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Truck Stop

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Three hours on the road and Susan was already tired, tense, and almost giddy with fatigue, yet still more than an hour from the hotel and Joanne’s big bachelorette weekend. She’d hoped to time her arrival so she’d get there sometime after eleven– early enough to still make an appearance, but late enough that the girls would be too drunk to notice if she quietly slipped away to the hotel cocktail lounge in search of more interesting companionship-

-but her departure had been more rushed and harried than she’d counted on and the Friday rush hour traffic particularly bad, and now she was pushing it and tired. She really needed to get some coffee or splash some water on her face or just get out and stretch the cramps out of her body.

Around her was nothing but darkness, the interstate running like a corridor between two blocks of infinite emptiness, and the occasional light in the distance only increased her sense of aloneness. Joanne had given her fastidious and complicated directions on how to get to the hotel while avoiding the numerous construction sites that had popped up over the summer, and Susan glanced at them now as she drove, trying to memorize or at least make sense of them. There was a map included, but Susan wasn’t that good with maps, especially when she was tooling along at 70 miles an hour trying to read them by the light of her dashboard, her mind already preoccupied with strongly mixed feelings about this whole affair.

Joanne was a good friend, or had been before she’d gotten engaged. Since then, she’d thrown herself into this whole marriage and wedding thing with alarming eagerness for someone who used to be as cynical and dismissive as Susan herself. They used to make fun of girls who’d get all hysterical about betting married, and now she’d become one herself, milking every party and shower and ritual for all it was worth. It made Susan uncomfortable, especially since she didn’t think Joanne’s fiancée was any great shakes. A nice guy, but dull. Joanne could have done better. Susan herself would do better, whenever and if ever she finally decided to, and assuming she found a man worthy of that kind of attention. Meanwhile she was content to look and sample occasionally, being every bit as picky and discriminating as she’d always been. She just found this new side of Joanne slightly annoying: her happiness and self-satisfaction came of a little too much as smugness and superiority.

She put down the written directions and picked up Joanne’s map and held it against the wheel as she drove, her eyes flicking up and back from road to map, road to map. It was hopeless, though, and frustrating, not to mention dangerous, trying to read a map while driving, and she put it back on the seat to concentrate on driving. The road was surprisingly deserted, almost desolate. She hadn’t seen another pair of headlights in a long time.

She wasn’t worried though. There should be an oasis or truck stop somewhere not far up ahead, and when she found it she could get some coffee and unkink herself and study the map again, or maybe just ask for directions. People were always happy to give her directions or help her out, and she had no qualms about asking.

That made he think about the trucker she’d met earlier, and that made her smile. Maybe she’d run into him there, and she imagined his reaction if she were to just sidle up to him and ask him for directions –the way his jaw would drop as he looked up from his coffee, after what she’d done to him earlier. She’d been a perfect little bitch and she really did owe him an apology, and that would make a perfect excuse for her to approach him. She could put on her best little-girl-lost act and explain that she’d been upset and in a hurry and hadn’t meant to appear so rude and ungrateful. After all, he’d only been trying to help and her behavior had been inexcusable.

She also wanted to see if she could get him to confess to what he’s seen in the trunk of her car. That would be an awful thing to do, but it would be awfully interesting too.She felt her face grow warm as she thought of it, and she pulled her rear-view mirror around so she could see if she were blushing and take a look at just what kind of girl would do something like that.

Her face looked good, though, her makeup still perfect. She tried out her innocent face, then smiled and put the mirror back.

It had been kind of fun, and certainly the most interesting thing that had happened on this whole, deathly dull trip. Sometimes making men squirm was fun.No. Actually, making men squirm was always fun, and that was the problem. It was too tempting, and sometimes it caused trouble, like with this trucker.

She’d just been leaving an oasis shortly after starting out when she’d heard that sickening flop, flop, flop that could only mean a flat tire. Swearing and impatient, she’d immediately pulled over to the shoulder of the expressway entrance ramp and stopped the car, put on her blinkers and gotten out to look at it.

It was flat alright, almost all the way down to the rim, and all she could do was look at it. She was no mechanic, and she was already dressed for the party in her snug charcoal gray skirt and her femmey ivory silk blouse with the bow at the throat, so that all she’d have to do when she got to the party was slip on her stockings and change her driving sandals for heels and she’d be all set. And she certainly wasn’t about to ruin her good clothes trying to change a filthy tire, an operation she had only the vaguest notion about anyhow. She’d stood there in the dark by her crippled Yaris, helpless and frustrated as the cars and trucks lucky enough to have intact tires sped past her without so much as a glance.

It was mostly dark before she finally decided she’d have to suck it up and make the hike back to the oasis service station for help, and that’s when she heard the crunch of gravel and looked up to see the big, black, semi rolling to a stop on the shoulder behind her car, engine rumbling and air brakes hissing. She was already in a snit by now, having had ample time to feel ignored and resentful. It was about time, she thought, and she stood there impatiently as his air brakes huffed and squealed and he brought that big behemoth to a stop maybe ten feet away, leaving her standing in the glare of his headlights.

He turned off his brights and now she could see it better. The thing was huge, even overwhelming, and it dwarfed her little Yaris in a way that gave her a strange excited tingle. Except for instinctively pulling her skirt down when one passed her on the highway, she’d never really paid much attention to trucks before, but now one stood only a few steps away, rumbling and threatening, and she looked at the massive chrome grill and huge, dark windows with something like awe, or as much awe as she could muster in her irritation.

The cab was black and decorated with elaborate electric-green pin-striping and festooned with lights so it looked like the demon spawn of an angry whale and a carnival fun house. The escutcheon on the front said “Kenworth,” and whatever wasn’t painted and pin-striped was chromed and gleaming. Up and toward the back of the cab the roof jogged upwards, and Susan remembered that long-haul trucks often had actual beds in them so the drivers could spell each other without stopping. Apparently, this one had a queen-size.

The door had opened and a man had swung out, a very good-looking man, not too young, just about Susan’s fantasy age, the age of natural authority. (Not the age of the men she actually dated, though, who tended to be much younger and easily biddable.) His jaw was dark with stubble and his eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, even though the sun had set and it was dark enough for headlights. He’d paused there leaning out of his cab looking at her, then jumped down and strolled over. He was wearing tight jeans and Western boots and a black tank top that showed off big shoulders, a tight waist, and smoothly muscled arms. His hands were covered by black leather fingerless gloves that looked like they’d seen some use, and Susan noticed them at once. She liked men’s hands, and secretly she liked leather, and his hands in those gloves looked wonderfully wicked. He was what Joanne would have called U.S. Choice, Triple A Restaurant Grade back in her pre-engagement days, when they talked about men in such terms.

Susan crossed her arms over her breasts , having absolutely no faith in her gauzy bra’s ability to protect her and well aware of her nipples’ alarming propensity to stiffen at the most embarrassing times, and tried to strike the right pose between female strength and feminine helplessness. She needed someone’s help, but she refused to be intimidated by this man or his truck and she certainly wasn’t going to beg or grovel. She wished she hadn’t left her jacket in the car.

“Trouble?” he asked, and Susan just nodded toward the tire.

” It went totally flat just like that, just as I was leaving the oasis. And of course it would be now, at the worst possible time, just when I need to be somewhere.”

He nodded.

“On business,” she added.

He leaned over and looked at the tire and Susan got a good look at his tight, male ass in those snug jeans. A red bandana hung from his back pocket, like a warning flag.

