Chapter 8
Had the boy read her mind? Did he want her to do what he had done short moments ago? She steeled herself. If that was what it took that was what she would do. She hoped she could guess how to do it right. Was he going to take it all the way out? How could they position themselves in this narrow, highsided bunk that was as confining as a bathtub?
Slowly the boy pulled the endless length of his lance out of her, leaving Ella bereft and empty as she had awakened after one of those sheet-twisting dreams. She didn't know if she could stand it without crying. She remembered a moment ago how the boy had dawdled and she had been infuriated. She hadn't known when to let well enough alone. Now he was pulling it out and she wished-oh how she wished she had it back inside her again!
She felt the tremendous round thumping head sliding out of her vagina. It felt like a golf ball, she guessed. It was almost all the way out. She squeezed her eyes shut lest the boy see tears. Just at the crucial moment the boy stopped.
Once more she gasped. The head of his hammer hovered, barely parting her flushed lips, tantalizing her with its nearness. He feinted, giving little false starts as he moved a fraction of an inch in, then out, then in again until Ella was gritting her teeth with the effort not to scream. Just when she knew she was going to explode and say unlady-like things and pound his back with her fists and drum her heels on his ass, the boy finally stopped playing.
Wham! Without warning he had driven it full depth into her, traveling in a fraction bf a second the same route that had taken two and a half eternities for him to penetrate on his maiden voyage. Ella gasped and tried to contain her surprise. Her surprise rapidly turned into delight but before she could adjust to the status quo the boy was pulling his cock out of her, feinting again before once more-wham!
And once more he was pulling it out of her slowly, feinting until she wanted to scream, and then she wasn't quite sure what was happening until suddenly she realized the boy had it halfway into her again, and this time he had stopped with the wham-bam bit.
Slowly, the boy settled down to give her a workman-like job of hosing, lancing her with the same single-minded attention to detail that had made eighteen years with old Fred so soul satisfying. Ella felt herself starting to relax as she realized that it was finally happening, that this boy had stopped with all the kooky buildups, the fiddling around, that he was finally going to fuck her the way god intended women to be fucked.
He was pouring it to her slowly, steadily, his lean, hard-muscled ass rising and falling with the steadiness of a metronome. Each time he pulled out as far as he dared the boy hesitated for a moment, the round bluntness of his slick cockhead barely inside her labia. He held for a moment, then began a slow, steady plunge back down the tunnel of love, driving deep. It seemed to Ella that she was getting poked miles deeper than ever before in her life.
Each time the boy's stroke bottomed out he held for a moment, grinding his pubis against hers until their ringlets mingled inseparably, grinding against her stiaining ass until his long elegant cock poked and probed her, churning her insides into a passionate pudding as he stretched her pussy into indescribable shapes, always coming at her from some new direction that filled her with unexpected joy and made her want to howl and shriek. Each time his cock moved again it filled her with a new sensation as her insides churned and gurgled in an effort to make room for this restless invader that poked and pried and probed and pulled out. Then once more it came back in for a new round of delicious torment before pulling out, back in, out, in until Ella knew she had lost count, lost control, lost her dignity-lost everything except the will to feel this lovely cock do it again deeper, harder, faster, MORE!
She felt her insides twisting, as if each nerve in her passion-flushed body had come unravelled, was twisting up again in the wrong direction, as if she were a model airplane and some destructive little boy were winding her up too tight, that soon that rubber band inside her belly would break and let go with one magnificent whumping whirrr that would destroy her, but who cared?
If this was destruction, what a way to go! Ella knew she was going to die. No woman could take this kind of joy much longer. It was hell but it was such a heavenly hell. She could feel her belly twisting, tightening, knotting until the tension was unbearable. She knew her heart was going to give out. No fortytwo year-old body could stand this torment. It was too much. Suddenly she was reminded of an old Provencal proverb: May the Lord protect thee from the wolf-and from thy heart's desire.
She wondered what wise old peasant had worked that one out. Had he-or she-been fucked to within an inch of sanity? It was killing her. She knew that now but it was too late. She knew nothing would stop the boy until he had reached his climax. And the boy was in perfect control she suddenly realized with a little shock. He was not speeding up or humping uncontrollably. The boy was laboring carefully, churning her into a pink-frothed passion. He was turned on, enjoying himself surely, but it was not the jackrabbit thumping that a boy of this age ought to be giving her.
She remembered how she had worried over his ability to satisfy her. Old Fred had always talked about jackrabbit boys. Old Fred, she suddenly realized, had been full of shit. This boy was plunging his rod into her slowly, steadily, as indefatigably as an oil pumping rig out on the Texas plains she had once crossed with Fred. This boy's hard-on was still undiminished. He was still pouring it to her, bottoming out each 's troke, grinding his cock around inside her to stretch and probe from unexpected angles.
And he was not, she realized, indulging in any of the little tricks old Fred had used to keep himself from coming too soon. There were no rests, no holds at the bottom of the stroke, nothing but good old-fashioned fucking for an old-fashioned girl.
She wished it could go on forever but it couldn't. Nothing lasts forever-not even hell. But it wasn't the boy who was playing out. It was Ella. She could feel his ramrod pouring itself tirelessly into her. Damn! Here she had gone and stuffed herself on the appetizers, never realizing what kind of feast the boy had been holding out for the main course of their love feast. He was still hot to trot and Ella had already come-how many times?
She didn't know. All she knew was that she was coming again, repeatedly, explosively, with a virulence that was tearing her apart. Every nerve and muscle inside her suddenly relaxed, unraveled, twisted up in the opposite direction, relaxed again and suddenly she was flowing, leaking love's elixir from every orifice as her body rebelled and surrendered to the rites of love.
