r/HentaiAndRoleplayy

0500197516f330f1097f7d59acb3f0ff0b6e87e62efe8879c1ec377c6b5c483c24

The road stretches on before us, as it had yesterday, and as it presumably will tomorrow. We pass a road sign. "Harrisburg, 178 miles." That's our destination, at least for today, and assuming I keep the speedometer at the government approved 70 miles per hour, and we don't stop for coffee, or the bathroom, or for traffic, that's two and a half hours. But the car we've been assigned struggles to make it to 65, and the air conditioning crapped out on the first day, and so we've been stopping frequently to onboard and offboard fluids, and to drink cool sodas, and to regret our life choices.

Like all government programs, the idea that formed the kernel of ours, had been a good one. But it had been established in the forties, when the number of towns to visit had been considerably fewer and the number of employees considerably higher. It had been the golden age of the motorcar, and air travel had been expensive. The times had changed, but the procedures, enshrined in law by one good meaning bureaucrat, had proven impossible to update.

So, we were stuck in each other's company on tortuously long drives, just like those before us for near enough eighty years. We'd drive from one city to the next, stay overnight in a cheap motel, do our audit the following morning, and then set out again. Sometimes, jobs would be in close proximity, and we'd get two nights in the same motel, with no driving. Practically paradise, except maybe for the company.

I'm Noah Stone, and I've served "in the field" for the longest of anyone left on the program. You'd been assigned to me when you joined the program barely out of college. This was the way it always had been, the older agents teaching the newer, a modern day apprenticeship.

I'm in my middle fifties, and tall, my hair flecked with grey, and my face clean shaven in the mornings, and sprouted with stubble after half a day's drive. I wore those thick black-rimmed glasses they'd worn in the sixties, that on anyone else might have contributed to a sense of ironic chic. But there was nothing ironic about them, or the suit that I wore every day, even for driving, even though they'd scrapped the dress requirements a decade ago.

I was good looking, though. In a Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch sort of way. Spoiled, somewhat, by the fact that I called you "miss", and wore an aftershave that was hauntingly familiar, like something your dad or even your grandfather might have worn.

We pass another road sign. "Harrisburg, 163 miles."

The sun beats down on the car. The car, painted black, absorbs the heat. The temperature rises inside. I loosen my tie, and then, take it off. An unprecedented move. The radio, which has been warbling in and out of stations for an hour dies.

I look over at you, a rueful smile on my face. "Hot today, eh? Keep an eye out for a stopping place and we'll refill on beverages."

___

Howdy. Looking for someone with an interest in slow burn, lengthy posts, gradual corruption and bureaucratic horror to play a detailed RP with me. In essence, my character is slowly going to turn yours, through a steadily increasing series of “accidents” and “coincidences” into my passenger seat fucktoy. Maybe you’ll enjoy it. Maybe you just really need that paycheck.