“So where are you headed?”

“Wherever.”

“Is that a plan or a statement of fact?”

“Whatever.”

The girl leans back and begins tapping on her mobile, completely absorbed, the way young people do. I say girl; I suppose she’s a young woman, but I estimate her age to early to mid twenties, and at my time of life she counts as a girl. On the other hand, I’m useless at judging ages.

Normally I wouldn’t pick up a hitchhiker. Not anymore. At first I wasn’t going to pick this one up either. I don’t know why I did. I mean, these days you never know who you can trust and who’s going to stick a knife in you and leave you for dead in a ditch, do you? I imagine it was the way I saw her shoulders slump in the rear view mirror once I’d passed that did it, resignation contrasting sharply with my first impression, as if she’d been trying for a very long time and couldn’t bear to walk any further along this back road from nowhere to nowhere.

Or maybe it’s because I’m a man and the sight of those incredible tanned legs did for my judgement. If I’d have spotted her earlier I’d have slowed down to get a longer look. In the rear view mirror I could see the girl’s legs stretching up to tight, denim shorts hugging a perfectly pert bottom. I felt sorry for her, but it’s easier to feel sorry for a girl with legs you want to lick than a bloke with a half-chewed hipster beard and floppy sweatpants, like the one I’d passed further back.

I backed up. The window was already down; the temperature was well up. The girl hurried towards the car. “Thanks for stopping.”

I jerked my head. “Stick your case on the back seat, If you like.”

I tried my best not to ogle her as she got in the car. There’d be plenty of time for surreptitious glances, I hoped. “I’m Dan.”

“Victoria. Or Vicky if you prefer.”

“Which do you prefer?”

She prefers Vicky. Technology obliterates conversation as she sends and receives text messages in quick succession. Her attention being focused on the gadget gives me every opportunity to absorb the smooth tan that attracted my attention in the first place, particularly since the road is mostly straight and without traffic. They’re by no means unique, I mean there are plenty of girls with tanned legs and shorts that just about clear bum cheeks, but the proximity is intoxicating. Normally I content myself with looking, but this is temptation, opportunity…

It’s not an opportunity. You touch her and she’ll most likely go ballistic. She can easily take the number of the car and you’ll end up on the sex offenders’ register.

How do you know she wouldn’t react favourably to an advance, eh? Smooth as silk, them legs. You don’t try, you’ll regret it forever, not touching, when you had the chance.

You’ll regret it if you do try. It’s not like it was in the old days. You can’t afford to take a chance, not like you could back then.

Back then. Twenty-five or so years ago. A road much like this one. Her name was Jenny, and she had a cracking pair of legs on her too. They were thicker, sturdier, and it wasn’t the tan that attracted me then, it was the sheer, black nylon stretched across them.

Where was she going? Bracknell? Wokingham? Reading? I don’t recall. But I remember touching her. Nylon; sheer, black nylon, impossible to resist. An electric charge as fingertips met nylon. My fingertips, tracing a path, adrenalin pumping, blood rushing; an inevitable and immediate, massive, throbbing erection.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you where you want to go.”

Jenny breathed in. “Are you expecting me to…” Voice weak, trailing off.

“Expecting you to what?”

It was obvious that she didn’t want to put words to what she was imagining, or at least not voice them. I flattened my palm against her thigh. She felt hot, or maybe it was just me overheating from the excitement.

“In return… Do stuff…”

“Why? Are you offering?”

She shifted slightly. I kept my hand steady, grazing the nylon lightly with my fingertips.

How many minutes passed? Five? Three? Seven? I don’t recall. But I remember Jenny’s voice saying, “Pull over!” I removed my hand, sure she was going to get out and tell me where to get off. Instead, she said. “I hope you’ve got a rubber.”

Pre-cum smeared the inside of my underpants. Was she really going to…?

See. If a bloke doesn’t take a chance, how is anything supposed to happen?

But it was different then. Different.

