Hitchhiker (M/F, some F/F)
Posted: Fri May 01, 2020 1:13 am
The rain poured down as I drove my Mack Anthem truck at 5 AM through the gates of the border checkpoint at the Blue Water Bridge between Sarnia, Ontario, Canada and Port Huron, MI, USA, getting back from a trip to Toronto. The rain was part of a large system covering most of Ontario and Michigan. The 4-hour drive and the border crossing had been uneventful, one of the reasons I love to drive at night, and I was looking forward to making some good time on Interstate 69, until I would hit Interstate 94 and finally my goal for today, Chicago. As a 34-year-old owner/driver, I needed the trips. And being single helped, as I didn’t have to worry about a wife, kids or dogs. I have a trailer in Nevada, close to Las Vegas, that I call home, but it had been 9 weeks since I been there, I preferred to be on the road. I do not make money when I am ‘at home’.
“Hmmm, what is this?” I said to myself.
The truck in front of me was stopped, blocking the entrance to the Interstate. I didn’t have to wait long before he pulled away and it became clear why he had stopped. At the entrance of the Interstate stood a young woman dressed in shorts and a cut-off t-shirt, her long blond hair in a ponytail and flipflops on her feet. Her hand raised in that universal signal of wanting a ride. Normally I am skeptic about taking hitchhikers along, but she looked miserable in the wet weather. A small backpack stood next to her and that seemed to be all her luggage. Now at least I knew why the truck in front of me had stopped. I stopped next to her, leaned over and opened the passenger door.
“Where are you going?” I asked her.
Close up she was looking even more miserable then from a distance.
“Anywhere but this place.” She replied, looking hopeful at me.
She was good looking, the wet t-shirt covered a full set of breasts but not much more under her breasts, the shorts showed a nice bum and her face, even if it was wet, looked pretty with bright blue eyes.
“Come on in. I am heading to Chicago.”
I figured that with the load of empty pallets I was carrying, robbery was not really something I had to think about. Yes, my Mack was only two-month-old and only had 15k on the clock but stealing trucks in the rain was probably not what she had in mind.
“Hi, I am Elsa. Thank you for taking me along.”
Her accent was unfamiliar, it sounded European. She must have seen me think, as she answered my unasked question.
“I am from Sweden.”
My dirty mind imagined her in Swedish movies that my dad used to watch. I shook my head and focused on the road, entering the Interstate.
“Jack.” I said.
“Hi Jack, nice to meet you.”
Her voice was soft. I told her that she could use the towel in the storage cabinet to dry herself a bit. I could only offer her a bottle of water, I had my coffee before crossing into the US, and the border crossing could be difficult, so I carried as little as possible that could upset the border agent. Today had been a good crossing, just a quick paper check and I was through, but I had experienced differently.
“Thank you.” She said, while moving to the area behind the seats.
My Mack Anthem 64T has the 70” sleeper cabin, which gave a nice amount of space and since I am on my own most of the time, it was plenty of space. The cabin was high enough to be able to stand straight up. Behind the passenger seat was a fridge, a flatscreen TV and a microwave. My cabin had the one bed option, which meant I had extra storage above my bed with 3 cabinets. A little window on either side of the bed that was large enough for me, allowed some airflow and I could see out if I wanted to when resting. Behind my seat was a storage cabinet for hanging my clothes, the controls for the climate system and a few drawers. A multimedia system was built into the space above the front windshield. Under the bed, you had to lift the bed up, was a large storage space, which in my case was filled with useless stuff that I still had to get rid of.
“Thank you.” Elsa said.
She had changed her t-shirt from the wet and short one to a more regular one. It was a little tight and you had to be blind not to notice that she was not wearing a bra. She sat down in the passenger seat again and buckled up. She had left the flipflops with her wet t-shirt on the floor of the sleeper cabin.
“We can throw those away.” She said, when she saw me look at it.
“Fine with me.”
“I hung the towel on the hook. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, no issues.”
“Oh, and I put your magazine back where I found it.”
I had to think about what magazine she meant, until I remembered that I had been reading one of the Bondage Life magazines I own and had put it with the towels last evening before I left Toronto.
“Sorry.” I said, not knowing what to tell her.
