Three Weeks on the Road Ch. 06

Jessie started Wednesday the same way she'd started Tuesday, waking before me to slither down my body and bring me to consciousness with the sensation of a warm, wet mouth closing around, releasing, sliding slowly up and down my morning hard on.

That's a great way to wake up.

She didn't let me finish though, stopping just short of my climax and scampering to the bathroom with a laugh. I followed and turned off the shower as soon as she turned it on. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking a shower. Why?"

"Get up on that counter."

Jessie giggled and hiked herself up on the vanity, butt on the edge of the porcelain. Knowing what was coming, she lifted and spread her legs, her little pussy opening up beautifully for me. I growled appreciatively, drooled some saliva onto those delicate pink lips, and teased my girl with several slow drags of my cockhead against her clit.

"Not so much fun when someone does it to you?" I said with mock crossness when she started to whimper.

The look in her eyes was so sadly needy that I couldn't help it. I speared into her, holding her legs up and apart while leaning forward to kiss her roughly. I carved up into her hot little box with increasing speed, holding back as hard as I could. She almost gotten me off earlier, and I wanted to get her off before I had to release.

It wasn't to be though. I slammed into her, held her tight - bent almost in half with her head against the bathroom mirror, legs shifted up to my shoulders - while my dick spat rope after rope of cum up into her vaginal canal. I shook with the exertion, leaning forward to rest my head on Jessie's chest.

She shifted her hips trying to dislodge me now that I'd finished, but I held still. "Uh-uh. Your turn."

I lowered my head to suck at one hard nipple, taking my time, teasing around it wet and soft, while reaching down between her thighs to frig her clit urgently, beginning to thrust again, my half-chubbed erection sliding back and forth in the slickness of our commingled fluids.

Jessie didn't take long to get off, and I raised my head to watch her face as she orgasmed, so beautifully erotic, flushed skin, wide eyes and mouth as she gasped at the first shock and then devolved into laughter as the waves crashed through her.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork, a clearish-white mixture of liquid dripping out of her stimulated-pink, stretched-open twat. Jessie reached down to dip a finger into her wet hole, then popped it into her mouth sensuously. "Like what you see?"

"Always."

I warmed up the shower while Jessie relieved herself and tried to push out what I'd left inside her, and then we took a warm shower together, enjoying the closeness and the heat.

She kicked me out after so she could get dressed and made up for the day, and I surfed the web from my phone. No arrests yet for the carbombing. No arrests yet for the riot. Milwaukee must not be trying very hard. Bored with the depressing news, I got dressed. Shorts, t-shirt, button up, shoes, gear. I scoured the hotel room for anything I might need to put away, but we'd been pretty conscientious about putting everything in our bags.

The bathroom door opened, and Jessie peeked out. "Can you help me with something, Gary?"

I walked to the bathroom. "Sure, what's up?"

"Could you help me fit this in please?" her voice was sweet and playful, a big smile on her face as she handed me the lube and a purple silicone buttplug. She turned around, put one foot up on the edge of the tub, reaching up to grab the shower curtain bar, wiggling her cute little tushy at me invitingly.

I wet my fingers with the lube and knelt by her side, pressing one slowly into the desired hole while I nibbled at her buttcheek and thigh. She sighed as my finger sank into the fleshy tunnel, and I twisted and pushed gently until it was seated to the base before withdrawing and adding another finger. I could feel Jessie trying to relax, trying to gently push her muscular ring back onto my invading digits, to accustom herself to her body being so unnaturally filled. I kept up the soft thrusting and stretching for a minute more and then looked up. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I should be."

I slicked up the head and stem of the plug and pressed the rounded bulb against her slightly opened pucker. Slowly I applied pressure, and I could see Jessie's leg and back muscles tense as it widened. She groaned as the widest part slipped in, her anus closing around the only slightly thinner stem. I rotated the plug carefully so that the flange sat vertically in the crack of her ass, and then rose, giving her a kiss on the shoulder. "All set darling. That's a pretty big plug, are you sure you want to wear that today?"

