tagErotic CouplingsTruck Sales

Truck Sales

byDeadwood©

1983 Bangor Maine

It was hardly the place for a woman, Amy deduced as she slowly walked across the garage floor of John Carrey's trucking company. Several big rigs sat in the bays in various levels of disassembly. Some had mechanics toiling on their engines, while others had mechanics lying on their backs turning wrenches underneath the drive lines and rear ends. One was even being welded on as a mechanic in a black hood showered the area underneath one of the trucks with hot, red sparks.

"Stay clear of him," John's voice boomed as he stood in the doorway of his office and watched as Amy moved across the cluttered garage floor. "We wouldn't him to burn holes in those nylons."

"Well I see she wouldn't have to worry about that," Amy said pointing to a large poster hanging off the wall with a woman completely naked holding an impact wrench in one hand, while teetering on red high heels.

"I really should make the boys take those pictures down, but we don't get many women in here and it helps with morale."

"No big deal," she said as she extended her hand and firmly shook John's hand. "I'm a woman's in a man's world anyway. You got to expect things like that."

In essence Amy's words could not have held more truth. Selling cars to the general public had been one thing, but selling trucks to the trucking industry was yet another. For weeks she had strived to sell trucks on par with the other male salesman, but her sales had been lackluster. Inspiration hit when one an overly sexist customer walked into her office, saw her gender and bluntly asked for a male salesman. Amy decided right then that if she was going to make money selling trucks she was going to have to make the customers at least want to talk with her.

'Sex sells,' she told herself and started wearing clothes that fit that mantra. She was thirty, and while not entirely in her prime, she had managed to keep herself in decent shape. Having a pretty face and long legs helped, as did wearing dresses with short hemlines and high heels.

The latter was the hardest to get used to. She had never worn a pair of high heels outside the bedroom and yet her new shoes required a whole different way of walking. She had to point her toes in more, and the high heels kept her calves taunt and lifted, which gave her a precarious, vulnerable feel, but that was what men liked.

In many ways Amy felt vulnerable now. Not only could her beige nylons be scorched by the sparks from the welder, numerous cords and hoses were strewn about the shop making for numerous tripping hazards in her black high heels. Her blouse and skirt was also no match for the protection offered by the men's Carhartt clothes. While the gray blouse was hardly a flashy color, its polyester and rayon fibers were scarcely flame resistant, and her matching gray skirt would have offered her legs a lot more protection if it had actually been long enough to cover them. The blouse might have had long sleeves that protected her upper limbs, but the skirt had a hemline that stopped at the mid point between her hips and her knees.

As Amy walked across John's shop, his words had confirmed that sex sells. After all, he had noted she was wearing nylons, because he had been looking at her legs.

"You came for your truck I take it," he said offering her a seat in his office as he shut the door to drown out a loud compressor that just began to start up?

"Well I don't know about taking it. I was kind of hoping you liked it and planned on keeping it. I'm sure your driver's liked the added power."

"They do like that. We are on flat ground now, but last year when we logged Johnson Mountain it would have came in handy."

"But you must like the fuel economy? Power and fuel economy is rare in a truck."

"That I admit I like. At four-fifty a gallon for diesel fuel, my other trucks are costing me a buck a mile in fuel costs. This one gets nearly six miles per gallon. I like that."

For the next half hour the two of them discussed the merits and pitfalls of the new truck. The conversation was very well matched with Amy being as adapt at returning the conversation to the trucks virtues as John was at discussing its failings. Deficiencies meant negotiations on the price and as a shrewd saleslady; Amy meant to keep that in check.

"Good God John, you're squabbling at the ride quality of a truck that is getting better fuel mileage while hauling ninety thousand pounds of wood. No truck is going to take that without bouncing, especially on the roads you haul on."

"Well you got me there I guess," John said with a grin as he got up to grab a cup of coffee out of the coffee pot sitting on his windowsill. "Would you like one"? Never one to refuse anything from potential customer, Amy nodded. "Cream? Sugar?"

"No black is fine."