Susan checked herself. He might be U.S. Choice Triple A and great fantasy material, but he was a truck driver and hardly up to her standards. The right tone here was one of polite, professional detachment, as when dealing with an underling at work: pleasant, but not inviting.

“How’s the spare?” he asked.

She was so distracted, she didn’t understand the question at first.

“Oh!” She reached into the car and popped the trunk release, then hurriedly grabbed her jacket from the back seat and threw it on as he moved around to the back of the car. It was quite warm, but she wanted the protection just the same.

She heard him moving things in the trunk and suddenly froze in a horror of embarrassment as she remembered what was back there: all the gag gifts for Joanne’s party–sex toys and vibrators, dildoes, cuffs and chains and whips–all the things she could find online to spice up the bachelorette weekend, and most of them still unwrapped. Of course she’d been put in charge of this part of the festivities, a role she’d rather prided herself on as the group’s resident kink expert. But now… There was even an inflatable male love doll!

She held her breath, wondering if she should try to explain, but she couldn’t move, and she knew instinctively that condescending to explain would only make things worse. Other trucks were rumbling by, grinding gears and up shifting as they merged onto the interstate, and she wondered if they could see into her trunk too and see all these dirty toys displayed.

He seemed to be back there an awfully long time, but finally she heard the thunk of the spare hitting the ground and he emerged holding the jack, his face blank as far as she could tell.

“Spare’s good,” he said matter-of-factly. “Full sized, too. You don’t see that in these little cars. It should get you where you’re going.”

Susan smiled tightly but didn’t know what else to say. She stood by the guardrail as the trucker got down and loosened the lugs and then jacked up the car and replaced the tire.

“I really appreciate this,” she said weakly. “It’s really good of you to help me out like this.”

He worked without speaking, his expression blank behind the mirrored glasses, or did she detect a little smirk? She watched him, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he worked, and she burned with embarrassment. He quickly had the lugs back on and finger-tight, then lowered the car and removed the jack. He stood up and torqued the nuts down till they squeaked, then popped the wheel cover back on and hammered it into place with the heel of his hand. So the gloves were for more than just show, she thought.

The whole thing had taken maybe five minutes. He picked up the flat in one hand and the jack in the other and carried them around to the trunk.

Again, he seemed to take a long time to stow the stuff away, and now she was sure he was going through the gifts and snickering, maybe making a mental list to share with his trucker buddies on his CB. Soon everyone would know about this hot brunette in her Yaris with a trunk full of fuck-toys, and they’d be flashing lights at her and honking for the rest of the trip.

He slammed the trunk and came around toward her, wiping his hands on his bandana and showing her the first real grin she’d seen. He’d taken his sunglasses off and they hung from the front of tank top. In the glow of the truck’s headlights, his eyes were absurdly beautiful, a very pale brown and terribly deep. She hadn’t expected that, and his eyes and the smile infuriated her. She knew why he was smiling.

“Well, thank you very much,” she said with as much ice in her voice as she could muster. “Let me give you something for your trouble.”

She reached into her wallet and found a twenty and held it out to him. “Is this enough?”

He waved her off with a smile, but Susan persisted.

“Thirty, then?” she asked. “Forty? Fifty?”

“No, lady, that’s alright. It’s just a courtesy of the road.”

His smile angered her. At least to his credit he’d called her “lady.” Had he called her “honey” or “baby” or shown the faintest sign of a smirk, there’s no telling what she would have done.

“Just a courtesy of the road?” She added a ten to the twenty in her hand and thrust the bills at him. “Here. For your trouble. If I were you I’d take it, because that’s really all you’re going to get!”

He stared at her blankly, and she saw the double reflection of her angry face in his stupid mirrored sunglasses, and that so infuriated her that she just threw the money at him and turned and marched to her car and got in. She started it up and began to pull away, then stopped and put her head out the widow, craning her neck around to see him.

“I happen to be a salesperson!” she exclaimed. “Those are my samples. I’m a salesperson! That’s all it is, so grow up!”

She threw the car into gear and stomped on the gas, hoping to squeal away in a screech of tires and a spray of gravel, but the polite little Yaris refused to cooperate, and instead she pulled away from him with frustrating and almost humiliating slowness. She never dared look back.

* * *

But that had been some hours ago, and as the initial anger and humiliation had faded and the tedium of the drive had grown, Susan first realized the humor of the situation, and then its erotic potential, like the set-up for some old dirty joke. Meanwhile no trucks had honked at her, or flashed their lights, or given any sign of having been tipped off about her, so she supposed her fears of the trucker spreading rumors had been unfounded, maybe even a kind of secret fantasy.

She remembered that handsome jaw and the strength in those arms and shoulders; the virility of his ass and the dark suggestiveness of those wicked leather gloves. She remembered how quiet he’d been and how inscrutable, a kind of Clint Eastwood masculinity she’d always found irresistible in fantasy, and threatening in real life. He’d been the kind of man who could be dangerous once he’d set his mind on something, who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

And she’d made him angry! She’d been rude to him and pissed him off! What might he have done to her had he dragged her into his truck to teach her some manners? What kind of sensual revenge would he inflict on her? Would he make her unlock the trunk again and use those toys on her and call her dirty names? Or worse, make her use them on herself as he watched?

She drove on in the dark, playing one CD after another till she was bored with them, then searching the radio dial, then just turning it off and driving in silence. The music irritated her. So did the party. And the trucker. She’d been driving for too long and the cramped interior and the car’s vibrations were getting to her, and so were the clothes she was wearing and her thin, seductive underwear. All those and the enclosing darkness conspired to keep her at a level of low, simmering desire. She couldn’t stop thinking about his shoulders and his eyes; the strong hands in the leather, fingerless gloves, the big truck with the bed in the cab.

Why, she wondered, did she fantasize about one kind of man and yet always pursue another? It had never really occurred to her before, but in her sexual dreams it was always someone like the trucker, someone hard and passionate and implacable, who’d take her and use her and make her do things she’d never ordinarily do, quenching his lust in her body. And yet the men she went after–like the type of man she envisioned meeting tonight in the hotel bar–were all essentially nice guys: considerate, respectful, polite, and earnest in their honest but uncertain efforts to please her.

The answer was easy, she thought: fantasy was fantasy, and reality was a different matter altogether. In fantasy you walked fearlessly into the lions’ den. In reality you looked for a small dog you could walk on a short leash.

She made herself stop thinking about all that. She sat up straight and deliberately focused her attention on the road. When at last she saw the GAS FOOD LODGING sign that signaled a truck stop ahead, she sighed with relief and put her turn signal on far in advance of the exit. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t seen a car for miles.

She slowed down as soon as she hit the ramp and slid her window down. Warm, humid air filled the car, and she turned off the AC and leaned her head out the window, bathing her face in the breeze and letting it wash through her hair. She smelled fertile earth with a touch of fall and the more subtle scent of cooling concrete and tarmac and gasoline, the smells of the road.

The truck stop wasn’t one of the big, national franchises she’d expected, but was instead an older and somewhat seedier place. The gas pumps and service station (closed at this time of night) still dominated one end of the huge, empty lot, but the restaurant-coffee shop off to the side had a worn and down-at-the-heels look. Behind the coffee shop and up a slight hill there was what appeared to be a motel, mostly dark, with an old “Welcome Truckers” sign.

The fresh air revived her, surprisingly so, so that by the time she pulled into the car park area, she’d changed her plans. Instead of heading immediately for the restaurant and some hot coffee, she drove toward the far end of the lot where she could park in the night shadows of some big trees. She needed to unkink her muscles and a good stretch and the walk to the restaurant should do it, but first she needed to turn off the car and just close her eyes and savor the silence for a moment.