You sure about that? You sure you don’t want to chance your arm? Look at those legs? How can you resist touching, sliding your hand down the inside of her thigh? Imagine how hot…

Vicky’s phone brings me back to my senses. She stabs a finger at it and holds it up to her ear.

“Yeah? … Yeah, that’s right. … Fuck! … Look … Look, I don’t mind … I’ll sleep on the couch … OK … No, I get it … ‘Course not … Later, Skank.”

Vicky cuts the call.

“Trying to find somewhere to stay?”

Vicky shrugs.

“So what’s the story?”

“What makes you think there’s a story?”

“Just wondering why you’re hitching a ride in the middle of nowhere in inappropriate footwear.”

Vicky sucks in air. “I need a piss.”

“Give it a couple of minutes. Main road’s coming up. There’s a filling station.”

“Whatever.”

Vicky gets back to her manic texting. I avoid looking at her, negotiating first a junction, then a couple of sharp bends leading into the service station. Vicky opens the car door, puts a foot on the tarmac, then turns.

“Where is it you’re going, exactly?”

I can’t resist the obvious answer. “Wherever.”

Vicky doesn’t take the bait. “That’ll do. Whatever. Wait here.” As if I’m her chauffeur.

“Sure.”

I watch as she walks away from the car, tanned legs striding, long blonde hair well on its way to a meet and greet with denim-hugged, prick-goading buttocks. A big, blue van suddenly obscures my view of her, and I turn my head. She’s trusting. There’s nothing to stop me buggering off with her case. I won’t, but there is a temptation to open it, to make the mystery less of a mystery.

Then I see that she’s forgotten something else too. Incredibly it’s her life support – that’s what mobiles are to young people, right? I flash the sterile looking building a glance. The place looks busy. She might be a while.

The temptation is just too much. I don’t know what I’m looking for or hoping to find. Text messages full of bad grammar and cryptic abbreviations confirm that she’s looking for a place to stay.

Then, somehow, I’m flicking through pictures, discovering suddenly that I’m not breathing. There’s a picture of Vicky. It looks like she’s at a party. She’s holding her top up, flashing her breasts. They’re not massive, but they’re not tiny either, and her areolae are so perfectly round and symmetrical they look like they were created with God’s own compasses. Next picture, a group of girls, none of them Vicky, but all provocatively dressed. Next picture, Vicky bent over, a clear view under her skirt of gauzy white knickers.

Just imagine rubbing up against her from behind…

Swiping quickly on I find pictures jumbled, of buildings, of other people, of Vicky with other people, of cats and dogs and a cake with candles, but also the kind of selfies that interest me; Vicky in a changing room modelling a new bra, Vicky completely naked in front of a mirror; a selfie where she’s clearly holding the camera between her own legs, showing blue knickers and cameltoe, then blue knickers pulled to one side with Vicky exposing intricate petals and closely cropped pubic hair.

Heart beating and cock throbbing I glance over at the building. There’s no sign of Vicky. Videos, maybe there are videos. The phone beeps, announcing an incoming text message.

There are videos. I watch as lilac fingernail teases clit for 15 seconds in close-up. I swipe, finding unfurled labia and a sex toy moving. There’s sound, forty seconds of lusty breathing and uneven gasps. The next clip of any interest must have had someone else holding the phone; Vicky outdoors, top pulled up, fondling breasts and pinching nipples with one hand, using the other to hold a banana on which she simulates fellatio. Next clip, a shaky self-taken clip, Vicky masturbating again, pussy up close, using two fingers, three fingers. There’s an obscene squishing as Vicky cries out, then a flood of liquid. I hear her voice. “Wow! That’s never happened before.”

Beeps announce new incoming messages. I begin to sweat. Vicky must get that I’ve been looking.

And here she comes. I swipe back to the main menu and put the phone back on the seat where she left it. She comes closer, necklace shifting slightly. She adjusts her shades, then pulls on her white top, breasts briefly becoming more pronounced before the garment resumes its shape and the slice of brown tan between top and dark belt returns. I hardly see the top, the images still playing in my mind, boobs crowned with aesthetic perfection. There’s a heavy throb in my trousers as Vicky opens the door and gets in. She’s back fiddling with her phone in no time. If she’s noticed anything untoward she’s not saying.

