Hitchhiking on the highway

Lera stood at the bus stop, watching the taillights of the regular bus recede into the distance. She was literally a minute late—she'd been held up at the dorm packing for the weekend, and then the minibus to the bus station was crawling along. Now the next bus wasn't until tomorrow morning, and she absolutely had to be in the district center this evening: it was her mother's birthday, she'd cooked everything, and was expecting her only daughter from the city. Lera was a third-year student at the teacher training college, nineteen years old, short and slender, with short dark-blond hair and playful brown eyes. She had a strong, athletic figure—she used to do track and field, and it still showed: toned thighs, firm buttocks, small, neat breasts. She was dressed casually: jeans, sneakers, a light windbreaker over a T-shirt. Over her shoulder was a duffel bag containing her belongings and a gift for her mother. There was no one else at the bus stop. The sun was already setting, painting the dusty sky above the highway pink and orange. Lera sighed and began to consider what to do. She could call her mother and explain everything, but she'd be upset. She could go back to the dorm, but that would be an hour on the minibus back, and the whole evening would be wasted. The only other option was to hitchhike. Many people did that; the highway was busy, especially with long-haul trucks that passed through this stretch constantly. Lera moved a little further along the shoulder, to where the gas station exit began, and extended her hand. The first two trucks sped past without even slowing down. The third—an old, battered KamAZ with a trailer—slowed down and, after about fifty meters, stopped on the shoulder, its hazard lights flashing. Lera grabbed her bag and ran to the cab. The passenger door opened, and a man in his fifties, with a weathered face, a gray mustache, and a faded plaid shirt, peered out. He looked at Lera with a slight squint. - Where are you heading, daughter? “To Krasnogorsk, I’d like to get to the regional center,” Lera answered breathlessly. — We're right on the way. Get in. Lera climbed into the cab. The interior smelled of diesel fuel, tobacco, and something edible. Behind the wheel sat a second man—younger, about forty, with a thick neck, short hair, and a dark T-shirt clinging to his impressive torso. An old tattoo of an anchor and chain was visible on his right arm. He glanced at the girl briefly and then turned his attention back to the road. "Meet," said the man who opened the door, "I'm Uncle Kolya, and this is Seryoga, my shift man. We've been driving together for three years now, sometimes I'm driving, sometimes he's driving. It's his shift now. You sit on the sleeper, over there in the back." Lera glanced back. Behind the seats, deep in the cabin, was a semblance of a bed—a narrow mattress covered with a rumpled blanket and a couple of pillows. Some work clothes, empty mineral water bottles, and a bag of food were scattered there as well. Slightly embarrassed, Lera climbed back and settled on the edge of the bed. She set her bag down next to her. The cabin moved, and the heavy truck, its engine roaring, began to pick up speed. "Why are you alone at this hour of the night?" Uncle Kolya asked, turning to her from the front passenger seat. "Aren't you afraid?" "I'm not the timid type," Lera smiled. "But I need to help you out; the bus has left. Mom's waiting." “It’s a sacred matter, you have to respect your mother,” Uncle Kolya agreed. Seryoga drove silently. An old stereo blared from the cab, playing chanson. It was gradually getting dark outside, and the highway was becoming increasingly deserted. Lera pulled out her phone, wanting to text her mother that she was on her way, but there was no reception—it was a dead end. "There's no reception here," Uncle Kolya confirmed, noticing her gesture. "There'll be a tower in about thirty kilometers; you can call there. Rest for now." Another fifteen minutes passed. Lera began to notice that Uncle Kolya was turning to look at her too often. He'd look at her legs in her tight jeans, then up at her T-shirt, beneath which the outline of her small, braless breasts could be discerned—Lera had never been a fan of bras, preferring loose tank tops. "I see you're quite athletic," Uncle Kolya said again. "Do you run?" — I used to run. "And you're probably running fast now. But there's nowhere to run here," he chuckled, exchanging glances with Seryoga. He remained silent, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. Lera felt a little uneasy. She leaned back against the pillows, pretending to be very tired and wanting to take a nap. But she couldn't sleep—the car was shaking over the bumps in the road, and the tension inside her was mounting. "Kol, tell her," Seryoga suddenly said, not taking his eyes off the road. His voice was low and hoarse. "What's there to say?" Uncle Kolya feigned surprise. - You know it yourself. Uncle Kolya turned to Lera again, and now his face no longer looked kind. It had become somehow appraising, clingy, as if he were assessing her worth. "Listen, sportswoman," he began, "you helped us out, we helped you out. But travel is expensive these days. Gasoline is so expensive. Do you even have any money?" "I have a little," Lera said warily. "How much do you need? I'll pay." "Money is great," Uncle Kolya drawled. "But, to be honest, we've been on the road for two days now, and we haven't seen any decent women. And look at you, you're so pretty. Let's do this: we'll take you straight home, and you'll thank us for it... well, like a real person. Like a grown-up." Lera flared up: — Are you