From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO) Subject: zzz-NEW STORY: THE HITCHHIKER by MissLilyO (M/F, cons, sex) Date: 1 Apr 1997 07:40:18 GMT Hi, guys. This story contains M/F spanking and sex. If you're under 18, that means you're in big trouble for reading this newsgroup so g'wan, scat! If you're older and this stuff turns your crank, I hope you like this story! And I hope darn ole AOL delivers the whole thing. If not, as Arnold would say, "Ah'll be baaack!" Love, Lily ________________________________________________ THE HITCHHIKER by MissLilyO Gwen closed out the accounting program, turned off her computer, and leaned back in her chair, moving her shoulders to loosen the kinks. The shop was darkened, Betty and Terry having waved their goodbyes as they locked the door of Belle's Book and Candle for the night. The gentle surf and the sunset-bright calls of the gulls blended into a muted chorus, barely audible inside the shop. How odd that in the warmth of the setting California sun, the penetrating memories of those magic hours in the snow, and the mystical days to follow, would come to her as they so often did at unexpected times. Her bottom shifted with the memories of the hours of passion, the spankings and the loving that so changed her life. She was a woman well-loved, a woman of sensuality and a knowledge of her own worth, a giving and generous sexual being. But never in her years had she known anything to equal the blood racing energy, the feeling of being completely alive, as she had during that strange cross-country odyssey... ************** Every ounce of common sense, every admonition from her mother, every wise word of travel safety tips she'd ever read screamed in unison at her rashness, even as her foot carefully tap-tapped the brakes and brought the big car to an eventual stop on the icy road. She could see him in the sanguine reflection of her taillights on the swirling snow, moving stiffly toward the passenger door. The window lowered a little and she leaned across the seat to ask, "Where are you headed?" The shivering man was actually dressed well for the cold in an expensive hooded jacket, thick boots, and heavy mittens. No clothing could withstand the bitter piercing winds and needles of snow for long, however, and the hitchhiker looked close to the end of his endurance. He could barely control his chattering teeth to spit out, "West. C-california." She hesitated only a moment longer, ignoring the klaxons from the left side of her brain, and pressed the automatic lock button, an invitation for him to get in. She slid further over, helping to open the door as she observed his difficulty getting the mittened hands to work the handle. He fell gratefully into the front seat, the swirling snow and invasive wind forcing their way into the car with him. He managed to pull the door shut weakly and lean his head back in the seat. She took his bag from his lap and placed it on the back seat. There wasn't much in it, judging from the light weight. "How long have you been out here?" she asked him. "You're half- frozen!" "N-n-n-ot sure. Hours." His teeth were chattering loudly. Gwen wisely held back the flood of her questions and turned up the heater, splitting the flow of warm air between the floor, where she hoped to warm his feet, and the windshield, so she could see to go on. She reached into a thick insulated bag on the front seat next to her and pulled out a thermos. The dark liquid inside was not piping hot, but it still emitted promising steam. "Can you get your mittens off?" she asked him, as she poured. He struggled with them and finally freed his hands enough to reach shakily out and take the thermos lid from her hands. Some of the coffee sloshed out and splashed his lap and her car seat. Giving her a rueful smile, he mumbled, "S-sorry," and lifted the coffee to his lips, gulping it greedily She dug back into the bag and found half a ham sandwich wrapped in plastic and opened it for him. As he wolfed down the meager fare, she put the car in gear and slowly pulled back onto the road. This had started out as such an adventure for Gwen, a new beginning. It had called on every ounce of her courage to say goodbye to all that she had known and head into the uncharted future. At age thirty-one, she had had few of the experiences most modern young women could boast, despite a good education and financial stability, having stayed at home to care for her mother during the protracted illness. And then she had dealt with the inevitable, laying her mother to rest next to her dad, wading through the yards of legal rope that binds us to the past. Her parents had left her with more choices than she'd imagined--a significant