Yen's Road Trip Ch. 02

NOTE: Part II of a continuing story, part one probably necessary to follow.

I had to put two towels down on the passenger seat to keep my leaky pussy from staining the leather. I had been anticipating this trip for so long, now that it had begun, there was nothing I could do to calm my body's heightened state of arousal. Once I felt like I got it under control, Charles would rev the engine and the deep vibrations of the powerful diesel engine beneath me pushed me right back to the edge.

I sat on the edge of the seat, my feet on the dash and my knees spread as wide as they could go. I ran my hands down the insides of my thighs until they met in the middle. I desperately wanted to masturbate. I dipped my fingers into the soupy mess as I imagined a line of horny men in a rest stop men's room waiting impatiently to use my body. I willed my hands to my sides. Charles hadn't given me permission to touch his pussy.

He wasn't unaware of my frustration. He'd glance over to me and grumbled every now and then. I think my bare feet on the dash annoyed him, but I had no intention of moving them unless he ordered me to. I liked his attention, I liked the idea of me being in his mind, even if it was just pissing him off.

There were no lines of lovers waiting in front of me, just miles upon miles of dusty, sun baked freeway, surrounded by acres upon acres of monotonous industrialized farms. The occasional passenger car zoomed past on the left then disappeared into the smoky haze up ahead. Charles warned me about how boring the road can be. He told me sometimes he listened to music, but he limited radio time because if he listened too much he'd get bored of music all together. I offered to scan the radio channels, but he warned me not to even think of touching any of the various levers and dials on the middle console. I was there only to be his sex toy, something for him to stick his dick into to break the boredom of the open road. I had nothing to do but keep my pussy moist and prevent it from leaking onto his leather seats.

When it seemed my presence had slipped enough out of Charles's immediate attention, I ventured my hand into my backpack and removed my phone. I had one text from my husband from about an hour ago - Are you pregnant yet?

I responded - I hope so. Got first load as soon as we got to his truck

A few minutes later he replied - I had to pull over to the side of the road to masturbate after I left you there

What kind of man has to jerk off after leaving his wife with another man to get impregnated? I barely understood my own motivations, let alone his.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" Charles grunted.

"Just checking my phone," I squeeked.

He stretched his hand out towards me, and I reached over and placed my phone in his palm. He typed in my passcode then powered it down. I thought he would toss it through his half open window, but he just put it in a compartment in his door.

"While you are in my truck, you are my bitch." He waved his long finger at me. "I don't want you splitting your time."

I nodded.

Bored, I sat up in my seat and flipped down the passenger side sun visor. A long, blond hair hung down from the hinge. I took the long blond strand and examined it - natural, healthy, probably belonging to a former passenger. I dropped it to the floor then jutted out my chin into the visor mirror. As a teenager, I used to get a little cluster of pimples just at my jawline a week or two before my period started. They were caused by the luteinizing hormones surging through my body that would trigger ovulation. I used the acne outbreaks as an excuse for my parents to put me on the pill.

Now that I had been off them, I could see the little white bumps beginning to return. I doubted a few skin blemishes would discourage anyone from wanting to use me, but it did mean my body's natural fertility cycle was returning to normal. I closed the mirror then slumped back in my seat with nothing to do but stare out the window and let my mind go blank.

...few hours later...

"Bitch!" Charles barked to get my attention. "Behind my seat is the mini-fridge. Below it is a compartment. Take out one of the empty gatorade bottles."

I did as I was told. When I turned to him he was wrestling with his pants, trying to pull them down his thighs. The sight of his penis made me feel like a dog at obedience school with a treat on her nose. I wanted so much to dive on it and stuff as much as I could in my mouth, but I had to stay calm and wait for permission.

"Give me that." He snatched the bottle from my hand. I watched as he tried to situate it at the end of his penis. Charles was the coolest, sexiest, most bad-ass man I ever had ever known. I had seen large, intimidating men cower and beg forgiveness from him. I had seen beautiful, sophisticated and sexy women utterly humiliate themselves for the privilege of licking the sweat on his balls. This, however, was not his most impressive moment.

"Can I help you with that?"