She’d just turned the car off and was leaning back in her seat when she happened to notice the semi’s parked and idling in the shadowy darkness at the far end of the lot, and there it was: the big black and green Kenworth: his truck. She knew it immediately.

Her tiredness was forgotten. She normally couldn’t tell one truck from another, but she knew this was his, there was no mistaking it, and she sat there for a while just gazing at it, trying to understand how he could have beaten her here. She didn’t remember him passing her, but he must have to have arrived here first.

But then, she really hadn’t been paying much attention. She’d been lost in a fog, in day dream and fantasies, and it’s entirely possible he’d passed her somewhere along the way.

But he hadn’t honked. He hadn’t flashed his lights or blown his air horn or come up and tailgated her or done anything to harass or even acknowledge her, and that bothered her. After the rude and unconscionable way she’d treated him, didn’t he at least owe her the discourtesy of an insult? She’d been terrible and she admitted it and was ready to apologize, and here he’d just ignored her. Ignored the whole thing, like she didn’t even matter or he couldn’t be bothered.

She stared at his truck but it was impossible to see inside. The engine was running, she had no doubt of that, but the lights were all off except for some amber and white markers on the cab and some strangely intense blue lights that appeared to be on the mirrors. The various lights confused her. Did they mean something? That he was inside the truck, away from the truck, eating, sleeping? She didn’t know. The big front windshield was made almost opaque by the truck’s inner darkness. It was like a black mirror reflecting the leaves of the big poplar trees at the edge of the lot as they were tossed in the warm and fitful breeze. She sat and watched his truck for a long time, but there was no movement, and at last she pulled her eyes away and let out a long breath.

She needed to focus and come back to reality and forget about him. She needed to go in and use the washroom, get some coffee, and then find someone who could help her make sense of these directions. She stuffed the map and the directions into her bag, opened the door and stepped out onto the tarmac

She knew her ivory blouse must be visible to anyone in the truck even at this distance, so she kept one eye on it as she took just to inhale the warm air and stretch. She held the cuffs of the blouse against her palms as she stretched, throwing her shoulders back and pushing her arms out behind her. It was a trick Joanne had taught her years ago. Holding the sleeves drew the fabric tight against her breasts as she stretched, just in case anyone was watching. But nothing moved as far as she could tell.

She was about to lock the car and walk over to the coffee shop when she paused and reconsidered. The breeze was blowing her skirt and even wafting inside her blouse, The night was romantic, and she felt feminine and free. She opened the car door and reached into the passenger well to retrieve the hot little shoes she’d just bought for Joanne’s party, took them out of their tissue-lined box and kicked off her sandals. She slipped the heels onto her feet and stood up.

There. She now stood about two and half inches taller than before, and felt a lot more impressive and confident. She knew exactly what the shoes did for her legs, and Susan had great legs. She picked up the sandals and threw them into the car, then locked the door and headed briskly across the lot for the coffee shop.

She walked briskly but leisurely too. The breeze felt good and so did using her legs and the way her heels made her hips sway against her skirt. She stood up straight but not too straight. She knew how to use the walk, and if he was in the truck, she gave him a good long look.

The coffee shop was brightly lit and icy cold, the air conditioner jacked all the way up. There were some families eating weary dinners and a booth full of youngish-looking women in garish makeup and teased hair laughing and talking too loudly in the far corner, but mostly it was truckers as far as she could tell, in baseball caps and quilted vests, sweatshirts and chained wallets. She stood by the door holding her bag and scanned the place, casually searching for him as she looked for the ladies’ room, but she didn’t see him, and her disappointment annoyed her even as she brushed it aside. The sign for the restrooms was clear, posted on the back wall, and pointed toward a corridor way back beyond the booth full of girls.

Susan was used to the stares of men and their various permutations and she knew how to handle them, but there was something about the way these truckers stared at her that was a little disconcerting, as if they were really sizing her up. Some of them put down their coffee cups or stopped eating to check her out, a few even leaning out of their booths to get a better look at her legs as she walked by. She felt like she was being openly appraised, and it was a bit unsettling. Even the girls in the booth stopped their chatter and stared at her, and the sisterly smile she gave them was met with palpable coolness.

It was just a creepy place, she decided. Something Twilight Zone-ish about it. The corridor leading to the restrooms was grimy and turned left and then right. Several lights were out and some of the floor tiles were loose, so she was thankful to find the ladies’ room fairly clean and well-maintained. She used the toilet then came out and washed her hands, then washed again and splashed cool water in her face, holding her hands there as the water dripped through her fingers. It felt good and seemed to revive her. Suddenly she was tired of this: tired of driving and tired of this silly game she was playing with the trucker. She wanted to get to Joanne’s and the hell with all this.

She dried her face and then brushed out her hair, and after freshening her makeup she decided she felt much better. She decided she’d get her coffee to go at the counter, and ask the waitress there for help with the directions. She had no desire to sit in this place and drink coffee and be stared at, the only solo woman. All she had to do now was run the gauntlet and get to the counter, get her coffee and information, and she’d be at the hotel in less than an hour.

She straightened her skirt and fluffed the bow at the throat of her blouse, feeling much better, more like her old self, but when she took her bag and stepped out into the corridor, she found three truckers standing there blocking her way back into the restaurant, and blocking it deliberately. Two of them leaned on the wall and the third stood in the middle of the corridor. They looked like they’d been waiting for her and Susan felt a sick flicker of panic in her stomach.

The man in front wore a hoody sweatshirt and a Texas rangers cap. He touched his fingers to the bill and said, “Evening, honey. You must be new here, huh? I don’t believe I’ve seen you ’round before.”

The man behind him was big, professional-wrestler sized, and he pushed the first man away. “You’re out of order, Mel! Get out of the way!” He looked apologetically at Susan. “Missy, you don’t want anything to do with this buttwipe! I was the one saw you first, soon’s you walked in that door, and fair is fair.”

Mel turned. “Mind your own manners, Hamilton! This ain’t finders-keepers and that’s not how it works. And didn’t I hear you say you were already three hours overdue and you had no time for dicking around?”

The third man ignored this exchange and peered around Hamilton’s bulk, leering at her. He smiled and closed his eyes, then extended an obscenely long tongue and wagged it at her in a way Susan realized was intended to be sexual.

She stood speechless, horrified and afraid. Hamilton and the first guy were arguing, and Susan started backing up, feeling along the wall behind her for the door to the ladies’ room, hoping they wouldn’t follow her in, when suddenly she felt a hand on her upper arm. She turned, and saw the hand in the fingerless glove wrapped around her upper arm. She turned and saw her trucker, sunglasses off now, his expression soft, yet serious.

“I’m afraid you boys are mistaken,” he said. “This lady’s a friend of mine and just passing through. She doesn’t work here or have anything to do with this place. Just passing through.”

The three men looked at him with various expressions of anger and disappointment, but he didn’t give them time to reply. He pulled her back down the corridor and away from them, around a corner, and then out through a big glass door that led into the parking lot. But even outside he didn’t let go of her, holding her arm tightly and half-pulling her, half-marching her away from the coffee shop and into the darkness and warmth of the night. He carried her along till they’d put a good fifty yards between themselves and the shop, and then he let go of her.

“My God!” Susan gasped. “What was all that about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just a case of mistaken identity.” His answer seemed to please him and he smiled.