She felt her body relaxing, tensing, relaxing again as great glorious rockets of pink-flushed passion shot up her spine to carom about her empty braincase. She felt the boy's cock suddenly sliding faster, effortlessly in her flowing, brimming pussy. Then suddenly the whole truck was spinning counter-clockwise and Ella felt herself falling backward into a dark, deep and bottomless pit. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could sense a slight change in the rhythm of the idling diesel. She wondered if something was wrong. But mostly she wondered if she was really dying.
When she awoke she lay on her back alone in the suicide box. The boy had tossed a blanket over her come-smeared body. She was grateful for this afterthought She gave a wry laugh at her thoughts of some kind of a permanent liaison-as if a boy that age would tie himself down with a woman old enough to be his mother! She was lucky he had hung around long enough to toss a blanket over her-now that he had gotten what he wanted out of her body.
She wondered where he was now. It was better this way, she realized. Somehow they had to part There was no possible way a forty-two-year-old widow could hang onto a boy barely old enough to shave. There was no other way to part except like this, for Ella knew that when the moment came to say farewell to that lovely boy and that lovely cock, she would be no more able to control her tears than she had been able to control her brimming cunt when that lovely cock had coaxed the come from her. The boy had known it too. He had saved them both embarrassment by quietly getting out of her life before she had time to make a fool of herself begging.
The diesel engine's sound abruptly changed. Ella was suddenly wide awake. She flung the blanket aside and sat up, peering over the back of the seat and-son of a gun! The boy was there. He was driving. The rig was creeping down the snow-covered highway several gears too slow but the boy was holding it straight, doing a very respectable job of driving for this kind of a snowstorm.
She squinted into the wipers and saw red flashers ahead. Ella was about to yell at the boy to stop when abruptly she realized the flashers were on a snowplow and the boy must have been creeping behind it for miles.
What the hell? He wasn't making any time but it beat sitting around a roadside rest doing nothing. Sooner or later this storm would peter out-why did she have to think of it in those terms? Sooner or later this storm would play out and they could coast down into the valley and start balling the jack. With luck she could even make up for lost time.
The boy glanced up from the road and saw her in the inside mirror. He grinned and went back to his driving. For miles. Abruptly Ella wondered what had happened. When she had picked the boy up it had still been early morning. It couldn't have been noon yet when the boy had finished-suddenly she wondered if he had even finished. What had happened? She had fainted. The last she remembered the boy had still been going strong.
And here she'd been wondering and worrying about the boy leaving her high and dry! It was dark outside. How many hours had she slept? How long had the boy been grinding along behind this snow plow, pushing her rig down the highway with his lovely lance still at the ready?
She looked around her in some confusion and discovered the boy had put a blanket over her naked body, then piled her clothes neatly in one comer of the suicide box. She began dressing, wishing vainly for the luxury of a hot bath. Once she had donned bra and panties and crawled into her ski jacket and pants Ella found a comb and sat facing the mirror on the wall at the foot of the bunk. Despairingly, she snuggled to do something with her pinkish blond hair.
Finally she had combed the worst of the snarls out of it. She climbed over the back of the seat and sat beside the boy. Oil pressure, water temperature, charge condition, air pressure-all the gauges were reading properly. She glanced at the tach and, though the boy was creeping along behind a snow plow, doing not over fifteen miles an hour, he had shifted down and the diesel was not lugging. She glanced out her window and back at the dash.
The mirror heater switch was not on. She flipped it and waited for the fog to clear away. When she could see a moment later the road behind them was clear. The boy deserved an "E" for effort, she guessed, but actually they were not making any time. Within hours this snow would melt off and they could pound down the highway at full speed and not wear out eyes and asses following snow plows. She put her mouth to the boy's ear to ask how long he had been driving and the boy misunderstood the gesture. Giving the road a final check, he turned briefly, kissed her, and went back to his driving.
Ella felt like crying. The gesture was so perfect, so reassuring after all her doubts and fears. She put her mouth to his ear again and, resisting the temptation to stick her tongue in, asked, "How long've you been at it?"
The boy shrugged and raised four fingers with a "maybe" gesture. It was enough, especially in this weather. Ella climbed back into the suicide box and oozed over to the left side. She tapped the boy on the shoulder and he scooted over to the right, still steering and holding the accelerator down with his left foot. Smoothly, Ella dropped down into the driver's seat and took over.
The boy gave a grateful smile and slumped over in the right hand corner of the cab. He had put on his Levi's but was still bare-chested. She pointed at the bunk in the suicide box but the boy shook his head.
She shrugged and concentrated on holding the rig straight in the narrow lane plowed out by the machine with the flashing red lights in front of them. After a few moments she realized it was no longer snowing. There was a foot of sticky wet snow on the road but the soggy mass that continually spattered the windshield was coming from the snowplow. She determined to get off the road at the first opportunity-rest stop or whatever. Damn, how she wanted a bath.
She wondered if the boy was feeling as grubby as she was. It was almost enough to turn a person off fucking forever. Almost, she guessed. But from the corner of her eye she caught a vision of that lean hard body just beginning its first fuzz of beard and mustache. How could she ever be turned off of that?
He was such a lovely boy. She knew she could not have him forever but she wanted to make the most of what little time he was available. She remembered Al's solicitude in getting her this run. He wouldn't really care how long it took her to deliver. She could take a day or two off in a motel and ... she felt her mind wander from the dullness of creeping behind a snow plow, floating away in a pink-frothed vision of all the wonderful things she and this lovely boy could do in a motel room once they'd had a long hot bath.
Then suddenly her daydream came back down to earth, pulled back down by a hot hand on her leg.