Chapter 1
It was heavenly. Ella lay supine, thighs flexed and spread wide in classic missionary position. She could feel old Fred's honker sliding slowly in and out, in and out just like he always did it for a solid hour whenever he came home from a cross-country run and made up for lost time. It was so lovely to have a man inside her doing what comes naturally-and speaking of coming....
She was half asleep and knew she ought to coax herself awake. It was a sin to lie here lazing away and not really getting the most out of this lovely cock. Oooohh, wow, did it ever feel good! She felt the storm gather inside her belly as every tiny nerve and muscle tensed, gathering strength for the cataclysm to come. And still she couldn't wake up all the way. Damn! Suddenly she was overcome by one of those old wives' suspicions. Had some stranger sneaked into her bed and taken advantage of her? Was Fred even home? Maybe he was off on a run and she was dreaming that it was Fred and some burglar....
Shit! Next thing she knew she'd be looking under the bed if old Fred didn't start getting home oftener. It was funny. He was only gone for two weeks at a time but the weeks somehow kept getting longer. You'd think after eighteen years together, getting fucked by her own husband, wouldn't be quite the breathtaking deal that was-oh wow! He had stopped his steady plunging and bottomed out, grinding his pelvis against hers and forcing his rock-hard cock tip to rotate, stirring her insides into a passionate pud ding as his happy old hammer stretched her pussy in delightful new directions.
Suddenly Ella was wide awake. She was coming, pulsating and straining, juices flowing as every nerve and muscle tensed, relaxed, tensed again while her pussy played love's old sweet song. Oooohhh, aaaahhh! She wrapped her legs tight around-around nothing!
It wasn't enough to wake up alone in a cold bed. No, to top it all off, the goddam phone was ringing. Now who had to be ringing this time of night. Could it be Fred? Then she remembered. Fred was never going to ring her up again. After eighteen years together, old Fred had died in the saddle. He hadn't piled up the truck but his heart had blown out at the other end of the line-in another bedroom, and that had been the first she had ever known about old Fred's other wife at the other end of the line.
Not that she blamed him. Old Fred had been hung and he had known what to do with it. She hoped his other wife had been as happy as she had.
So who the hell was ringing her phone at-She glanced at the clock. My god, it was only four A.M. Damn the phone! But who could it be? There was, she realized, an easy way to find out. She picked up the phone.
"Ella?"
No, of course not. This is her teen-age lover whose voice hasn't changed yet. She managed not to say it.
"Ella, I know you're not feeling so hot these days and I know you need money and I know the rig is just sitting there in the alley, behind your house."
So what else is new? It was Al. She had known him for years-a fat, red-faced balding man who was dispatcher-for all the independent truckers in this part of the state.
"-load of balloons," Al was saying. "You wouldn't even have to drop half a gear getting over the pass. I know you can do it."
Ella supposed she could. Years ago she had made a few runs with Fred, taking turns driving & sleeping in the suicide box. They had traveled a lot together until-until he had found another wife at the other end of the line, she suddenly realized. Well how about that!
"Look, Ella, if you'd just stop moping around that house alone you'd feel better. You can do yourself a favor and me too. I'm in a bind."
"Yeah," Ella said drily. "What's in your load of balloons? Pig iron like last time?"
"Really, Ella, it's a light load. Lampshades or some such damn thing. I watched the boys loading the cartons three at a time."
It was silly, she knew, to let that rig sit in the alley for nearly a month since Fred had died and, a swamper had brought it home. Sixty thousand dollars tied up in tractor and trailer and not even paying the cost of the licenses ... I could get out and meet a few people. I could get to the other end of the-Suddenly Ella knew she was going to do it. And she knew why. She didn't want to start a fight or anything vindictive like that but she was curious. After all, she had been sharing Fred with another woman. If Fred had liked her that well she couldn't be all bad. Maybe they could even be friends.
She hadn't said a word over the phone yet but Al seemed to be reading her mind. "Great!" he enthused. "Put on your thermals and spot her at the second dock in an hour. OK?"
