I was on my way back from a business trip in west Texas when, all of a sudden, I heard a ‘thump-thump-thump”. I knew immediately I had a flat tire. I gently steered my car of the side of the Interstate and down a small side road and then got out to check things out. Yep. I had a right side, rear flat tire. I raised the back hatch and started to pull out the jack and spare tire when I realized my spare tire was also flat.

Fortunately for me, I have roadside assistance on my vehicle insurance plan. I dialed the number and the operator asked where I was. I had no idea. I was in the middle of no where and there wasn’t much traffic, except for a few passer-bys on the Interstate. The row of buildings I had pulled up next too were all vacant and boarded up.

One of the signs read “Putnum City Hall.” A cowboy hat hung on a coat hook behind the window pane. I tried the door and it was locked.

The road side assistance operator told me to sit tight, that it would probably take an hour or so to get someone out to me. Great.

It was pretty warm, so I sat down in the shade of the awning of the dilapidated old building. After about twenty minutes, a beat up old Chevy Pickup pulled up and a fairly, nice looking young lady stuck her head out and asked if I needed some help.

I told her I was waiting on road side assistance.

“OK,” she replied, and then as quick as she had appeared, she drove off in a cloud of dust. About twenty minutes later, she pulled back up and stopped.

“Are you still waiting?” she inquired.

“Yes,” I replied.

The driver’s side door to the truck opened up and she stepped out. Holy cow! If her jeans were any tighter on her body, they would have had to be painted on. Her button-down shirt was about three sizes to small and showed off a great rack. She walked to the back of my SUV and studied the flat tire, as I stood behind her studying her ass.

She put her hands on her hips, turned and looked at me.

“Yep, it’s flat alright,” she declared.

I had to agree.

“So where ya’ from?” she asked.

“Dallas,” I replied.

“What are you doing out this way?” she pressed.

“Business trip,” I replied.

“Heading home?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

She made a quirky face and then asked if I was married.

“Yep,” I replied.

“Happily married?” she pressed. It was not a series of questions I had expected.

“It’s OK,” I replied. I gazed at her left hand for the sign of a wedding band. Not seeing one, I asked, “Are you married?”

“No,” she replied. “Guys out here are hard to find.”

Putman, I learned, was a ghost town and had a population of about 80, counting the chickens and the stray dogs.

“So, what do you do?” I asked.

“I baby sit, mostly,” she replied.

“So, where are the babies?” I asked.

“I just dropped them off with their momma,” she replied.

“So where are you heading?” I asked.

“Baird,” she responded. Baird was the next big town down the road. “I saw you sitting here and thought I’d stop and see if you needed any help.”

“Well,” I replied, “Help should come along sooner or later.”

She looked at my flat tire again and nervously repeated, “It sure is flat.”

I walked back to the shade of overhang of the old buildings and took up a seat on a splintered wood bench under the shade.

“Mind if I sit with ya?” she asked.

“Come on,” I replied, scooting over to allow her room on the wooden seat.

She took up a seat beside me, stretching out her long legs, resting her feet on the planks of the old wood deck. Her hair blew softly in the wind.

“So how old are you?” I casually asked.

“Twenty,” she replied.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “I live for the occasional passerby.”

I chuckled.

“And flat tires,” I teasingly added.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t happen much.”

She stretched out her arms and yawned.

“Not much happens out here,” she bemoaned. “Except the occasional breakdown.”

“So, what do you do for fun out here?” I inquired.

“Besides listen to the music and fuck,” she replied, “Not much.”

Her brazenness surprised me.

“Fucking,” I replied, “Is not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not,” she replied. “In fact, it’s one of the things I like to do the most.”

“But I thought there aren’t many guys out here,” I replied. As soon as I had blurted out the words, I realized how stupid I had sounded. I started to apologize when she cut me off.

“Girls will be girls,” she replied. “Me? I can go either way, but I prefer a guy to a girl.”

“I guess you have to make do with whatever you can find that makes you happy,” I replied.

“Yeah,” she dutifully replied. A few seconds passed, and she stood up. I was thinking she was about to leave, when she turned and asked, “Do you think I’d be a good fuck?”

I wasn’t sure I had heard her right.

“Huh?” I responded.

“I asked if you’d like to fuck me,” she said.

“I don’t even know you,” I replied.

“I know,” she quickly shot back. “All the better.”

I was shocked. She was amazingly super sexy. I mean, this girl looked like she had just walked right off the pages of Playboy or some modelling magazine. She nervously fingered her buttons on her button-down shirt, unfastening them as she stood in front of me. I had to swallow hard as her lacy white bra came into view, her boobs barely containable.

“A country girl needs a little attention every now and then,” she said, biting down on her lower lip, and unfastening the top snap to her designer jeans. I looked left and right. Was I dreaming? She toe-tapped my ankle and stepped between my parted legs.

“I promise you I am worth the time,” she suggestively remarked.

I half expected some guy to pop around the corner and ask me what the hell we were doing. Her knees were now pressing against my crotch, as she reached forward and placed her hands on to my shoulders, looking down at me.

“Please tell me you think I’m sexy,” she opined.

“Duh, yeah,” I sarcastically replied.

She bent down and grabbed my hands, interlocking her fingers in with mine, pulling my hands into her stomach region. She leaned forward and whispered, “Make love to me cowboy.”

Damn.

“Do you have a key to this place?” I asked, looking down the shade of the elongated porch.

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “My dad owns the building.”

How lucky could I have been?

We stepped down to the double wooden doors and she turned the door handle. It was locked. She turned and placed her buttocks up against the door and then heel-kicked it with her boot. The door flew open.

“Master key,” she said, grabbing me and pulling me into the vacant and dark space that used to be a hardware store. Sacks of feed and oats were stored on the hardwood floor, which creaked as we walked across it.