sum of life insurance, a paid-for house with attached rental unit, some mutual funds that were secure, and a 1971 LTD in sedate blue, again paid for. Gwen could have gone on living there in her home town, renting out the small house, working at the book store part time, comfortable, safe. She laughed to herself as she squinted against the glare of her headlights on the nearly sideways snow. Safe? Oh sure, so here she was, miles from the freeway on a "scenic side road" in the middle of nowhere, headed for God-knew where in California, caught in a spring blizzard with a half-frozen hitchhiker who could be, for all she knew, Richard Speck's clone. Sensible Gwen. Both feet on the ground. Good grief. The two strangers rode along in the night, the heavy car cutting a cautious swath through the field of white before them, the only conversation was the chit-chat of the windshield wipers as they pushed the snow away in two matching arcs. As the miles slowly scrolled past, Gwen knew she'd have to find a place to stop soon. The warmth of the car was making her drowsy, the blinding white of the blizzard hypnotic. At last, up ahead, she saw the wan glow of a snow-veiled neon sign. "Heads up," she said, straining to see what the sign heralded. "Jim & obby's Restaurant," the stranger read. "Diner and Lounge." With a tired sigh she nosed the car into the parking lot and pulled up as close to the entrance as she could. Gwen felt she'd been transported by magic rays to the past, to a time in the fifties, as she stared into the brightly-lit interior of the quiet diner. There were small juke boxes at each red-upholstered booth, gray marbleized tops at each table and at the long bestooled counter. There were seven or eight customers scattered around the place, and they could see a plump waitress in a light pink uniform moving efficiently from table to counter with a coffee pot in her hand. "I'm ready for this!" declared Gwen. "How about you? Are you thawed out a little?" "Thanks to you, I am," he replied. "But you go ahead. I'm sure I'll be able to pick up another ride from here," he told her, pulling on his mittens. She could read the hesitation in his face. "A little short on traveling money?" she asked, not waiting for the reply. "Listen, this is my treat, what do you say? I bet if the situation were reversed, you'd spring for a hot meal for me, wouldn't you?" The look in his eyes was reward enough to hold Gwen steady for a long time to come. He had the most expressive face she had ever seen. In it she read sadness, determination, pride, and great kindness. Right now she could see acceptance of her generosity and confirmation that he would, indeed, do the same for her if he could. "Thank you," was all he said. He held the door for her as they entered, and he pushed it shut against the bitter cold. Without waiting for the waitress to seat them, the hitchhiker took her arm and steered her toward the last booth along the wall, choosing for himself a seat facing away from the other diners. She could see on the other side of the room a darkened doorway with plastic beads hanging down and a lighted sign over it that read "Lounge. No Minors." The waitress hustled up to the pair right away. "Hi, kids," she said. "Lousy night, huh?" "I'll say!" Gwen agreed. "Well, it's not going to get any better," she assured them good- naturedly. "Radio says the snow is getting heavier and the winds are picking up. Ralph Markley was just in, he's State Patrol you know, and said he's pretty sure the highway will be closed soon. Drifting something awful over Cobb's Prairie way. What can I get you two, huh? I'm Obby, by the way," she added with a laugh. Her chattering left Gwen almost dizzy. "Obby?" The waitress had once had red hair, but now it was enhanced from the drugstore, the gray managing to peek out at the temples. "Really, it's Bobby," she laughed, but the 'B' has been out of the sign for three years, and Jim's too tight to get it fixed!" She had drawn her hair up into two fat rolls in the front, with the back, page-boy style, encased in a net, as if fixing her hair in the "do" of her youth would somehow fight the years away. The battle was lost, and Gwen could see the heavy blue of old- fashioned eye shadow on her creased lids, and the cake of too- bright rouge on her cheeks. Still, there was a hint of the laughing girl she'd once been, and her eyes were kindly and warm. Gwen liked this plump waitress with the old-young face instantly. The stranger looked through the window into the night. "Could we start with some hot coffee?" Gwen asked, speaking for both of them. "And is it legal to serve alcohol out here?" "Not really," said Bobby. "What did you want?" "I was thinking of some