Susan, however, only now felt the surge of adrenal fear. She’d been too shocked and surprised while it had been going on, but now she suddenly felt her legs start to grow weak and her ankles wobbled in the new shoes. He took her arm again–her forearm this time–and guided her along, almost lifting her up as she slumped against him.

He nodded down at her feet. “Those your driving shoes?”

“These? No, I…”

He smiled. “You want to watch what you wear in there. Some people get the wrong ideas.”

Slowly, as her panic subsided, she understood what he was saying: the seedy truck stop, the shabby motel; lonely, horny men. The garishly-dressed girls with the teased hair. And her walking in in her sexy party clothes and her brand-new wicked heels.

“Oh my God!” she said. “Oh my God I don’t believe it! They thought I was a–?”

“You would have been fine. They would have figured out they made some mistake and that would have been it, red faces all around but no harm done. Or not much anyhow.”

She felt suddenly weak again, weak and incredibly stupid. She stopped short and he stopped with her, keeping an eye on her and waiting patiently for her shock to pass.

“You’re lucky I saw you when you pulled in,” he said. “I was in the truck, catching up my log, but you’re pretty hard to miss dressed like that. I knew right off you’d draw some attention, and probably not the kind you wanted.”

“I can’t believe it! They thought I was… working there?”

He took her arm and started them walking again, headed for her car.

“This is a funny place,” he said. “A lot of gypsies stop here, and over-limits, illegals, scale-dodgers. They attract a certain kind of crowd. Not that they’re bad people, no worse than anyone else and just trying to make a living, but sometimes it can get a little wild west.”

“Wow,” she said. “I never would have dreamed…”

“No. Why should you? This isn’t your world. You’re just a tourist. Just passing through. You have to live here to understand.”

She snuck a look at him, just to check, and sure enough, her heart did something heart-ish. He was gorgeous and he was dangerous, and he was the closest she’d ever been to the kind of man she dreamt about in her fantasies.

“This is the second time tonight you’ve saved me,” she said.

He looked down and smiled, and his smile, when it came, was disarming: charmingly boyish and a little naughty, as if he knew smiling was against the rules but he was going to do it anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, and he put the smile away and looked at her. “That’s funny, isn’t it? Almost like it means something.”

He looked at her and Susan was caught in his gaze. She desperately tried to think of something to say, but nothing would come. Finally she said, “Listen– I wanted to tell you. About what happened before, at the oasis back there with my tire and everything…”

He shrugged, and that shrug broke her heart, because it wasn’t the “aw-shucks-it-weren’t-nothing” shrug she’d been expecting. Instead it was a gesture of real indifference, and it meant that the way she’d behaved back there had alienated him to the point where he really didn’t care about her. He’d withdrawn and made himself unavailable, and in that instant Susan saw that he stopped to help all sorts of people, and that some people were gracious and warm about it and made him feel good, and others were ungrateful assholes about it and those he just cut off and didn’t think about any more. And Susan had planted herself firmly in this latter group.

” Here’s your car,” he said. He stopped some ten feet away, as if he didn’t dare get too close.

Susan didn’t know what to do. She almost felt as if she should invite him inside, maybe offer him a ride over to his truck, which was absurd. She had no choice but to walk to her car.

“There’s another place around six, seven miles down the road where you can get your coffee and whatever else you need,” he said. “It’s all legit, all licensed and inspected, and no one’s going to give you any trouble. Can you make it that far? You got your keys?”

Susan looked in her bag and suddenly started shaking. Her hands started shaking and she felt a chill, as if in a delayed response to the scene in the coffee shop, but she knew that wasn’t it. He’d turned and started walking back to his truck, leaving her alone and she didn’t want him to go. She couldn’t accept that, though, and she wouldn’t, and so her hands were shaking as she fumbled through her bag for her keys, her mind insisting that she find them and leave and her hands refusing to obey.

She finally found them, got the key in the lock and opened the door, then stood there, still unable to get into the car. He was only ten yards away or so, maybe less.

“Wait!” she called. “Wait! I don’t even know your name.”

He turned around, walking backwards, and she saw the Smile again. ” Cropper,” he said. “Mark Cropper.”

He turned back and kept on walking, and in desperation she yelled, “I’m Susan. Susan Delacourt.” As if that would stop him. As if that meant anything to him.

He waved idly over his shoulder but didn’t stop, and Susan watched him go. He took his time crossing the empty lot and finally reached his truck, unlocked the door, then pulled himself up and into the cab. The door closed and all was still except for the wind in the trees and the faint rumble of the idling diesels.

Susan sighed and got into the car. She locked the doors, put the key in the ignition, then put her hands on the wheel and sat there, listening to nothing, thinking of nothing, just feeling the low murmur of the parked trucks’ engines in her body, like the purring of so many huge, sleeping jungle cats. The wind gusted and buffeted her car and made it rock, but she hardly noticed. The fear was gone now, the fear from the coffee shop, and had been replaced by a familiar, mild sadness. It was what she felt whenever she was alone with nothing to occupy her mind, and it was a feeling she dreaded. It wasn’t a pain so much as it was an emptiness that was always there, even under the noise of her other activities and diversions, as if it were her heart’s own idling speed.

But it was anger she was aware of now, a softly glowing anger. Anger at the sadness and at the men in the restaurant and at Mark too for leaving her so easily like this, for treating her so casually and dismissively. She knew she should just start the car and get out of here before something else happened, but she couldn’t. She was all alone here, sitting parked in this empty lot somewhere off this endless, faceless highway, neither here nor there but some place in between, with nothing but her thoughts and feelings and this idling sadness that was making her angry, and she didn’t know what to do.

She stared at his truck. Nothing moved: no lights went on, no change in the hum of the engine, no signs of life. Maybe he was going to sleep in there. Maybe he was finishing his log. Maybe he was in there thinking about her and masturbating. Who knew what he was doing?

Minutes passed with nothing moving but the wind and the shadows from the trees. Another semi pulled into the lot, engine revving, brakes squealing; one pulled out and headed for the highway. A family left. The trees stirred in the late summer wind.

Finally Susan reached into the bag on the seat beside her and took out the package of charcoal gray, seamed, Cuban-heel, thigh-high stockings she’d bought for the party. She punctured the cellophane with her thumb nail and tore it off, unwrapped the stockings and shook them out. They were wicked things, wonderfully lethal when used with the right amount of decorum and finesse. The seams had an almost supernatural ability to arouse and attract men, and the stockings were just high enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of the intimate thigh-encircling tops when she sat on a barstool with torso and legs arranged just so, perhaps judiciously controlling the amount of skin or stocking revealed through a few innocent and surreptitious adjustments of her skirt as the situation warranted. She had met few, if any, women who were as adept and effective at using stockings and the flesh of the upper thigh to such devastating effect.

She took a stocking now and rolled it up, inserted her foot, then unrolled it along the length of her smooth, tanned leg and smoothed it out, watching her progress with a cool, professional eye. She circled her fingers around her ankle and drew them up over the stocking, snugging it up and drawing it tight till the fit was flawless and the seams impeccably straight. Then she did the other leg, taking her time, enjoying the sensation of her hands on her body as much as she enjoyed the sensual embrace of the stocking on her leg and the slickness of it under her hands.

Putting on stockings always relaxed and aroused her simultaneously, and put her in a place that was as close as she ever expected to get to meditative bliss, calm and energized and sexy and empowered. The experience was always enhanced by the knowledge that she wasn’t doing this for herself, but for someone else’s pleasure. But she didn’t think about that now. Putting on her stockings just seemed like a good idea.