crazy? Stop the car, I'll get out! "The car won't stop," Seryoga said calmly, still looking at the road. "We won't break the schedule. And you better listen to what the elders say." Meanwhile, Uncle Kolya had climbed from the front seat back onto the sleeping bag. Lera tried to move away, but there was nowhere to retreat—on one side was the cabin wall, on the other, a dirty blanket and Uncle Kolya himself, who smelled of sweat and alcohol. "Don't shout, don't act up," he said almost peacefully, placing his hand on her knee. "We're simple men, we won't hurt you. Everything will be alright. And if you try to get nervous, Seryoga will stop the truck, and you'll have to walk through the forest. It's about twenty kilometers to the nearest house, and there's no reception. Understand?" Lera froze. A chill ran through her. She was trapped: a speeding truck, two men, no signal, a deserted highway. And the worst part was, she knew they weren't joking. "That's a clever girl," Uncle Kolya patted her leg. "Come on, take off your windbreaker. And your T-shirt too. At least let's see what you're hiding there." Lera slowly pulled off her windbreaker, then, after a moment's hesitation, pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing herself in only her jeans. Her breasts—small but very delicate, with dark pink nipples—immediately tightened from the chill and fear. Uncle Kolya clicked his tongue, as if appraising something precious. "Athletic, definitely athletic. Seryoga, look at her figure. Not like those chicks on the highway, flabby and drunk." “I see it in the mirror,” the driver responded briefly. Uncle Kolya reached out a rough palm and took Lera's breast, squeezing and kneading it. She closed her eyes, trying to sink through the mattress, to disappear, but the rough fingers continued to probe her, squeezing her nipples, which had treacherously hardened. A strange warmth began to spread through her lower abdomen from fear and the unexpected touches, and Lera hated her body for this reaction. "Take off your jeans," Uncle Kolya commanded. "And your sneakers too." Lera obeyed. She pulled off her jeans, revealing a pair of simple cotton panties with a small flower print—not at all romantic, just the kind you'd take on a road trip. Her sneakers fell to the cabin floor. Now she sat on the sleeping bag, almost completely naked, wearing only these modest panties, her legs tucked under her. "Take off your panties too," Uncle Kolya continued. "Don't be shy, we're practically doctors. We see women's parts every day." The last part was a blatant lie, and he chuckled at his own joke. Lera pulled off her panties and tossed them next to her jeans. Now she was completely naked in the cramped, stuffy cabin, on a diesel-scented mattress. Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, a dark blond—she always took care of it, but she didn't shave her head, believing it looked more natural. "And what do we have there?" Uncle Kolya spread her knees and stared at her crotch. "Neatly trimmed. I respect that. Not like some other bald guys. And when was the last time you washed?" “In the morning,” Lera whispered. — Did you go to the toilet? — I went. Twice, I think. — A little or a big one? "Just a pee," Lera lied. In fact, she'd actually peed earlier in the day, before leaving the dorm, and hadn't washed up since. She felt unbearably ashamed. Uncle Kolya meanwhile leaned toward her crotch and demonstratively sniffed the air. His eyes lit up. "You're a smart one, you sportswoman. Seryoga, she's giving us the runaround! Do you smell anything on her? It's not just a pee. This woman hasn't washed all day, and she even took a crap. Did she wipe her ass properly with paper?" "We ran out of toilet paper in the dorm, and there were no napkins either," Lera admitted, almost crying. "I thought I'd get the bus and wash up at Mom's." "And we got to wash up," Uncle Kolya laughed. "Seryoga, pull over to the nearest parking lot. I'll get her ready here, and you can take over from me at the wheel later. You don't get a hottie like that twice in one shift." The truck slowed and turned onto a discreet exit into a forest belt. There, hidden from the road by dense bushes, the truck stopped. Seryoga turned off the engine, and the cabin became unusually quiet—only the crickets outside the windows and the breathing of three people. "Come on, sportswoman, get on all fours," Uncle Kolya commanded, getting down to business. "I really liked your ass while you were undressing." Lera obediently rolled over, resting her knees on the hard mattress. Uncle Kolya was immediately behind her. He spread her buttocks and stared at the small, dark opening of her anus, around which, as he suspected, were visible traces of her daytime visit to the toilet. "Seryoga, come and look at this beauty. An unwashed butt with a smell. I haven't seen one like that in three years." Seryoga climbed out from behind the wheel and climbed back, blocking the entire opening. The cabin had become even more cramped. He looked at Lera's butt, chuckled approvingly, and silently unzipped his fly. His cock—thick, like himself, with a wide, crimson head—was already erect. "I'm first, Kol. You found her—thanks. But I'm first in the fucking business. And you can work the back door open with your tongue, you love that stuff around here." “Agreed,” Uncle Kolya agreed. He pressed his face against Lera's ass again and began licking her anus—greedily, smacking his lips, pushing his tongue deeper and savoring the bitter taste. Lera moaned, unsure whether from disgust or pleasure. Her muscles contracted, and somewhere deep inside, a treacherous heat began to build again. Meanwhile, Seryoga