“You are not a perv, are you?” She asked, looking at me with a side glance, which made her face look pretty.
“No. Would you like me to stop and let you out?”
“No, I trust you. Have you ever tied somebody up?” She asked, surprising me with the direct question.
I had indeed tied up several of my high school friends when I was younger and occasionally I had met women who enjoyed being tied up during my trucking life, so I told her.
“What is it like?” She asked.
“You mean you never played cowboy and Indians when you were younger?” I asked her.
“No, I actually have never been tied.”
“How old are you?”
“22. Do you want to see my ID?”
I shook my head, I believed her.
“I have only been tied as a kid; I like to see woman in bondage, not men.”
‘Bondage?” She asked.
“That what they call it when you get tied up. Maybe you should read the magazine. It is old, I got them from my dad, you could say tying up people ran in the family, but it will give you some insight in what bondage is about.” I told her.
She nodded, turned in her seat and grabbed the bondage magazine from its hiding place. It was Bondage Life 9, which was released in 1981 and showed Dawn Chauvain on the cover. I showed her how to turn on the reading light and she settled in, while I navigated the Michigan morning traffic.
“Don’t hesitate to ask me anything if you have questions.” I said
We had passed Lansing and almost made it to Interstate 94, before she finished the magazine, placing it on the dash.
“I like this ‘love bondage’ thing they are talking about. It seems that the person tied is more in control than the person applying the ropes.” She said.
I was impressed by her deduction.
“Up to a degree, yes. But imagine you are tied up in a basement and you have been left alone. At that point in time you do not have much control over the situation.”
“I read the stories in the magazine, especially the one where she was tied up and left for hours. That one was exciting. Unable to get away, depending on somebody else for your release, unless you can escape. Have you done that?”
I did not answer immediately. The rain had finally stopped and even the sun was starting to come out from behind the clouds. There was a truck stop coming up and I figured we could get some breakfast.
“Breakfast?” I asked her.
“Yeah, and I might want to buy some new shirts and shoes.” She grinned.
I pulled into the truck stop and we walked over to the restaurant. It was busy; Interstate 94 is used by a lot of traffic from Canada, but there was enough space left and we settled in a booth along the window.
“Breakfast is on me.” I said. “Order what you want. I will not stop until we get to Chicago, so make it count.”
Her demeanor relaxed, as if she had decided something, and when the waitress came for the order, she ended up ordering the same as me, the truck drivers’ breakfast and coffee.
“I’ll go to the store while we wait, okay?”
“You don’t have to ask me for permission.” I replied.
She smiled, a smile I really started to like, and got out of the booth and walked away.
“More coffee, luv?” The waitress asked.
I nodded. I had looked at Elsa walking away, a sway in her hips, and I noticed other men, and even a few women, looked at her while she passed them. Her long barefoot legs seem to float over the floor. The coffee was a welcome distraction, as my manhood was starting to stir.
“Focus.” I told myself.
By the time the breakfast was delivered to the table, Elsa walked back into the dining area. She was no longer barefoot, having bought yellow crocs, and was carrying two plastic bags.
“Did you empty the store?” I asked when she sat down.
“No, but I’ll show you want I bought after we get back to the truck, assuming you don’t mind me tagging along a little longer?”
“No, no problem.”
There was that smile again. During breakfast she told me why she was hitchhiking, she wanted to make her trip as random as possible. She did not have a fixed destination, she just wanted to see America. I told her that could be dangerous, but she told me she had a black belt in karate and knew how to handle herself. I got a newfound respect for her.
“I don’t know yet where I will be going after Chicago, but you are welcome to tag along.” I told her.
She smiled again and I lost myself in her eyes.
“Euh…” I forgot what I was going to say.
We finished breakfast, she told me about how she got to Port Huron and I told her how I ended up being a truck driver. I settled the bill and after visiting the restrooms, we headed back to the truck. I had to fill up gas and while I filled the tanks, she was unpacking the stuff she bought.
“All done.” I said, climbing into the cab and settling in my chair.
“Look what I bought?” She said.
I turned around, looked at the bed. My eyes got wide. Several coils of rope and a role of duct tape were lying on the bed. It was not the greatest rope, but a truck stop is not a bondage store, but it was soft.