brandy for the coffee. It's been a long night." "I won't tell if you won't," winked the waitress with conspiratorial glee, and bustled off, parting the hanging beads and disappearing into the lounge. "I suppose we should introduce ourselves," Gwen said to the bundled stranger opposite her. "I'm Gwen Dempsey." She reached out her hand to him. "Rich...Smith," he replied, taking her hand and holding it a moment longer than etiquette demanded. "Maybe you should try to get out of that coat while we're here in the warm room, Rich," Gwen suggested. "Here we are, kids!" said Bobby, returning with two big heavy mugs of steaming black coffee. Gwen caught a whiff of the brandy, which Bobby had evidently poured generously directly into the coffee cups. She put two plastic laminated menus down in front of them. "Drink up. We got the freshest coffee in the state! I'll be back in a moment to take your orders, kay?" Without waiting for an answer, she patted Rich on the shoulder and bustled off to chat with a family of three in a booth nearer the door. Rich lifted the heavy cup to his lips and sipped at the scalding liquid eagerly, sighing with pleasure at the extra burn of the brandy as it slid warmly down his throat. "God, this is the best thing I've tasted in...well, I can't remember," he said, his mouth tilting at one corner in a small, satisfied smile. The hot drink seemed to revive him, and it was as if he finally remembered his manners, causing him to sit up, tug at the drawstring of his hood, and shrug out of the heavy coat. Under it he was wearing a long sleeved tan flannel shirt, clearly expensive, and a tan turtleneck under that. His hair was tousled from the hood, and he ran his long fingers through the thick, light brown hair, bringing some order to the chaos. His blue eyes held her in thrall as she took in the absolute beauty of the man before her. My God, she thought, he's GORGEOUS. The thought disarmed her, making her lose whatever confidence she had been feeling. Suddenly she was tongue tied, awkward. What Gwen couldn't know was that he was making a similar assessment of her. He saw before him a woman with a flawless ivory complexion, made more beautiful by the roses the cold caused to bloom in her cheeks. Her brown eyes were warm and open, filled with promises yet to behold, her lashes extraordinary, sweeping the smooth face. Her nose was a bit too long to allow her to claim real beauty, but she had an attractive, interesting face, one that made him want to stare and record each detail. Her dark hair lifted from her face in a widow's peak and it was thick and glossy, clearly well-cared for. He guessed late-twenties, but her eyes were older, and he figured she'd seen more than her share of sadness. Her sudden awkwardness did not escape him either, and he knew she needed reassurance. Her figure was rounder, more generous than fashion mavens would label as acceptable, but he personally found that more to his liking. "You're lovely, Gwen. Forgive me for staring at you. It's like a dying man looking into the face of the angel sent to bear him away to heaven," he told her. "You really did save me. I hardly know how to thank you." She was so embarrassed at his compliment, she couldn't think of a single word to say. Blushing deeply she turned her eyes to the menu. "Do...do you know what you want?" she managed? "You pick for me, will you?" he asked. "I need to wash up." He moved to the hallway under the "Rest Rooms" sign, holding his face away from the other diners. Bobby came back and Gwen ordered them thick T-Bone steaks, baked potatoes, salads, and apple pie. She knew she was doing her diet no good, but hunger and her own uncertainty won out. Food *could* be comforting, despite what the women's magazines would say. What unfolded next between Gwen and the stranger would forever change her life. Many years later, she would open the treasure box of her memories and take out the days that ensued ever so carefully, unwrapping the tissue paper of years from them, and bring them close to her heart again and again. He gave her the gift of herself, a gift she knew instinctively would still be undiscovered but for his wisdom and insight and utter sensuality. Born of mutual need? Perhaps. Born. That was a good word, as what happened between them had a life of its own, a small glimmer of life that grew and blazed and sustained them both for what lay ahead. They had sat, eating with hearty gusto the surprisingly well- prepared food that the tall, skinny Jim had cooked in the spacious diner kitchen. Haltingly at first, Gwen began to talk, finding his warm eyes welcoming her confidences. A normally quiet girl, she poured out her feelings to him, thoughts she'd barely