come the night

[ Due to lockdown, Covid and all things pandemic, being able to enjoy actual regular human contact of the sexual kind, with friends or strangers, has been curtailed big time. So, to fill the void I’m indulging in some fantasy fiction. I hope you’ll enjoy and I hope it’s not too long, it was longer but I trimmed it quite a bit having to a bit carried away. There might be a second part, not sure right now, will wait and see. Erotic fun? Wishful-thinking? I’ll leave that up to you to draw your own conclusions. We join our protagonist in a motorway services. ]

He asked if there was anything he could do. I answered I was sure that the roadside assistance would be there eventually and I wasn’t in any rush now having accepted my fate of spending several hours in a motorway services. He then asked if I wouldn’t mind some company, being he was a trucker who usually worked through the nights he rarely had a chance to have an actual conversation with anyone; a free coffee was in it for me if so. Actually, he said he’d get me one anyway as I looked like I needed it, probably playing the knight to the damsel in distress card. As it happened I didn’t really mind. He was pleased of some conversation being that he’s likely to fall asleep and missing his deadline for getting back on the road.

I accepted, happy to spend some of the time at least not on my own during these graveyard hours in a motorway services with barely another soul around but for the skeleton food service staff that appeared and vanished randomly as and when they were required to serve and feed yet another lost, bleary-eyed soul passing through.

I’d already had a second text that due to demand and the fact I was somewhere safe that they could be longer than originally told. Not wanting to put them out I texted back saying it was fine, after all, getting frustrated wouldn’t achieve anything and I was resigned by then anyway.

He returned with our coffees and exchanged what was basically small-talk. The usual, where are you from, where are going, what do you do (didn’t ask him that as it was obvious). He was mid-fifties, stocky, somewhat rugged, strong-looking, insofar as I could easily imagine him changing a truck tyre with his bare hands without the aid of a jack.

Despite the extra caffeine the night was taking its toll on me. He noticed and held out the keys to his truck offering me to go and have a lie down if I wanted, being there was a bed in the back and more room for stretching out than my car would offer, a bit of private space for a kip as he wasn’t setting off anywhere for ages yet. He would stay in the services, showing me his washbag saying he would capitalise on the showers they have especially for drivers such as him.

Wasn’t he worried I might steal it! He smiled at my innocence, pointing out that me being somewhat smaller, at 5’3, and him being about 6’1, he reckoned I’d be hard pushed to reach the pedals, and even if I did, when was the last time I drove an 18-geared vehicle. Good point. I wasn’t going to nick it any way; I’m no car-jacker, or trucknapper for that matter. He said he would come and get me as and when the rescue guy turned up.

His truck was enormous, compared to little me anyway, and by simply clicking the keys until I was in range when it blinked its indicators at me. Also, it was the only bright red cab and even under these disorienting car park lights was pretty stand-out. A long trailer was slung to the back and a fat cab which upon climbing clumsily into discovered was surprisingly spacious with an almost an entire room behind the driver’s seat, mostly take up with a bed but nevertheless.

I have to say, it did smell of truck-diver chic, not wholly unpleasant but definitely male. I glanced at the dashboard and even if I was in the mind to steal it I wouldn’t have a clue where to start being that it resembled something more like the flight-deck of a passenger aircraft. Far too many switches and knobs and levers and panels, about the only thing I recognised was the steering wheel!

By now it was now just nearly 2am, I took a liberty and stretched out on his bed, he offered it after all- far too comfortable for its own good and I seemed to be asleep within minutes.

I dreamed I was at a dance, dancing with a man, his body pressed close to mine, his warmth, breathing, it was both comforting and exciting, we moved rhythmically to whatever the music was, one palm in the small of my back, drawn inwards.

Then I woke, or thought I did. I hadn’t opened my eyes yet felt the light of the moon streaming into the cab; though at that precise moment I wasn’t sure where I was. I felt a presence. The dance floor shrank into a vanishing point. I was drawing, or being drawn, out of this dreamscape. The palm was still there, resting on me. No, it was moving now, travelling along my body, my arms and now my legs. I no longer wore the ball-gown and was back in my jeans, black button shirt and jumper. Fingers brushed some hair aside which had flopped over my face, it was in my mouth.

I didn’t feel any part of me move, as though still dreaming, or in that space between sleeping and waking- unconsciously conscious; a faint whiff of aftershave, not overpowering but oddly familiar.