Susan adjusted her skirt and checked her makeup in the mirror, slipped her heels back on and opened the door and stepped out. She took her bag and, despite the tightness she felt in her nipples, deliberately left her coat behind, lying on the back seat. She locked the car, dropped her keys in her bag, and set out toward the dark, idling truck.

She didn’t know why she was doing this or what she hoped to accomplish, but she had no doubt she was doing the right thing, and that certainty only increased as the truck got closer and the engine got louder. The breeze lifted her hair and played with her skirt. She was aware of everything.

She got all the way to the truck and still there was no sign of life, no acknowledgement of her approach. It loomed above her like a dark and impregnable fortress, almost arrogant in its size and power. Susan looked up at it, looking for some chink in its armor, and then, not knowing what else to do, she stepped up and knocked on the driver’s side door.

She was surprised when the window slid down and she saw him sitting there way high up, bathed in a soft yellowish green glow emanating from the inside of the cab. The light showed only through the open window. All the other windows were black as polished onyx.

He looked down at her for a moment, his face a mask. “Yeah?”

It was like petitioning a dragon. “I need help,” she said. “I need help with these directions. Can you let me in?”

“Let you in? The cab?”

She nodded, craning her head back to look at him.

“Can’t,” he said. “Against regulations. Insurance.”

She stood there looking up at him. The breeze ruffled through her thin blouse and lifted her hair. The engine thrummed.

He either sighed or gave a little derisive laugh, she couldn’t tell.

“Okay,” he said. “Come around the other side and be careful climbing up. Use the grab bars to pull yourself up. The first step’s a bitch.”

Susan walked around to the passenger side. There was a solid click as he unlocked the door, then it swung open, revealing the hidden secret world of the cab. She saw green lights and yellow lights, orange lights and red lights. Rows of chromed dials with quivering needles. It might have been the inside of a UFO. She took hold of the grab bars and lifted her foot in its ridiculously inappropriate shoe to the bottom rung of the ladder.

He’d been right: the bottom step was high–very high–and she felt her skirt ride up and stretch tight as she raised her leg to reach for it; so high she felt the warm breeze on her bare upper thighs and on a damp spot in her panties she hadn’t known was there. He was watching her, looking right at her, and he surely must have seen up her skirt to the tight, bulge of panty-covered flesh between her legs, but what could she do about it? Both hands were on the grab bars and she wasn’t about to let go. She hauled herself up and found the other steps easily enough, feeling more foolish for still wearing her heels than for flashing him.

She was surprisingly high above the ground, and Mark reached over and took her arm and pulled her into the cab. She plopped down on the wide leather seat and smiled awkwardly at him, hurriedly smoothing down her skirt and checking her stockings. He hit some switch that automatically pulled her door closed with a hydraulic hiss and she heard the latch catch, then the solid, final, snap of the locks. She was locked in.

Now that she was inside, she was amazed at how easy it was to see out. The windows must be treated something like a one-way mirror, because it had been all but impossible to see into the cab from outside, but from inside and from this height, she could see everything. It was a strange sense of power. The cab smelled like leather and cigars and diesel fuel and coffee, with a vague hint of some ancient masculine cologne–his smell, she realized, and the thought pleased her. The light from above was yellowish-green, the lights from the instruments shining up was a lurid orange-red. She felt like she’d wandered into the den of a magical cave bear.

Mark was looking at her–staring–and Susan tried to pretend she didn’t notice, as if sitting locked in a man’s truck was an everyday occurrence for her.

“I really want to apologize for the way I acted before, when you helped me with the tire,” she said reasonably. “I mean, really. I was running late and I was upset and maybe even a little frightened and intimidated, although that’s no excuse for the way I acted, which was rude and inexcusable…”

He just sat and watched her, the openness of his gaze disarming, as if he could see right inside her. When she looked at him, he seemed to be just the slightest bit amused.

“So I’m sorry,” she concluded. “I really am sorry.”

He waited, and when it was obvious she was done, he said. “That’s quite alright, Susan.” He put special emphasis on her name. “No apology is necessary. I can understand your consternation. A lone trucker stopping to help an attractive young woman on the highway…”

Consternation?? He kept throwing her curves, defying her expectations and keeping her off guard. Her normal reaction in such situations was to push back.

“Yes, well…” She decided to change the subject before he mentioned the contents of her trunk. “Anyhow, what I really wanted to ask you about was these directions…” she fumbled in her purse and handed him the map. He took it, turned it right side up and studied it.

“Mmm,” he said. “Let’s see what the big map says.”

He pulled a road map out of a pocket in his door and opened it up in the cab till it was the size of a small blanket. He refolded and arranged it till the part he wanted was resting on her lap.

He pointed to a spot that was about halfway up her thigh.

“We’re here,” he said. He tapped the spot for emphasis, then pressed his finger against it, and Susan tried not to jump. She could feel his finger quite clearly through the paper.

“You want to be here,” he said, and he slid his finger up the map following some road, tracing a line on her thigh that went up toward her body, and then in, uncomfortably close to her pussy.

“Now, you could go this way,” he said, and he traced another route along her map-covered thighs. “But your directions say to take this cut-off here and swing around the city…” A sweeping semicircle across the inside of her other thigh.

“You getting this?” he asked, looking into her eyes. “You want to maybe write this down?”

Susan was staring at the map but seeing nothing but his finger in the leather glove, pressing against her thigh, separated from her bare skin by no more than the thickness of a piece of paper. Her nipples were hard. She could feel their eager erection protruding through her gauzy bra and making obvious points in her ivory silk blouse. And suddenly, just like that, she knew why she’d come here and why she’d climbed into his cab, why she’d risked getting her clothes dirty and why she’d put on her stockings and her heels. It was ridiculously obvious and had been all along, and the only reason she hadn’t seen it was because she hadn’t wanted to.

Mark had seen it, though. He’d seen it some time ago and he’d tried to warn her away but she just wouldn’t be put off. He’d given her fair warning and done everything he could to avoid it, but she’d persisted and now he was hardly responsible for what happened. She’d done it all herself.

He slowly slid the map off her lap, exposing her legs in her short gray skirt, and despite the stockings, Susan suddenly felt revealed and very naked. He turned to her and put his arm over the back of her seat.

“Now why don’t we talk about what you really want? ” His left hand started sliding up the inside of her thigh and beneath her skirt, his fingers grazing her bare flesh. “It wasn’t directions, was it?”

“Mark, what are you doing? What are you talking about?”

She sat there frozen, feeling his fingers creeping up the inside of her thigh, afraid to push his hand away and acknowledge what he was doing. She leaned away from him but he had his arm around her shoulders and instead of moving back, her hips started to slip forward on the seat, her skirt riding up as she did so. She was sliding under him in slow motion, falling back on the seat as the hem of her skirt crept up her thighs.

“Wait a minute! Wait!” She grabbed at her skirt, trying to push it down. “I’m not like this. I don’t do these kinds of things. You’re making a mistake! I just wanted directions, that’s all. Just directions!”

As if she’d never noticed it before, she realized the nerves in her thighs were connected directly to her pussy, and his touch was causing her to lubricate and her pussy to swell of its own volition, in strict disobedience to her wishes. She was getting excited. She was afraid, and yet she was getting excited.

“I’m not one of those girls in the truck stop. I have a job. I work. I don’t do this…”

And then he was lying on top of her, touching her, and Susan couldn’t think. His fingers pressed against the embarrassing damp spot in her panties just as his mouth came down on hers, muffling her cry of alarm with a kiss that shocked her with its hunger and immediately called up some answering response from deep inside that she didn’t dare look at.

