The engine of my rental convertible purred as I cruised along the desolate country highway. I scanned the horizon, checking the expansive, empty fields on either side of the road. The four-lanes of the highway seemed unnecessary; I hadn't seen another car in twenty minutes. But the solitude was fine by me, listening in satisfaction to the only sounds that mattered: the reliably humming engine and the steadily whining tires on the blacktop.
My road trip across the inland countryside hadn't been solo at its inception. The empty passenger seat was supposed to be filled by John until a last-minute work trip arose. I rolled my eyes behind my aviator shades: there was always a work trip. However, John had been helpful before he dropped out, renting this car using some of his corporate points. His absence certainly hadn't hindered my enjoyment of the trip, and the meandering drive had never appealed to his ordered nature, anyway.
Invited to join my former coworker, Jack, at his beach house, I'd started my drive yesterday afternoon. I had a loose plan, following the rural route east lengthwise across the state until I reached the coast, but I didn't have an itinerary. If I had started my trip earlier yesterday and taken the interstate, I could have made it to the shore late last night. But the drive through the scenic country was its own adventure, and I liked the freedom of not having a schedule.
My untamed red hair whipped wildly in the open cockpit. Flying locks flapped in front of my sunglasses, and I tucked the waving hairs behind my ear, knowing they would be loosed again immediately. The floral blue fabric of my sundress clung to my chest and stomach, rippling in the air currents from my acceleration. I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling tendrils of wind reach exhilaratingly up my short skirt, and further depressed the gas pedal beneath my white pump. The lace crotch of my purple thong moistened at the intimate caress of the wind.
I crested a hill, and the tail of a yellow semi-trailer emerged in the right lane before me. This was the first vehicle I'd seen for miles, and the road ahead of us was utterly deserted in both directions. Switching lanes to pass as I caught him, I sped the length of the trailer, still relishing the sticky excitement between my thighs as my speed increased. Pulling alongside the truck, I looked up into the yellow cab and made eye contact with the driver as he grinned down into my convertible.
The man cheerily waved, trading his gaze between the road and the show of flowing skirts and buxom flesh in my front seat. I smiled and waved in return, tucked a blowing clump of hair behind my ear and adjusted my shades, then puckered my lips and blew an exaggerated kiss to the driver. He responded with over-the-top enthusiasm, casting his head back in adoration and patting his hand to his heart. 'He's probably even more bored with his drive than I am.' I thought as I flirtatiously laughed at his antics. The buzz in my loins kicked a naughty impulse to my brain. 'What if I made his drive more interesting?'
Grinning salaciously, I crawled my fingers along my bare leg until they reached the edge of my skirt. The wispy fabric caught easily beneath my dragging fingertips and retreated up my thigh. Casting a cautious glance at the empty road before us, I returned my aviators to the truck driver as I pulled the hem of the skirt to my waist and splayed my knees, flashing him a delectable view of my purple lace panties.
BWAH-BWAAAAAH The driver blared the truck's horn in approval. I threw my head back, laughing in the wind while returning my skirt to its less immodest home over my thighs. My hand fluttered a flirtatious goodbye to my fleeting acquaintance as I stepped on the accelerator. I watched the yellow semi ebb into the background in the rearview as I sped towards the coast.
Maybe flirting with a truck driver on an isolated rural highway wasn't the best idea, I acknowledged. I knew that a girl driving alone through the boonies might seem like a vulnerable target. Some of my murder-pod-poisoned friends had counseled against the trip. In a more extreme version, the motherly woman behind the desk at the rustic motel where I'd stopped last night had been concerned enough to offer me the gun from her truck while I slept in the roadside room. I declined her offer with an appreciative thanks.