had positioned himself from the front. He lay on his back, moving the pillows, and thrust Lera down onto his thick cock. She screamed—he entered abruptly, without preparation, but her vagina, oddly enough, was already quite wet. Seryoga grabbed her hips and began to move up and down, each time deeper and faster. Lera braced her hands on his powerful chest and began breathing rapidly. "Our athlete is jumping," Uncle Kolya commented, looking up from his work for a second. "You're using your tongue—it's pure music. I'll join in now." He stood behind Lera and, taking aim, began to enter her tongue-tapped anus. His penis wasn't as thick as Seryoga's, but it was long, and Lera moaned again—this time from a sharp mixture of pain and pleasure. She'd never been fucked in the ass before, and the sensations were completely new, overwhelming. She felt as if she were being impaled on two stakes at once, and the truck began to rock gently on its springs in time with the men's movements. The cramped cabin filled with odors: diesel fuel, tobacco, male sweat, female arousal, and that same unwashed body odor that had so aroused Uncle Kolya. The radio had long since gone silent, and now the only sounds were the slapping of bodies, the ragged breathing, and the moans of Lera, who had already forgotten all shame and fear. "I'm going to cum," Seryoga warned, and indeed, a few seconds later, with a low growl, he ejaculated deep inside the girl. His hot sperm filled her vagina, and Lera involuntarily clenched, causing an orgasm to wash over her as well—unexpected, intense, almost painful. She screamed, and at that moment Uncle Kolya also came, spilling into her rectum. For a while, the three of them lay huddled together on the sleeping bag, wet and breathing heavily. Then Seryoga carefully pulled out of Lera, and a thick, white puddle immediately flowed onto the mattress. Uncle Kolya also freed himself, patted Lera on the buttock, and said: - Well, and you were afraid. Let's move on. You still have to go to your mom's birthday party. Seryoga silently climbed back behind the wheel and started the engine. Uncle Kolya remained on the sleeping bag with Lera, who still couldn't come to her senses. Semen was leaking out of her from both sides, staining the bedspread. She found her panties and pulled them on—they were immediately soaked through. "Don't worry," Uncle Kolya remarked, lighting a cigarette right in the cab. "We'll take you all the way home, we keep our word. And maybe we'll have another one on the way. We've got time." And indeed, an hour later, when it was already completely dark outside, Seryoga turned into the pocket again, and this time they swapped places: Uncle Kolya took the wheel, and Seryoga climbed into the back. Lera barely resisted anymore. She only quietly asked: — Can I go to the toilet first, to the bushes? "Go ahead," Seryoga allowed. "Just don't run too far. And don't wash yourself there, or Kolya will be upset." Lera stepped out into the cold night. Bright stars hung over the highway. She squatted behind a bush, relieved herself, and, as instructed, didn't bother wiping or washing anything. When she returned to the cabin, Seryoga was already waiting for her on the sleeping bag. “Now it’s your turn to thank me properly,” he said and, taking her head, directed it to his already erect member. Lera took him into her mouth. The taste was salty, mixed with her own secretions—she hadn't washed herself. She tried to suck as hard as she could, trying to get it over with, but deep down she already knew her body had betrayed her completely and was now responding to his rough caresses with a readiness she hadn't expected. When the truck finally pulled into Krasnogorsk, it was half past eleven at night. Lera, her clothes rumpled, her hair matted, and her jeans stained with semen, stepped out of the cab onto the curb near the bus station. Her insides ached, and her mouth lingered with a lingering aftertaste. Uncle Kolya leaned out of the window: "Leave your phone number, sportswoman. We'll be back in a week, maybe I should give you a lift again?" Lera silently dictated the number, not understanding why she was doing it. The truck drove away, leaving her standing in the empty night square, clutching the bag containing her gift for her mother. It was still two blocks to her parents' house. She walked slowly through the dark streets, wondering what she would tell her mother. "I got held up on the road"—that was the whole truth. Passing a store window, Lera caught sight of her reflection—a disheveled girl with red lips and a feverish glint in her eyes. She turned away. Mom opened the door immediately, as if she had been waiting at the door: - Darling! Finally! I thought you wouldn't come! Lera hugged her mother, trying not to meet her eyes. — I'm going to take a shower after the road, Mom. I'm all sweaty. - Of course, of course, go ahead. I'll warm up the dinner. In the bathroom, Lera took off everything. The panties she'd pulled on in the shower felt like a dirty rag—soaked in semen, secretions, and road dust. She tossed them in the laundry basket and scrubbed herself with a washcloth under hot water for a long time, but the feeling of someone else's sticky fingers on her skin didn't go away. After emerging from the shower, she sat down at the festive table, laden with her mother's salads and pies. Her mother chattered about the neighbors, the weather, and how happy she was that her daughter had arrived. Lera nodded, forcing herself to eat, and thought only of how the two would be driving along the highway again in a week. And that she already seemed to know where she would be waiting for them next time.