For a while Cindy was lost in the suburban neighborhood, but by following signs she finally made her way to the freeway. The sun was just coming up, and she was cold and frightened. She had to get a ride, and fast, before Miss Trout came looking for her. Determinedly she took her place at the edge of the four-lane highway and stuck out her thumb.
She was in luck. She hadn't waited more than fifteen minutes when a shiny new Buick purred to a stop beside her. There was a middle-aged man driving, and he was alone. "Ride, sis?" he said, smiling blandly.
"Please," said Cindy. "I'm trying to get to California."
"I'm going as far as Denver, if that'll be any help," he said.
"Great," said Cindy. She didn't care if he was a kook or a rapist. A man she could handle, but Miss Trout was something else.
The car was warm and rode like a dream. The man wasn't at all pushy. He gave Cindy coffee from a thermos, and while she drank it, he chatted on and on about himself. His name was Ralph Simmons, he was fifty, and he was a traveling representative of some big sales outfit, which required him to drive all over the country. He got lonely, he said, and he always welcomed riders.
As far as Cindy was concerned, Ralph Simmons had zilch sex appeal. He dressed nicely, in an expensive clean blue suit, and his thinning grey hair was expertly styled. He wore a faint cologne, and his nails were neatly manicured. He was also plump, red-faced, and homely. To a girl Cindy's age, he was impossibly old and out of it.
At least he was diplomatic. He didn't question her, didn't even ask her name. It seemed too good to be true – and that turned out to be exactly the case when he pulled off the road just outside of Denver. He drove behind some bushes, stopped the car, and turned to smile blandly at Cindy.
"Well?" he said.
Cindy understood at once. He'd given her a ride, bought her a big breakfast, kept from prying into her affairs. All he wanted in exchange was to get laid. She should have known.
She had a choice of quietly cooperating, getting it over with, or creating a big scene and possibly getting hurt. All she wanted was to get back on the road, on to Los Angeles, as quickly as possible, so she decided to get it over with.
"You want me to undress?" she said tonelessly.
Simmons smiled. "You catch on quick," he said. "That's good. I hate arguments. No, you don't have to undress, not all the way. Just lower your jeans and panties. I got to get on to Denver and keep an appointment."
Cindy was glad he was in a hurry, too. She wasn't at all excited about fucking him, but she quickly pushed down her jeans and panties and lay down on the seat of the car. Simmons flushed a little and an excited gleam came into his eyes when he saw her taut creamy belly and the sweet golden puff of her beaver. "You're real pretty," he said. "I wish we had longer together."
Cindy didn't answer. She just lay there, waiting to get the screw over with. Simmons lowered his pants to his knees and crawled over her. She had a brief glimpse of his stiff pink peter – a little less than average size – and then he was sighing and lowering himself onto her. He poked his prick into her cunt and began to fuck her. He screwed in short little humps, panting lightly. It felt kind of good, and Cindy gave a little sigh and opened her legs wider.
Suddenly the car door was wrenched open with a loud metallic groan.
"What the fuck?" exclaimed Simmons, half rising off Cindy to stare at the intruder.
Cindy stared, too. The car seemed to be surrounded by grinning teenage boys. They were looking in all the windows, pointing and sniggering, and one of them had opened the driver's door. He had long greasy black hair and needed a shave. Like the others, he was dressed in blue denim pants and jacket and was wearing cowboy boots. He grinned evilly.
"Just take it easy, Pops," he drawled. "We only want your wallet."
Simmons, an experienced traveler, studied the guy a moment, then sighed and reached for his pants. He took out the wallet and handed it to the guy. The stringy-haired guy rifled through it, pocketed the money, and dropped the wallet in the dirt. Then he swiftly produced a blackjack and hit Simmons over the head. Simmons dropped heavily, like a stunned whale, knocking the breath out of Cindy.
"Get him off her," somebody said. "Tie him up, put him in the back seat."
Cindy felt Simmons' limp body being pulled off her, his half-limp cock slipping out of her cunt. She was going to pull up her jeans, but someone seized her from behind and dragged her out of the car. She almost tripped, for her jeans and panties had fallen down around her ankles, but rough hands held her on her feet.
The stringy-haired guy, apparently the gang leader, stood before her, grinning and ogling her snatch. "Sorry to interrupt your fuck," he said. "That's just the way things fall out sometime. But don't worry – me an' my friends'll make it up to you."