She shrugged. "I'll take it out and put it in my purse if it gets uncomfortable. I wanted a big one today...I have to ask my master to fuck me in my ass soon, and I need to get ready for him."

Her words, combined with the erotic grin on her face, sent a bolt of lightning to my groin. I looked her nude body up and down, and she giggled. "Not now, we need to get going."

Breakfast was decent, cereal and waffles and juice in a tiled concrete anteroom to the indoor pool. McKenna wasn't in nearly as good a mood as the previous day, and said all of ten words to us by the time we all pulled into the SUV, preferring to spend time with her phone instead of us.

Driving further west was a different landscape than driving into Wall. The terrain was more reddish in color with more variation in elevation. It was like driving past The Badlands had taken us out of the plains, and now hills rose and fell alongside the road. Farms didn't seem to be as massively empty out here, and we routinely saw cattle and ranchers out by the omnipresent barbed wire fencing that ran along the road.

The outskirts of Rapid City were interesting, a mix of big box stores and hotels all sitting at a distance from each other, industrial buildings and warehouses, and long stretches of dusty, run down trailer parks planted do close to the highway it looked like we could reach out and drag our fingers across the siding.

The road split, and we angled away from the city proper, into richer neighborhoods that looked like they were at one point trying to be country vacation homes, were now fighting the encroachment of their neighbors from the city. The buildings gleamed, glass and metal, alien looking at times with ultra-modern architecture.

I'm not a poor man, especially after the settlement from the technical college. But these houses were well outside my price range. WAY outside. And yet, I couldn't feel any sort of jealousy. I liked my ultra-secure, three-level saltbox in the ghetto. It was personal to me.

Out of Rapid City, and we started climbing into the Black Hills, winding roads cut through dusty tan rock or along the side of cliffs, dark pines shadowing everything. Chintzy tourist traps - hotels and museums and souvenir shops - seemed to be planted everywhere the was flat land, and by the time we drove through a valley filled with tourists crowding around blocks and blocks of ugly restaurants and lodging, I was thoroughly disgusted.

I consider myself an anarchist. I am fiercely ruthlessly protective of the belief that I should be able to do whatever the fuck I want as long as I don't hurt anyone else, and I believe everyone else has the same rights...but dammit, have some respect for this beautiful, wild landscape.

Glimpses of Mount Rushmore started appearing between gaps in the trees, and by the time our vehicle wound through the line of traffic to the parking structure, the girls were suitably awed.

The day was slightly overcast but still swelteringly hot, and we walked in the shade of the walls, listening to the chatter of the crowds, smelling the popcorn that seemed to be popping every twenty feet.

"Wow," Jessie breathed as we stepped into the observation deck.

The view was impressive. The viewing structure has been built back from the mountain, trails and a debris field between the massive bunker-like building and the mountain. Rubble climbed the side up to the massive stone faces, and despite my hatred of politics, I was impressed.

Not so much by the faces themselves, but the engineering feat necessary to create them. All done without coma puter, all done by men on ropes with hammers and dynamite, and done without a single death. Personally, I think Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and a couple of tyrant killers should go up there instead, but no ones asking me.

McKenna pulled out her everpresent cellphone and started snapping pictures - about a quarter of the selfies in different poses with the stone heads behind her, and a quarter of those with Jessie in them, and I wandered the deck, sliding in between groups of people, moving to new and different vantage points for viewing the marvelous work of will and art.

I snapped a few pictures, not many. I don't have many social media accounts. I don't document my life for the rest of the world to see. But I did want to preserve this moment for later remembrance, and my pictures were less of dead, carved presidents than of scenes like Jessie peering into a telescope, or laughing and holding onto her Brewers hat as a gust of wind tried to take it off her head.

We took the massive some steps down to a lower viewing level and walked a few hundred years down the trails before returning to the shade of the building for a brief tour of the museum, the monument still visible through gigantic windows. Jessie lingered with her ice cream cone by the windows while McKenna scouted the gift shop for more junk she didn't need.

"Great view," she commented, looking up at the mountainside.

"You're telling me."

She giggled when she realized I was looking at her. "Not me, dummy!"

