Speaker 1: Welcome back to part two of this sexy story. The
silicone was still buried inside me when Greta pulled back
and drove forward again, harder, deeper. A sound tore from
my throat that wasn't language anymore, just noise, just animal
response to being split open on her cock. Take it,
she grunted, Take every fucking inch. Her hips found a rhythm, brutal, relentless.
The kind of fucking that wasn't about my pleasure, wasn't
about my comfort, was about her using my cunt like equipment.
The strap on was thicker than anything I'd taken before,
or maybe it just felt that way because it was
her driving it, her weight behind every thrust, her calloused
hands gripping my hip like hand holds. The cab filled
with the wet slap of our body's meeting. The bunk creaked,
its metal protest somewhere beyond the thin walls, a semi
blue past on the highway, its horn doppler shifting into nothing.
I couldn't see, couldn't move, could only feel. That's it,
Greta growled above me. That's my good little hole. You
feel how deep I am? Feel me stretching you open yes.
I sobbed, yes, yes. The word became a chant, punched
out of me with every thrust. My ankles were still
bound by the pants she'd only half removed, My knees
pushed wide, my whole body a vessel for her to fill.
The orgasm she'd wrung from My ass still echoed in
my nerve endings, leaving everything raw, everything electric. Every stroke
of that silicone against my walls a bright flare of
too much and not enough. Her rhythm changed, slowed, became
something almost lazy, almost cruel, long grinding strokes that drag
against my cervix with deliberate pressure. You know what you
are now? Her voice was a low rasp above me,
breathless but controlled. You're not some escort, not some dungeon
whore working for cash. A pause, a particularly deep thrust
that made my vision go white behind the blindfold. Your mine,
my truck stop, cunt, my road pussy. She leaned down.
I felt her weight shift, felt her breath on my face,
and then something wet and warm landed on my cheek. Spit.
I gasped. A second glob hit my open mouth. I
tasted salt and her and something that should have been degraded,
but instead sent a jolt of pure lightning straight to
my clit. Swallow it, she ordered. Swallow my spit, you
filthy little bitch. I did. I swallowed and opened my
mouth for more, and she laughed that dark, pleased laugh,
and gave me another straight onto my tongue. Fucking beautiful.
Look at you, blindfolded, spread open, my cock buried in
your cunt, and you're begging for my spit. Her hips
started moving again, faster, Now say it, Say what you are?
I'm The words shattered as she hit something deep, something
that made my thighs shake uncontrollably. I'm your wore, your filthy,
Oh god, your filthy anal hore. Damn right you are.
She fucked me through the confession, harder, harder still. The
pace was punishing now, the bunk screaming with every impact,
and I could feel something building in my gut, something
different than before, something that had nothing to do with
orgasm and everything to do with losing control entirely. Greta.
My voice was a warning, A plea, Greta, I'm going
to I can't, can't what, but it was already happening.
The pressure broke, not pleasure, release, a hot gush between
my legs, splashing against her thighs, soaking the sheets beneath me.
The smell hit a second later, sharp and unmistakable. I
was pissing myself. The humiliation should have crushed me. Instead,
it sent me somewhere else, entirely, somewhere floating and dark
and peaceful, where nothing mattered except being this thing, this body,
this mess for her to use. Greta's thrusts slowed, stopped.
She was still buried inside me, and I could feel
her looking down at the wet mess spreading across the mattress.
Then she laughed, a real, deep bellied laugh that shook
her whole body and vibrated through the silicone still lodged
in my cunt. Well, shit, hitchhiker, did you just piss
yourself on my cock? I couldn't answer, my face burned,
tears soaked the blindfold. But my pussy, God, my pussy
clenched around her like it was trying to pull her deeper.
I'll take that as a yes. She pulled out slowly,
and I whimpered at the sudden emptiness, my whole gaping
and slick and utterly wrecked. Time for something new The
ropes came off my wrists, the blindfold stayed. She man
handled me out of the bunk, her grip firm on
my upper arm, steering me through the dark cab. My
legs barely worked. I stumbled, still dripping, still shaking, and
she shoved me forward until my knees hit the passenger seat.
