The Hitchhiker - LauraZ Story 001

Marc and I each had our own reasons to escape Manchester. I was desperate to flee from my controlling and manipulative stepfather, and Marc, five years older than me, owed money to the wrong people. We had often discussed getting away from the city, and starting off somewhere new together, but his financial peril would be the incentive we both needed to make it happen. His final warning, arriving in the shape of a brutal beating, was the spur to pack a bag and sneak out of the house that morning.

Marc's brother worked at a bar in Ibiza, and if we could find a way to get there, we were promised work and a room. But, getting there would not be easy as, between us, we had just over fifty pounds, not even enough to get us a coach ride to London and one night in a cheap hotel. Instead, an old friend drove us to a service station on the highway where we could try and hitch a ride, first to Dover in the south of England, where we would catch a ferry to France, and then hitchhike from there to Barcelona and another ferry to Ibiza.

We stood at the exit to the highway services for nearly two hours, with a cardboard sign indicating Dover was our goal, without anyone stopping. We were growing increasingly frustrated, but knew that returning to the city, and Marc's fate, was not an option.

The morning was transitioning to afternoon, and as the day got warmer, I removed my coat which gave Marc an idea. He helped me fish around in my backpack and dig out a bikini and denim shorts I had hoped to wear in Ibiza. It wasn't beach weather in Manchester, it almost never is, but I agreed to change into them in hope of attracting some attention.

The service station restrooms were a few minutes' walk, back through the large parking lot, but Marc insisted that I didn't waste time and got changed where I was. Apart from a few trees behind us, there really was no cover and at least a dozen cars passed as I quickly slipped out of my clothes into the bikini top and cut-off jean shorts. We were certainly more noticeable now, judging by the stares I was receiving and the occasional car horn salute, but still nobody was stopping.

"Maybe you would have more luck alone," suggested Marc, before moving away from me and partially obscuring himself behind a tree about twenty meters behind us.

He was right. Almost immediately a large truck stopped beside me and shouted down that he could take me as far as Birmingham. That was only about a third of the way to Dover I guess, but it was a start. I clambered into the passenger side, and Marc jumped in behind me, much to the annoyance of the truck driver who had obviously hoped to have me alone.

My tits were spilling out of my bikini top and the trucker was spending almost as much time staring at them bouncing around as he did the road ahead of us. I was feeling self-conscious and objectified so I reached for my coat to cover myself up.

"You don't need your coat," explained Marc, "I'm sure we could just turn the heating up a bit," which the driver eagerly did, immediately returning his attention to my jiggling titties. I felt cheap and displayed by the man I loved for the pleasure of someone else, but I understood that we were indebted to the driver and Marc was doing what he needed to appease him.

It was mid-afternoon when we dropped off at the rest stop near Birmingham and we set about trying to hitch the next ride south. Rather than wait by the exit again, Marc and I made our way around the truck parking lot and asked drivers directly for a ride. We figured that truckers were more likely than car drivers to pick us up and also more likely to offer us a ride before they got moving. The plan was good, but no one seemed willing to take us anywhere, most citing company rules or referring to insurance conditions. We split up in search of a ride, and in my growing desperation I got flirtier with the truckers, removed my coat again, popped open the button on my shorts and did my best to appeal to their base instincts. I was chatting for a minute or two with one driver, who was paying particular attention to my tits, when I heard Marc behind me.

"She will suck your cock," he said.

"What, did you just say?" I asked, too shocked to be sure I hadn't just imagined it.

Marc didn't acknowledge my question, and just repeated, "she will suck your cock if you take us to Dover."

"Marc?" was all I could manage in protest.

"I'm not going to Dover," replied the trucker to Marc, neither men acknowledging I was even part of the conversation. "I can take you as far as London."

"That's good enough," answered Marc.

"I'm not going to suck his cock," I insisted and began to walk away.

Marc took hold of my hand firmly and pulled me toward him, explaining, "I am so sorry to ask you to do this, sweetheart, but there is no other choice."

"I'm not going to do it," I whispered, "I'm not a whore, and you are not my pimp."

"I really am sorry," he continued, "and I wish there was another way, but if we have to go back to Manchester I am a dead man."