He looked at me, sternly, wondering why I was still there. His hard face softened for a moment then he handed me the bottle. "Don't get a drop on my floor mat or I'll make you use that silky black hair of yours as a mop."

I nodded. I got on my knees, flipped up the armrest then leaned over his thigh. I so desperately wanted to play with his cock, to make it hard, suck on it, but I had to have a medical detachment. He had a task for me, and I needed to perform it. Not that I needed a doctor's license to hold a bottle up to a penis to catch urine, but I wouldn't be fully committing myself to him if I didn't follow even his most trivial command to the best of my ability.

The task was a little more difficult than it seemed. Even if unaroused the glans of his penis was too big to fit into the mouth of the bottle. With my left hand I lifted up his penis, straightening it out and letting it hang more freely. Much to my glee and frustration, it swelled under my touch. That made it more difficult to point it downward into the bottle. Knowing his personality, if he got an erection before he could piss, he'd get angry with me.

Charles had always seen me as naive and more of a slut wannabe than an actual slut. One of my goals of this trip was to really show Charles the true depths of my depravity, show him that not only was I a real slut, I was the nastiest he's ever known. However, it wasn't enough for me to just passively wait for him to discover that for himself. I had to show him.

I set the bottle down, and lowered my head to take penis into my mouth.

He wrapped his knuckles on the back of my head. "Bitch, I told you I had to piss. No time for that shit."

I ignored the pain, looked up at him and cooed, "Then piss."

I turned my attention back to his crotch and swallowed his cock to the base. I felt his muscles struggling to hold back his flow. "Yen, you know, I've always respected this line with you. You cross this line, you can't uncross it. You really ready for that?" I always found it humorous that my actual name was our safe word.

I pulled his meat out of my mouth and slapped myself in the cheek with it.

"Charles, you can use me however you wish, even as a toilet."

I secured the base of his cock with my hand, and just took the head between my lips. I applied a gentle sucking pressure and massaged his frenum with my tongue to goad the urine out of him, just as I did for his sperm.

"You just keep that bottle handy in case it gets to be too much for you to handle."

I nodded my head carefully, not wanting his cock to escape my mouth.

Nothing gave me more joy than to watch a thick black cock engorge and fill with blood due to my attention. Nothing filled me with more purpose than doing whatever had to be done to make that cock give me it's creamy reward. Now I had this most beautiful cock in my mouth, but I needed it to stay soft. What a conundrum.

I felt his groin muscles relax. "Get ready, bitch," he sighed.

Excitement turned to panic as I realized the problem of geometry - how would I fit the urine from a 6 foot 5 man inside the bladder of a 5 foot 2 inch woman? At this point, I had no choice but to literally drink or drown. I had to tamp down the urge to panic or wretch as I felt my cheeks bulge and stretch to capacity.

When certain men have particularly powerful ejaculations, I like to describe the feeling as if he's pissing inside you. I never actually had a man piss inside me, but as his flow flooded my teeth and splashed against the back of my throat, I realized my analogy had no merit. Sperm comes in manageable squirts of descending force. Piss starts slow, increases velocity and power, and is relentless. No breaks.

I was proud being known around the Club as the slut who could deepthroat any cock. I had totally conquered my gag reflex, but suppressing a retch from taste or smell was a whole different skill. I just had to focus on the task - gulping it all down as quickly as he gave it to me.

I felt my stomach swell and abdomen ache from the sheer volume I was imbibing. As the stream slowed, I realized I had gotten past the worst part and my brain had a moment to acknowledge the taste. It was rather unpleasant - sour, slightly salty and acidic, but the sexual context made it very enjoyable. I loved nothing more than taking fluids from Charles inside my body. My whole purpose for the next two weeks was to take care of my man's dick, and my only concern was that he didn't find this experience pleasurable.

I felt him intentionally tighten and release his urethra, squirting the last remaining contents of his bladder onto my tongue. I didn't swallow the last mouthful. One of the first lessons Charles taught me is that any bitch can suck a dick, take one up the ass, or let a man pound her pussy. Ultimately, busting a nut was busting a nut. What set a cunt apart from other cunts, what kept men coming back for more from the same whore, as he put it, was artistry. It wasn't enough to let them use you, you had to show them how much you loved being used.

