Chapter 10
Nothing happened. No turnout appeared. The boy's mouth was no longer licking or blowing. His hands no longer caressed her. Not even the damned tire club was doing what she had expected it to do. She sneaked a glance and the boy had turned around face up and still pillowing his long-haired head on her naked lap. He was thumbing through the truck stop directory she had given him.
Now he thinks of it! Ella struggled to suppress her rage. Of all the goddam times to stop! Why couldn't he have looked up the next decent stop when she gave him the book instead of getting her all hot to trot and then...? She resolved that sooner or later she would extract vengeance from this feckless youth. Boys will be boys and all that but if a woman wanted any kind of satisfaction out of a boy she had to teach him a little discipline.
She managed to control her face and concentrate on her driving. Finally the boy was through thumbing the directory. He held it open, stretching his arms skyward behind the steering wheel like some praying pagan. She squinted and read:
"24 hour service,
Air cond. restaurant,
Air cond. sleeping facilities,
Motel,
Trucker's store,
Road and tire service,
Mechanical service,
Western Unio,
Metered pumps,
Drivers lounge-showers
Laundromat
Truck & trailer lube
Truck Washing."
It was about average as truck stops went, Ella guessed. Old Fred had told her there was one on an eastern highway that had topless waitresses. The important thing about this one was it was only another twenty miles down the highway. Then, thinking it over, Ella realized there was something else even more important about the next truck stop.
She remembered some of those "air conditioned sleeping facilities" of eighteen years ago when she had made a few runs with Fred. They were clean and comfortable enough. But they were for men and there was no more privacy in barracks or shower than in any army establishment. She went over this list again and saw that some concessions had been made in the last eighteen years. More women were driving now and more husband and wife teams were driving. The operative word was Motel.
Which meant privacy and hot baths and all the lovely things that can happen in a motel room when two willing people have just had a hot bath.
Then abruptly Ella was brought back to the present when she still sat in a driver's seat with her ski pants pulled down and her jacket pushed up and a long-haired boy's head still on her lap. He had put the book down now and turned his face back to her bare belly, and he was running one hot little hand over her and driving her up the wall. But where was his other hand?
Suddenly she discovered where his other hand was. She had thought for a moment that the boy had for gotten his crazy game with the tire club, but his hand was right back there, firmly gripping the shank and pushing the flanged handle at her unwilling cunt.
Feeling the sudden trickle of love's elixir between the gaping lips of her vulva, Ella knew she had been wrong. She, Ella, might be unwilling but her pussy was not. While the boy had been thumbing through the directory her body had obeyed an older law and gone right on preparing itself for what was to come. She might still be hesitant but her cunt was slicked up-waiting for whatever.
Whatever was harder than a petrified bagel, pushing at her pussy, that flanged and ribbed club handle already past the hairy portals of her pleasure box. She concentrated on the flashing red lights of the snow plow. Tried to concentrate, that is. Who could concentrate on driving with anything as big, as slick and hard, with a great big flange on the end? Who could concentrate on anything except the feel of something stiffer and harder than she had ever known being pushed steadily and unrelentingly up her gaping pussy?
She could feel it going in, stretching her as not even this wonderful boy's prodigious prod had stretched her. The boy's cock had been long but this was thick. She marveled at how her body had subconsciously prepared for this ordeal by secreting an extra quantity of love's lubrication. It was sliding deep, deep into her and it was not hurting!
It felt so good she wanted to let go of the wheel and kick her legs in the air and fall flat on her back and yodel and croon and giggle and take it in more, faster, deeper!
He was pushing it into her and meanwhile he was kissing her belly, licking her navel and caressing her ass and tits with his free hand.
Ella struggled not to giggle. She tried to keep the rig centered in the narrow lane cleared by the snow plow. The boy was still pushing. He must have it nearly halfway in now. She stole a glance from her driving and the ribbed handle of the club was almost invisible, buried inside the portals of her pleasure palace. And still the boy was pushing it into her. Four inches of slick, varnished white ash, with a tremendous flange at the end and rough ribbing to give a good grip on the club. The ribbing was gripping the walls of her pussy, rubbing, scraping almost to the threshold of pain, but it was turning her on far more than she wanted to admit to the wonderful smooth-skinned boy who was doing this to her.
Still he was pushing, forcing the makeshift dildo up her streaming cunt, turning her on more than she had ever imagined possible. She wondered why in all the lonely nights when old Fred was on the road-all the dreary solitude of widowhood-why had she never thought to alleviate her loneliness with a broom handle or some such substitute for the cock she had needed so badly?
Sheer ignorance, she guessed. But why was she doing it now when she had a lovely boy here with a flesh and blood cock? This was no way to fly. But, if she was going to sit here piloting this truck through a snow storm there was no other way. If she was going to hang onto the wheel and see where she was going the boy couldn't get cock into her. And if he were to drive she could never find a way to twist her body to spindle her cunt on that elegantly slim slammer while he drove.
Still the boy was pushing. She glanced down and the club handle was invisible. The piece of cord around the flange that joined handle to club was also being devoured by her insatiable pussy. She could feel the rough cord rasp her clit as the club drew it into her. She was suspended like Mohammed's coffin but, though the prophet hung between heaven and earth, Ella dangled halfway between delight and horror.
A billy club for Christ's sake! How could anything So crude turn her on this way? She was lucky she didn't carry a claw hammer to thump tires like lots of truckers did. She wondered what it would be like in her own house, in the solitude of her lonely bed to try this experiment. Surely it wouldn't be as nice if she were to do it herself. The turn-on came from the lovely boy who was kissing her belly, caressing her, licking her. She put out a hand blindly and captured his cock.
