Her name was Robin Stiles, 26, from the Chicago area, and was on her way to California. No reason, she just wanted to see California and the Pacific Ocean. To an impressionable young man she was a goddess. We had been talking for about 20 minutes when Robin invited me into her car. She said she didn’t want my knees to buckle on me when I stood up. I laughed and got into the passenger seat. Of course, my knees were screaming at me as I stood up. I think I hid the pain pretty well. Robin was a widow, her husband, Brad, was killed by a drunk driver three years ago. She told me six months ago she decided to take some time for herself and go wherever the wind blew her. The Corvette had been her husband’s pride and joy. Robin thought he would like the fact that the car was making the trips that they had planned to take together. I was mesmerized by her and hung on her every word. You see, I didn’t know what to make of or how to handle a woman like Robin. I could hold my own with the girls. I watched for a second one, but it took far too long to appear. I stood up and slipped a digit into her pussy. Emma was more than ready for me. More than ready for my pulsing and aching cock. I wiggled it about for good measure but all it did was make a sloshy sound which made me giggle. Emma’s breathing was remarkably controlled. Her whole body rose and fell in a calming and relaxing fashion. I couldn’t help myself. Her position was too vulnerable, her whole demeanour, too calm and controlled. My hand came down on her bum with an almighty resounding smack. Emma shrieked. She certainly wasn’t expecting that, as she fell forward onto the bed with the force of my hand. I was expecting her to turn around and give me some verbal abuse. I was surprised, but after she stopped panting hard, she merely pushed herself back into position making sure the rope was taught around her neck. Emma changed her position slightly to provide more stability, her knees more forward and her backside more.
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