Her left arm was trapped against the back of the seat but her right arm was free, and she used it to push against him, trying to push him off. But his fingers against her pussy were draining the strength from her body and her palm flattened weakly against his chest and achieved nothing. She’d might as well have been trying to push the whole truck. He was unyielding, dense with muscle and strength; his chest and shoulders alarmingly hard. She tried to dig her nails into his bare shoulder but she hardly made a dent. He was like marble, and it thrilled her.

She knew she was falling, losing her grip on herself, so she cried out again and again tried to squirm away, writhing like a fish in a boat, but she only succeeded in sliding all the way down so she was lying flat on the seat, her traitorous skirt again sliding up and baring the skin all the way to her panties. His weight was on her, his leg wedged between her knees trying to lever her thighs apart while Susan fought to keep them together, a battle she knew couldn’t win. He grabbed her free right arm with his left hand and held it down against the seat as he devoured her mouth and rubbed her through her panties, then switched it to his other hand, the one that reached behind her shoulders, so she was encircled by his strength.

She was totally helpless, pinned beneath him and held down, and he wasn’t going to let her go. Her right arm was held above her head, and she was horrified to realize that her nipples were visibly hard, poking through the thin silk blouse: a sure sign of her body’s arousal. His left hand was playing with her pussy, both stimulating her and checking the level of her arousal, and the ripples of lewd, mind-numbing pleasure that raced through her body made her panic. Her pussy was going to betray her just as her nipples had, and she could feel it beginning to swell with hot, excited blood. Soon it would start to visibly ooze, then throb, obeying his fingers and his crushing desire, and there was nothing she could do.

“No! Let me go! Let me go!” Or that’s what she tried to say, but with her mouth forced open and his tongue filling it, all that came out was a kind of frantic moan that could have meant anything: anger, fear, or urgent, imploring lust.

She tried to will him to stop. She tried to ignore him, to make her body passive so it wouldn’t respond, but he was stroking her and urging her, and she was so tense and wound up from the driving and the worrying and the tiny, cramped car that her body longed for release. She yearned for touch and sensation and savagery, and he was giving it to her, and Susan felt herself melting under his assault. Her cries diminished and become more like beseeching moans as he pressed his fingers against her greedy, selfish pussy and seemed to come to terms with it, seemed to come to some sort of understanding she was not a party to, and she realized with alarm her that her body had already surrendered and gone over to his side. Her legs were parting and she was kissing back, throwing open her gates to his invading army, her troops deserting her everywhere she looked.

she began to whine and whimper into his open mouth, begging him for terms, for an honorable surrender, pleading with him as best she could to spare her pride and dignity, but it was too late. The city was already burning, the towers ablaze, and he was rampaging through the streets. She tried to tell him that she might come if he kept this up, that she’d lose everything to this delicious combination of his touch, her helplessness, and the thrilling shame of being so blatantly used, but he wasn’t listening.

And what if she did cum like this? What if she did orgasm from being forced and fondled in his dark truck, her legs spread and skirt up? What could say to him then? What would he think of her? If he knew this rough treatment excited her enough to make her climax, what would he do to her next?

Just in time his hand left her pussy and came up and took her breast through her blouse, squeezing it, possessing it, rubbing his thumb rudely over her erect nipple as he kissed her mouth. Her sheer, gauzy bra and the thin silk offered no protection whatsoever, and Susan groaned anew under him as he played with her. It was good. It was deeply, profoundly god, and her nostrils flared as she instinctively pushed herself up into his hand. Her breasts were exquisitely sensitive and loved rough treatment when she got this excited, the nerves seeming to connect directly to that special spot between her legs so she felt her pussy spasm desperately, sucking on empty air, aching for some hardness to fill it. She realized her hips were moving, rubbing herself against the rough hardness of his thigh, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. She moaned again as she felt her own secretions begin to wet her panties, lubricating her so the fabric began to slide against her on a slippery layer of her own lascivious exudations.

She was lost, and she knew it. She’d been lost as soon as she’d climbed into the truck, and this was exactly what she’d wanted, what she’d needed. She had no fight left in her, no will to resist. All she had now was need, this basic elemental need, and she wanted him to take her and do things to her. She wanted him to take everything she had to give, because nothing she had was of any value unless he wanted it.

Mark could feel the change as he squeezed and massaged her breast and slid his thumb around her eager and erect nipple. Her strength had failed and her struggling had ceased, and when he pulled his mouth from hers now she made no effort to scream or cry out, just lay there with her eyes closed and her lips parted, waiting for whatever he wanted to do next.

She didn’t have to wait long. He took one end of the soft, feminine bow that fastened her blouse at the top and pulled. He pulled till the knot just dissolved and fell away, exposing her smooth and feminine throat, and he caressed her there, then went to work on the buttons between her tits, working them deftly and exposing her chest, then the tops of her breasts.

Susan made one last effort, trying to free her wrist from his grasp, but he was much too strong and it was futile. The buttons parted one by one, revealing her bra and then her naked midriff, and all she could do was lie there with her heart in her throat and let it happen. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her in the eerie orange glow of the instrument panel but she kept her face turned to the side so she wouldn’t see his face. She could feel the pulse in her throat beating in fear and growing excitement as undressed her, and then he parted the garment and she heard his low growl of desire.

“Mmm… Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful”

She felt herself blush. She needed his approval. She needed him to find her beautiful. It was insane and without reason, but she desperately wanted to please him.

“You want this, don’t you, Susan?” He began to kiss and pluck at her nipple with his lips through the sheer fabric of the bra. “You never would have climbed into this cab if you didn’t want this, isn’t that right? Isn’t it?”

She mewled, weak from pleasure. She was wet, sopping “No. No. I’m not like that. I don’t do those kinds of things. I would never–”

“No,” he said. “No, you just always drive around dressed like this in heels and stockings with that short little skirt on and a trunk full of sex toys. Yeah. I saw what was back there. You didn’t even cover them up. I got a good look. You’re into all this kinky stuff, aren’t you? You like it.”

“No! No! Those are for a party. For some girlfriends. They’re jokes. Gags!”

“Mmm hmm…” He lowered his lips to her b nipple and sucked again, sucked her right through the gossamer-thin bra and Susan felt it in her pussy–the tight clench, the ache. What was the use of trying to explain? What did it even matter anymore? He’d never believe her, and how could she deny that she’d come into his cab because she wanted him–not only wanted him, but wanted him to take her like this, taking control from her, using her.

He seemed to know this. He seemed to know just what she wanted, and he grabbed her bra and pulled it up over her breasts, then attacked them with a vengeance, sucking, licking, squeezing one while he devoured the other. Susan felt pleasure like fire rush through her veins. His need and passion were so intense, so overwhelming she could hardly breathe.

He let go of her wrist and his right hand went back under her skirt, finding her sodden panties and pushing the crotch aside. He pushed his finger into her and she cried out, arching up against him, the violence of her reaction freeing her trapped arm. She grabbed his hair and tried to pull his mouth up to hers, but he remained stubbornly at her tits as his fingers worked in the swampy folds of her pussy.

“Please, ” she whispered. “Please…” But even she didn’t know what she was asking for, and he wasn’t taking any orders anyway. He fingered her till she felt herself start to bear down and the looming orgasm and then he stopped.