"Wow I am impressed. A woman that knows her trucks, dresses like a lady and takes her coffee black. Quite the combination," he said with a grin as he handed her the mug of coffee.

Amy only grinned and accentuated the second part by crossing her legs. She had noticed John taking glances at her legs as they talked about the truck earlier, and it almost seemed the coffee was a rouse to let him get a better look at them now. As she placed her left leg over her right, she watched as John's gaze followed the arc, fixating on her gold ankle bracelet as the sun streaming through the window glinted off the single heart pendent that dangled from the tiny chain. Not that she minded. She was sure that if she had been dressed in slacks and a blouse, their conversation would have ended a half hour ago on the pretense of him needing to do something more important. If all it took was letting him steal glances at her legs to continue her sales pitch, Amy was more then willing to let him look.

She was equally sure he was using his new position to study her as held his own mug up and sipped at it gently. John was definitely a person who was confident in entertaining guests in his office, even if it was completely utilitarian in its layout. His manners were the tell-tale sign, in that they were flawless and came easily to him. Amy deduced that came from him being in his fifties, with no evidence of diminishing vitality except for possibly the neatly cut gunmetal hair. His face showed no wrinkles, only laugh lines around his eyes. His hands and forearms were firm, tan with cuts and abrasions from hours of toiling on trucks. Despite this, it was evident that somewhere and at some point in time; he had mingled with persons of higher tastes and breeding despite his office being located at the back of a truck garage.

"I suppose you are wondering just where your truck is," he said upon clearing his throat, when Amy's eyes unexpectedly met his and it became clear that his gaze had been upon her legs for just a little too long to be unnoticed?

"Well hopefully out hauling a load of wood...the first of many for you."

"Ahh, in true salesman like form," he said with a grin as he gave her a mock toast with his coffee mug. "Actually it's down at the truck stop. We transferred a load of wood from this wheeler over onto it and was hoping to get one more load with it before you came and grabbed it."

'Dam it', Amy mumbled to herself upon hearing his words. It was the first true indication he had given her on the sale of the truck, and giving it back was not what she wanted to hear. Not when she had put this much time and energy into selling it, and certainly not after putting some hard hauling miles on to a brand new rig. She was sure her boss was not going to like that.

"No that's fine," she said lying and trying to maintain her composure. "We are here to help you out and let you see what it can do. But you know, if its really helping you out now, then owning it would really benefit you."

"Perhaps," he said with a non-committal answer that Amy really did not like. "It's going to be sitting down there for awhile until I can get a driver for it. I am sure you want to see it before you leave and get some mileage numbers and stuff, just so you can track it. Your boss will probably like that."

Amy could only nod. At least having some mileage figures would give Amy somewhat of an answer when her boss asked her where the hundred thousand dollar truck was come Monday morning. As John grabbed a light jacket off of his coat rack, Amy drank the last few sips of her coffee, downing it more like a trucker then the sophisticated lady she was supposed to be portraying as she followed John out to his pickup truck.

If drinking her coffee had been less then lady-like, then climbing up into the pickup truck with her short skirt and heels proved the point even more. Finding a secure toe hold on the slippery aluminum running board was difficult in the slight rain that was coming down and pulling herself up into the truck meant gripping tightly onto the handle above the door. John, in an act of chivalry, had opened the door for her, but aside from picking her up and setting her in the high robust truck, he had to watch her scramble into it unassisted. As she did, the cloth seat grabbed at her skirt, and pulled the hemline up so that almost all of her long legs were visible to John. She hustled to push it down once she was seated, but knew in an instant why John had taken his truck instead of hers.

"With gas prices being are what they are, we probably should have taken my car huh? That would have only been fair."

"It's no big deal," John said with a shrug. "It's not to far to the truck stop anyway."

A half hour later, Amy marveled at the truck as they began to walk around it. Even though she sold trucks for a living, this truck impressed her. The power was evident even at an idle with the engine grumbling, almost begging a driver to put it to better use. With black paint polished to a mirror finish, and polished stainless steel accents, stacks and grab bars, the truck looked as tough as it did stylish, even if it was pulling an old beat up, rusted log trailer.

