She swiveled her hips as she rode him, her hands gripping his heavily muscled shoulders. She worked her pussy lips as hard as she could to generate some friction. He was groaning and crying out, "It's good, babe! It's really good!"
He reached up and cupped her small, firm breasts through her tank top and thin bra, fingers tweaking her thick, long nipples through the layers of fabric. He was so inept that he hurt her, and she slapped his hands away. They were both covered with sweat, but even though she was working hard the pleasure was totally one-sided. A BGSC, she thought in abhorrence. Big guy, small cock.
He was a waiter at the diner she'd stopped at and had come on to her strong. He was very young and looked wholesome in a way that boys have when they're almost men. He had the upper body of a football player, definitely over eighteen, so he wasn't jailbait. Normally he wouldn't have tempted her, but she'd been on the road for nine straight hours and was so horny she wasn't thinking straight.
What the hell, she thought. He's about twenty; he can probably get it up three times in an hour. He was done with his shift by the time she'd finished eating and they'd kissed in the dark parking lot. She'd walked him over to the motel on the other side of the lot and used some of her precious cash to get a room.
Now she ground her clit on his mound as she tried to get herself off, but it was no use. She needed more cock inside her, and he had nothing more to offer. She could see the tension in his face – he was trying mightily to hold back.
"You ready to cum, babe?" he gasped. "You've got me in overdrive!"
"Just cum," she said, her voice flat.
As soon as he began to shudder, she rolled off him and let him spurt his load on himself. She went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, and came back into the room in her bra and tank top. She put on her panties and ruefully patted her pussy as she snugged them in place. She slid on her leather skirt and zipped it up. Then she sat on the armchair and pulled on her ankle boots. He lay in the bed, watching her. His cock up again like a flagpole.
"Let's do it again," he said. "Let me take off your clothes this time. I'll have a shower too, if you like."
"I've got to go," she said.
"You sure you don't want to fuck some more? We could go all night."
"Nah, I'm behind schedule already. I've got to make it to Reno by the day after. But the room's paid for. You can stay here tonight if you like."
"I hate to make a lady pay," he said. "If you stay the night, I can get you a free breakfast at the diner. It's the least I can do."
The thought of another bout of frustration with him made her cringe. He's not bad looking, he must have fucked a lot of girls, she thought. How can he still know nothing about getting a girl off?
"Take care," she said as she hefted her leather backpack.
"You want my email? We could get together again the next time you..."
She went out and shut the door behind her without letting him finish his sentence.
"Waste!" she muttered under her breath as she thought of the hard-earned dollars she'd spent on the motel room.
She walked across the parking lot to her rig and climbed in.
* * * * *
It was late afternoon on a gray, crisp, fall day. Ray was at a Love's truck stop on Interstate 80 just over the Utah line in Nevada, en route to visit the site of a company he was thinking of buying for the Reinhardt Group. As he worked the spigot on the machine to pour his coffee, he saw the woman enter.
She was small, no more than five foot three, athletic, and pretty. Her hair and eyes were both dark brown, her body, wiry and strong, her face finely chiseled. Her breasts were small and firm, but her nipples were disproportionate – they made prominent bumps in her tank top through her bra. But what really arrested his attention was her attire.
She wore a Peterbilt hat, a fleece-lined leather jacket, a well-worn mid-thigh length leather skirt, and ankle boots. There was a leather choker around her throat, and she hefted a small leather backpack on her shoulder. She walked with a rolling gait that emphasized her lean hips and firm buttocks.
He guessed she drove a big rig, and his guess was confirmed as she went straight through the convenience store area to the trucker's lounge. Ray paid for his coffee and followed her in. She'd gotten a free coffee from the professional driver's counter and was talking to the shower attendant. She got her shower number and returned to a couch.
She took off her jacket and threw it on the couch with her backpack before sitting down. Ray ambled in and sat on the couch with her, separated by her jacket and backpack. He sipped his coffee and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her slender musculature looked even nicer close up and her small breasts more pleasing. Ray could just about make out the outlines of her thin bra under the tank top and a fragment of a tattoo behind her left shoulder. She wore a leather wristlet that matched her choker.
She sipped her coffee, looking jaded.
"Where you headed?" he asked.
"You shouldn't be here," she replied. "This lounge is for truckers."
"I know, but guests are allowed, right?"
"Whose guest are you?"
"Yours," said Ray with a smile, "For now."
She turned to look at him. She liked what she saw, a good-looking fortysomething man, nicely built, with salt and pepper hair and a juvenile smile lightened by bright eyes. He wore a polo shirt, slacks and loafers.
She laughed.
"Well, pleased to meet you, guest," she said. "I'm Kendall."
"Ray," he said, extending his hand.
She shook it – her fingers were long and her grip was firm. She looked him in the eye in a rather mannish fashion. He guessed it was cultivated from her work in her male dominated line of work. She looked at the tattoo on his forearm.
"You Special Forces?"
"Used to be. How do you know?"
"I hang out with vets back home. Some of them have tattoos just like that. Where did you serve?"
"All over," said Ray vaguely. "You drive a Peterbilt?"
"Yeah. Best rig I've ever driven. She's all mine, just paid her off six months ago."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks."
She looked at his athletic physique and felt a tug of desire. The memory of the frustration of her last encounter with the muscle-bound waiter was sharp. I really want sex right now, she thought. She batted her eyelashes at him.
"Shower eleven is ready!" The message came over the speakers. She reached into her leather backpack and pulled out a slip of paper.
"That's me," she said. "'See you in a bit?"
"Count on it," he said, locking eyes with her.
She saw that he had picked up on her cue. Just to be sure, she glanced back over her shoulder as she walked into the corridor marked "showers" and pushed through the swing door. As soon as she went through, Ray rose and followed her, moving fast but making no sound. No one noticed him going in through the swing door.