined juices while he tongued Rhonda's blatant pussy and she slurped his and my cums from my depths while worshiping my clit. This isn't a common position in pr0n — not visible enough. Pr0n needs clever lighting and lens choices, odd camera angles, and improbable athletics. We only had fun.

Rolf, or at least his cock, was stiff enough, ironman-hard enough, to challenge my deep-throating. I gagged, drooled, and rolled back from R-and-R. "Ready for him now?" I asked Rhonda. She answered by reclining, spreading obscenely, and demanding, "Take me."

Rolf, or at least his cock, was quickly inside her pussy. I was almost as quickly atop her mouth. Rolf fucked and fucked, and sucked my tongue, and one tit and the other. Rhonda's tongue worked well-practiced magic on me. This went on and on and on — Rolf may have been revived but not fully recharged. Rhonda's mouth sometimes slowed as she yelled another orgasm.

Rolf fucked her and sucked me endlessly — until his pause and his explosion, a slow-motion explosion, long and drawn-out, seeming to drain every last drachm of spunk from him. I had been jealous at first when his jizz-loads coated Rhonda's womb but I had received a good dose tonight so I was okay with it. Was my deepening love for him maturing?

I would probably be insane by the time this trip ended. I could handle that.

We all slept somewhat, and rose in the night to pee and clean, and return to bed to fondle and kiss. Somewhere in the night I found us triading: me eating Rhonda; her sucking Rolf or at least his cock; him merrily eating me. I think we all came before falling asleep in an obscene puppy-pile.

===== day eight =====

We got off to a slow start because leaving the bed took so long.

I was on top of Rolf when we 69ed; I came a few times. Then Rhonda was on top of Rolf in their mutual oral-genital excitement, and she came and came. I could not help myself — I had to lick his scrotum while they writhed.

Then I was under Rhonda as we 69ed for our first time. I felt no moral pain. I was ready.

Rolf had not cum yet. He pushed us around some, put a cushion under my butt for a better angle of attack, and fucked my pussy, and watched Rhonda slurp my clit as I slurped her.

This was new for me; I had not had tongue and cock lashings together before. Oh ghod, what a sensation! When Rolf slowed, Rhonda pulled him out of me and swallowed his cock as he roared and erupted. I could tell she milked him well. My mouth and fingers made her cry again before we quit.

Rolf set the coffee brewing and returned to us. "Today will be shorter, ladies," he said, "only about 400 road miles. How about we run before breakfast?"

I admitted that was a good idea and Rhonda didn't argue. We inhaled coffee, dressed to face a humid morning, and trotted a beyond-the-campground trail. Damn, my joints and muscles felt loose, my tendons and neurons felt tight, and running was easy! Of course at 600 feet elevation, we might as well be in the hills above Berkeley. Nice, thick air.

Rolf ducked into Twiggy's shower when we got back. Rhonda and I went to a campground shower so we could lather each other's hair, and giggle and grope. We had grown closer.

Turkey omelets and hash-brown awaited us at Twiggy's campsite table. "Sure, you provided the food," Rolf said, "but I can cook too. My folks divorced when I was barely adolescent and I had to live with Dad. He could burn water. I learned to cook in self-defense."

He COULD cook! I volunteered for cleanup and took the first turn in the front seat with my legs and feet bare for him to appreciate. Rhonda would have her chance later!

He insisted on driving the scenic lakeshore route along the south side of Lake Superior and the north edge of Lake Michigan. A boat-filled lake like an ocean on one side; woodlands and farmlands on the other; towns big and small, quaint and ugly and in-between; mills and factories; farm stands and craft stands; tourist traps and speed traps. No trouble there — Rolf did not speed nor rage.

Our stop near Lake Michigan's northeast corner was a state campground so no running around naked here, either. That was okay; we ran the trail in clothes, and showered. Dinner, wine, music, and wine at the camp table. A puff and hot sex inside Twiggy. I could get used to this. Couldn't you?

===== day nine =====

Oh-dark-hundred hours: Everyone up to pee and clean and back for snuggles, fondles, mouthings — the new normal. I forget what happened exactly but I was happy.

Naked breakfast: Rhonda made strong coffee and huevos rancheros. Serving, she "accidentally" spilled some not-too-hot sauce on my breasts and insisted on licking me clean. Rolf helped.

After breakfast: A dreaded question but I could handle it.

"Run?" Rolf asked.

"Short day?" I asked.

"Shower with us?" Rhonda asked Rolf.

"I think I saw no-gender-specified showers at the station over there, so sure, let's," he said, pulling up his shorts and tightening his sneaker laces. "We should hit a laundromat later. It's time."

Everywhere out East in America is more humid than anywhere out West so we generated monstrous dripping sweats on our trail run. Our large camp shower sported a high bench. I sat on it with my legs spread; Rhonda and Rolf ate me. She sat on it and we ate her. Rolf sat and was double-slurped till he gushed; I got most of that because I was greedy.

"Hey, where's my share?" Rhonda demanded.

"Next time, girl," I retorted.