Stopped. Removed his hands from her body and sat up, leaving her lost, alone, and bewildered. Her blouse was open, her bra pulled up and her naked breasts exposed and wet with his saliva. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, and she was lying on the seat of his truck in the garish orange light of his dashboard, legs apart, ready for more and he stopped.

She heard the sound of his zipper opening and she knew what was coming and what he wanted her to do. Worse, she knew what would happen once she did it, too, and in her alarm she tried to push away from him, sliding herself on her back toward the door.

Mark grabbed her arm and pulled her back, pulled her upright so she was sitting on the seat pressed against him, her bare breast against his arm. She could see his cock, hard and angry, arching up in its full arousal, standing up from his spread jeans like an aroused cobra.

He held her arm like a vice. “You should never have climbed up here if you didn’t mean to deliver, Susan. You should never have come up here at all. Now get down there and show me what you can do. Show me what a hot little cock-sucker you are and get me good and hard, baby. Good and hard.”

Sitting up, she could see out of the truck again, and see the parking lot and the cars and other trucks, the people walking into the coffee shop, the truckers standing around joking. She felt exposed and visible, disheveled and half-naked and she tried to hide herself. She knew they couldn’t see in, but still, it didn’t feel like that, and she tried to cover herself with her arms, but Mark was having no part of that. He took a handful of her hair and pulled her down, his other hand holding his dick up like a weapon, aimed directly at her mouth.

Susan mewled weakly in protest but there was nothing she could do, and then the sticky velvet head of his dick was pressing against her lips and she could smell him, the scent of soap and denim and male sexual musk, the scent of virility. He slapped his heavy prick against her lips and she obediently opened her mouth, covered her teeth with her lips and took him inside. He exhaled a grunt of excitement and she felt him pushing her head down impatiently just as he lifted his hips and thrust it into her. It slid into her mouth and filled her: hot, thick, and pulsing with life, and she heard him groan in animal pleasure as she sank down on his thick hardness.

She’d always prided herself on her oral skills and her talent to make a man moan and beg whenever she deigned to favor someone with a blow job. She loved doing it. She loved the feeling of controlling him from her knees. But she was also aware of her lethal weakness for sucking cock and what it could sometimes do to her: turn her into a kind of mindless sexual animal, a slave to the very pleasure she gave. She knew it was going to happen with Mark, and as soon as he entered her mouth she wanted to suck, wanted to stroke, wanted to fill her mouth with him, her throat, her very being. This time there’d be no finesse or clever technique or teasing, just the mindless hunger of having a man’s big prick filling her mouth as she sucked and slavered over him. Her lips were suddenly wildly sensitive, and she loved the way he grabbed her head and used her, fucking his hard prick up into her lax and accepting mouth, pushing her hair out of the way so he could see her getting fucked.

“Oh yeah, bitch!” he moaned. “Oh yeah! Get it Susan! Eat that fucking cock!”

She sucked, she slobbered, she pushing her head onto him and pumped, pausing only to slurp up the streams of saliva that poured from her mouth and down his shaft–unnatural amounts, caused not just by the friction of his cock, but by her own enhanced salivation. She was drooling from the taste of him. She couldn’t help it.

“Mmmmph!!! Unnngh!!! Nnnnhhh!” She sucked him, lost in the sheer physical pleasure of having him fucking her mouth and using her, caring nothing for her pride or her image or even what he might think of her. She heard her own guttural moans and sounds of obsequious sucking, and when her neck began to ache or her lips grew tired, she just held her head still and opened her mouth and let him use her, let him thrust his angry cock into her throat and make her choke and gag.

“Oh holy fuck!” he moaned. “You’re going to make me cum, baby! You’re getting me close!”

But he wasn’t ready to give it to her yet, and he dug both hands into her hair and pried her off. His prick popped out of her mouth slimed with spittle and mucus and twitching with pre-orgasmic spasms, fiery red and engorged with blood. Mark quickly grabbed hid prick and choked down, squeezing to stop his immanent ejaculation and making Susan whine with hunger and frustration.

She wanted it. She wanted his thick musky seed in her mouth and he was denying her, and when all his squeezing and clenching couldn’t stop a big wad of watery pre-cum from rolling down the angry purple head, Susan pounced on it and scooped it up with a single swipe of her tongue. He was painfully sensitive and reacted instinctively, shielding his cock and pushing her away, sending her sliding off the seat and onto the floor of the cab.

But she wasn’t done, hadn’t had enough of him, and if he wouldn’t let her have his cock, she would find some other way of satisfying her oral need. Looking up, she saw his big balls hanging from the fly of his jeans like some over ripe tropical fruit and immediately ducked her head to come up at them from below, licking and kissing and running her soft, wet lips over them.

“Oh, Holy Jesus!” he moaned and she knew she was shocking him. She was shocking herself too but she didn’t care. She slurped and sucked gently at his potent, cum-filled balls, and when he took his hand from his cock, Susan claimed that too, grabbing it in her tiny fist and starting to pump him, working the loose skin up and down the steely shaft.

His cock had thrilled her, but the demeaning lewdness of kneeling on the floor of the truck and licking and mouthing his balls was something else altogether. She’d never done this to man, and she loved the way he moaned and shuddered, she loved the servile way she had to crane her neck and reach for him with her tongue and lips, slave-like, yearning. It was worship, like prostrating herself before his masculinity, and she would have been content to stay there all night, paying homage to the essence of his maleness.

But Mark had other ideas, and he grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her up off the floor, lifted her up, and broke the oral spell that held her in thrall. For a moment she was herself again, and her eyes went wide with alarm over what she was doing and what she’d let herself become. It was a dream–some incredibly lurid and intense, detailed dream. She didn’t do these sorts of things. She didn’t fuck strangers in the cabs of their trucks or suck their balls or act like a cock-starved slut, and she was horrified at what she was doing and where she found herself.

“Wait!” she cried. “Wait!” but he already had his hand under her skirt and had slipped his fingers between her and the crotch of her panties. He pulled–hard–and then pulled again, and the fabric parted. He yanked again, an urgent, impatient tug, and she felt the thin material rip and start to come away.

She feared his violence even as it thrilled her, but it looked like the panties wouldn’t come loose. With an angry growl he laid her face down over his lap so she was jammed against him and the wheel, threw her skirt up, and yanked them unceremoniously off her body.

“Wait! Please!”

She realized she was in the vulnerable, ass-up spanking position, laid over his knees, her bottom naked under his hand, and she reached back to protect herself. The idea of being spanked was just too much, too humiliating, even after all she’d done and the mindless excitement she’d felt, but the temptation for him was too great, her buttocks too perfect, flawless and exposed, and he captured her wrists in one hand and pushed them out of the way. He drew his hand back and she steeled herself for what was coming.

The slap of his hand on her ass was amazingly loud in the truck, and immediately she felt the sharp sting and burn. Then another, and another, and Susan stopped struggling as she felt the heat start to sink into her pussy and radiate through her body.

It wasn’t the pain. It was the indignity and helplessness that got her, the sheer arrogance and air of superiority. He was depersonalizing her, turning her into a child or a little girl, a sexual plaything, and as the sting of his slaps sunk into her pussy and caused her muscles to clench and her clit to throb, her will to resist just dissolved. Her will and her sense of autonomy just evaporated, and she became his fuck toy, his pussy, his eager slut. She no longer wanted to be anything else.

Five, six spanks. That’s all it took, and then Mark slid over and pulled her with to the center of the seat, away from the confining wheel. Grabbing her by the arms again, he lifted her up easily and held her there till she realized what he wanted. He wanted her to straddle him, to spread her legs around him so she could sink down on his cock and ride him, and the thought filled her with consuming heat, the fire blazing within her again.

