Henry Morgan - The drivers

"I'm alright," she gasped. "I'm fine."

The sudden jab of his prick forced the breath from her body as he took up a slow rhythmic thrust and continued to fuck her, all the time watching and ensuring she gave the right message.

"What are you doing?" Claire asked. "We've been a bit worried."

Susan's grip tightened on the phone as she felt the uncomfortable rise of desire within her.

What was happening? How could this be? But there was no doubt, his cock was moving swiftly now, in and out, along her slick passage, its path aided by the slippery gel she was producing. Arousal was as undeniable as her erect nipples standing in attention as best they could on top of breasts that shook each time his thighs crushed hers.

"Listen… Claire."

The intensity grew with each lunge of his dick.

"I've… I've met someone else."

Her sister let out a knowing grunt.

"Thought as much. What's his name?"

"Can't say. But he's… OH!… he's young… OH!"

"What's the matter?" Claire asked. "Why are you panting?"

Before her sister had time to answer the penny dropped.

"You dirty bitch," she added. "Your in bed with him, aren't you?

"Uh huh."

"Are you doing it?"

Susan looked up to the Driver, his face contorted with the effort and the pleasure.

"Uh huh. Right this… OH!…"

The phone went dead as the Driver's spunk splattered inside her, adding itself to the flood already soaking her sheath. Her own spasms of delight came and finally ebbed with each jerk of his cock until he lay exhausted on top of her, squashing her breasts beneath him. He remained that way until his flaccid dick slipped rudely out of its hideaway between the hot wet flaps of her entrance, then he secured her firmly and returned her to her place beneath his bunk.

Claire couldn't help but smile at the memory. How she had replaced the receiver and let out a yelp of happiness at hearing her sister's voice. She remembered, too, the rude thoughts that had rushed through her mind at her once shy and quiet sister phoning in the middle of having sex with a lover. What a change had come over her in the two days since she had vanished!

"Good for her," she said, repeating her thoughts from the first time. "Bloody good for her."

"Good for who?"

Peter entered the kitchen glassy eyed and still anxious for some answers.

"Are you going to tell me?" he pleaded. "Or do I have to get down and beg?"

Claire handed him a mug of tea before picking up her own.

"I don't know where she is. Honestly." Then she added the lie, "if I did know, I'd tell you." Since she had first seen Peter dropping Susan back at school she'd disliked him. An old man like him getting his kicks with a schoolgirl. It was disgusting.

And Susan was so gullible, always had been. Thank God she had finally come to her senses and ran off with someone younger, someone who would give her what she needed.

Peter stepped a little nearer and Claire could see he was beginning to shake.

"Just tell me then. Tell me what she said."

"Go home Peter," was the best she could manage. "If Susan wanted you to know she'd have rung."

Suddenly his attitude changed. Stepping up to her face he shouted.

"You've done this, you bitch! You've driven her away with your constant talk about age and how she'll still be young after I'm old. You're so satisfied with yourself!"

Claire stepped back out of harms way before firing back her reply.

"Go on, blame everybody else. It's never your fucking fault. Well, I've got news for you. You must have been doing something wrong because she's buggered off with a younger bloke".

The words stung him, reducing his eyes to a running mess of tears.

"Oh yes," he cried. "Oh yes, you'd love to believe that. Love to tell them all that."

"I've told them. Told the police. Why do you think they've not been looking for her even when you keep harassing them, hey, why?"

He stopped his ranting and tried to compose himself.

"I don't believe it! Not Susan!"

"She phoned me from his house. Told me they were lovers."

Peter shook his head wildly, shouting,

"No! no! you're making it up!"

"If you really want to know, they were in bed when she phoned. For Christ sake Peter they were doing it on the phone. At it, you know? Fucking, OK? If that don't make them lovers what does?"

Jack's hiker slipped in and out of sleep as the lorry continued on its journey to the Scottish borders and beyond. The heat of the cab and the warm pulsating throb after so much abuse had brought her to that state of exhaustion, aware of everything around her, but unconcerned at the same time. A thousand passing headlamps threw shadows across her eyelids providing a magic lantern show to while away her slumber. Over the hypnotic hum of the engine she was conscious of Jack's voice, calm and relaxed, talking into the CB radio.

"One four for a copy. One four for a copy. Any Drivers out there?"

Silence.

"One four for a copy," he repeated. "It's the Candy Man asking out for any Drivers. Let's talk."

There was an electric cackle then the radio spat back a reply.

"Hey mister Candy Man, how you doing? H R hears you loud and clear. Moving on up to the Drivers channel."

Both men changed from channel fourteen up to the one used by the Drivers.

"Why the silence H?" asked Jack.

"I was holding back in case we had an intruder on the airwaves. There's a rumour someone been listening in on us."

"Any ideas who?"

"Well it ain't the cops, cos' no-one seen them around for months and they stick out like a foreskin on a Rabbi."

A broad Jamaican laugh skipped from rig to rig before he added, "You carrying fur, or you just tugging your pole every night?"

Jack laughed into the mouthpiece. "I got me some fur. It's dozing alongside me right now." He reached across to feel her tits, squeezing them enough to make her moan although she didn't react fully. "What about you? You got a parking slot, or you travelling with Pam? Pam of your hand." It was Jack's turn to laugh and it was loud enough to stir the girl, who slowly began coming round, although she remained too groggy to move or say anything.

"I got someone," said H R. "Someone you might like to say hello to. Where you heading?"

"The M6," Jack answered. "Just left Leeds, north bound."

"You near Austdale?"

"Just passed it. Why?"

There was a teasing silence before H R answered.

"Because, I got groovy Suzy. She's sitting next to me now."

The unusual conversation intrigued Jack's hiker who couldn't help but wonder who groovy Suzy was. For the time being also, neither could Jack.

"Who the fuck's groovy Suzy?" he asked. "I don't know anyone called that."

H R didn't answer the question but moved the conversation elsewhere.

"Your bed warmer," he said. "She going to the passover?"

Jack looked at the girl who was now wide awake and confused at the language travelling between the two drivers.

"She's going," said Jack. "When I've finished with her."

The hiker sat up in the seat, ill at ease with the atmosphere in the cab. Since Jack had spoken to the other man his tone had changed. She didn't like being called a bed warmer, she was no scrubber despite what had happened at the card game.

"Meet you at the National Park Centre near Newley," said H R.

"OK, but who's groovy Suzy?"

"Just remember goody blue knickers."

The radio went dead but Jack got the message. Susan Warburton had been passed on to the Hell Raiser. Jack was far from a squeamish man but his limits fell far short of the Hell Raiser, who had been known to tie a naked girl across the bonnet of his Scammel S24 and drive her for miles, until frostbite had taught her the lesson his strap had not.