Rolf smiled.

=====

We crossed a long bridge from Michigan's upper to lower peninsulas and started down Lake Huron's west shore. Rolf drove halfway down the fairly scenic coast, past where Michigan's thumb protrudes from its glove if you look at maps. A laundromat stop along the way ate a couple hours and a few dollars.

Rolf slugged a soda as we waited for driers to stop. "If I was free," he said, "I would stay in the Southwest and launder like a migrant Okie. Take a five-gallon tub with a top. Load dirty clothes and add soap and water. Strap-down the tub and drive bumpy roads for a great agitated wash. Stop at a river or a friendly fire station for rinse water. The tricky part in the East is drying. Out West, anything hung is dry in an hour. Here, it's when Hell freezes over. Drip-damp is the best to hope for. So laundromats are prudent."

Rolf mostly seemed prudent. Mostly.

Near the thumb's tip we stopped at a shoreside park whose available sites were in the big-RV section. Rolf fit Twiggy between bus-size housecars for the full plumbing and power connection. I fixed a cool dinner of chicken salad and chips to go with Rolf's cheap wine, of course, all consumed at the camp table in our minimal clothes, just brief bottoms and nipple-covering tops.

More wine for dessert, with Rolf's four-string tenor guitar — "standard guitars need two more strings to reach two more notes," he had said — and my almost-orchestral chromatic harmonica and Rhonda's invasive percussion embellishing the night. We sang, too.

A couple dressed for the weather in tees and shorts stepped from the next big-rig — I had seen its Florida plates and Miami tag. He was dark and carried an arch-top guitar; she was light and held a glass flute. "May we join you?" she asked. They looked to be mid-30s.

"Please," Rolf said, "there's room at the table. We are..." and he introduced us.

"Hi, I'm Cyndi," the woman said, "and my husband is Felípe. You guys sound sweet!"

"We've been practicing for a few days," I said, and blew the opening of Ravel's Bolero.

She fluted the passage in perfect harmony. We sounded good.

Rhonda beat the incessant rhythm that Rolf's and Felípe's guitars echoed. We droned-out after a few minutes and smiled at each other.

I ran into Twiggy for more glasses. Rolf poured wine for our guests.

"Is not often we run into real musicians," Felípe said between sips. "Mostly up here are folk guitarists and sloppy banjo pickers."

"We're not full-time at it," Rhonda said. "Rolf works software and Kaitlyn and I study graphics. We've only traveled for a week and we work the music in after dinner." She tapped another rhythm; I recognized the Beatles' A Day In The Life and blew it in G major. Flute and guitar joined. Felípe sang, "I read the news today, ho boiee..."

"That was nice," Rhonda said when silence ensued. She poured more wine for all.

"Wind is blowing out over water, away from camp," Felípe said, holding up a fine fat joint. "Anybody want smoke?"

We all huffed and puffed, we smoked and toked, and on a second joint too, mine. We played more music. Felípe had a fine jazz touch. Cyndi's flute floated to the sky.

"Hey, you guys like to see our coach?" Felípe asked. "I mean inside. I think we did okay. We full-timers so it pretty comfy." He spoke with that weird Cuban-American accent, like "Jello!" for hello. He was cute. And physically fit. So was she. Her accent was softer.

After Rolf stashed his guitar in Twiggy, we trooped into their Greyhound conversion. Yeah, this was pretty luxurious.

"A nice lounge. A good kitchen, Big bath. And here's the bed," Cyndi said. She pushed a button. A gold-trimmed oversized super-king on a platform drifted quietly from the ceiling on chains.

I had a hunch. "Are you inviting us to try it out?"

"Do you mind?" Cyndi asked, stroking my shoulder, and lower.

"You guys are hot," Rhonda said, untying her bikini top. "Let's give it a shot."

Clothes piled in a corner of that big bedroom. Yes, the bed was big enough for five adult humans. Bus-sized motorhomes have their advantages. Like a full laundry. But I digress.

Cyndi and Rhonda were making out and soon 69ed. Felípe and I double-blew Rolf to massive stiffness and next I knew, I was on my hands and knees with Felípe's long, slinky dick in my mouth and throat and Rolf's fat cock pumbing my pussy. I had not been twin-cock spit-roasted before. What a treat! Rolf pushed and Felípe's dick tickled my tonsils. Felípe pushed and Rolf's cock drove in deeper. A girl could get used to this.

Felípe's semen tasted spicy. Rolf's tasted smoky. DNA, or different diets?

Rhonda and I traded. Cyndi and I kissed mlouths, tits, bellies, and pussies. Hers was wetly fragrant and her tongue was frisky. I hope I gave as good as I got in our 69. I heard Rhonda gasp as she absorbed two penises and their output but I paid more attention to my and Cyndi's orgasms. We had a few each.

"You guys want to spend the night?" Cyndi asked. She was riding Rolf's cock then while Rhonda and I rubbed our breasts together and blew Felípe. Nobody said no. We were busy.

