Highway Hustle

by Roland Graeme

  I’d taken an instant dislike to her—in contrast to her sexy ginger husband, whom I thought was kind of cute, despite his aggressiveness. Or maybe because of it! After all, it was always flattering to know that a guy was taking an interest in me—that I appealed to him.

  On this occasion, though, I didn’t see any chance of that leading to my sexual or financial advantage, aside from the five-buck tip I’d already earned.

  What a bitch, I thought. Big city cunt with a stick up her ass. Thinks she’s better than me. Fuck her!

  Her husband’s kind of cute, though. Yeah, he’s sexy. Sexy as hell! Kind of a pocket fuck. If he was traveling alone—I’d do him! Was I kidding myself, or was the dude kind of flirting with me? Too bad he’s tied down to that bitch. If he was traveling on his own—yeah, then the two of us would be negotiating, by now. Making plans to get together on that big, vibrating bed!

  I had an hour to go before the end of my shift. Back in the office, I resumed my clock watching. Half an hour passed. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly!

  Vernon sauntered back into the office.

  “Everything all right in the room?” I asked him.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m not nearly as fussy as Faye. She has a tendency to complain about things.” No kidding, I thought. “Give her a chance to vent, let off the steam, though, and then she’s usually okay, in a much better mood. Jesus—this is one hell of a quiet, sleepy little burg, isn’t it? I mean, I could hear insects humming and buzzing and making all sorts of weird noises, outside the windows! A real ‘getting back in touch with nature’ experience. Not much else going on, though, from the look and the sound of it. Kind of Norman Rockwell-ish, huh? The kind of community where men are men—? Hey, Jason, when do you get off work?”

  “In half an hour.”

  “Mind if I hang out here and kill some time with you?”

  “No, go right ahead, sir.” It struck me as kind of odd that he wanted to kill some time with me, a stranger, as opposed to being with his attractive, sexy (however bitchy) wife.

  He smiled at me, quite ingratiatingly. “It isn’t ‘sir,’ Jason, it’s Vernon.”

  “Okay.”

  He pulled from his pocket a small flat glass bottle, shaped like a hip flask. I saw the label. It was The Kraken black spiced rum, with the distinctive octopus-like sea monster on the label.

  “Want a snort?” Vernon asked me.

  “I’m working.”

  “Yeah, but you won’t be, in half an hour—less than that, now,” he pointed out.

  “Well—” I drank the sweet rum, straight from the bottle, and when I handed it back to him, so did he.

  “What’ve you got planned, for when you do get off work?”

  I shrugged. “Go home and go to bed, I guess.”

  “How disappointing. I assumed that even in a small town like this, a young guy like you can have himself some fun.”

  “There’s not much to do here at night.”

  “Too bad. Still, a resourceful man can always come up with something.”

  “I suppose he can.” I thought about some of the lewd same-sex activities I’d come up with, recently.

  “Do you think my wife is pretty?” Vernon asked me.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, Vernon. Of course I do. She’s very beautiful,” I assured him. For a stuck-up city bitch! I added, silently.

  “Do you think she’s sexy?” he pressed.

  There was an odd persistence in his tone of voice. “Sure,” I said. “You’re a lucky man.”

  “Lucky, yes, because my wife isn’t just beautiful and sexy—she’s understanding. Open-minded. Drink up, boy.” Vernon kept offering me the rum, and swigging from the bottle himself. “You see, Faye and I—we have an open marriage,” he remarked.

  “Oh, do you?”

  “We find it exciting to invite other sex partners into our marriage. Into our bed.”

  “Do you?” I repeated, nervously. I wasn’t coming across as a sparkling conversationalist, or as very sophisticated, that was for sure!

  “We like threesomes.” This time, after he’d paused, waiting for my response, but I was too tongue-tied to provide one, Vernon pressed on, boldly. “How’d you like to fuck my wife? Dip your wick into her hot, juicy pussy? Would that turn you on, boy? Would it get your dick hard? Would it make you hot? Hot enough to fuck—to fuck her? And give her a nice, hard pussy pounding, the kind that’s guaranteed to make her come?”

  So many questions, crowded upon me all at once! “Uh,” I sputtered, trying to buy time, to think.