"Eh, everyone who's ever gotten a statue is some kind of bastard or another." I paraphrased one of our favorite tv shows and she rolled her eyes.

"You're forgetting," I continued, "I've seen this before. Impressive, yeah, but I wouldn't have come back. I'm just here for you and Mickey."

"Screw you," McKenna said quietly from my elbow. She'd returned to us carrying a big bag of loot from the gift shop. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"A whole lot more."

She rolled her eyes at me and pulled her massive sunglasses down. "Ready to go?"

Driving out of the Mount Rushmore monument area was a winding serpentine through thick forests and tall rock walls until we left the Black Hills and the terrain flattened out a little. We could see the Crazy Horse monument from the SUV, and McKenna swore like a sailor when she realized her phone want going to be able to get a decent picture at that range.

Everything about Wyoming seemed bigger.

The rolling hills were bigger, stretching up to the sky and dropping away to deep valleys. The farm fields reached all the way to the horizon, endless stretches of corn or wheat or grazing land. The highways were longer and faster than we'd been on previously, and seemed much less trafficked than elsewhere.

We climbed into the mountains again, stopping in Sundance for lunch at Subway. Back down, and the hills and valleys seemed even more defined, deeper, wider, taller, and set with more homes and farms than we'd seen before, usually run down and impoverished-looking, junk scattered around them, old and decrepit vehicles parked in the driveways or yards

"Sure would hate to live out here," McKenna whispered in the backseat.

"Yeah, no place for you to go shopping," Jessie teased.

"Not just that... It's so lonely out here. When was the last gas station? The last police or fire station? Who plows in the winter?"

I shrugged. "People out here handle things on their own better than we do in the city. I guara-damn-tee you they are tougher people out here than we could ever hope to be."

"They're definitely tougher than me, and I'm proud of it." The pint-sized programmer leaned forward to smirk at us in the rear view then returned to her phone.

Devils Tower rose up in the distance, and we seemed to circle it a few times, climbing through hills and forests until we found ourselves in a packed parking lot. I paid for entrance and we exited, trekking further and further upwards to the trails surrounding it.

This, this was impressive.

The massive stone column rose out of a debris field in the forest floor, ribbed with its own stone columns, some crumbling, some smooth and solid. Scattered across the sides of the giant rock formation were colored blobs of climbers, some pulling themselves up to the next handhold, others stopped for a rest.

I couldn't imagine what the native peoples of America had imagined when they saw this. Even now, knowing the geologic and erosion processes that had created the tower I was awed by natures size and majesty. Not possessing that knowledge? I'd probably fall flat and worship it. And it would deserve it, just for being so awe-inspiring.

We hiked around the mountainous pillar at a pretty fast clip due to our need to hit one more national monument today in order to stay on schedule. The woods around the base of the Tower was thin, and we were able to photograph the countryside below, the field and roads stretched out as far into the distance as we could see.

The forest was hot and still except for the other walkers, and we worked up enough of a sweat that I bought us all water bottles at the information center. McKenna left to go buy more cheap trinkets, and I started reading some of the camping pamphlets the park service distributes. My phone jangled in my pocket and I pulled it out, glanced at the text. It was from Jessie.

"This map says Devils Tower might be a volcanic plug. I can't stop thinking about another plug."

I looked across the room to where she stood reading a map. She must've felt my eyes on her, because she lowered the map and gave me a saucy smile, her eyes dancing.

I texted back "Dirty girl."

North through Wyoming, and Montana felt completely different. It almost felt Irish. The roads were set with reddish gravel and the hills LOOKED greener, rolling gently off into the distance. We hit fog and then rain, hard-driving sheets of water drumming on the SUV and making it hard to see out the windows. The wind was fierce too, buffeting the vehicle like giant fists.

The squall ended and we left the rolling hills for more mountainous regions, passed through those, started crossing brown and dusty green grasslands, somehow even more desolate than the empty prairies South Dakota. This didn't even look like anyone farmed it, it was just...there...so remote and hard that no human wanted to take the time to use it.