“Will you tie me up?” She asked, a big smile on her face.
“Euh… Okay.” I replied, remembering to breathe again.
I pulled the truck away from the gas pump, another truck was waiting behind me, and pulled over into the large parking, staying away a little from the other trucks.
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yes, and I want it to be like Dawn in the magazine, tight. And don’t tell me when you will let me go, I want to feel like I have been kidnapped.”
I looked at her dumbfounded for a moment. This beautiful Swedish woman, who I had only met a few hours before, was asking me to tie her up. That was a first, but I did not let that stop me.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” I said, after turning off the truck.
She had moved onto the bed, sitting on it with folded legs, looking away from me, holding her hands together behind her back. I uncoiled the 30 feet long rope and cut a length of it. She had gotten ¼-inch rope, which worked well for restraining her. I wrapped her wrists 8 times, before cinching it and tying a knot.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
She experimented with how much she could move her wrists but found the ropes restricted movement decently.
“Interesting.” She told me.
It was an interesting answer, I thought. Not one I was expecting.
“Elbows?” I asked.
She just nodded. I figured that if she had done karate, she might be flexible, so I cut of another length of rope and wrapped it around her elbows, pulling them closer and closer. I was willing to stop when she would complain, but she never did, and the ropes pulled her elbows all the way together. This rope also got cinched and knotted. I noticed that she noticed that tying her elbows had forced her full breasts out even more. Her nipples were hard under the t-shirt. My dick was protesting because it was stuck and I had to stick my hands in my pants and move it, so it had more space. A good thing Elsa was looking the other way.
“Okay?” I asked.
She nodded, moving her arms, testing the feeling.
“I don’t think I would get out of the elbow rope without help.” She said.
“That’s the plan. But we’re not done yet.” I told her.
She grinned.
“Go do your worst, you evil kidnapper.” She said, laughing.
The next rope went several times around her waist and arms and was cinched between her arms and her back, removing the ability to move her arms. I had pulled the rope tight, almost like a corset, but she did not complain. The rope around her upper body was tight too, circling her body above and below her breasts, I even ran the rope around her shoulder, behind her neck and back to her other shoulder, before connecting the rope from her elbows to her neck, pulling everything tight. At this point she was helpless and relying on me to let her out.
“It feels weird.” She said. “As if I am being hugged.”
“Nothing hurts?” I asked.
“It feels fine. Helpless, but fine.” She replied, wriggling her upper body.
The ropes did not shift, as I knew they would not.
“Lie down.” I told her. “On your stomach.”
She moved around a little and ended up facing the passenger side of the truck. I cut another length of rope and crossed her ankles, which forced her knees out. I was waiting to see if I was getting a reaction, but she just accepted the position. Wrapping the rope around her ankles meant she could no longer close her legs. I was not sure if she was aware of it until I noticed her breathing had changed a little.
“Let me know when it is too tight.” I said, connecting the rope from her ankles to her elbows, pulling her ankles closer and closer to her hands.
She never said anything, and I tied the rope off when her hands were touching her feet. This was one flexible woman.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
She struggled a little, but it was difficult to move, I could tell.
“I feel helpless. Luckily, I can still scream for help.” She said.
I grinned and grabbed the duct tape. I tore of a strip of 8 inches and plastered it over her mouth. She hummed a little. I dropped the role of tape next to her and stuffed the rest of the rope, we had hardly used half of what she had bought, in one of the storage drawers I did not use.
“Okay?” I asked one more time.
“No.” She replied, the tape on her mouth not stopping her from talking.
I looked at her and smiled. She had worked the tape loose in a few minutes.
“I need a better gag if I want to feel really helpless.” She said.
I grinned.
“Yeah, this works in Hollywood, but not in real life.” I replied.
I grabbed one of my clean socks and rolled it up.
“Open up.” I said.
She had not seen what I had done, so the sock was a surprise to her, but she accepted it without complaining. Instead of using a single piece of tape to cover her mouth, I wrapped the tape around her head several times, covering her mouth from nose to chin.
“Now try to say something?” I told her.
“Hmmpppffff.”
She looked content that she could not talk.
“Still good?” I asked.
She nodded, her eyes smiling. I looked at the pretty Swedish girl on my bed and almost wanted to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming.