I could see the next line coming from a mile away.

"I love you, and would do anything for you," he began, before adding, "and I need you to do this for me."

"Please don't make me do it," I pleaded, but I had already turned around and was making my way toward the trucker and his rig even as I said it.

I got into the cab with the trucker, still wearing only the bikini top and shorts, as Marc waited below. Dan, the driver, was not an unattractive man. He was probably twice my age, with greying hair, but in reasonable shape. He wrestled his jeans and jockey shorts down to his ankles and I leaned in and took his dick into my mouth. He quickly grew hard as I sucked the head of his cock and gently stroked his shaft with one hand. He groaned loudly as I jerked his cock and hardly seemed to notice or care that I was no longer using my mouth at all. I spat in my other palm and used that hand to play with his gland as the other hand continued to vigorously stroke his shaft. He lasted a minute or two before cumming in my hands and onto the jeans gathered around his ankles, before handing me a role of kitchen towel that I used to clean my hands as he pulled up his pants.

I opened the cab door and helped Marc in with our bags.

"Are you ok?" he asked, and I just nodded once in response.

Marc was clearly embarrassed, as the three of us sat in the cab, heading south, and I was ashamed and humiliated. Dan, the driver, was behaving as if it was the most natural situation. He chatted away, asked us questions about ourselves and our plans and didn't mind that we were replying with single word responses. He explained that he would let us out as we reached London, and the M25 motorway, and then continue himself to Harwich.

"What's in Harwich?" asked Marc, finally managing more than one word.

"Ferry port," replied Dan.

"To France?" asked Marc, with expectation in his voice.

"No, to Holland. There is an overnight ferry to Rotterdam."

"Can you take us with you?" Marc asked, "We can hitch from there to Spain."

"That is further, isn't it?" I asked.

"Sure," said Marc, but getting to the continent is the trickiest bit. "The rest of the journey will be easy after that."

"I can take you to Harwich," explained Dan, "but you need a ticket to onboard, and you have to rent a cabin for the crossing as it's overnight."

"How much will that cost?" I asked.

"I don't know for foot passengers, but I can sign you in with me and get you another cabin. That shouldn't cost you more than a couple of hundred pounds."

"We don't have that much." I replied.

"How much do you have?" he asked.

"Fifty."

"That isn't getting you far, is it."

"Can't we hide here in the cab?" asked Dan.

"More than my job's worth. I'm not a smuggler, and you would be found anyway."

We sat in silence for the next few miles, before Dan suggested, "I can pay your crossing, but I am going to need more from you than just a hand job."

Marc looked at me, pleading with his eyes, and I nodded reluctantly.

We arrived at the port, and after we promised Dan multiple times that we weren't carrying drugs, not even an old joint, he went into the ticket office to arrange our cabin.

Marc wanted to talk about what he had asked me to do earlier and what I would need to do for Dan once we were onboard, but I didn't want to discuss it.

"I will do whatever I have to, tonight, but I never want to speak about it again," I declared. "We will never speak of this."

Dan returned and handed Marc a plastic key card for our cabin and two meal vouchers for the truckers restaurant. We soon passed passport control, drove on to the ship and made our way to the cabins. Marc and I both took showers in the small wet room that took up part of the cabin, and I did think about locking ourselves in our room until the crossing was over. Dan had clearly also thought that might be a possibility and let himself into our room with a second key he had received at check-in.

"You want to do it now?" I asked.

"Let's eat first," he replied, sticking around to watch me dry off and dress. He was clearly intent on getting the most from his investment.

The three of us headed to the restaurant and filled up trays with as much of the buffet items as we could manage. Marc and I hadn't eaten all day and had no idea when we would be able to afford to eat again, so we made the most of the opportunity.

Dan led us over to a large table where a group of drivers had congregated. They were all in various stages of eating, some were playing cards or just chatting. A few welcomed Dan by name and others just nodded at him.

"This is Marc and Laura. I picked them up in Birmingham after Laura sucked my cock," he proudly exclaimed, "and I am going to fuck her later too."