Further on, houses began cropping up, worn and decrepit and poverty blighted despite the expensive trucks sitting in their driveways. The gas stations we stopped at all had rows and rows of slot machines inside, and I wondered if money might be better spent warning the inhabitants of the area away from gambling instead of the omnipresent billboards advertising the dangers of smoking.

It probably wouldn't help though, the US government had destroyed this area and impoverished the people going back to the 1800s, pushing the native peoples off their tribal lands and doing everything in their power to eradicate their culture and identity. Even generations removed from the actual genocidal violence as we were now, the repercussions of destroying their way of life, their language, their tribal uniqueness could still be felt.

The Custer Memorial was a somber place. There was a war memorial cemetery in front, surrounded by pines, rows and rows of headstones standing silent watch. We skipped the visitors center, trudging up the path to the monument. Up on the ridge, we could see for miles. The storm we'd driven through appeared to be coming slowly towards us, hot wind whipping our shirts and waving the tall dying grasses that covered the hills. The scene looked positively hellish, what with the heat and dead hills, the scattered graves and the wrought iron fencing everywhere.

Jessie and McKenna sensed the solemnity of the location and thankfully refrained from selfies and goofy behavior, instead quietly wandering between the monument and the headstones, squatting to scrutinize the markers, comparing them to a phone map. Apparently one of McKenna's ancestors had died here, and she was looking for him.

I walked to the other side of the hill, descending into a stone bowl, almost a tiny fortress. It opened towards the plains, a solid iron wire frame picture of a Native American war party dominating the view of the gray and stormy sky. The back wall was set with plaques bearing declarations of war and survival and solidarity from the warriors who had opposed the US military.

I smiled at the quotes. These weren't my people, I could claim no history with them, but I could feel a small sense of militant pride echoing through the ages from their words. Physically strong men summoning up the strength of character and courage to defend their people with violence - that was the highest calling a man could answer. I'd seen battle, had nearly lost my life to a fight against people who hated me for what I was, and I'd prevailed. I could vaguely identify with their sentiments.

Another smile crossed my face at the sight of a small red bag tucked into the stones, out of the way. Tribute to the ancestors. Someone was honoring their actions and sacrifices.

Cool.

McKenna was unusually subdued on the way out, buying only a couple of books at the gift shop. Part of it was the atmosphere, most of it the overwhelmingly oppressive heat that covered the memorial like a blanket. I'd started sweating as soon as I'd left the truck and my shirts were soaked through, the girls looked a little bedraggled too, skin greasy with sweat, darkness appearing on their shirts. We turned the AC up in the Suburban as we headed to that nights stop.

The parking lot of the hotel was full, and I had to stand in line at the front desk. "reservations for Galloway," I told the clerk as I slid my credit card and ID across the counter.

She typed into the computer and a mournful expression crossed her face. "I am sorry sir, but due to the convention, we were forced to downgrade your reservation from two rooms to a double room. We have discounted your reservation to apologize for the inconvenience."

"What?"

"The Hardin reformatory is having a job fair and we needed the room. Please accept our apologies."

I smiled despite my inner anger. "Are there any other hotels in town that would prefer my business?"

The clerk smiled back. "Definitely all full. Your reservation was the last two open rooms that we had. One was a double, that's why we gave away the single."

Dammit.

Jessie put her hand on my arm. "It's fine. We'll deal with it."

"Yeah, but..."

"It's fine," she repeated softly.

I re-upped my fake smile for the clerk. "That's fine I guess."

McKenna wasn't happy about it either, but I promised her we could go to the Taco Johns across the street, and her attitude brightened considerably.

The ground-floor room was small, two beds with end-tables on each side, facing an entertainment center and a small writing desk. The bathroom was small but clean, and I exited to find the girls laying claim to the space, duffels and backpacks being set out. I had set my bags next to the side of the bed that was closest to the door, so that pretty much decided the order for them - Jessie next to me, McKenna taking the bed farthest from the door for herself.

We walked across the street to Taco Johns, and I marveled at the fact that we weren't being deluged with rain. The gray skies of the storm we'd driven through seemed pretty well set on heading in this direction. Storm clouds lurked far out on the edge of the horizon, and the sun shown down at an evening angle, lighting the streets with gold.