  “What’s the matter? You aren’t a virgin, are you?”

  “Hell, no!” I exclaimed, defensively.

  “That’s good. It’d be such a waste if you were. You’re such a fine-looking young stud. A real country buck, the kind of stud we city folk fantasize about, back home. I bet you’ve got a big dick, don’t you?”

  “No. Just average, I guess.” I blurted out, with false modesty.

  “I’d be curious to find out about that for myself. I bet you know how to put that big piece of meat to good use, don’t you? Fucking a man or a woman, it doesn’t matter much to you, huh? Either way. Any port in a storm, as they say. Any hole will do, when a stud like you is horny! How’d you like to fuck me? Make love to me and my wife?”

  “Uh,” I mumbled, again. At this rate, I was in danger of turning into a real Johnny One-Note. Or a new non-superhero, named Monosyllable Man!

  “You’re shy,” Vernon said, salaciously, all but licking his lips. “I like that. It’s sweet. Gets me going. Makes me want to corrupt you, I admit. I bet Faye and I could help you enlarge your range of sexual experience, and make you feel more confident.”

  He was talking like a college professor delivering a lecture in front of a classroom filled with students. Or—more to the point—like a sex therapist trying to reassure a patient who was suffering from a severe case of sexual repression. But there was nothing wrong with my sex drive, goddamn it, I thought, rebelliously!

  Damn right, there wasn’t! Well, if he thought I lacked experience, then he was sure as hell barking up the wrong tree! I’d racked up plenty of experience when it came to same-sex relations. None of the guys I’d been with, whether I’d given it away for free, or they’d paid me for sex, had ever accused me of lacking confidence. If anything, I’d developed into a pretty damn brazen male whore!

  It was true that I hadn’t fucked that many girls, and none recently. I’d been having too much fun with the guys. But I assumed it was like riding a bicycle. Climb back on, keep your balance, and start pedaling, and it would all come back to you.

  “Of course, we’d be willing to compensate you, for your time and trouble. For your participation in a night of fun,” Vernon was saying, smoothly. “I imagine a young man like you can always use a little extra pocket money.” He sure was one ballsy, silver-tongued devil. There was a smugness about his manner, the whole time he was propositioning me. He was damn sure I’d give in to him. And he was right!

  “How much?” I asked. Then I backtracked a bit, deciding it might be in my interests to go along with the aw-shucks country hick act which this city slicker seemed to find so piquant. “I could really use some spending money, all right,” I said. “I don’t make that much working here at the motel,” I added, which was true enough.

  “Fifty,” Vernon suggested. “Fifty dollars to do me—and another fifty to take care of my wife. Does that sound good?”

  Another C-note! For that amount of money, I’d go out into a pasture and fuck a dairy farmer’s cow, if that was what this swinger asked me to do!

  “And,” Vernon purred, no doubt able to tell from the look on my face that he had me hooked, “there could be some extra money in it for you, if you’re willing to do something extra.”

  “Such as?” I asked, warily.

  “How’d you like to perform in a porn video? I’ve got my camcorder with me. Always travel with it. You never know what kinds of ‘interesting’ subjects may
come up. Faye and I love to make our own amateur sex videos. We film all of our threesomes—provided, of course, the other man or woman agrees. They usually do,” he said, with that characteristic smugness of his.

  “So—let me understand you—you and your wife, you’re both bisexual?” My mind was reeling at these lurid revelations. Life in the big city was sure different from the dull, drab routine out here in the sticks!

  “Very,” Vernon bragged, without shame. “She likes girls. I like guys. A girl or a guy in bed with us—that just adds to the excitement, to the pleasure. The best of both worlds, that’s how I always describe bisexuality. I’m surprised everybody isn’t bi.”

  “When you say ‘some extra money’—ah—?”

  “How about another fifty? One hundred and fifty, total. For one night’s work—which I promise you, my boy, you’ll enjoy. Now, that’s fair, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Who’s going to see this video?”

  “Just our special friends back home. Our swinger friends. Who are the soul of discretion, I assure you. I’ll give you a copy, of course, for your own use. Your friends might find it interesting.”

