index


Message-ID: <33399asstr$1005520213@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: alexssexton@aol.com (AlexSSexton)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Truckstop Pt 1 (mf, mmf)
Date: Sun, 11 Nov 2001 18:10:13 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

TRUCK STOP (Part 1)
  by Alex S. Sexton

This is subject to all the usual provisos: 
Graphic sex follows.
I'm not responsible for you reading this if you are underage.
The contents are purely fiction and all characters are figments of my
imagination.
This story is copyrighted and any reproduction requires the explicit consent of
the author; i.e. me.
AIDS/HIV and other STD do not exist in my fiction but do in reality-if you
attempt to live the lifestyle depicted please take precautions.

"If you lack the maturity to grasp this disclaimer, then under no circumstances
read this story without guidance of someone more mature" (to quote Deirdre).




TRUCK STOP

Hazel, dirty blonde hair,
I wouldn't be seen with you anywhere.
		-Bob Dylan-


ONE
At first it was only snowing.  Jack had dumped her on the side of the road on
some fucked-up highway in the middle of nowhere.  It had probably been
half-an-hour ago, though she didn't wear a watch so had to guess, and only two
pairs of lights had driven by at like 80 miles an hour.  It was two or three in
the morning.  She pulled the thin coat Jack had got her at Goodwill in San
Diego after he'd got the news to take the next trailer north to Minneapolis. 
It was a quilted coat but too thin to keep her warm in the wind and too old to
repel moisture.  And then the snow turned to sleet and she could feel the cold
dampness soak to her flesh.  She shivered.

There was nothing for it but to start walking.  If she didn't the cold would
kill her by morning.  In the pitch black she tripped and stumble over unseen
highway debris.  Cans and bottles, some broken with shards, paper bags with
fast-food logos filled empty Styrofoam boxes, strips of rubber tires with their
wire firmament poking through.  The road in front of her glowed.  For a moment
she thought she was hallucinating, or maybe it was the Northern Lights.  Then
she realized it was another vehicle coming up behind her but still too far for
her to hear.  The light grew brighter and she heard the bass engine of a rig. 
She stepped farther from the roadway in anticipation of the slipstream as it
burst by her.

Even before it overtook her the truck started slowing, but it was still doing
fifty as it passed.  The driver wasn't breaking hard to keep straight on the
slippery road.  It slowly drifted off onto the shoulder and stopped about a
quarter-mile ahead.  She hefted the loose strap of her knapsack around her
shoulders and broke into a steady jog.  About three minutes later she reached
the truck and prayed it wouldn't start to pull off.  That had happened too many
times before to count, a sick joke that had never made her laugh.  Her luck
held out, and in fact the passenger door popped open.  She clambered up into
the cab.

Immediately she took inventory of the driver and the truck's interior.  She'd
done this enough times in the last two years that this first scope could tell
her a lot of things, what to expect and what was to be expected of her.  The
driver was in his late forties or early fifties, white receding hair and a
baseball cap.  Wore a leather jacket with a Cubs logo.  Wedding ring pinching
fat fingers on calloused hands.  No cigarette smoke and the ashtray was shut. 
Above it a bumper sticker that read "Jesus is Lord."  Looked like a Bible
sticking up between the seats with the sets of maps.  No music playing, but a
box of cassettes was fixed in front of the gearshifts and was a fair mix of
country and gospel.

"Thank you, sir," she said in her little girl voice and exaggerating her
Southern drawl.  The driver shifts into first and carefully pulls off the
shoulder on to the highway.  He rides up through the gears until the truck
reaches cruising speed on the empty highway.

"Now what were you doing out on the highway and at three thirty in the morning,
little lady?" he asked slowly but keeping her eyes on the road.

"I got dumped out there, sir. . .."  She also stares ahead into the gloom of
the night, the sleet slapping and sticking to the windshield, blinking her big
brown eyes.  "I was hitchhiking and got this ride.  But when we got out in the
middle of the nowhere he tried . . . well he tried to make me do things.  But I
wouldn't.  He got angry and threw me out on the side of the road."  She
sniffled and forced a tear to run down her right cheek.

"You shouldn't be hitching missy," ordained the driver glancing at her to see
if she took in this missive.  "How old are you anyways?"

"Seventeen," she lied, taking a couple of years off her real age knowing that
innocence could be her saving grace and that she could fool for seventeen.

"What are you doing on the road in the first place?"  Not for the first time
she had some inkling of what it is like to be in a confession booth.  With the
blackness of the night the cab feels like a box, just there's no screen
separating her from the driver.

"I ran away from home.  My step-dad. . ." she paused to let the ellipses
explain that horror, that sin.  "That was three months ago, and I went to
California."  The Promised Land.  "But it wasn't what I expected.  So I was
trying to get back to Mom."