I looked down at my food in shame. I wanted to be sick but didn't want to give him the pleasure of humiliating me and I certainly didn't want to miss potentially the only meal I might have in days. So, I ate as fast as I could, making no eye contact with anyone, and listened impassively as Dan and friends talked lewdly about me.

The conversation veered between descriptions of how pretty I was and how cute my body is, through to strangers calling me a slut and a whore. Apparently, I have great tits and blowjob lips, but judgement of my ass would need to wait until I stood up. The assembled truckers gave Dan lots of advice on how he should "fuck the bitch" and the things he should do to me. I didn't react and the discussion just grew cruder and more degrading.

A great deal of the conversation and insults were directed to Marc for 'letting' his girlfriend be a whore. He wisely didn't rise to the bait. Seemingly, Dan was going to show me what it was like to fuck a real man and not a pussy like Marc, but they did repeatedly ask him what I liked in bed and what kind of lay I was.

I finished my meal and without saying a word stood up, took our keycard and made my way to the cabin. I could hear the men comment on my ass as I left, with the consensus being that it was perfect, and they were at least correct about that.

"I'm right behind you, sweetheart," shouted Dan as the mob laughed and jeered.

Once in the cabin, I removed my clothes and lay naked on the bed. I had no intention stripping off for Dan's titillation of prolonging this experience by letting him undress me. He arrived, and without knocking, let himself in with his keycard. I closed my eyes, spread my legs wide and waited for him to climb on me.

Dan had other ideas. He leant over me and stroked my thighs with the tips of his fingers, slowly moving higher and more intimately. His hands moved toward my inner thighs, higher and higher, filling my body with expectation. I was horrified with myself for finding this arousing and did my best to resist showing any sign of enjoyment, but my legs tensed, my skin become covered in goosebumps and my hips raised fractionally off the bed. He continued to tease my thighs, carefully avoiding touching my pussy that was now growing moist in anticipation. Any attempt to disguise my arousal had now failed, and I pushed my hips and throbbing pussy toward his hands, but he was fully in control and was going to prolong my frustration. I reached down and grabbed his hand, trying to pull it into my crotch, but he was stronger. So I began to touch myself instead, rubbing my vulva with one hand and stimulating my clit with the other. Dan continued to stroke the inside of my thighs as I slowly introduced one, and then two fingers into my grateful cunt. I could feel myself reaching a climax, but Dan grabbed both my wrists with one hand and pinned them above my head. I cried out in frustration as my orgasm was stolen from me, but then moaned in pleasure as my fingers were replaced by Dan's rough thick digits inside me. He still had my hands pinned to the bed above me with his strong grip as I bucked and writhed against his other hand. He leant in and firmly kissed me as I climaxed, and I did not resist.

My orgasm was accompanied by a deep sense of shame. I could rationalize letting this man fuck me because our need was so great, but how did I justify enjoying the experience? Maybe I really was the slut the men at cafeteria had said I was.

I was immediately distracted from this train of thought as Dan released my hands and began to kiss and suck my already erect nipples, his fingers still teasing my clit and vulva.

"

Don't stop," I begged as I came again.

This time, it was my turn to instigate the kiss, grabbing his hair and pulling head upward until our lips met. As soon as my climax peaked, I pushed his head back down, past my tits and into my pussy where he set about sucking and licking my sensitized clit. Marc almost never went down on me, but I would have insisted he did had it ever been as good as this. I soon lost count of my orgasms, which now rolled into each other, one blissful climax after another. My legs were wrapped around his head as I ground his face into my cunt.

Dan continued to generously pleasure me, returning to use his fingers once his jaw and tongue were too tired to continue. I actually felt guilty for the lackluster blow job I had given him earlier and promised myself that I would do a better job this time. He undressed as a I watched on, impressed with his broad muscular shoulders and flat, toned stomach. Marc was also toned but lacked Dan's thick muscles or body hair that was short and even across his chest. I sat up, watching him undress, and absentmindedly stroked my vulva as I did. He pulled down his trousers to reveal his erect penis, which, in my state of arousal, now looked irresistible. I sprang forward and took it deep into my mouth without letting him even finish undressing. I was energetically fellating him as he awkwardly kicked off his trousers, taking his cock into my throat and encouraging him to thrust deeper and prioritize his own pleasure over my comfort.