Once I felt assured he had finished, I carefully slipped his cock out of my mouth while keeping my lips tightly pursed. I looked up at him and waited until he had the opportunity to glance down at me. Once he did, I opened my mouth to show him the pool of his piss my tongue bathed in, then threw my head back, gargled, then swallowed what remained.

"Did that blonde skank you had in here before me do that for you?" I asked him.

Charles laughed. "No, bitch, she wouldn't even hold the bottle for me."

I always felt a surge of pride when a black man told me I serviced him better than a blond woman.

I stayed on my knees at his side, and never took my hand off his cock. I leaned down to lick a tiny drop of piss that threatened to drop down on the floor.

"What else didn't that blond slut do for you?" I swallowed the head of his cock and swirled my tongue around the ridge. "Did she suck you off while you drove?"

He growled and I realized I had gone too far. My problem is whenever I got away with one transgression, like talking without permission, I pushed it, forcing him to correct me. He pulled my head up by the hair then smacked me hard on my face, sending me sprawling back on my ass.

"What the fuck are you doing you stupid cunt? I warned you about interfering with me when I'm driving. Get the fuck back in your seat."

Goddamnit. While this man gave me so much pleasure, he still knew how to make me feel like shit. I put my hand up to caress the spot on my cheek where the back of his hand connected. I understood he strikes me to correct my behavior, not to hurt me, but it still smarted.

Once my head stopped spinning, I couldn't ignore the horrible after-taste coating my mouth. Everything in my stomach was threatening to rise up my throat and spew all over the floor. I put my hand on my distended belly and grimaced.

He must have taken pity on me, or felt bad for hitting me. He tilted his head toward his mini-fridge. "Get a drink."

I took one of his gatorades, sat back down in my seat and strapped on the seatbelt. I couldn't imagine I had any more room in my belly, but I had to wash the taste out. I took a sip of the blue liquid, swished it around and swallowed, and felt a little bit human again.

My body slumped and molded back down into the seat. I didn't feel very good. My body didn't seem to appreciate having to process someone else's bodily waste. I had reduced myself to the status of a Gatorade bottle used to catch the piss of a truck driver too much in a hurry to stop.

The most disturbing aspect of this sexual journey I was on is discovering how much humiliation and abuse aroused me. The more I felt like a piece of discarded garbage, the hornier I got. I felt like a dog in heat. Despite my fear of disobeying my master, I put my hand on my pussy. I desperately needed to come.

"Go on, chink. Make yourself come, be a good little oriental slut."

I smiled to myself. If he didn't enjoy what I did for him, he wouldn't have bothered to reward me.

I remember in college trying to get a professor fired for calling me oriental, now it just turns me on. I spread my labia with my well manicured index and ring finger, then ran my middle finger along my slit until I hooked the tip underneath my clit. I giggled how slippery my pussy felt. Anticipating sexual relief, the steady moistness I had been contending with turned into a steady stream trickling out of my vagina and dripping down my bald pussy onto the towel underneath me.

Whenever I really wanted to come hard, I let my mind drift back to being a 12 year old girl, underneath the covers of my bed exploring my pussy with my fingers, discovering what gave me the most pleasure. I shared a bedroom with my big sister, and as soon as she went to the bathroom to prepare herself for sleep, I tried as hard as I could to give myself one of my 'big fireworks' before she came back. If it happened quick enough, I'd try for two, then three. Even then I had a sense of awareness how much those sensations could consume me and dominate my life.

It wasn't long until I discovered how much other people wanted to do these things for me - teachers and my daddy's friends who liked licking and rubbing my pussy and my budding nipples. Some were pleased by just giving me my 'big fireworks', others wanted me to do things for them out of gratitude. Eventually, I was told what those men did to me was bad and wrong, that they were abusing me and taking advantage of my innocence. I attempted to funnel that sexual energy into my studies, propelling me quickly through medical school. I hoped that if I could control it, I could regain my innocence, regain control of my life. Well, it's pretty obvious how well that went.