"Where's home?"

She thought for a moment before answering.  She was somewhere in the mountain
states heading east with a guy wearing a Cubbies jacket with a mid-Western
accent.  "Washington DC.  Well, Reston."

The driver nodded thoughtfully.  "Well, we can take you as far as Chicago if
that helps.  And I think its best for you to ride with us than use that thumb. 
But then we're heading home back to Rockford for a week of rest.  Would that
suit you?"

She nodded politely. "Yes sir.  I'm most grateful."

"What's your name, missy?"

"Hazel."


TWO
His curiosity satisfied Hank, for she found out that was his name later, drove
mainly in silence.  In the windshield she saw her reflection.  Straw
shoulder-length hair matted and wet, some sticking to her forehead and a strand
on her stuck on her cheek.  A small upturned nose still red from the cold.  The
mirror exaggerated her paleness.  Her lips were full, almost puffy and anchored
an oval face.  Hazel found herself drifting off to sleep in the hot cab.

Hazel woke when the truck pulled into the parking lot.  She was disoriented and
then located where she was, at least in a generic sense, by the neon signs over
the diner and promoting cheap gas and diesel.  More shocking was the head
poking between the seats.  Platinum hair, clearly dyed, on top of a square face
with crow lines around the eyes.

"Hank, I thinks she's awake."  The voice was joyous compared to Hank's serious
monotone.

"Just in time for breakfast," he noted.

"Hon, you awake?"  The woman poked Hazel's ribcage.  "Hank's told me about you.
 Glad we can help get you closer to home, praise the Lord."  She squeezed
Hazel's hand.

"We're going to be stopping here for a few hours missy . . . Hazel," she was
told, "Get some food, a shower and some shuteye.  And gas."  Hank rolled his
eyes and the blonde woman grinned.

"You'll be getting some home cooking soon Hank-baby," she said and then turned
to Hazel.  "I'm Joanie.  You look like you need a good breakfast, a shower and
maybe run your clothes through the washer.  We'll be here about six, seven
hours.  Hank and I need a little R&R on a real bed."  Hank scowled at Joanie.

"Where's here?" Hazel asked.

"Rawlings, Wyoming," Joanie answered, "where they serve the best grits west of
the Mississippi.  A little southern comfort for girls like you and me."

They ate breakfast at the truck stop.  Hank ate a double portion of scramble
eggs, bacon and hash browns, while the two women were moderate in their
appetite.  When they finished eating Hank paid the bill.

"I need some shuteye now," he said with a sigh. "I know Joanie wants to shower
and you probably do too.  You can sleep in the truck-I left the passenger door
open."  Joanie arched her thick eyebrows.  "No, I guess you should have a real
bed if we're going to."

Hank pulled open his wallet and gave Hazel thirty dollars.  "That should cover
a shower and a bunk for you."

"Thank you sir," Hazel responded, and made herself small and vulnerable.

Joanie and Hazel went to the shower room.  Hazel stayed under the hot water
until she felt her core warm to human temperature.  She lathered her body with
soap.  She was thin, some might say anorexic.  Her tits were small but the
nipples tight and pink, and got pinker as she washed the soap off.  Her hips
were bony, and she thrust them forward to wash the sparse hair on her mons, and
the nether lips she imitated them fucking.   When she got out of the shower
Joanie was almost fully dressed.

"I'm going to find Hank.  We're getting back on the road at one.  Meet us in
the diner, ok?"

Hazel nodded. As Joanie left and Hazel took the opportunity to wash some
clothes.  Still wrapped in the truck stop towel she rinsed all her clothes
except the still damp jacket.  She dried what she was going to wear, nylon
panties and pink bra, under the hand-blower, then her tee shirt, a rag sweater
and her jeans.  Once she was dressed she dried the rest of her clothes, another
set of underwear and two more tee shirts.  She'd learnt to take the opportunity
to do laundry.  Even though it was cold she took off and packed her sweater
into her bag.  Since they weren't that big the sweater hid her tits; they were
much more perky pressing through the white tee.

Hazel sat on the bench and packed her spare clothes into her oily knapsack, and
then counted her money.  She had the thirty dollars Hank had given her, another
six left over from Jack and maybe two more in change.  She slipped them into
her tight jeans and headed for the truck stop diner.


THREE
It was light when Hazel stomped through the ice across the parking lot.  She
didn't have a watch; the blinking neon sign told her it was 7:42.  When she
walked into the diner she surveyed it for potential and then sat at the counter
and ordered coffee, black and plain.  Looking around the diner she soon focused
on her targets.  A black guy, with light complexion and a shaved head, maybe in
his mid-thirties, and his partner who was about 25, receding hairline, and
glasses.  Hazel finished her coffee and then strode over to their table.