“I need to get driving again, otherwise I will miss my drop-off. You try to get a feeling for your situation. I will let you out sometime, but not anytime soon.” I told her.
I saw a glimmer of panic in her eyes, she probably realized what she had gotten herself into and that there was nothing she could do about it. I got back in the driver’s seat, started the engine, looked at Elsa once more, before heading out onto the Interstate again. Chicago, here we come!
“Hmmm, what is this?” I said to myself.
The truck in front of me was stopped, blocking the entrance to the Interstate. I didn’t have to wait long before he pulled away and it became clear why he had stopped. At the entrance of the Interstate stood a young woman dressed in shorts and a cut-off t-shirt, her long blond hair in a ponytail and flipflops on her feet. Her hand raised in that universal signal of wanting a ride. Normally I am skeptic about taking hitchhikers along, but she looked miserable in the wet weather. A small backpack stood next to her and that seemed to be all her luggage. Now at least I knew why the truck in front of me had stopped. I stopped next to her, leaned over and opened the passenger door.
“Where are you going?” I asked her.
Close up she was looking even more miserable then from a distance.
“Anywhere but this place.” She replied, looking hopeful at me.
She was good looking, the wet t-shirt covered a full set of breasts but not much more under her breasts, the shorts showed a nice bum and her face, even if it was wet, looked pretty with bright blue eyes.
“Come on in. I am heading to Chicago.”
I figured that with the load of empty pallets I was carrying, robbery was not really something I had to think about. Yes, my Mack was only two-month-old and only had 15k on the clock but stealing trucks in the rain was probably not what she had in mind.
“Hi, I am Elsa. Thank you for taking me along.”
Her accent was unfamiliar, it sounded European. She must have seen me think, as she answered my unasked question.
“I am from Sweden.”
My dirty mind imagined her in Swedish movies that my dad used to watch. I shook my head and focused on the road, entering the Interstate.
“Jack.” I said.
“Hi Jack, nice to meet you.”
Her voice was soft. I told her that she could use the towel in the storage cabinet to dry herself a bit. I could only offer her a bottle of water, I had my coffee before crossing into the US, and the border crossing could be difficult, so I carried as little as possible that could upset the border agent. Today had been a good crossing, just a quick paper check and I was through, but I had experienced differently.
“Thank you.” She said, while moving to the area behind the seats.
My Mack Anthem 64T has the 70” sleeper cabin, which gave a nice amount of space and since I am on my own most of the time, it was plenty of space. The cabin was high enough to be able to stand straight up. Behind the passenger seat was a fridge, a flatscreen TV and a microwave. My cabin had the one bed option, which meant I had extra storage above my bed with 3 cabinets. A little window on either side of the bed that was large enough for me, allowed some airflow and I could see out if I wanted to when resting. Behind my seat was a storage cabinet for hanging my clothes, the controls for the climate system and a few drawers. A multimedia system was built into the space above the front windshield. Under the bed, you had to lift the bed up, was a large storage space, which in my case was filled with useless stuff that I still had to get rid of.
“Thank you.” Elsa said.
She had changed her t-shirt from the wet and short one to a more regular one. It was a little tight and you had to be blind not to notice that she was not wearing a bra. She sat down in the passenger seat again and buckled up. She had left the flipflops with her wet t-shirt on the floor of the sleeper cabin.
“We can throw those away.” She said, when she saw me look at it.
“Fine with me.”
“I hung the towel on the hook. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, no issues.”
“Oh, and I put your magazine back where I found it.”
I had to think about what magazine she meant, until I remembered that I had been reading one of the Bondage Life magazines I own and had put it with the towels last evening before I left Toronto.
“Sorry.” I said, not knowing what to tell her.
“You are not a perv, are you?” She asked, looking at me with a side glance, which made her face look pretty.
“No. Would you like me to stop and let you out?”
“No, I trust you. Have you ever tied somebody up?” She asked, surprising me with the direct question.
I had indeed tied up several of my high school friends when I was younger and occasionally I had met women who enjoyed being tied up during my trucking life, so I told her.
“What is it like?” She asked.
“You mean you never played cowboy and Indians when you were younger?” I asked her.
“No, I actually have never been tied.”