"As you can see Amy, I threatened my drivers with in an inch of their lives to take care of this truck. No scratches or dents despite hauling wood out of the Great North Woods."

"And I appreciate that, but I have to admit it's almost too good to be used as a log truck."

"Maybe, maybe not. Its always good to put drivers in a nice truck they can be proud of. They tend to take care of them better that way."

"I suppose," Amy started to say as the rain started to pickup now. Amy wanted to head out of the rain, but did not want to ruin the sale by showing a weakness at getting wet since logging contractors tended to work in all kinds of weather. Thankfully John opened up the cab of door of the massive Kenworth giving her a reprieve from the cold wet rain. Luckily John shut the door behind him just as the sky opened up and the rain began to fall in buckets.

"Glad we didn't get caught in that mess."

"Yeah me too," she said as she noted the mileage. Looking around the interior of the truck, Amy noted the cab was impeccably clean, with only a drop or two of spilled coffee near the cup holder a driver had recently used. "And thanks for keeping this truck clean. I get the feeling John you really have no intention of taking delivery of this truck?"

"Honestly...I have considered it. I like the power and fuel economy, and I really do need another truck to fill this contract..."

"But you really don't need one with a cab which weighs the truck down and causes you to haul less wood per given trip," she interjected, just knowing that was the case?

"It does seem silly doesn't it, but the boys stay up north a lot and the cabs keep me from having to run a camp up where they are cutting wood, so in the long haul, what little these cabs weigh, pay for themselves in not having to set up camps, so that isn't the issue."

"So then what is the issue?"

"Well," he said as his voice changed to a softer tone, "I haven't tried out the bunk yet." As he said it, a huge grin spread over his face and Amy felt his hand slide up onto her left leg, resting it just under the hemline of her skirt. Amy flinched at his touch, and grew tense, but did not push his hand away, at least not yet.

"I see, but everything else you like."

"Well I like the power for one thing," he said as he moved his hands up off her thigh and undid the uppermost button of her blouse. Amy only nodded, tensing up at what was happening, but allowed the charade to continue without stopping him by remaining silent. "And I like the fuel economy too," he said as the second button passed through the button hole which allowed her blouse to go slack upon her torso. "And of course the truck rides pretty good," he said adding emphasis to the word ride as the third button was removed from her blouse. As it slackened and sagged even more, Amy was becoming increasing aware of what he was doing. She did not have a whole lot of cleavage, but what she had was beginning to show along with most of her white bra. "I'm just glad this truck has a lot of good points Amy, because if I have to list every one of them to get you out of that outfit, I will."

"Oh I bet you would," she said finally reaching up to stop him by placing her hand on the forth set of buttons on her blouse, "but you are old enough to be my dad you know?"

"And that bother's you?"

"No, not really. I don't see anything wrong with an owner testing out the bunk area of a one hundred thousand dollar truck before he buys it, just as long as no one knows?"

"Oh I can keep this a secret Amy."

"Then continue," she said with a grin as she took his hands and placed them on the fourth button of her blouse.

Her blouse only had five buttons to start with, so already the clothing offered little in the way of protection as it sagged even more and began to gape open. She tried to keep her eyes as open as her blouse as the man began to undress her. The feeling however was too surreal, for few men had the pleasure of doing what John was doing now. While certainly not a virgin, Amy was not exactly promiscuous either and had could not believe how easily John had seduced her.

"Was it because of the sale,' she pondered, as his thick fingers struggled with the last two buttons, obviously lust and anticipation making the man less skilled? 'Or was it because it had been so long since she had been with a man?' There had been a few men between losing her virginity in high school, and her marriage, but now that the latter had ended inside the county courthouse, it had been awhile since she had slept with a man. Whatever the reason, permission had been given to this man as she felt him slowly peel away the gray blouse, finding herself twisting slightly in the seat to allow it to go free. As he began to reach around her torso and pull the clasp free on her bra, Amy could not help but warn him.

"You're going to be disappointed at seeing these I'm afraid."