"Hi.  I'm Hazel," she introduced herself, "I'm looking for a ride."

The two truckers looked up at her.  Her clean jeans clung to her hips, which
she jutted out and rested a hand on.

"Where to, baby?" asked the older man.

"Somewhere hot."  She looked him in the eye.  Her coat was open, and underneath
Hazel wore a white tee shirt that was tight over her breasts.  Consciously she
pushed her chest forward.

"Why don't you sit down?"

Hazel slid into the booth next to him, pressing her thigh against his.  He
motioned a waitress and ordered a coffee for Hazel.

"We're heading to Kansas City, and then got another contract for a rig to
Houston," he explained.  "I'm Walter, but everyone calls me 'Razor'".

"Glad to meet you Razor.  I'm Hazel.  And your friend is?"  Hazel sipped the
coffee just being placed before her but was still too hot drink.

"Junior here is Cliff," said Walter or Razor as he pushed a forkful of eggs and
bacon into his mouth.

Hazel held her hand over the table and shaked Cliff's.

"Is Houston hot enough for you?" Razor asked.

"Houston is hot enough for me, but what's on the way.  I don't want to feel
cold inside heading south."

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Razor answered winking at Cliff,  "if you
know what I mean."

Hazel lifted the white porcelain cup to her lips and finished her coffee.  "I
think I know what you mean," she said and licked the lip of the coffee cup.


FOUR
Razor unlocked the passenger door and helped Hazel into the cab of the truck
with a brief but friendly push on the ass.  He tossed the keys to Cliff.

"You drive," Razor said.

"It's not my turn."

"I'm the boss here, Junior," Razor said.

Hazel knew what was going to happen next, or at least sooner or later, and
didn't even make the pretense of sitting in the cab but immediately scurried
into the bunk area.  Razor was right behind her.

The truck's engine started and Cliff grinded the gears into first and pulled it
out of the parking bay and headed to the on-ramp of the Interstate.  In the
back of the cab Hazel lay on her back on the small mattress.  Razor lay down
beside her and ran his hand over her chest and cupped a breast.  He bent over
her and kissed her nipple through the fabric of her tee shirt and bra.  Hazel's
hand crept up his thigh to his crotch; her fingertips grazed over his balls and
found the outline of his semi-hard prick.  She unbuttoned his pants and drew
down the zipper of Razor's jeans.

His cock flexed out from the opening.  Hazel pulled it toward her mouth and
placed her lips around its head.  It was a nice cock, Hazel thought, hard,
thick and muscular, and big-maybe an eight-inch.  While she sucked on its tips
she unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled down her own jeans, kicking them off when
they hung on her ankles.  With equal adeptness Hazel peeled off her panties.

When he was hard she pulled her mouth off it making a popping sound.  Razor was
sitting with his back against the wall of the cab.  Hazel knelt between his
legs and pulled down his pants so they bunched at around his knees.  Carefully
she sat on his lap, his cock mashed against her bush and pressing hard against
her belly, and kissed his neck.

"You are a big boy," she whispered huskily.

"Wait till you see Junior."  He easily lifted her small frame off his lap so
she was poised above him.  Hazel reached down and found his throbbing member
and directed its head into the opening of her snatch.  Carefully he lowered her
hips and its length impaled her.  Hazel closed her brown eyes and savored the
throbbing gristle inside of her.  Razor's pelvis began to push into her, and
taking his cue Hazel started to ride his cock by lifting herself from her knees
that were astride his thighs. Razor smiled blissfully and peeled up her shirt
and pawed her breasts.  Hazel lifted the tee shirt over her face and tossed it
over her shoulder.  She unclipped the broach between the cups of her bra and
the pink material fell away revealing her small firm breasts.

She shifted her weight to her nipples were closed to Razor's face and his cock
slid over her clit.  Like a baby he suckled her breasts and Hazel's nipples
felt like they were going to explode.  His hardness began to pummel into her
and she began to be rocked by tiny orgasms though each new one was bigger than
the last.  Hazel began to groan each time the flashes of pleasure pulsed
through her body.

"Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . uh. . . uh . . uh . . uh . uh .  uh-uh," she
panted.  Hazel held his shoulders for balance as Razor's thrusts got more
urgent. The whole eight inches slid in and out of her and with each impaling he
was getting the head farther into her.  His brown face started shaking from
side-to-side.

"Shit yeah," he implored as he exploded in her.  Hazel could feel the white
jism erupt from his black cock like molten metal into the already hot juices of
her cunt.

"You alright back," called Cliff from truck's cab.

"Shit yeah," Razor repeated but much slower this time.

(END PART 1)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+