For what felt like ages two hands pretty much caressed parts of me, nowhere overly intimate, at least not until they slid up the denim of my jeans between my legs as I was laying on my back still it was easy to do. I heard breathing, not dream-breathing this time, real breath. My pulse quickened in a fight or flight way but despite this didn’t move, didn’t feel I should move. Instead I just lay there doing and saying nothing, eyes still closed, wary of opening them.

The hand reached my knee, pressing in, then further up the inside seam. I felt an immediate rush of blood and warmth to my thighs, a reflex. I told myself to open my eyes but still I didn’t. I felt conflicted, experiencing an almost out of body experience; looking down on me and ‘him’, watching.

His breathing grew louder as I honed in on it more. I, we, were in his cab, I remembered now his offer. It must be him, who else could it be. His touch found my groin and rested on my mound, through my jeans I felt him, how warm, large his hand was. The rush to my hips was a torrent now. Why didn’t I open my eyes, why didn’t I sweep his hand away? His other hand slipped under my jumper, under my blouse, touching my skin now, over my tummy reaching my breast, fondling my bra, I felt it very distinctly. I think at this point I made a sound, an inhalation, a moan perhaps, I can’t recall. He felt me thoroughly, squeezing both in turn as though sizing me up; or testing me. The urge to open my eyes was unbearable, but also felt as though I couldn’t, as though they were glued shut.

There was an exhilarating fear, more the exhilarating than fear.

I was still torn on how to respond, my body was at odds with my mind as I felt it surrendering to events. I felt my legs moved apart, not by my doing but his encouragement. No words, just touch, manipulation. This was agonising, my sensible side refusing to react, instead giving in to my natural urge to submit. A hand was under my shirt again and over my breast, my nipples now erect inside the cups which his fingers were now teasing away so he could feel them. I felt him succeeding.

I opened my eyes finally. Above me in the cab was Peter, the driver, his face looking down fixed on my body; the half-light infiltrating the cab made shadows dance when occasional vehicles went passed. At this he pulled my jumper up and over my head, awkwardly, my face momentarily shrouded in the wool. Then, still without a word, started unbuttoning my top being he was obviously feeling bolder confident I wasn’t going to, or able to, stop him.

Why wasn’t I trying too?

I caught his eyes, he smiled. His body appeared huge, like a bear, overwhelming, out of scale in this relatively small space. With all buttons hastily undone he pulled it open and I distinctly gasped; his hand were immediately over my breasts again, working them excitedly so much they partly came out of the bra. At this he reached around and unhooked it but didn’t pull it away, just upwards revealing them. His hands were heavy, clumsy, excited, rough.

My own breathing quickened, my mind was doing backflips, I tried not to enjoy it as I thought it was wrong I should be, but in truth I couldn’t help feel a rising sense of arousal permeating all parts of me.

My hands and arms lay limp still, as though weighted down- they weren’t. I felt the waistband of my jeans loosed as he’d unbuttoned them and was pulled down the zip. At this I almost pushed him away. This was too much now- wasn’t it? Without warning he flipped me over onto my front, my head twisted to one side of the pillow so as to breathe as I felt his fingers tugging at my tight jeans, tugging them from my hips and eventually they gave way allowing him to pull them down quickly and completely off, one leg then the next. Before my next breath his hands were caressing, or roughly handling, my buttocks pressing me into the bed. I tried to suppress the dampening between my thighs, unsuccessfully.

I was then flipped again onto my back; he was strong. Now I stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure, shocked at myself but wondering where this was going, when do I stop it, could I?

He gripped my sex firmly and again almost roughly in one big hand and squeezed which lifted my hips off the bed. I felt the cotton pressed into my intimate folds soaking up the warmth even more. Such a dizzying rush went to my head as he grabbed at my purple knickers and proceeded to tug them away. I reached for instinctively (so now I choose to react) and held on, but not convincingly as my fingers gave up their defence and he pulled them clean away. He leaned over and before I knew it he was sucking my nipple then between his teeth biting: it was an electric shock of a sensation. Blissful agony, I think I swore at that point as he pulled and made it even more hard than it had become.

As he did, his fingers made me open my legs allowing his fingers to slip inside my sex, peeling me easily, guided by my wet juices which now lined each fold. For the first time since this all began I heard him say something, a pleasant surprise to find me shaved. In they went; I felt them like claws at first until he was inside and getting down to fingering me feverishly, roughly. 