She gives a deep sigh as I pull out on to the main road. Keeping one eye on the traffic, the other is glued to her legs. Gorgeous fucking legs. My third eye, my mind’s eye, is still swiping through the material on her phone.

Come on, you’ve got to chance your arm. You’ve seen how she is. It’s not like she’s a prude or anything. You’ll never get a better chance.

Don’t be stupid. It’s not worth the risk. You can’t go around just groping girls. Not these days.

But what if… Just look at those legs! Those tits! Fucking hell. You need to make a move. Just think about it, sliding your hands up her legs, pulling her shorts down. That arse! Imagine yourself behind her…

No, no, no! It’s not like that now. With Jenny it was different. With Jenny…

Jenny had a cracking arse on her too. She was a big girl. Not overweight necessarily, but tall and sturdy, built to tower over a crowd. It was dark when we got out of the car. Her with her hands on the roof, bent over for me to lift her skirt. It would have been thrill enough just to discover that she was wearing hold-ups, but that was the least of it. In the dim light I could make out crotchless knickers, dim moonlight reflecting off them.

I felt the garment with trembling fingers. Rubber? Who the hell wore rubberwear other than dominatrices? “What are you waiting for?” Jenny asked. French letter met throbbing prick. I could have done with toying with her thick cunt lips for a while, but if she wanted it quick.

I stuck my hands under her top. Fuck me if she wasn’t kinky there too. A peephole bra. A rubber peephole bra. I clutched at her breasts, thrusting into her, pushing up against her big bum and bouncing back. Jenny gasped. I just clutched and fucked, unable to believe what I was feeling. There were orgasmic moans from Jenny, then I was spurting into the condom, fingers gripping hard nipples.

I wasn’t daft, I knew she’d faked it, but I didn’t care. She’d wanted it, and I would almost certainly never see her again.

I was wrong.

“I’ll give you my number if you give me yours.”

I just stared. We were back in the car. We’d reached wherever it was she wanted me to drop her off.

Jenny smiled. “Deviants need to stick together.”

I wasn’t a deviant. At least I didn’t think so, though I had groped a stranger. Not that I’d ever done it before. It was a first for Jenny too; the first time she’d dared to wear her rubber undies outside the house. And we did meet again, and again, and again, exploring every nuance of pleasure we could imagine.

What are you waiting for? I’m telling you, this is Jenny all over again. This one’s as kinky as fuck you’ve seen the photos, the videos.

Don’t be stupid, nothing could be like Jenny all over again. Besides, selfies, it’s what young people do these days. It doesn’t mean she’ll let just anyone grope her.

But those legs. How can you resist…

Vicky’s phone brings me back to my senses. “Yeah! … What happened? … I quit, that’s what happened … Don’t worry, I’ll be alright … I just had enough … Look, I don’t mind sucking cock for breakfast every other day, but the workload was ridiculous … Seriously … No, seriously … Dirty fucker … Well, you know… No, no, all I need’s a place to stay for a couple of days, get back on my feet… No, I don’t expect you to… Not with the baby and all… I just wanted to let you know… Yeah… Yeah… Later. Whatever.”

You hear that? You really think she’s gonna kick up a fuss? Look at those legs. Feel ‘em! Who knows where it might lead?

What are you? A freaking idiot? Just take her where she wants to go and let that be an end to it.

You know what you could try…

I sigh. To my surprise, Vicky looks up from her texting.

“What?”

“Your thoughts.”

“Coffee.”

“Coffee?”