Bend over I did. The seat was worn leather, cool
against my flushed skin, and she positioned me face down,
ass up, My cheek pressed into the headrest. Then my
wrists were being bound again, this time to the door handle,
this time stretched forward, so I was draped across the
seat like an offering. You've been taking my cock all night,
Greta said, from somewhere above me. The harness came off
with a soft rustle. Now you're going to take it
somewhere else. Her thighs appeared on either side of my head.
The smell hit me first, musk and sweat and pure
unfiltered woman. She'd been working all day, driving all night,
and now her cunt was inches from my face, a
thatch of graying curls, damp with her own arousal. Open
your mouth, I opened. She grabbed the back of my
head and pulled me forward, burying my face in her.
It wasn't gentle, wasn't clean. Her clit was a hard
nub against my nose, while my tongue found her folds
salty and sharp and overwhelming. She ground against my face,
using me like I was nothing but a surface to
get off on. Her grip tight in my hair, Eat it,
Eat my sweaty cunt, you nasty little hore, Show me
how grateful you are. My tongue worked on instinct, long,
flat strokes, then pointed flicks against her clit, then sucking,
desperate and messy and utterly degrading. Her taste filled my mouth.
Her smell filled my lungs. I couldn't breathe through anything
but her, and every time I gagged, she just pulled
me closer. That's it, that's my good little pussy eater.
Her voice was ragged, now, losing its controlled edge. Gonna
come on your face, Gonna fucking soak you. Her thighs tightened,
her hips bucked. A guttural sound tore from her throat.
Nothing pretty, nothing restrained, just raw release, and then she
was spurting against my chin, my lips, my cheeks, A
hot gush that dripped down my neck and onto the
seat beneath me. I licked her through it, licked until
she shoved my head back, oversensitive, gasping. The cab went
quiet except for our breathing. Then the blindfold came off.
The light was dim, just the glow of the dashboard instruments,
but I blinked anyway, my eyes wet and stinging. Greta
was looking down at me, her face slick with sweat,
her gray hair plastered to her forehead. Her blue eyes
were soft in a way I hadn't seen before. Come here,
she said. She untied my wrists, pulled me up, led
me back to the sleeper cab, where the sheets were
still wet and the air still smelled like sex and
piss and us. And then she wrapped her arms around me,
pulled me against her chest, held me. I started to cry,
not sobbing, just silent tears leaking out of me like
everything else had. She didn't shush me, didn't tell me
it was okay, just held on her rough hand stroking
my back, her chin resting on the top of my head.
After a long moment, she tilted my face up and
kissed me. It wasn't like the fucking. It was slow,
almost tender. Her mouth was soft against mine, her tongue
gentle as it slipped between my lips. I tasted myself
on her, tasted her on myself. The kiss deepened, and
we sank back onto the ruined mattress, together, limbs tangling,
hearts hammering against each other's ribs. We stayed like that
until the sun started bleeding through the windshield the next morning.
The cab smelled like coffee and cigarette smoke. I was
wearing Gretta's spare flannel, my hair still damp from the
gas station's sink, where I'd cleaned up. She drove with
one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh.
We didn't talk much, didn't need to. The road stretched
ahead of us, endless and empty, the Arizona scrub giving
way to something greener on the horizon, Kentucky maybe, or
somewhere else. I didn't care anymore. Then Greta's hand tightened
on my thigh. Look at that, she said. She nodded
toward the side of the road. A girl, young, blonde,
her thumb out, her backpack slung low, her sun dress
fluttering in the wind of passing traffic. Greta smiled at me.
I smiled back. She pulled the truck to a stop.
The air brakes hissed. I reached into my bag, my
bag of toys, my bag of tricks, the bag that
had started all of this, and pulled out the handcuffs.
They glinted in the morning light as I swung them
from one finger. Who knew life on the road could
be such fucking fun, I said. The blonde girl was
already running toward the cab door. I hoped you enjoyed
today's sexy story. If you love this podcast, leave an
app review, Share what sexy fantasies you want to hear.
Maybe we can make your dirty dreams come true. See
you soon.