I know I slurped people and was sucked and fucked a few times while trying to sleep in that big bed. I was not the only one active. The bed swung lightly on its chains, almost like a boat on waves. Well, this rig WAS a land yacht. Heave ho, me mateys!

===== day ten =====

After early-morning embraces and fondling and such, we left the swinging bed some time after daybreak for sanitation and starters. For breakfast in bed, Cyndi served a tray of milky Cubano coffee and cheese-stuffed pastries with condiments.

Nobody had dressed, of course. Men and women all showed comely physiques and nipples.

Cyndi poured sweet syrup on my tits; she and Felípe licked me clean. Syrup spilled on Rolf's cock; Felípe and Rhonda licked him clean. I poured syrup on my crotch and invited all comers. Pairs of tongues took up my offer. I was quite happy.

I had just swallowed a spurt from Felípe, and Cyndi and Rhonda had successfully blown Rolf — well, Cyndi's pussy rode his tongue so she was pretty enthusiastic — when the big swinging bed started moving in another direction — up. As in, toward the ceiling. As in, to squish us flat, squash us like bugs. Yikes.

"Whoa!" Cyndi yelled, and slapped at a big red button on the headboard. The bed quit rising but kept swinging. "Uh, sorry," she said. "We haven't lost anyone yet but this happens sometimes. Better see an electrician soon." Her wide, dark eyes shot bright, sharp daggers at Felípe.

"Well look at this," Rolf said, stepping to the floor. "The bed is just at the right level." He tugged Cyndi's foot; her leg and the rest of her followed. He arranged her at the bed's edge, her calves dangling, feet wobbling, thighs spread wide. I thought, "That looks like fun," so I squatted over her head, facing Rolf.

Her tongue was good to my pussy. His tongue was good to my tonsils and tits.

"Me some too!" Rhonda said, and lay next to Cyndi, open for Felípe's invasion of her dark domains. The menfolk's exertions put the bed in motion, waving back and forth, setting the rhythm for fucking. Bump. Bump. Bump. Ahhhh...

"Uhhh!" said Felípe and Rhonda together. "Unnhh!" groaned Rolf and Cyndi and I, almost simultaneously. Yes, a merry time was had by all.

We all plopped down on the bed. Me; Felípe; Rhonda; Rolf; Cyndi. We cooled and took turns kissing the nearest mouth. Well, maybe with some stroking of genitals, too.

Rolf broke the mood. "Can I depress everyone by saying we must be going?" he asked. Nobody answered. "We really do need to put some miles on today." He sounded reluctant.

Cyndi turned to him. "It's okay," she said, and bent to kiss his cock. Rhonda joined her from his other side. Tongues swirled on his dickhead. But he was out of spurts.

Rolf, Rhonda and I picked through the clothes pile for our decent outer duds. Felípe and Cyndi did not bother to dress because they were staying inside, flaunting their flesh at us, taunting we who must step outside into the all-revealing sunshine. Sadists!

We said our goodbyes with hugs and slurpy kisses and debouched to Twiggy who needed minimal preparation. We soon rolled down Michigan's east coast. We were quiet.

"No run today, huh?" Rhonda asked from her front-seat perch.

"You need more exercise?" Rolf said. "I'll drive slow; you can trot back and forth inside."

One of her bare feet settled in his lap. That was tough to do when she was strapped in her seat. She cackled. "You mean I won't have to run along after Twiggy?"

"I've got a skateboard and rope in storage," he said. "You can ride the wild asphalt surf behind us. Watch for armadillos."

From my dinette seat, I could not see if her toes abused his cock. But I could imagine.

=====

"Anybody have a reason to avoid Canada?" Rolf asked. I was up front; my long freckled strawberry-cream legs adorned his view. I thought quickly.

"There's my joint stash," I said. "Will Canada be a problem?"

"We won't be searched going in but we might be, coming back to the states," he said. "Twiggy can keep secrets. She has a nicely hidden sealed safe nobody can find without X-rays. That's where I stash Canuck jerky and hashish the feds would confiscate."

"Canadian hashish?" Rhonda said. "I've heard of Lebanese and Oaxacan and Ukiah Gold, but dope from the Great North? In-con-CIEVE-able!"

"The way they tax booze," I said, "it's no wonder they cook their own hash."

"That's it," Rolf said. "Follow the money. Whatever pays, stays. Whatever don't, won't. Homebrew booze is big there, and home-prepped dope and drugs. Think national hobby."

We found a state campground just north of the first road to Canada. No nude runs. We stayed decent. How boring. I cooked an elite ham-and-broccoli mac-and-cheese dinner.

"Cities will be harder to skip from now on," Rolf said. "I'll just have to grin and bear it." We were at the camp table drinking cheap post-prandial wine. Twilight was fading.

"You don't like cities?" Rhonda asked.

"Only to work in. They've got to pay me to endure that stuff. I prefer open space. That's why all the campgrounds on this and every trip. We could have gone coast-to-coast in three days but fuck it, why? I see journeys as trumping destinations. Places are often the same but what's in between is golden.