I know what she’s thinking. In this heat. I put my foot down as Vicky checks an incoming text. I’m seeing things, pictures in my head. Jenny and I learned a lot together, and I’m getting it mixed up with Vicky. I’m seeing tanned legs with cuffed ankles separated by a spreader bar. I’m seeing erect nipples squeezed by black latex gloves. I’m seeing long blonde hair knotted together with rope, preventing movement. I see wrists tightly bound, hands unable to do anything about other hands pulling her denim shorts down, exposing spankable, prick-goading buttocks.

Stop it!

Why?

It feels like an age, but then there’s a new service station. I’ve reached a decision.

“I’m gonna get some coffee. You want anything?”

“A bottle of something chilled would be good.”

I make a quick call on my mobile, out of earshot from Vicky, before going inside. The man behind the counter looks at me funny. He can’t believe I want coffee either. Approaching the car again, I hear Vicky’s voice. I’m behind the car, and it’s clear that she doesn’t see me in the mirror. She’s laughing, or giggling more like it.

“I can’t do that… Not now… Not here… I’m in some guy’s car… Yes, I know I’m a naughty girl, but… Look, as soon as I’m alone I’ll… Alright… Alright… Fucking perv… What do you want me to… You really are the limit… Lucky for you I love doing it… You’ll see… Soon enough…”

I move, Vicky turns her head.

“Got to go… Whatever.”

I open the car door. “Here’s your drink.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to. I’ve got money.”

I shrug. “I’m in a giving mood.”

Yeah, you’d love to give her one, right?

Back on the road, trying hard to stick to the speed limit. Vicky swigs from the bottle. I hardly touch my coffee, trying hard to focus on the road with other images filling my head. Vicky tipping the water over herself, water drenching her top, making it translucent. Vicky wrestling her shorts down, there in the passenger seat, teasing her nub with a frisky finger, the bottle a potential sex toy.

You seriously need to get a grip!

It’s too late now. Wheels are in motion. Still, no need to touch her now, eh? Not just yet anyway.

It’s not too late. You can stop this madness at any time.

There’s a turning ahead. I turn.

“Where are you going?” Vicky doesn’t sound panicked, more irritated.

“I need to take a leak. I should have gone back at the service station.”

Vicky nods.

“It won’t be much of a delay. Just stretch my legs a bit more while I’m at it.”

“Whatever.”

She gets back to her incessant tapping. Round a sharp bend, the road becomes a dirt track. I pull over as well as I can.

“Five, ten minutes?”

“Whatever.”

At least there’s plenty of shade here; verdant leaves, rustling in non-existent breeze. I find a narrow path between thick trunks, emptying my bladder against one of them. I wasn’t lying, at least not about needing to spend a penny. About stretching my legs? Well, if sneaking through undergrowth counts as stretching my legs, then that’s what I’m doing.

I find a spot where I can spy the car, and more importantly spy on Vicky. My heart starts thudding. My luck’s in; she’s as good as her word. “As soon as I’m alone…”

The girl’s wasted no time. She must have gone for her case, because although it’s closed the back door’s open, and she’s holding a very particular object in one hand. She’s sitting sideways in the passenger seat, sunglasses removed, tanned legs stretched out in front of her, and the object she’s holding is in her mouth. It’s a dildo, quite a long dildo. The phone is in her other hand and I assume she’s snapping a selfie.

She takes the dildo from her mouth and looks around furtively. Everything is silent save for the soft rustle of leaves and birds tweeting. There’s not a hint of traffic, to the point where the sunlit scene seems strangely eerie. Vicky sits, as if she’s thinking, then the hand that recently held the dildo is between her thighs. Just a quick feel, but it’s enough to make my cock tense.

Vicky gets out of the car and turns around. She bends over, head inside the car, balancing precariously on one hand, planting her feet far apart on the ground. Denim squeezes her exquisite buttocks. She stretches her other arm as far as she can behind her. Another selfie.

You should go down there, see if she wants a hand, offer to take the pictures for her.

Don’t be daft, you don’t want her to know you’ve been spying on her.

Good point. You don’t. Not yet.