dared to acknowledge to herself. Years of loneliness, of frustration at doing the "right" thing, of yielding her natural sexuality to the needs of someone else suddenly found voice. Some things she told him with words, other things were unspoken but he picked them up as easily as if she'd said them aloud. She wanted to tell him her plans, the dreams she had, she needed him to know, somehow. He seemed to listen as if her words meant the world to him. And all the while, he watched her expressive face with the weary and eager fascination of a thirsty, desert-parched man watching ice cold water tumbling into a frosty glass for him. Ralph, the State Patrol officer had come back to the diner about midnight and announced to the group at large that the road had been closed. Rich stiffened and kept his back to the door, but Gwen didn't notice. Jim came around the counter and spoke to the customers. "Freddie, I 'spect you guys can make it on back to your place, probably you can too Arnold." He was talking to the locals who had lingered, hoping the weather would lift a little. Freddie and his wife had a four-wheel drive Jeep, and they knew Ralph would keep an eye out for them if they ran into trouble on the road. Freddie picked up their sleeping little girl and said, "Right, well good night all." Jim continued, "The rest of you can stay here for the night. We still got five units open, and Bobby said she just checked 'em out. They're cleaned up and ready for y'all if you want them. Or you're welcome to stay here in the diner if you like." Bobby was shrugging out of her coat, and went straight to the coffee pot to make sure everyone who stayed had refills. She sent Ralph back out to his Patrol car with a thermos. "We bought this place about five years ago," she explained to Gwen and Rich. "It has a regular motel out back. Damned if they didn't reroute the interstate about a year after we bought it!" She shook her head. "Wasn't for bad luck, we wouldn't have any luck at all," she said. "We couldn't afford to keep the whole place open, but we keep a few units for truckers and stragglers. You kids want a room for the night? Could be awhile before you can go on." Rich started to speak, to tell her they'd stay in the diner, but Gwen interrupted. She didn't know what motivated her, but it felt right for the moment. "My husband and I would like a room, I think, Obby," and smiled at her own joke. "We're both real beat." He stared at her, awash in awe at her boldness, and in relief for her instincts. "Newlyweds, are ya?" And when Gwen nodded, she added, "I can always tell," and winked at them. "Well, come on to the back and I'll give you guys the last unit. Nice and private." Gwen paid the check and they went back through the rambling diner to an office on the other side of the building. Gwen could see now it had been the front desk of the motel. She registered "Mr. and Mrs. Rich Smith and gave a phony address from a town forty miles from her old house in Connecticut. In short order they were ensconced in a roomy cabin unit, a wall heater grumbling good-naturedly as it glowed with warmth. There was a TV on a wheeled stand, but it was snowier than the weather outside, reception completely stymied by the storm. An orange chenille spread graced the bed, but it looked freshly washed, and the shag carpeting was clean, almost new. The dark paneling on the walls made the room seem homey, close. Gwen's heart was racing. What in the hell had she been thinking? Sensing her nervousness, Rich helped her off with her coat, and placed her suitcase on a stand in the small closet, his bag on the floor under it. Taking her hands in his, he drew her down to the bed beside him. She wouldn't look at him, her mind a jumble of thought and emotion, terror really. "Gwen," he moved her chin with his finger tips till she was looking into his eyes. "Nothing is going to happen here tonight that you don't want to happen. You have nothing to fear from me. We're both dead tired, and if you want, I'll sleep on the floor. Gladly. If it doesn't make you uncomfortable, I'll sleep next to you in the bed, but sleep only. If you like, I'll tell you what I really want, shall I?" His voice was low and soft, soothing, like her father's had been. She guessed him to be in his early 40's maybe, and that little age difference seemed to give him an air of authority that her uncertain mind needed desperately at that moment. There was nothing fatherly about the way he was looking at her, though. She saw his eyes rove over her generous breasts encased in the blue sweater, and on stretch pants that covered her round hips. At last she nodded her permission to tell her his desires. "I want to hold you in my arms, Gwen. It's