She patted a waist-high pile of the stacked oats with her hand, oat dust filtering upwards. I sat on the pile as she stood in front of me. Without saying a word, she stripped out of her shirt, tossing it in my direction. I caught it with my hand.

I could see a bead of sweat working its way down her chest towards her 38DD breasts. She quickly caught it with a finger, which she placed suggestively between her light pink lips. She stepped closer to where I sat on the pile of oats, her breasts right in front of me.

“Would you like to see them?” she whispered.

“Sure,” I replied. She reached out and fingered an opening in my button-down shirt.

“Why don’t you get comfortable?” she asked, unbuttoning my shirt. I slipped a finger from each hand into the sides of her skin-tight designer blue jeans, pulling her in even closer, until she was pressing against my crotch, pinning between my legs.

She slipped her manicured finger nails on to my chest.

“Why don’t you help me get more comfortable?” she purred.

I reached behind her and unfastened the clasp that held her brassiere in place. She allowed the shoulder straps to slide down her well-toned and tanned arms. She passed her bra off to the side-stack of oats, baring her luscious man-enhanced globes. Her nipples were perched on the top of her breasts, begging to be touched.

I gently slipped my fingers over her nipples. She took in a deep breath and then forcefully exhaled as I lightly fingered each one. Her hands rested on my legs.

I slipped my hands down to her jeans. The top button was already unfastened. She watched as I slowly lowered the zipper, her light blue underwear coming into view. I could tell that her breathing was more excited, as I gently inserted a lone finger in past the elastic edge of her panties.

I stood up and spun her around, forcing her on to the same pile oats upon which I had been seated. I grabbed her left leg and pulled off her boot, then did the same for her right leg. I pulled on the legs of her jeans as she arched her buttocks up off the piled -up oat sacks. In an instant, I had her right where I wanted her, practically naked, except for her tiny light blue nylon panties. She bit down on her lower lip.

“Don’t stop now,” she remarked. I didn’t plan to.

I parted her legs and pushed myself in between them. She fumbled with my belt, so I quickly undid it and unfastened my own jeans. She jammed her fingers in past the opening in my pants, feeling for my erection.

“Oh boy!” she exclaimed as she grabbed my cock.

I wiggled my knees and my jeans fell to my ankles. I stepped back and slipped out of my boots and my jeans. There was no hiding the obvious excitement that had developed. I stripped out of my underwear and tossed it on to the pile of clothes that had formed next to us.

As I stepped back between her parted legs, my nine-inch tool arching upwards and primed for action, she asked if I wanted to “be a little kinky.”

I had no clue what “kinky” entailed and I was afraid to ask.

“Do you want to fuck me in the ass?” she asked, placing her warm hands around my shaft.

“I’m not really into the anal stuff,” I replied.

She provided a pouty-lip look. Damn.

She silently stood up and stripped out of her panties, adding them to the pile. She was completely shaven; I mean there wasn’t a stitch of pubic hair downstairs. She hopped up on the piled-up sacks of feed and spun around, so her ass was staring straight at me. She leaned forward on a forearm, and then slipped a lone finger into her vagina area, as she peered back at me.

“Come on cowboy,” She begged, “Make me feel good!”

Oh my God! I pushed the head of my tool past her brown starfish and to where her fingers parted her bright pink pussy. I could see that she was already ready and primed. I pushed the head of my dick into her pussy.

“Mmmm,” she moaned as I slowly entered her.

Her pussy clamped down on my tool, pulsating as I worked my way in until my pelvis slammed into her butt checks. I give it a couple of very quick hip thrusts. She grabbed my balls and I thought for sure I was going to explode right then and there, but I didn’t.

I grabbed her hips and quickly moved my own back and forth, my cock sliding in and out of her pussy, my pubes slapping her buttocks. She let out a “ugh” sound each time I jammed my cock deep into her pussy.

After a few minutes of some intense exercise, we switched things up so that she sat facing me, her legs spread, as I re-entered her from in front. Her eyes widened as I push my stick deep into her pussy, our pubic areas crashing into one another. Her boobies shook with each of my strokes. She closed her eyes, as I pummeled her. I noticed her clinched fists and white knuckles, a stark contrast to her flushed face which seconds before had been a deep crimson red.

“Bring it,” I called out. She reached out and slowly raked her French-manicured finger nails across my chest.

“Give it to me,” she begged, reaching around behind my neck with her hand and pulling me in closer to where she was situated on the sacks of corn meal and oats. I grabbed her by her waist, digging in my fingers.

“Take it!” I replied. “Take it!”

I shot my load so forcefully into her that I was sure it would come out of her open mouth.

“Oh! Fuck yeah!” she cried out as I filled her pussy with my semen. Cum flowed out of her pussy like I had never seen before, dribbling on to the wooden floor between us.

I pressed my lips to hers and thrust my tongue down her throat. Her entire body shivered and shook. I kept my cock positioned inside of her for the longest time-period. When I finally pulled out, she made a pouty-lower lip face which made me smile.

Sweat poured from both of us. Off to the side, I spied a cooler with drinks in it.

I popped open two beers. We both sat naked and exhausted on the sacks of oats and corn meal, drinking the beers. I tipped the neck of my beer bottle in her direction and our bottles clanked into each other.

“Here’s to breaking down and meeting a new person,” I toasted.

“Here’s to making my Friday and being a great cowboy,” she replied.

We both slipped back into my street clothes. Our timing was perfect, as an old guy in a pickup truck pulled up and asked if I was in need of some roadside assistance.

“No,” I replied, “I just need my flat tire fixed.”

He looked at the flat tire and scratched his head.

“The roadside assistance,” I added, looking at my other road side assistance tech, “Has already been handled.”