I hadn't seen anything to lend weight to such exaggerated concerns. While my short dress and shiny heels might draw stares when I stopped for gas or coffee, everyone I had encountered on my trip had been friendly and harmless, like that trucker. When I stopped for an early lunch in the last small town, the elderly café owner had planted himself in front of me, engaging me in an extended, pleasant conversation. When I asked for the check, he gave me a free slice of pie, though he might have been motivated as much by generosity as by keeping the drooping cami-top of my dress hunched over his counter for a few minutes longer.
The highway narrowed to a single lane in each direction as it approached a small cluster of buildings cropped up at the roadside, supposedly a town. I eased off the gas as I passed through the outcropping. The couple of cross streets looked deserted at just under sixty miles an hour. My foot sank on the accelerator again as the road promptly widened back to four lanes beyond the last storefront.
I grabbed the bottle of water from the cupholder and held it between my thighs as I unscrewed the cap. I tipped my head back, keeping my eyes on the empty road as I took a quick drink. As I lowered the bottle from my mouth, its paper wrapper slipped in my fingertips, spilling water onto my exposed sternum and down my open "V" of cleavage. Distracted by the shock of the sudden wetness and my kneejerk efforts to wipe the beads of water off the inner bulbs of my rack, I let the car veer unattended partway into the passing lane. My vision returned to the road, and I jerked my path straight, but I finished the lane change without thought, breathing a sigh of relief that the road had been empty.
With the bottle safely secured in the cupholder, and with my chest and dress still a little damp, I glanced in the rearview. My stomach sank at the sight of the police cruiser following stealthily in the near distance, steadily gaining ground. I checked the odometer, and saw I was over the limit; too late to slow now, I could only stay cool and hope he passed me on his way elsewhere. I turned on my blinker and moved to the right lane to let him pass. The patrol car immediately followed me into the right lane, then turned on its lights. "Shit!" I hissed as I flicked the turn signal again and came to a stop on the shoulder.
I shut off the engine and pulled my license and insurance cards from my purse, then gripped the top of the wheel in both hands. My eyes switched anxiously between the desolate road before me and the motionless officer in my rearview. From my vantagepoint, I could see the large, featureless outline of the trooper behind the wheel of the cruiser, but couldn't make out a face or details. Whoever he was, he was taking his sweet time issuing me my ticket.
Five motionless minutes later, my eyes widened in alarm as a second squad car arrived and pulled in behind the first. My lips and nose wrinkled in an unattractive grimace at the sight of the second cop. I couldn't imagine what about a lone girl in a baby blue BMW convertible would warrant a call for backup on a simple traffic stop. "Just being careful, I guess..." I muttered as I watched the towering, black sheriff's officer climb out of the second car and stroll to the driver's window of the front vehicle.
The two officers chatted through the open window, and the upright cop stepped back with a laugh as the driver's door opened. The other imposing, black officer exited his cruiser, straightening his gun belt as he stood. With a casual gesture to his sidekick, the first cop approached my driver's side. The second positioned himself at the corner of my back bumper.
"What seems to be the problem, officer?" I tried to keep my voice steady despite my nerves.
"Captain." He corrected flatly. "License and registration..." The sheriff's office badge on his chest read "Lake", and his voice was emotionless as he towered above me. I gulped as I handed him the cards in my hand, growing nervous as I sat. He scribbled in his ticket pad as he studied my license. My own rose-gold aviators stared back at me from his mirrored lenses.
The reflection also revealed his perspective was filled with a plunging view straight down the front of my dress. A frisky tremble countered the anxiety in my belly at the idea that the handsome black cop was eyeballing my rack. The naughty thrill from teasing the trucker rekindled; fingers of warmth crept through my pussy like the wind up my skirt. I bet this predicament was solvable; how many free drinks had a plunging neckline gotten me? A ticket was the same song, different verse. I straightened my back, feeling the spaghetti straps shift on my pale shoulders as my chest pushed forward.
"Was I speeding? Sometimes I guess I let myself get carried away..." My voice rode a flirty spring, and I leaned toward the door, letting the bodice of my dress dip forward as I asked. Lake paused his scrawling for the moment.