been longer than you could know since I've held a woman I really wanted. I'd like to touch you everywhere till you cry out with joy. I'd like to show you what a naughty girl you were in picking up a total stranger like me on a deserted roadside by turning you over my knee and spanking that gorgeous bottom of yours." Her loins felt a stab of electricity shoot through them at his sensuous words. It was as if he'd read the most secret desires in her mind, the hidden place she tucked those feelings, the forbidden nights when her fingers had strayed to her softness and she'd moved quietly under the covers to thoughts of a handsome man like her father had been spanking her over his knee. "Oh, yes. I can see it in your eyes, fair Gwen. It's in me too, that need. And you have such a spankable bottom. I'd love to slowly pull down those black pants and then pull your panties down to your knees. Then I'd like to turn your sweet bottom up and make it all pink. You'd like that too, wouldn't you? But you're afraid, I know. Lady Gwendolyn, fair angel of the night, it will be all right. I promise. All right." She had trusted her instinct before, and she trusted it now. Mutely nodding, she gave herself into his hands. To see that trust in her eyes, meant more to him than he could ever have expressed. How long it had been since anyone had looked at him like that. And he did not fail her. He took his time, making every word of his promises come true. How he drew out that ritual that he knew she craved, even as he did, marveling at the beauty of the woman-girl before him. Her round hips enflamed him as he pulled her panties down, making her into a trusting little girl again. She lay across his knees on the bed, lifting for his caresses, and he stroked the wide, pale cheeks, brushing his fingertips over her glistening nether lips, causing a gasp of excitement from her. The spanking was the rival of the most haunting symphony, with the opening notes delivered with simplicity, gathering momentum and intensity. His broad palm connected with her pale, upturned globes, making her blood rush and her hips move in rhythm with the beating of his heart. She pressed into his swollen throb, causing him inutterable pleasure, so long denied him. The music swelled in magnificent crescendo as his other hand moved into her lush, slippery folds and teased the swollen bud, letting his long fingers to the entrance of her tunnel. Her sighs and soft moans brought the piece to a lyrical end, and as the last strains died away in the night, he helped her to her knees and forearms on the bed. She was almost unable to speak, but as he pressed the swollen head of his aching length to the door of her sheath, she stuttered, "I...I've never..." "Yes, my naughty little girl. I know," he reassured her. "It will be all right, you'll see." He used more restraint than he thought possible, and his knowledge of her soft body held him in good stead as he rent the curtain of her girlhood, holding her lovely hips and waiting as the sharp sting of his entrance momentarily captured her. Then with infinite patience, he began the ancient dance, letting the little thrusts deepen until he was in her tightness, achingly buried in the moist depths of a woman he knew he could love for the rest of his days on earth. Gently at first, and then fiercely, he drove her up and up to the heights and, when he finally spent poundingly in her, hot gushes of his need and seed, her own frantic cries told him she'd joined him in the freefall he'd sought for them both, and he held her to him as they plummeted. For three days the lovers stayed at Jim and Obby's, emerging to a winterworld of white just long enough to devour plates of Jim's excellent cooking and laugh at Obby's homey humor. They got nuzzley drunk in the lounge one afternoon and drifted back to their rooms where Rich tied Gwen's hands to the bed with a silk scarf and made love to every inch of her voluptuous body, finally coming between her heavy breasts, and watching with delight as the newly awakened hedonist in her licked away the creamy droplets that clung to her chin and lips. When he released her, he pulled her over his lap and spanked her till she came, bouncing against his knees, begging for more. He took her in every position, filling every opening of her body, giving her everything he had to give. And in that gift she found the woman she truly was. He gave her freedom, the confidence to know that she could demand what she deserved without temerity. But they both knew it had to end. At last the weather cleared and the big snow plows opened their private kingdom to the world once more. Gwen could sense a restlessness in him, the need to get moving. Her