“How old are you?”
“22. Do you want to see my ID?”
I shook my head, I believed her.
“I have only been tied as a kid; I like to see woman in bondage, not men.”
‘Bondage?” She asked.
“That what they call it when you get tied up. Maybe you should read the magazine. It is old, I got them from my dad, you could say tying up people ran in the family, but it will give you some insight in what bondage is about.” I told her.
She nodded, turned in her seat and grabbed the bondage magazine from its hiding place. It was Bondage Life 9, which was released in 1981 and showed Dawn Chauvain on the cover. I showed her how to turn on the reading light and she settled in, while I navigated the Michigan morning traffic.
“Don’t hesitate to ask me anything if you have questions.” I said
We had passed Lansing and almost made it to Interstate 94, before she finished the magazine, placing it on the dash.
“I like this ‘love bondage’ thing they are talking about. It seems that the person tied is more in control than the person applying the ropes.” She said.
I was impressed by her deduction.
“Up to a degree, yes. But imagine you are tied up in a basement and you have been left alone. At that point in time you do not have much control over the situation.”
“I read the stories in the magazine, especially the one where she was tied up and left for hours. That one was exciting. Unable to get away, depending on somebody else for your release, unless you can escape. Have you done that?”
I did not answer immediately. The rain had finally stopped and even the sun was starting to come out from behind the clouds. There was a truck stop coming up and I figured we could get some breakfast.
“Breakfast?” I asked her.
“Yeah, and I might want to buy some new shirts and shoes.” She grinned.
I pulled into the truck stop and we walked over to the restaurant. It was busy; Interstate 94 is used by a lot of traffic from Canada, but there was enough space left and we settled in a booth along the window.
“Breakfast is on me.” I said. “Order what you want. I will not stop until we get to Chicago, so make it count.”
Her demeanor relaxed, as if she had decided something, and when the waitress came for the order, she ended up ordering the same as me, the truck drivers’ breakfast and coffee.
“I’ll go to the store while we wait, okay?”
“You don’t have to ask me for permission.” I replied.
She smiled, a smile I really started to like, and got out of the booth and walked away.
“More coffee, luv?” The waitress asked.
I nodded. I had looked at Elsa walking away, a sway in her hips, and I noticed other men, and even a few women, looked at her while she passed them. Her long barefoot legs seem to float over the floor. The coffee was a welcome distraction, as my manhood was starting to stir.
“Focus.” I told myself.
By the time the breakfast was delivered to the table, Elsa walked back into the dining area. She was no longer barefoot, having bought yellow crocs, and was carrying two plastic bags.
“Did you empty the store?” I asked when she sat down.
“No, but I’ll show you want I bought after we get back to the truck, assuming you don’t mind me tagging along a little longer?”
“No, no problem.”
There was that smile again. During breakfast she told me why she was hitchhiking, she wanted to make her trip as random as possible. She did not have a fixed destination, she just wanted to see America. I told her that could be dangerous, but she told me she had a black belt in karate and knew how to handle herself. I got a newfound respect for her.
“I don’t know yet where I will be going after Chicago, but you are welcome to tag along.” I told her.
She smiled again and I lost myself in her eyes.
“Euh…” I forgot what I was going to say.
We finished breakfast, she told me about how she got to Port Huron and I told her how I ended up being a truck driver. I settled the bill and after visiting the restrooms, we headed back to the truck. I had to fill up gas and while I filled the tanks, she was unpacking the stuff she bought.
“All done.” I said, climbing into the cab and settling in my chair.
“Look what I bought?” She said.
I turned around, looked at the bed. My eyes got wide. Several coils of rope and a role of duct tape were lying on the bed. It was not the greatest rope, but a truck stop is not a bondage store, but it was soft.
“Will you tie me up?” She asked, a big smile on her face.
“Euh… Okay.” I replied, remembering to breathe again.
I pulled the truck away from the gas pump, another truck was waiting behind me, and pulled over into the large parking, staying away a little from the other trucks.
“Are you sure?” I asked her.
“Yes, and I want it to be like Dawn in the magazine, tight. And don’t tell me when you will let me go, I want to feel like I have been kidnapped.”