"Not at all," John said slowly shaking his head as he pulled the bra free of her body and swooned at the fact that Amy was indeed topless before him. Granted they were only B-sized, but John was hardly concerned with that as he leaned forward and began tenderly licking her breasts. He covered every inch of them with his warm, wet tongue, saving the nipples for last. He drew one nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue over it, lightly sucking, and then he lavished the same attention on the other.

Amy was panting with her own lust by the time he finished caressing her chest with his tongue. Regardless of whether it was for the sale, or her own lust, at that moment, Amy wanted the man even if he was older then her; even if he was a customer; and even if he was married. If his vigorous tongue lashing and wondering hands was any indication, there was no question he wanted Amy just as bad.

"We should probably move to the bunk huh?"

Amy had been too caught up in the moment, but sitting in the driver's seat and passenger's seat respectively, even though they were elevated above the level of the parking lot by quite a bit, the expanse of glass within the truck made them visible to any people walking or driving by. Amy only nodded as she slipped out of his grip and moved into the bunk. She did not even bother with turning down the blankets, or moving the pillow to a more advantageous position, she was more then willing to be taken just as she was. John however was a bit more cautious. While he was just as willing to take the young vixen, there were important considerations to discuss.

"How do you want to do this," he quietly asked?

"I don't know, anyway you want I guess."

"So you don't mind kissing then?"

"Not at all," she said with a smile, first finding it odd that a man would ask such a question, until she realized the situation. Just being at a truck stop; being in the back of a truck; and being motivated to have sex for financial gain was technically prostitution. Amy shuddered at the thought; not realizing until that moment that she sunken to societies least looked upon ladies, and also realized John had experience with this type of girl. 'Lot Lizard," she thought, the trucker given name for prostitutes that cruised the truck stop parking lots.

Lying upon her back as John turned his attention from her breasts to her lips, she wondered about her motivation. She wanted to scream out that it had been months since she had been with a man, months since anyone had even hit on her, and that her motivation was completely innocent. But at the same time she pondered if that was truly the case. Would she have slept with John even if had agreed to buy the truck hours ago? For a moment Amy could not answer because there had been her fantasies; a true yearning to know what it was like to be a prostitute, to perform sexual acts for the sole purpose of pleasing a man with no other benefit but receiving money for it. Now as John's tongue began to ply its way into her mouth, lashing at her teeth and own tongue, she wished she had said no. She wished she had denied him the pleasure and passion of kissing, just so she could live out her fantasy of finding out what it was like to be a prostitute, and a Lot Lizard at that.

However for a woman that secretly wanted to deny him kisses, she responded with a fierce tenacity, virtually exploding with lust on the small bed. The kisses were pure electricity, and soon their tongues mingled together as if as united as a truck and trailer.

Without breaking the kiss, John's fingers found her nipples again and began lightly pinching them, causing her to moan into his mouth even as his tongue danced within it. She ran her fingers through his short graying hair and down over his scared arms from years of toil in the truck garage.

After what seemed like the longest lasting kiss Amy had ever received, John pulled his lips from hers and spoke softly to her. "We got to get you out of that skirt".

"Or just push it up. That is what's nice about a skirt, flip and then fuck," Amy said in an almost unrecognizable dirty talk.

His green eyes widened in surprise at her dirty-talk, but his hands went to the waistband of her skirt and undid both the button and the zipper on the back. Released of tension, Amy slid her legs together so that he could slide them easily down her legs. As he did, he could not help but enjoy how the skirt made a zipping sound as it rubbed the rough fabric of her nylons as it moved downward over her legs.

"I like woman in nylons," he said softly; not really to Amy, but more to himself. "You should have never come into my office wearing those pantyhose."

"Or my heels. You must like them too?"

"Actually I like a lady barefoot," he said as he first gripped her right high heel and gently pulled it off her foot. Quickly going to the second shoe, he pulled that off with equal vigor. Stretched out before him now clad only in nylons, Amy heard John suck in his breath from the sight. A second later he stood, unzipping his jeans as he moved. He hurriedly unlaced his steel toed boots, and then slid the jeans off his hips and down his legs. When he bent over and pulled his pants off over his feet, only then did he stand before Amy, completely naked.

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