I Wait for My Truck-Driving Stud Until Dawn

My stud drives trucks all over the peninsula and, once a week, his route leaves him stranded in my city. That night he sleeps with me. No discussion, no prior invitation. It’s been that way for almost two years, and we both know why he comes.

He’s a big, solid forty-something, bald, almost six and a half feet of flesh and hard belly. His chest is covered in black-and-gray hair, his arms are thick as thighs, his back broad as a mule’s. He’s not handsome. His face is a mess: a broken nose from an old blow, heavy lips that are always wet, a dirty beard that never quite decides to get trimmed. His eyes have gone yellow from smoking two packs a day.

Below the belt he keeps what, for me, is the reason for every wait: a long, thick cock, veined and marked, with a pair of mandarin-sized balls hanging low. Even when it’s soft, it looks like a threat.

He’s a rough, rude man, with no manners. When he comes into town, my phone rings and I hear his slurred voice:

—I’m here already, cunt. I’m going to have dinner with a couple of workmates and drink some beers. Don’t know what time I’ll crash. You stay awake and wait for me.

And he hangs up.

Sometimes it’s three hours, sometimes five. Once he kept me hanging until five in the morning. It doesn’t matter. Every minute of delay helps me get ready in peace and get myself worked up little by little, like a pot simmering over low heat.

I start with a double enema, slow and deep, until I’m clean inside. Then the shower, a full-body shave, defined eyebrows, nails painted a dark red. I lube my ass with my fingers and widen it with plugs that get thicker and thicker. I want to reach night with the hole already open, already surrendered, so that when he rams into me there’s nothing left to resist.

***

With the plug in, I move on to my face. I do my makeup slowly in front of the bathroom mirror, as if I were getting ready for a stage. Foundation, blush, dark eyeshadow, false lashes, thick eyeliner, lips painted a whore-red. That’s the word I use on myself while I touch up.

Whore. The same word he’s going to spit at me the second he crosses the door.

I adjust a long, straight blonde wig. A lace thong, thigh-high stockings, a padded bra, and a sheer silk robe that doesn’t cover a thing. Long earrings. A sweet perfume on my neck and between my ass cheeks.

I put porn on the TV, turn the heat up until I’m sweating. The longer he delays, the hotter I get. I swap the plug for a bigger one. I sit on the couch with my legs open, watching the screen, pinching my nipples, licking my fingers, waiting.

After midnight I hear the engine of his truck parking downstairs. Then the building door. Then the elevator. Then the lock.

He comes in like he always does: drunk to the bone. He reeks of beer, tobacco, and road sweat. His eyes are red and his stare is cloudy. He sees me made up and shows his teeth in a grin that isn’t quite a smile.

I go over to kiss him. He shoves my face away with an open hand and drops onto the sofa.

—Don’t kiss me, faggot. Bring me something to drink. Whiskey with ice. Double.

I go to the kitchen and pour him a wide glass to the brim. When I come back, his shirt is already half open, chest hair showing, legs spread. The bulge in his crotch stands out like a sleeping snake under the denim.

I sit beside him and hand him the glass. I watch him drink. I watch him smoke. I watch him breathe.

—What the fuck are you staring at so much, bitch?

—At you. I like looking at you.

I put my hand on his thigh. This time he doesn’t take it away. I slide it slowly up to the bulge. I squeeze. It’s already half-hard, thick, hot under the jeans. He leans back and lets a puff of smoke out toward the ceiling.

—That’s what you came for, isn’t it, whore?

—Yes.

He unbuckles his own belt, bored. His cock presses under the gray briefs, with a yellowish ring at the tip from his last piss. I pull his briefs down slowly and slam my face against his balls. He smells like three days of sweat in the cab, like leather from the seat, like male heat. I inhale him like a drug. I stick out my tongue and lick him from below, from the scrotum all the way up to the glans. I take him into my mouth whole before he can say anything.

—That’s it… suck, bitch. You were born for this.

***

His cock is too big for me. It never fits all the way in. He knows it and he loves it. He grabs the back of my neck with his huge hand and shoves it in as far as he wants. I squeeze my eyes shut, hold back the gags, and swallow the tears running down with my mascara.

—When did you learn to suck so well? —he laughs.— You were probably already after the laborers in the neighborhood when you were a kid. You were probably blowing every bricklayer who fixed up your street. Huh, whore? How many men have you sucked off this month?