Dan's moans grew louder and more frequent as he approached his own climax, but I begged him to cum inside me. I lay back on the bed, legs spread and felt him finally enter me. He didn't last long, but the intensity of the sex and the situation was enough to make me cum as I felt him ejaculate deep inside me.

He hadn't said a single word since entering the cabin, and he left without saying anything more.

Marc returned a few minutes later, opening the door with Dan's vacated key, and finding me in the shower.

"Are you ok?" he asked timidly.

"I'm fine," I replied through the steam and spray of the shower.

"Was it terrible?" he continued.

"I didn't feel anything," I lied, "he wanted to talk at first and then it was over quickly."

Marc clearly wanted to ask lots of questions, but I didn't want to share the experience, not least because it would have mortified him to know how much I had enjoyed it.

"Marc," I began, "we promised to never speak of this night. It didn't happen as far as I am concerned. Please respect that."

Predictably, Marc soon made it about himself and his feelings.

"It was terrible having to listen to those men talk about you. They said horrible, degrading things," he said, "they were even offering me money to fuck you next."

He left that hanging in the air, and I did not respond.

"I told them to fuck off, of course," he continued, "but they kept on offering more money."

I was out of the shower by now and drying myself with a towel. I looked at Marc and for the first time saw him for the pathetic, craven, and selfish boy he was.

"How much?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, "I told them to fuck off. I have too much respect for you than that."

"How much, Marc?" I demanded.

"One guy offered one hundred and fifty pounds."

I picked up the keycard and handed it to Marc.

"Get the money first, give him the keycard, and send him here."

Marc wanted to pretend that he objected, but this was clearly what he was fishing for so he only managed to ask unconvincingly, "are you sure?" but he was already half way out of the door.

"Marc, send the first guy up, and then find the next. I will do this for one night, so lets make sure we make as much money as possible. Don't take less than one-fifty."

Marc hastily left and I sat naked on the edge of the bed, facing the door, and waited.

Within a few minutes there was a polite knock as the door slowly opened. I felt a brief moment of arousal from the excitement of the unknown. That excitement dissipated immediately as a short, fat middle-aged man entered the room nervously. I beckoned him over and unbuckled his belt as he pawed and groped my tits. His tiny flaccid cock was barely visible through his thick bushy pubic hair, and within a few seconds of sucking, before he had even managed to get fully hard, a load of cum dribbled into my mouth.

He looked distraught as I handed him the keycard and asked him to take it back to Marc in the restaurant.

"I can't go back yet," he pleaded, "I've only been gone three minutes. I'll be humiliated."

I took pity on him, offering, "you can wait here five minutes."

I sat naked in front of him as we made small talk, until I needed to take a pee.

"Can I watch?" he asked.

Just the question felt grubby and demeaning, but no worse than anything else that day, so I agreed he could. I sat on the toilet as he stood by the open door. The wet room was tiny, so he was only a meter or so from me, but as I began to pee I told him he could move closer if he wanted. He crouched down, on his knees, with his head between my legs, and watched intently as I urinated.

He left directly after and was soon replaced with the next trucker. This guy was all business, pulling down his trousers as he entered the room and fucking me unceremoniously in the missionary position throughout. He was calling me a slut and a cunt and a whore as he pumped away inside me, but when I interpreted this as a request for dirty-talk and began to reciprocate with my own obscene responses he told me to be quiet.

One after another I was joined by a line of truck drivers, each experience a little different, but all following a similar suck then fuck pattern, each as meaningless and forgettable as the last. The only pleasure I felt was with Dan, but none of the following experiences were particularly unpleasant either.

I kept count of the truckers, or at least I kept a running total of the money Marc was collecting. The sixth trucker was the last and Marc returned to the cabin with nine hundred pounds. It felt like a fortune. It was enough money for us to fly to Ibiza from the nearest airport, or to catch a train to Barcelona and even make a few stops on the way.

I took a shower and then placed the nine hundred pounds in my previously empty money belt, before falling asleep, exhausted.