"Thermals?"
"It snowed last night. Haven't you noticed?"
Ella hadn't. She mumbled something and hung up. Her cunt was still sopping from the memory of love fulfilled. She got out of bed and scooted into the bathroom where even the thin narrow cannula of the douche gave her a delicious little thrill as its cold hardness slipped up her well-slicked pussy. She emitted an involuntary aaaahhh as her cunt was suddenly flooded with warm water. It felt just like Fred coming the first time after two weeks on the road. She moved the cannula gently in and out, twisting it and working it to make sure she had rinsed the last vestiges of love's elixir from his cockpocket. Suddenly she realized she was moving the cannula much faster, much deeper than was strictly necessary.
Hastily she put the douche bag away. She showered and toweled herself dry, pausing before the full length mirror for a quick inventory. She was tall for a woman, five-seven, with a body still firm and free of stretch marks at forty. Well, actually she was going to be forty-three next month. But ... she had a set of jugs to match her age, firm forty-twos with gently rounded under sides, ski-jump upper slopes that rose abruptly and dangerously to firm pink nipples almost the color of her pinkish blond hair.
She studied her waistline for signs of enlargement. It was still only twenty five-scarcely an inch larger than when old Fred had first stuck his glorious honker into her eighteen years ago. Damn him! Why did he have to go and die like that?
Smooth skin, creamy, but with stretch marks that covered the gentle roundness of her belly, punctuated with a surprisingly deep navel that ... she felt herself starting to quiver and glow again at the memory of how it had felt whenever old Fred had bent over and stuck his tongue into the depths of that navel. Damn him! Go off and die like that when he knew how she needed that tireless old cock of his!
Thighs like ivory columns rose to lose themselves in the dense thicket of her pinkish blond pubic patch. She really ought to trim it. Then, remembering how old Fred had loved to spend a happy hour with her cuticle scissors trimming the ringlets of her crotch cover, Ella suddenly felt the tears start. Damn him! She didn't give a damn about his other wife. But why did he have to go and die and leave her high and dry?
She turned away from the mirror and slipped into a peignoir before returning to her lonely bedroom. She looked past the edge of a blind and, sure enough Al had been telling the truth. There were four inches of Wet snow over everything. She slipped out of the peignoir and into bra and panties. She thought a moment. The rig had a nice tight cab. Even if it was old, Fred had always kept it in good condition. The heater would keep her warm without any thermal underwear. She put on a pair of tight-fitting ski pants and matching jacket.
Trudging through the snow-filled back yard, she wondered if she could remember how to drive a big rig after all these years. Outside she abruptly realized how cold it was. The snow was wet though, and would be melted in a few hours. Cars would have rough going but duals with eighty pounds of air, held down by forty or fifty thousand pounds of freight would have no trouble getting through. And the windshield was so high above all the other traffic that she wouldn't even get splashed.
She supposed she ought to go around and thump all the tires, but it was only a couple of miles to the terminal and there would be time enough there where she could do something about it if there did happen to be a soft one. Then suddenly she realized what Al had actually said. I watched the boys load cartons three at a time. She didn't have to take the trailer at all. He had one loaded and ready. Sighing, she put on gloves and got out to crank down the front end of the trailer so she could drive the tractor s fifth wheel out from under it.
Finally she was back inside the frigid cab. She studied the knobs and switches, trying to remember. She checked the transmissions. Fred's rig was old enough to have two sticks-one for each box instead the automatic shifts in some of the newer rigs. She got the brownie into overdrive and the main box into neutral and hit the starter. Once the engine was whirling tiredly away she punched the button on the gadget that shot a jet of ether into the manifold. The diesel fired with a roar like the end of the world and then settled down to a steady rumble like a dinosaur in heat.
