That Thing Around Your Neck

A guy in a suit spots the hitchhiker on a dusty shoulder, dark hair loose, short skirt riding up. He stops. She climbs in, eyes him like she knows exactly what she wants. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other in her hair, forcing her head down. She takes him deep, nose pressed to the cotton, lips tight around every inch. The tires hum while her throat works, spit running over his fingers. He pushes harder, fucking her mouth until her mascara streaks and her eyes water. She stays on him, gagging but hungry, until he grunts and pulls out. Thick ropes land on her tongue and spill down her chin. She swallows what she can, a grin cutting across her face. The road keeps rolling like nothing happened.