Truck Stop

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.