She watched the needle slowly rise on the air pressure gauge. When it reached forty pounds she crunched the main box into second and began creeping the bobtailed rig down the alley. By the time she reached the street the pressure had climbed to a hundred. She touched the brake treadle and the rig stood on its nose. Which meant she had not forgotten to close any air hose valves when she unhooked the trailer. Watching the tach and mindful of cold oil, she eased the tractor through a couple of gears and lazed over the couple of miles to the loading dock without ever forcing the diesel past a fast idle.
Crossing an intersection she stretched to reach the main shift stick and a ski-jump tit jutted abruptly from her tight-fitting jacket. A man on the corner whistled. Suddenly Ella's spirits rose. It was comforting to know that a week short of forty-three she could still attract a man. But would there ever be another man with a honker as indefatigable as old Fred's?
She didn't know. Ella had been a virgin when she married Fred. He had always given her what she wanted and she had never been tempted to sample other men. She had no standard of comparison. Traffic thickened and soon she was creeping down a street behind a tractor and semi, with another tractor hooked to a semi and a pup creeping along behind her. A moving van coming the opposite way honked and she saw the driver giving her a fist-in-the-air Italian gesture. Suddenly she realized that a man's arm and fist in that position looked just like a stud horse's cock.
The seat was a little too far back for Ella and she had to stretch to reach the pedals. She would have to adjust it while the yard spotter was hooking her up to the trailer. Meanwhile each time she slid forward the seat's gentle friction of her ass reminded her how long it had been since she had felt the warm sensual feel of flesh sliding over flesh, into flesh, in and out, in and out....
She pulled into the yard and tried to see which trailer was hers. Suddenly Al appeared beside her in the cab. She wondered how so fat a man could spring six feet up into the cab of a moving truck. "Hi Ella," he puffed. "That one to the left. Glad you decided to try it."
Suddenly Ella knew from the number of trailers in the yard that Al was not in any kind of a bind. He had cooked up this emergency just to get her out of that empty house. Fat, red-faced old Al was a land man-even if he was at great pains never to let anyone know how softhearted the dispatcher was. She caught herself wondering if he had a wife or family. Did fat, balding red-faced men have Cocks too? What would it be like to feel him on top of her?
It wouldn't feel like old Fred, that was for sure; Fred had been tall and thin, with a long thin cock that dangled halfway to his knees. Across the yard a strange young man whistled and waved. "Do I know him?" Ella asked above the rumble of the idling diesel.
Al shook his head. "Just some kid with high hopes," he said. , High hopes. And a high hard stiff ... Ella gave an angry shrug and forced the main box into reverse. The rig began moving too fast and she remembered she had been bobtailing. She stopped again and got the brownie into underdrive. Slow as an hour hand, the tractor backed toward the dock, toward a waiting trailer. She felt the fifth wheel slide smoothly into position and lock.
"Haven't lost your touch, I see," Al grinned. He opened the door and hopped out, spinning to climb agilely down the ladder. "Stop at the office and I'll give you all the papers," he said and was gone.
Ella looked at the dials. The engine had warmed in the couple of miles she had driven but the temperature needle still sat on zero. The shutters would be closed and the oil still thick and cold. She set the throttle at a fast idle and cocked the handle of the brake. With the cold engine clattering away it sounded as if all the bearing metal in the lower end had gone but she knew it was just the injector cams pounding. She visualized that steel plunger squirting a drop of oil into the cylinder each time the piston came up and remembered the way her ass used to rise to meet old Fred's injector and-goddam him! Hastily she climbed down out of the cab where she could blame the tears on the cold raw wind.
The tight-fitting ski pants forced her panties up the crack of her ass, right into her secret slit as she climbed the ladder down from the cab. She wanted to stretch her legs, lack, do something to get that infuriating fold of cloth out of her pussy, but the yard was full of men and suddenly she just knew every one of them was watching. She could feel that cloth rubbing her pussy, touching her clit and suddenly it was rock hard and throbbing, and she was filled with the memory of how old Fred's finger used to caress her secret trigger until she was moaning with delight, joyously waiting and praying for him to grab her knees, spread her thighs wide and thrust his happy honker deep, deep into her waiting cunt.