As I rubbed myself, I remembered being 14 years old, bent over my math teacher's desk, my skirt flipped up onto my back, feeling my teacher's prickly beard tickling my thighs as he ran his tongue up and down my slit. It always surprised me how brazen these authority figures were in initiating sexual contact with someone decades their junior. I was always the nerdy straight A student mathlete on her way to a top university, the innocent little Asian girl in pig-tails, but those men knew how to sniff out a slut.

A loud air horn brought me out of my reverie. Charles had navigated his rig to the left lane to pass a slower truck. As the cabs lined up, Charles tooted the horn. I looked out the passenger window to see a grimy Caucasian face, framed by a dirty red cap and thick brown beard, grinning at me happily. I wasn't sure how much he could see. He could probably see my bare feet on the dash and my face grimace and wince as I brought myself to the edge of orgasm. I gave him a side-ways look that said 'let me finish, you'll get your turn', and got back to work. I had long past the point I felt any shame or embarrassment from masturbating in front of an audience.

Charles was having fun, slowing down to keep parallel, but I didn't care. I shamelessly rubbed myself like the wanton whore I was, I thought about my primary goal of this trip, a little brown baby sucking at my tit. With a black baby, I wouldn't be able to hide anymore. I wouldn't want to hide, it would be a source of pride. I imagined the looks on coworkers' and patients' faces, seeing the happy family portrait on my desk - asian wife, white husband, black baby. Maybe I'd put a picture of me holding my baby on the newborn bulletin born for everyone to see. The more intrusive people would ask 'who is the father?' I'd answer, 'I really don't know.' God, I could just imagine that rumor going around the hospital. Little Yen Hong got knocked up by fucking so many black men she lost count. They would see me leaving work and wonder if I was going wherever I needed to go to get my little oriental pussy pounded by any black man with a hard-on.

As I felt my orgasm reach the tipping point, I glanced over one more time. The trucker was still there, switching his gaze from the road in front of him to the little chink whore wantonly jerking herself off in the passenger seat of a rig driven by a big black man. Our eyes met, I imagined him getting hard and rubbing his cock through his pants. I'd love to let him jerk off and come all over my face. I wondered if I'd meet him again up the road. I wondered if Charles would give this grubby man a chance to put a baby inside me. I hoped my baby would be black, but I knew Charles planned on giving me to anyone, so why not accept it and enjoy it. If my baby wasn't black, that was just an excuse to try all over again.

I shut my eyes and let out a loud cry as my orgasm released and washed over me. I felt my pussy squirt all over my hand and wondered if it reached all the way to the dash in front of me. If it did, he'd be yelling at me to tell me to clean it up. No need to let worry ruin a good come. Not too far out of my thoughts were the troubles and difficulties I'd face with a baby that was obviously not my husband's. Even if I had a black husband there'd be difficulties bringing an interracial baby into the world. I'd seen that worry and concern temper many a white mother's joy when they gave birth to a half black baby. But here, right now, I could ignore that dark cloud and let all those negative thoughts and emotions flow through my body like a toilet flush and exit out my tingling toes.

I felt the truck accelerate, then swerve slowly to the right. The show was over. I let my mind focus on the aftershocks of my powerful orgasm. For a moment, I was content, I was satisfied. I didn't need a cock inside of me, I wasn't desperately begging to be inseminated. I knew serenity couldn't last long in my sex addled mind, so I let myself relax, my heart to calm its rapid beat, and I let my eyes feel heavy. I knew I'd have to take advantage of every opportunity to sleep I could get.

***

My problems of geometry became impossible to ignore. I didn't know how long I had been snoozing there with my thighs spread and my right hand still resting on my pussy. However enough time had passed for me to know I didn't have much time left before Charles' urine would need to come out of me.

I needed to tell Charles. Would he be more angry if I spoke out of turn or if I pissed all over his passenger seat? I closed my legs and tried to squeeze to make it easier to hold, but it was coming.

I guess Charles saw me squirming. "You gotta piss, don't you?"

I looked at him and nodded.

"Shit. This is why you are trouble. If I just did what I had originally planned, all that piss would be in a bottle. You can't just stick a bottle up to your pussy and piss in it. Can you?"

"No," I moaned. I had my fist in my crotch, squeezing it with my thighs, desperately trying to hold it in.

"Damnit bitch, no more of your fucking games."