I looked at her dumbfounded for a moment. This beautiful Swedish woman, who I had only met a few hours before, was asking me to tie her up. That was a first, but I did not let that stop me.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” I said, after turning off the truck.
She had moved onto the bed, sitting on it with folded legs, looking away from me, holding her hands together behind her back. I uncoiled the 30 feet long rope and cut a length of it. She had gotten ¼-inch rope, which worked well for restraining her. I wrapped her wrists 8 times, before cinching it and tying a knot.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
She experimented with how much she could move her wrists but found the ropes restricted movement decently.
“Interesting.” She told me.
It was an interesting answer, I thought. Not one I was expecting.
“Elbows?” I asked.
She just nodded. I figured that if she had done karate, she might be flexible, so I cut of another length of rope and wrapped it around her elbows, pulling them closer and closer. I was willing to stop when she would complain, but she never did, and the ropes pulled her elbows all the way together. This rope also got cinched and knotted. I noticed that she noticed that tying her elbows had forced her full breasts out even more. Her nipples were hard under the t-shirt. My dick was protesting because it was stuck and I had to stick my hands in my pants and move it, so it had more space. A good thing Elsa was looking the other way.
“Okay?” I asked.
She nodded, moving her arms, testing the feeling.
“I don’t think I would get out of the elbow rope without help.” She said.
“That’s the plan. But we’re not done yet.” I told her.
She grinned.
“Go do your worst, you evil kidnapper.” She said, laughing.
The next rope went several times around her waist and arms and was cinched between her arms and her back, removing the ability to move her arms. I had pulled the rope tight, almost like a corset, but she did not complain. The rope around her upper body was tight too, circling her body above and below her breasts, I even ran the rope around her shoulder, behind her neck and back to her other shoulder, before connecting the rope from her elbows to her neck, pulling everything tight. At this point she was helpless and relying on me to let her out.
“It feels weird.” She said. “As if I am being hugged.”
“Nothing hurts?” I asked.
“It feels fine. Helpless, but fine.” She replied, wriggling her upper body.
The ropes did not shift, as I knew they would not.
“Lie down.” I told her. “On your stomach.”
She moved around a little and ended up facing the passenger side of the truck. I cut another length of rope and crossed her ankles, which forced her knees out. I was waiting to see if I was getting a reaction, but she just accepted the position. Wrapping the rope around her ankles meant she could no longer close her legs. I was not sure if she was aware of it until I noticed her breathing had changed a little.
“Let me know when it is too tight.” I said, connecting the rope from her ankles to her elbows, pulling her ankles closer and closer to her hands.
She never said anything, and I tied the rope off when her hands were touching her feet. This was one flexible woman.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
She struggled a little, but it was difficult to move, I could tell.
“I feel helpless. Luckily, I can still scream for help.” She said.
I grinned and grabbed the duct tape. I tore of a strip of 8 inches and plastered it over her mouth. She hummed a little. I dropped the role of tape next to her and stuffed the rest of the rope, we had hardly used half of what she had bought, in one of the storage drawers I did not use.
“Okay?” I asked one more time.
“No.” She replied, the tape on her mouth not stopping her from talking.
I looked at her and smiled. She had worked the tape loose in a few minutes.
“I need a better gag if I want to feel really helpless.” She said.
I grinned.
“Yeah, this works in Hollywood, but not in real life.” I replied.
I grabbed one of my clean socks and rolled it up.
“Open up.” I said.
She had not seen what I had done, so the sock was a surprise to her, but she accepted it without complaining. Instead of using a single piece of tape to cover her mouth, I wrapped the tape around her head several times, covering her mouth from nose to chin.
“Now try to say something?” I told her.
“Hmmpppffff.”
She looked content that she could not talk.
“Still good?” I asked.
She nodded, her eyes smiling. I looked at the pretty Swedish girl on my bed and almost wanted to pinch myself to make sure I was not dreaming.
“I need to get driving again, otherwise I will miss my drop-off. You try to get a feeling for your situation. I will let you out sometime, but not anytime soon.” I told her.
I saw a glimmer of panic in her eyes, she probably realized what she had gotten herself into and that there was nothing she could do about it. I got back in the driver’s seat, started the engine, looked at Elsa once more, before heading out onto the Interstate again. Chicago, here we come!