Vicky is back to standing. She turns in every direction, looking, appearing tense; nervous and naughty. She puts the mobile on the seat and begins fiddling with her belt. Suddenly her shorts and knickers are down round her ankles. I see it for real, her pert, prick-goading arse.

Very nice! Couldn’t you just spank that?

She bends over again, only this time, with her feet close together, shorts round her ankles. Another selfie. She turns, sits back on the passenger seat with her tanned legs swung out of the car. Fingers dally in pubic hair as she looks nervously at the point where she saw me disappear, and presumably expects me to re-emerge.

Her thighs part some more. Fingertips graze her vulva. More selfies are taken. She glances nervously around. Then she’s prizing her labia apart. She holds herself open for the camera, then a finger disappears inside. More selfies, or is she onto moving images? One finger, sliding; two fingers, three fingers.

You need to get down there right now! You really think she’d say no?

No, not yet. Good things come to he who waits.

Vicky pulls her fingers out. She aims the phone at them, so I assume they’re sticky enough for there to be something to see, even if I can’t make it out. Then she sucks on her digits, phone aimed at her face as she does so. She bites her lip and lets go of the phone before squeezing her breasts through the top, staring nervously, naughtily at the greenery where I left her.

Then she has the dildo in one hand again, her phone in the other. This time she sucks the fake cock properly. I imagine there’s a video in the making, though I can’t be sure. Her lips slide back and forth, back and forth. I can practically hear the saliva.

You’ve got to try it on mate! Imagine her doing that to you!

All in good time.

Vicky looks around, nervously, naughtily. She slides forwards, the fabric round her ankles making things awkward for her. Then she’s balancing on the edge of the seat, managing to lean back somehow, parting her thighs as much as she can. She rubs a hand between her thighs. Another naughty look, then the dildo is performing a vanishing act. A slight twist of her body, then Vicky’s aiming the phone at herself again.

She has to be making a video while she thrusts the dildo back and forth. Her eyes open and close, her mouth opens. She twists her body. The phone ends up in the footwell. There’s a nervous glance, presumably to make sure I’m not returning, but it hardly seems as if she cares. All is quiet save for the rustle of trees and birdsong. And now I fancy I can just about here hear Vicky moan.

Get down there right now! You’ll never get a better chance than this.

Patience! Everything will work out just fine.

You absolutely sure about that?

There’s clit rubbing as Vicky continues to shove the dildo back and forth. Her mouth is continually open. Her eyes close and open. She stops moving her hands, twisting her head, looking around. Then she’s on her feet, turning, bending over. In my fevered imagination, her bum cheeks seem to glow, as if they’ve been slapped, but it’s probably just a fluke reflection of sunlight.

The girl balances precariously on one hand, the way she did before. The other hand, holding the dildo, reaches back. The long dildo disappears, most of it. There’s no hint of using the camera now, this is strictly for herself, this driving the dildo back and forth, plunging it into herself.

Those legs, that arse! You miss out on doing her and you’ll be kicking yourself.

Don’t be hasty. Stick to the plan!

Does Vicky have a plan? I can definitely hear moans now, mingling with rustling trees and birdsong. She plugs herself relentlessly with the dildo, not bothering to look over her shoulder. Then she does turn, removing the dildo. She turns, makes to sit down, no doubt with juicy, tanned thighs parted, about to resume her naughty action.

The plan! Don’t let her finish the job!

I bend down and pick up a stick. I snap it in half. The loud crack silences the birds and causes Vicky to start. In an instant she’s pulling up her shorts and knickers. I make my way slowly, heavy throbbing slowly subsiding. By the time I reach the car, there’s no sign of the dildo and Vicky looks exactly as she did when I left her, save for a barely visible smear on the front of her shorts. She’s tapping on her phone again.

I turn the car around. We’re soon back on the open road. I have something to say, but I don’t want to make it obvious. The moment needs to be right. I wait, letting Vicky tap away. A deep sigh tells me she’s not having any luck. Then I put it to her.

“If you’ve got nowhere to stay, I don’t mind putting you up for a day or two.”