  “Shit!” I protested. “Some of the people here would run me out of town if they knew—! Okay, mister. You’ve got yourself a deal. I’m your man.” I glanced at the wall clock. “Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together by the guy who’s coming to relieve me, in a few minutes. Go to your room, and I’ll come there as soon as he shows up.”

  We carried out this plan. The moment my replacement took over, I went to the Sinclairs’ room and I tapped on the door.

  “Come in,” Vernon sang out from inside.

  Husband and wife had unpacked a few of their belongings, and they’d certainly gotten comfortable. Vernon had stripped down to a pair of black undershorts, snug-fitting, which displayed his fit body to good advantage. Faye was lounging on the bed, wrapped in a bright red silk bathrobe. She’d been careless about tying the sash—perhaps deliberately—and the flimsy, clinging garment gaped open in front, exposing part of her voluptuous breasts and the deep cleavage between them, to say nothing of her shapely legs, which were exposed right up to the insides of her thighs. She hadn’t removed her makeup—and, oddly, she was still wearing all of that flashy jewelry. The gems flashed in the light and made her look like an actress in a heterosexual porn video.

  Near the bed, a small collapsible photographer’s tripod had been set up. And on the nightstand was the camcorder Vernon had mentioned, an expensive-looking piece of equipment.

  “Hello, Jason,” Faye greeted me. She flashed me a seductive smile.

  Her mood had certainly improved. She seemed much more relaxed—probably because she, too, had been drinking. Next to the camcorder on the nightstand was an open bottle of wine, and one of our plastic drinking glasses, with an inch or so of the red vino still in it.

  Vernon offered me his bottle of rum. “You may as well kill this,” he invited me. “And then, how’d you like to snort some coke?”

  I emptied the bottle before I trusted myself to reply. My idea of getting high was sucking down a few beers in a row. The only recreational drug I’d ever tried was pot—which one of my fuck buddies grew on his farm and sold, discreetly, as well as using it himself. He kept me well supplied. Hard drugs, which you inhaled, popped in pill form, or shot up—I associated that sort of thing with the wicked city. I’d never had many opportunities to experiment with them.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, not wanting the Sinclairs to know just how much of a novice I was.

  I watched, intrigued, while Vernon took out his stash and made the preparations, transferring the while powder from its little vial onto the surface of a small mirror, and using a razor blade to arrange it into lines. No rolled-up dollar bill or cut-off plastic drinking straw for these sophisticates—Vernon had a short, silver-plated straw, evidently designed just for the purpose. He snorted, Faye snorted, and I snorted. Then the three of us took turns doing it again.

  I began to feel the effects, at once. There was a lightheadedness, accompanied by a certain edginess. Paradoxically, I felt, at one and the same time, both pleasantly numb—and very aroused, definitely ready for sex.

  “Get your clothes off,” Vernon urged me.

  I didn’t hesitate to undress. I was already enjoying what the coke was doing to me, especially the way it seemed to jack up my libido, while stripping me of my inhibitions. Definitely high, I stripped naked.

  Faye sat up on the bed and let out a little moan at the sight of my nude body.

  “Oh, what a stud,” she exclaimed. “What a cock!”

  I was already getting hard—which reassured me. It was the sight of Vernon’s practically naked body which was largely responsible for my arousal. But, while I was gay, I wasn’t altogether immune to the physical charms of a beautiful woman, and Faye was quite a knockout. I was now confident that I wouldn’t have any trouble rising to the occasion and performing successfully with her, as well as with her husband. If I was being paid to fuck the bitch, I’d fuck her!

  “Yes, Jason’s a real beauty, isn’t he?” Vernon agreed. He picked up the camcorder. “Go ahead, Jason,” he told me. “Get on the bed. Let Faye do her thing. She’ll make you feel good, I promise.” He raised the camcorder to his shoulder, switched it on, and aimed it at me, before he panned over to point it at the bed, instead. “Action!” he called out, facetiously.