It was hard and throbbing. Almost as hard, she realized, as the makeshift dildo he was putting into her. She wished she had that lovely cock inside her. But she didn't. She had a great, grooved and flanged billy club handle sticking up her twat, and it seemed almost sinful to be getting so much pleasure from a piece of wood. How could the boy do this to her?
It was, she decided, degrading. And the only way to revenge herself was to do something very like it to the boy. But she had to keep her eyes on the road; at least one hand on the wheel of the creeping truck. Her other hand was already on the boy's knob-headed, elegantly long and slim muffin-stabber. She gave it a squeeze.
The only result was a tiny tremble of the hand that was pushing a piece of wood into her. She squeezed again. The wood went in farther. Ella sneaked a look down from her driving and not only was the handle out of sight; the cord around the club was also half lost inside her. She could feel it rasping her tight-stretched clit.
That sensitive organ was pulled out of shape, half wrapped around the varnished white ash that was invading her. The boy's capable hand was tapping it, caressing it, rubbing it, wringing the last possible bit of erotic sensation from this homely procedure. Ella struggled to sort out her feelings.
Nothing this simple had any right to feel so good. The boy was filling her with joy that passeth all understanding-stretching her, abusing her, hurting her. But Ella had never hurt so nice before. Damn this infuriating boy! Where could a boy still not quite ready to shave ever have learned all these little tricks she had never learned in eighteen years of amatory experience?
She squeezed his cock again, harder this time. The boy gave a moan of supernal bliss and drove his face deeper into her bared belly, licking and kissing her creamy skin in a positive frenzy of lascivious delight. His hand came away from her clit and she sensed the warm supple soft wetness of his tongue laving that stretched-out-of-shape organ of super-sensitivity.
The boy's other hand was still occupied with something over a foot of machine-turned, smooth-varnished white ash. The club was in her so deep now and still the pain was more pleasure than she cared to admit. Ella wondered if she was bottomless like some mountain lake. Surely he couldn't go stuffing it to her forever. There had to be an end to even the nicest of sensations.
Then she realized the boy was no longer pushing it into her. He was starting to pull it out Ella didn't know whether to scream or kiss him. She grasped the wheel with her left hand, trying to concentrate on the flashing lights of the snow plow while she grasped the boy's cock with her right hand. She squeezed, caressed, ran her fist and his foreskin up and down over the rock-hard, throbbing knob on the end of the boy's joy stick.
The boy moaned and squirmed but he did not relax his grip on the tire club. Instead, he began moving it in and out of her, doing his best to imitate the motion of his cock sliding in and out of her secret slit.
It was, Ella realized, a very passable imitation. And oh Jesus, did it ever feel gooood! It felt so good she sensed her vision filming over until the flashing lights were blurred in a foam of pink passion.
She surrendered to her body's instincts. Degrading perhaps. Delightful, positively. She didn't care what the boy was doing to her or what he was doing it with. Nothing that felt this unbearably good could be all bad. Struggling to keep the truck in the narrow snow-free lane, she squeezed the boy's cock, massaged it, caressed it, milked it.
She got a teasing finger behind his throbbing thumper to toy with the well-furred skin of his scrotum. She felt his balls squirm with sudden delight and the boy's pelvis began unconsciously lunging forward toward her educated hand.
He was ramming the club in and out of her with a gradually accelerating rhythm, its knurled handgrip was pulling the lining of her vagina, stretching her into delightfully new and' different directions. Each time the club came partway out all those grooves and that tremendous flange strove to turn her pink-flushed vagina inside out. And each time her vagina everted the boy's agile tongue caressed places no tongue had ever gone before. He was licking her pussy, running his tongue in loving, lascivious circles around the tight-stretched, super-sensitized marble-hard lump that was her clitoris.
Just as she was giving up, unable to withstand the onslaught of so many sensual stimuli, Ella's attention was momentarily diverted by a sign. It was nearly invisible in the froth of snow and slush being churned up by the snow plow. She squinted, trying to read it and finally managed to in the split second before she passed it. The sign said: "TRUCK STOP 3 MI."
Just in time she got her eyes back on the road and corrected an incipient wander. It took both hands and then she had an anxious ten seconds trying to find the boy's cock again. She found it once more and began her silent revenge for the indignities he was inflicting on her blissfully stretched blossom. The boy shivered, drove his face against her bare belly and moaned.
He was still ramming the tire club in and out of her, licking her everted pussy each time the flanged club strove to turn her inside out. She could feel the gathering storm in her passion-stuffed belly. This time the cataclysm was going to blow her mind-blow her head off if she didn't catch her breath and get things under control.
Ella gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the flashing fights. She tried to ignore the thing that was going in and out of her cunt, pushing all her insides this way and that to make room for this indecisive invader that couldn't make up its wooden mind whether to stay in or out. She tried not to think about the lovely boy who was licking her, whose free hand was running up under the front of her ski jacket to caress the fine firmness of her matched set of forty-twos.
As well try to ignore the lovely piece of masculinity she gripped in her hot little hand, she thought wryly. How could she pretend she was alone and just driving a truck in a storm when this lovely, smooth-skinned boy was doing everything humanly possible to transmute her willpower into joy juice, her brains into peanut butter with his kissing and licking and poking and caressing and....
Ella took refuge in mental calculations. She was going down this narrow, plowed-out lane at fifteen miles an hour. Multiplied by three miles, at four minutes to the mile, that meant in three minutes she ought to be sighting the turnoff for the truck stop. Sensing the gathering storm in her thrumming belly, Ella wondered if she could make it off the road into the truck stop's parking lot before she dissolved into a puddle of come.