She just stares at me over the top of her shades. Then, “Seriously?”

“Sure.”

“What’s the catch?”

“The catch?”

“So you’re not expecting, like, favours or anything?”

“Why? Are you offering?”

An incoming call saves her from having to answer. She holds the phone up to her ear, giggles.

“I knew you would… Yeah… Not now… I can’t…” She sighs, giggles. “I’m a naughty girl… Are you happy now?” She sighs again. “I’m a very naughty girl…” There’s a lengthy pause. “Not sure… There are plenty of signposts for Reading… Yeah… How long are you away for… Yeah… Yeah… Yeah… Whatever… No, no… As soon as you get back, yeah?” There’s another long pause. “And you’re a dirty fucker… Whatever.”

Call over she turns to me.

“Two days? That OK with you?”

“Sure.”

“How much do you want?”

“I don’t want your money.”

You just want her…

She’s obviously got a boyfriend, you fool. This is all going to go belly up.

Bollocks! But you’ve got to play it right. Put her at her ease. Say it. No strings.

Don’t go saying things you don’t mean.

But you mean it, no strings…

No strings, but rope, plenty of rope. I see it before me as I drive. Vicky’s long blonde hair fastened with rope, securing her head in the desired position. Wrists bound, arms stretched vertically, hooks in the ceiling making sure she stays that way. Ankles kept apart with a spreader bar. No chance whatsoever of her smooth, tanned legs running anywhere.

Smooth, tanned legs, with barely any other reason to exist than to be touched, squeezed, felt, groped. My fingertips can practically feel her already. Before me I see her with tanned legs spread, black latex fingers tracing a path across the inside of a thigh. Black latex gloves touching the intricacies of her folds, Vicky gasping. To gag or not to gag her, that is the question.

Black latex fingers working their way between her petals. I’ve heard her vagina already, thanks to the videos. I hear it again in my head, squishing as black latex fingers stir and churn her fluids. Vicky strains, perhaps too much. Hair battles rope, but can’t possibly win. Vicky cries out, but it’s an ambivalent cry; agony and ecstasy as fingers push and push and push; stirring, churning.

And implements, so many implements to choose from. Implements to be used on her irresistible young body, her tanned legs, her pert bottom, her breasts with their perfectly symmetrical areolae. Vicky tied, Vicky on the receiving end, Vicky moaning as she drools on a ball gag. Yes, to gag her, that is the answer.

Implements, forcing her ever closer as she strains and moans and drools. Hair pulled, arms tied, legs spread. Implements, bringing her to the brink…

“Nearly there.”

The car’s eaten up the miles and we’re entering built-up area. Vicky’s attention doesn’t waver. She taps, taps, taps on the phone as if she couldn’t care less where we are.

Not long now. Time for the moment of truth.

I pull into the driveway and stop. Vicky finally looks up, gets out, sticks the phone in her back pocket, takes the case from the back seat. I lead the way to the front door, then step to one side, allowing the door to swing open.

Vicky’s caught off guard. She hasn’t expected this. A woman stands on the doorstep, a woman in diamond cutter heels and a full latex body suit.

“Welcome, you must be Vicky.”

Vicky turns her head, flashing question marks my way.

“Vicky, let me introduce you to my wife, Jenny.”

Jenny extends a formal greeting, black latex fingers clasp Vicky’s hand.

“I’ve made up the downstairs for you. Or the dungeon as we affectionately call it.” Jenny smiles. “It’s very comfortable, but I can’t guarantee you’ll get much sleep.”

The girl tenses, stares at me, but sunglasses shade her reaction.

You fucking idiot. She's obviously outraged. Any second now and she’ll blow her top. What were you thinking, the pair of you? This can’t end well.

Vicky just stands there, radiating tension, indecisiveness. The seconds mount, stretching like elastic. Then, suddenly, her body relaxes. She adjusts her position, a tanned leg brushing against my hand as she smiles back at Jenny.

“Cool. Whatever.”