  Faye shed her robe. Joining her on the broad bed, I soon found out that her thing was fellatio, at least to start off with. Her right hand, with the big, flashy ring on it, took hold of my cock, squeezing the shaft, her thumb rubbing over the head, massaging my piss slit, which was already leaking a drop of pre-cum. Her touch was bold and sure, with nothing tentative about it. It was just like being given a hand job by a guy! The one difference was that her long, immaculately manicured and polished fingernails tickled my erection in a most provocative way, making me bite my lip and squirm beside her on the bed. She began to pump on my penis with her fist, and I thought I was going to erupt, prematurely, in a shower of sperm.

  I experienced such a rush of sensual response, no doubt enhanced by the coke, that I almost fainted. My hips rose from the mattress, fucking her fist, trying to relieve my need.

  “That’s right, lady, play with my prick,” I encouraged her.

  “You want it sucked, baby?” Faye asked me. “You want to feel my mouth sucking on this big hard cock of yours, farm boy? You want me to suck the cum right out of you? You want to shoot it down my throat?”

  “Yeah.” With my brain completely under the influence of the cocaine, I could barely speak. “Please,” I managed to add, remembering my manners. I was in the presence of a lady, after all, and it occurred to me that the crudities which guys might commit, and indeed enjoy, when they got together for sex might be considered rude in this rather different situation.

  Faye lowered her head into my lap. I smelled her perfume. Her long, silky dark hair caressed my lower belly and my upper thighs. Her sensuous, rouged lips parted in a wanton smile.

  Then I felt the heat of Faye’s mouth surround my cock and take my shaft quickly and effortlessly all the way down to its base. Moaning, trembling, her full breasts jiggling, the woman began to suck my dick.

  Aw, shit! She was good at it. Really good! Better than any of the admittedly very few girls I’d ever talked into giving me head. Most of them had been reluctant, and they were lousy at it, so it was scarcely worth the trouble. But Faye sucked cock like a pro, with a skill and enthusiasm which would put a lot of gay men to shame.

  “Blow me!” I told her.

  “Yeah, baby, blow him!” Vernon coached her, as he continued to video us. “Show him what a good cocksucker you are. Get that big dick down your throat and let him tickle your tonsils with it. Oh, hell—I’m so fucking jealous! Can’t wait to get that meat in my mouth, myself. Go on. Suck him. Warm him up for me.”

  I was going wild with lust. I lay there, gasping,
my legs thrashing, my body straining up to thrust my dick between Faye’s tormenting lips and deeper into her seemingly elastic throat. All I could think of, all that mattered, was the feel of that hot wet mouth on my prick. I was aware that Vernon was hovering over us, aiming the camcorder at us, recording every detail of the blow job which his sultry slut of a spouse was performing on me. But any lingering shyness or stage fright I might have felt before was long gone, now. The fact that he was videoing our sex act only increased my arousal.

  He wants to suck me, too! I gloated. And I’m going to let him! I bet he’s every good at it as this cocksucking slut wife of his!

  I closed my eyes for a moment, in order to concentrate on the lewd sensations rippling through me. Every muscle in my body was tensed, as though I was unconsciously striving to focus that tautness down into my groin, to enhance the stiffness of my erection. I thrilled to the sweet, wet, pulling pressure of those warm lips sucking on me. I bucked furiously in and out of the woman’s wanton mouth, wanting to drive my cock all the way down her throat. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. It was as though more than one mouth was somehow blowing me, all at once. As though more than one pair of greedy lips was wrapped snugly around my shaft, milking it—and more than one slippery tongue was licking my meat, with such depraved abandon. Swallowing my throbbing, frantically aroused fuck tool all the way to its root, that fantastically talented mouth pressed into my pubic hair as it strove to devour still more of me!

  “She’s good, isn’t she, Jason?” a breathless Vernon asked. “I taught her how to suck cock. I made her go down on me again and again, night after night, until she learned to do it right. Now she can take the biggest cocks down her throat without gagging on them. She’s like a goddamn porn star! You think she’s good, just wait until you get your dick in my mouth! Damn, I can’t wait to get a mouthful of that big hard thing of yours!”

  I opened my eyes.

  Whimpering while she sucked me, Faye was now playing with her pussy, her hand down between her shivering thighs, her fingers rubbing her moist slit and strumming her clit. Incredibly, her mouth pumped even more rapidly on my manhood. There seemed to be no limit to her oral skill. I let out moan after moan of raw, undisguised delight.