My nipples were covered in his saliva, both very aroused, raw, after being treated to his teeth. My hips were writhing under his weight and his foreplay which managed to unintentionally keep banging against my clit which was ecstatic for me. My clothing was no either gone or hanging off me awry. Even if I’d wanted to now I don’t think I couldn’t have escaped, I’d made my bed, so to speak and now I was being seduced in it.

On craning my neck I saw him fumbling with his jeans, unfastening them as quick as he could, pulling them off his hips and doing the same with his shorts underneath at which his very hard, circumcised erection appeared, almost bouncing out with unadulterated joy, like a jack-in-the-box- jack was definitely out of the box now. A drop from it caught in the light of a passing vehicle, precum.

His erection looked sizeable as far as I could tell from my awkward angle. He lifted up one of my knees spreading me more and positioned himself. I felt his jab it against me where it collided with my clit almost making me orgasm, but I held back, then he did it again, I think each time by accident trying to enter me. I reached up and brace myself against the side of the cab. Each time he poked he got closer to his goal, each time sending waves of pleasure through me which he wouldn’t have no in his clumsy efforts.

I wondered if I should reach across, grab it and guide him, would be easier for me, but as I thought that I felt his tip find its target and he pushed stretching me. He was quite a girth as I felt myself opening, his tip forcing itself forward, me braced, breathing hard as though about to give birth, except something was going into me, not coming out. He pushed and I felt the head slide all the way in. I felt my hips grip him involuntarily, again swearing, while hearing him respond, oh yeh, take it.

I did, I took it, had no choice. actually I did, or had a choice but now it was too late as he started to roughly fuck me as I felt my body welcome him inside, want him now inside, feel him bang against me each time sending rippling lust through my skin. I was on the edge of another orgasm, I could feel it. I held back.

His hand grabbed my breast again, squeezed, the other clenching my hip as he moved his hips hard and deep inside me again and again. I thought the whole cab must be shaking, I was, sliding up and down still bracing the best I could, watching his chest his face, hearing his grunts, smelling the sex the air now reeked of in here. My orgasm came before his and it came strong, almost painfully, my insides collapsed all the while he kept fucking and fucking, nothing was going to stop him now, his bare sex intimately at one with mine, his 50 or so year old body pressed against mine of 23.

There were moments I winced at the sheer violence of his rhythm but paradoxically it only served to increase my desire for more. Yes, I had become complicit in this unexpected tryst and was no totally immersed and happily drowning in every sensation his and my body threw at me.

He grabbed my arms and spread me out in whatever remaining space there was using me as a lever against which to go even harder. At each thrust he went all the way, my small hips wide open and sweating, my face sweating, not glistening or perspiring, pure raw sweat. I had the urge to swear, loudly, like that moment when a weightlifter raises the weights above their head with voluble exhalation of effort: I needed to but didn’t. The sound that came out was much more restrained despite how unrestrained we were, and he was completely unrestrained: unleashed.

I may feel bruised after this but at that moment didn’t care. I imagined he was growing bigger inside me but I was tightening around him. I couldn’t help it. Another orgasm was on its way. I’d surrendered any control a long time back.

The damn holding back my second orgasm cracked and burst and just at that moment he shouted holy fuck! I thought he’d done himself an injury, then I realised as I cum and his hips tensed with a forceful thrust he’d also cum emptying what I imagine was an awful lot into me, my hips, themselves in the throes of their own bliss: my own bliss. He held himself there, a few more thrusts as I felt it throb while I pictured it flowing out of him and into me, every last drop of seed and sperm he had.

It must have been a lot as I was already aware of it trickling out just as he withdrew, peeling his sweaty hips from my sweaty hips. He raised himself probably quicker than he planned banging his head on the roof prompting me to laugh while trying to hold in as much of what he left in me as possible, trying not to make any more of a mess than we already had.

I must have looked a shambles, though why I should worry about that now is completely irrational. He sat back and I closed my legs, finally, feeling like he was still there between them. He loomed large in the confines but his ardour was definitely less, well, harder. I was speechless while he grinned with a sated expression.

He climbed down out of the cab to go use the services bathroom, I decided I’d go as soon as my legs worked normally again. Until then I laid there after having stolen from his plentiful supply of tissues and wipes. I pulled on my jeans, excluding knickers and pulled the duvet over intending to go to the toilets, instead I dozed; that is until I heard muffled, disjointed voices outside.

(there might be more to come, I suppose it depends on what happened next….)

© Emmaleela


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