heart ached with that knowledge, but she said nothing. Bobby packed a huge lunch for them and kissed Gwen on the cheek when they said goodbye. Even Jim came out from his big stove to wave them along, calling out "Safe Journey!" to them as she pulled the big Ford out of the parking lot. She made no attempt to hold him, and he made no promises to her. The hours that remained were precious and they filled them with their innermost thoughts, shared and melded. At last they came to a large, sprawling town not far from Los Angeles. She came out of the gas station restroom and his face said it all. "This is it, isn't it, Rich?" she asked him. He nodded, and she threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you for saving me," she whispered. "Oh, my Lady Gwendolyn," he breathed in her ear. "It was you who saved me, remember? No matter what happens, I'll never forget you. I can never repay what you've given back to me, never express to you what I'm feeling. There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you, but...” His voice threatened to break. “Believe me when I tell you that if there is a heaven, you ARE my angel, and I shall wait for you at the gates one day." There was so much more she wanted to say, but he broke away from her and hurried off down the street toward a big truck stop. But not before she saw the tears streaking his face. She did not cry at all. He had given her that. She knew she could face anything now. *** That had been twenty five years ago, she thought. Twenty five years had been kind to Gwen, her face still girlish and her skin still beautiful. She'd bought a small, thriving book and gift store from a lady named Belle Phillips in Morro Bay, and had since opened three more Belle's Book and Candle stores in resort towns along the California coast. Three children, one grandchild. Lots of living. A few very close friends. Travel to far away places, meeting and promoting new authors in her shops. A good life. Gwen gathered up her bag and checked the lock on the back door as she shut off the lights in her small office. She was still caught up in the memories, smiling to herself as she moved automatically through the store. It had been the day she finally signed the papers for the Morro Bay store that she'd seen Rich's face on the television. The lawyer's secretary had the TV on in the small lunchroom in the office, watching a soap opera while she munched on a sandwich. Gwen had glimpsed that beloved face and jumped up to rush into the room, turning up the sound, leaving the bewildered attorney staring after her. "...has been exonerated of the crime of killing his wife. For the past two years, Dr. Richard Kimball has been a fugitive, fleeing the scene of a crash of the prison van taking him to the State Penetentiary Prison following his conviction by a jury for the murder of his wife, Elizabeth. At the time of the killing, Dr. Kimball had told police he had seen a one-armed man fleeing the scene, but police found no evidence of any such individual. It was not until the tenacious investigation by a team of...." Gwen had sunk down next to the secretary, unable to stand. Of course! She had been so distracted by the loss of her mother that the national news had not really penetrated, but she knew that Rich...or Richard....had been running away from something, hunted, afraid. And just as surely she'd known then that whatever it was he fled, he was good and fine and decent. She had given him a haven from the storm that was his life at the time, a resting place where he could catch his breath, recharge his energies, feel like a man again. And she thought she'd been the sole beneficiary of their time together. Well, he deserved the best. She knew in her heart she would always love him, always be connected to him. Gwen turned off the remaining light, and locked the front door of her thriving little shop. "Hey! What did I tell you about staying late without Terry or Betty with you, huh?" Her husband's mild scolding made her smile. He stepped up behind her and encircled her in his strong arms, kissing the back of her neck the way she loved. "Just because this is a nice part of town doesn't mean there aren't any bad guys, you know! I guess if my naughty girl can't remember that, I'm just gonna have to buy her some dinner and then take her home and give her an old fashioned spanking, aren't I?" Laughing she turned in his arms to kiss him. "Ohhhh, you!" she said. "You're right, you know. Here I am right out in public letting an ex-con feel me up!" "Shameless hussy," Richard said, whispering into her hair. "Let's go home and spank now, eat later!" Arm and arm they walked down the street into the gathering dusk. MissLilyO@aol.com)