He handled her so easily, like a doll, a creature of light and air, lifting her up and holding her by the arms as he kissed her and nuzzled her breasts and she arranged her legs around him. Her knees touched the cool leather of the seat on either side of his thighs, then her pussy made contact with the velvety head of his cock and she moaned, wiggling her hips back and forth to work the head of his cock into her slick folds. He held her up, not letting her get any closer until she groaned n frustration. She felt small and frail, a little girl in his big truck–Goldilocks alone with papa Bear–but she was ready for him. So ready for him.

“I believe you,” he said as he held her poised on the tip of his cock. “I know you don’t do this kind of thing and probably never have. I can tell. But you’re in here with me now, Susan, and I need you to fuck me. I need you to be a whore for me: the hottest, sluttiest, piece of ass I’ve ever had. Can you do that, baby? Can you do it?”

His words thrilled her with their lewdness, and she felt the rush of goose bumps cover her arms and shoulders.

“Oh yes,” she said. “Yes. Just do it. Make me do it.”

He began to lower her and she felt herself stretch and spread around his invading stalk. Then he let go of her arms and gripped her ass and Susan was suddenly in charge of fucking him and taking him inside. Her head spun with lewd excitement.

“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!”

He was huge and hard and he split her painfully, but the pain was just what she wanted, just perfect, the price of her pleasure. He was no longer supporting her and she took her weight on her thighs, flexing them to slow her descent and his tight, invasive entrance into her pussy. She grabbed the straps of his tank top and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him hard as she used her leverage to prolong the delicious agony of his invasion of her body, trying to tell him with her sucking mouth and eager tongue what he was making her feel, and loving his low groans and growls and the way his fingers clawed at her naked ass, trying to force her down.

She was lubricating so much it felt like her pussy was melting, and she knew her juices were running down his shaft in an obscene display of need, but she loved this sudden, wicked sense of control she had now, doling out his pleasure and making him moan and gasp as she sunk down onto his prick, and she knew she’d better enjoy it while she could, because he wouldn’t stand for it for long.

Sure enough, when she was still only half-ready, he thrust up impatiently into her, burying his cock to the hilt and making her break their kiss to sob. She was filled with him, packed with him, hurting with this beautiful pain. She gasped, leaning her forehead against his and giving herself over to the sensation of having his hard cock inside her. She’d never felt herself so totally fucked, so full of a man, so completely consumed by him.

It was the lewdness of it, the thrill of fucking this stranger in this deserted truck stop in the middle of nowhere. It was the night and the darkness, the loneliness and tension of her drive, the knowledge that she was no one going nowhere and so had nothing to lose: no pride, no dignity, no image to maintain and protect.

It was all these and more, and it hardly mattered now and she couldn’t be bothered with it, not when she was kneeling over him with his big thick cock stuffed into her pussy, her blouse open and bra pulled down, nipples hard and painfully erect, and Mark slumped down beneath her pressing her down on his thick tool as he pushed it up inside of her. He stared up at her with eyes that glowed like coals in the lurid orange light of the dashboard. His chest and shoulders were already sheened with a thin film of fuck-sweat. The inside of the can already smelled of deep, close, sex.

“Pull your skirt up,” he growled. “Hold it up. I want to see my cock going into you.”

Susan groaned at the dirtiness of it, the raw carnality, but she took her skirt and pulled it up and held it over her stomach. She watched his eyes flick down to where she knew she was stretched in a tight ring around him, and she thrilled to the salacious leer she saw spreading across his face. He reached up and slid her blouse down her arms, exposing her bare shoulders. He took her breasts in his hands and found her nipples and teased them before he took them between his fingers and slowly, slowly began to pinch, increasing the pressure till Susan gasped and felt her pussy spasm on him in involuntary reflex.

Mark groaned. “Now fuck me, baby. Fuck me! Ride that hard cock and get me off.”

She didn’t need to be told. She rose up and felt the sweet suck of his cock leaving her, then pushed back down, filling herself again, grinding to rub her throbbing clit against his shaft. She knew she wasn’t visible from outside the truck–or at least she thought so–but it was hard not to think that anyone walking by couldn’t see in and see her as she began to move up and down, couldn’t see her naked back with her good ivory blouse hanging off it like a garland as she pumped herself up and down on his prick, holding her skirt up so he could watch himself fucking her. It was hard to believe they couldn’t hear the lewd, wet squishing sound of her pussy moving on him, sounds as primal and obscene as the hot, dirty pleasure she took from this crude and hungry fucking.

Mark moaned, sighed, and grunted with pleasure as she found her rhythm and began working herself off on his cock, using him with hot and shameless excitement, starving to feel him spurt his hot release into her famished pussy. He still held onto her nipples, and the jouncing of her tits as she bounced on him made his fingers tug salaciously at her breasts, each stab of pleasure-pain exploding like a little bomb in her pussy.

She didn’t care. It was good; it was all so fucking good that she didn’t care about the people or the pain or what he might think of her or anything else. Never even in her dreams had she imagined sex could feel like this, so deep and profound, so absolutely perfect, and all she wanted was to be the best piece of ass he’d ever known, to just stun him with how good she was, as if with Mark she could make up to all the men she’d used and neglected, teased and denied. It was time to redeem herself, so she worked. She worked, even as her muscles began to feel weak and watery and her body started trembling with intense, orgasmic overload.

“Oh! Oh! Oh God! Oh yes! Oh God yessss!” Her voice trailed off into a deep, soulful moan as suddenly her thighs gave out and would no longer support her and she fell shuddering against his chest.

Mark didn’t miss a beat, and with one hand on her ass and the other behind her neck he deftly flipped them over so she was on her back with Mark between her legs, pushing back into her and making her squeal.

He pushed her knees up against her shoulders and fucked her hard, deep, and with brutal passion, the full length of his cock sliding in and out of her like a piston in its sleeve, faster and harder than she could have achieved through riding him, and stealing her breath away through the searing friction. She was going to cum. She knew it, and she knew she couldn’t stop it, and she grasped at him, her mouth gaping as she tried to tell him. She wanted to tell him she was close, that she was going to cum from his fucking her, that no one had ever made her cum like this, that it was going to be shattering and she would have to scream, but she couldn’t say anything, couldn’t draw a breath. She could only lie there with her mouth agape and eyes closed tight as his big log sluiced in and out of her and he drove her to a place of no return.

“Oh god!” he cried hoarsely. “I’m cumming! I’m going to cum! Can’t hold it, baby! Can’t! Gonna shoot it in you, Susan! Gonna shoot…”

But she was already drowning in the rushing torrent of orgasm, of overwhelming pleasure and total surrender. She was flying, exploding, and yet thoroughly grounded and crushed into the present by Mark’s relentless fucking and his furious cries as he throbbed inside her and began to spit hot searing waves of cum into her pussy, intense jets she felt as liquid fire splattering into her secret soul.

He fucked her as she came. He fucked her as her pussy began milking his cock with peristaltic spasms of her deep, autonomic muscles, and he ejaculated into her again and again, sobbing against her breasts. He fucked her as she soared on the gales of orgasm, and fucked her as she started to come down, his deflating but insistent cock sliding in and out on a slippery bed of his own seed as if he never wanted to stop.

He fucked her until she felt consciousness start to slip away from her, till everything was replaced by a warm, relaxed ecstasy that seemed to stretch on forever, like a dark, endless highway into the dark, endless night.

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