I don’t answer. My mouth is full, and he doesn’t want a real answer anyway. He wants to hear himself. He wants to humiliate me. And for me it works like a switch: every word of his pushes my cock harder against the thong.

Suddenly he pulls his cock out of my mouth and spits on my tongue. A thick, loaded gob. It lands in the back. He spits again on my lips. Again on my cheek. I open my mouth like a puppy and stick out my tongue, grateful.

—You’re a cheap whore —he murmurs—, but you know how to get me hard.

He shoves it back in. This time with no mercy. He grips my head with both hands and fucks my mouth with thrusts, driving into me from the sofa. I slide my thong down with one hand and jerk myself slowly while he uses me. The red lipstick smears across my cheeks, saliva drips down to my chest, the earrings bob with every thrust.

His first load comes sooner than he expected. He’s gone a whole week without touching himself, driving through the night and holding out. When he starts to shoot, he warns me with a beastly growl. I feel the first hot gush at the back of my throat, then another, and another. He doesn’t stop. He hammers away, grunts, sinks his fingers into my skull, holds me still so not a single drop gets away.

I swallow everything. I swallow every last bit. When he finally eases up, he leaves his cock in my mouth, slumped back, eyes closed, breathing hoarse. I stay like that, motionless, feeling him slowly go soft. Then I run my tongue over him, clean the glans, suck up the little that’s still peeking out. I inhale the smell of cum and sweat like it’s an expensive perfume.

He lights another cigarette. He blows the smoke toward the ceiling and looks down at me.

—Jesus Christ, shitty whore… clean me off properly. One of these days I’m bringing Romero and Veneno, the two from the depot in Andújar. I’ve already told them about you. They want to try you. They want to cum all over the same mouth.

I nod without taking his cock out of my mouth. The idea gets me even harder.

***

When I finish, he shoves me away with a hand and goes back to watching the porn on the screen. It’s brutal straight porn: gangs of guys taking turns with one girl. I know he needs a little rest before round two. I pour him another double whiskey. I stand in front of him, open the robe, and turn around with my back to him. I pull the plug out slowly, leaving the hole open and slick on display.

He growls.

—Look at you, for fuck’s sake… You look like an open cunt. Come here. I’m about to piss myself.

My mouth waters. I’d been waiting for it. I lie down on the floor, on the cold tiles, head tilted upward. He stands over me, his still-swollen cock pointing at me.

The first stream comes. Thick, hot, dark from so much beer. It hits my chest first, then my neck, then my face. I close my eyes and open my mouth. The piss is long, endless, thick. It soaks my wig, my bra, my stockings. My mouth can’t keep up: I swallow what I can, the rest slides down my neck to the floor.

When he’s done, he shakes the last drops onto my tongue. I get every last bit by licking his glans. I keep sucking him, slowly, unhurried, until I feel him stiffen again between my lips. His cock swells once more inside my mouth like an animal waking from a nap.

—Come here —he says.— On all fours. I want to see that ass you take such care of.

***

I get on all fours on the soaked rug. He kneels behind me. He pries my ass cheeks apart with his rough hands, spits into my hole, rubs the head against my sphincter. He pushes in slowly at first. Then he shoves it all the way in at once.

I feel my body open up completely, fill with him. He’s huge, hot, throbbing. He grips my waist with both hands and starts to fuck me.

At first slowly, measuring the pace. Then harder and faster. His thighs slam against my ass with a dry slap. His heavy belly drops onto my back. His beard brushes my nape and drools on me. He grabs the hair of the wig, pulls me back, turns my face to look at me.

—You like it, bitch? You like feeling me inside you?

—Yes… yes… more…

He spits in my face while he fucks me. He bites my neck. He squeezes my nipples over the bra. I stroke my cock with one hand. The other is on the floor so I don’t fall. He drives into me as if he wants to split me open. Every thrust shakes me through and through.

I lick the sweat off his arm when he swings it past my face. I lick his bald head when he leans forward. I smell his hairy armpit, lick the damp hairs. I’m happy like this. I’m happy when he spits on me, when he pisses on me, when he insults me, when he uses me like a rag.

I know he’s about to cum because his breathing changes. Deeper, hoarser. His thrusts turn irregular.

—Give it to me —I whisper to him—. Give me my prize, asshole…

And then I feel the heat exploding inside me. He yells something through clenched teeth, a long curse I can’t quite make out. He’s having spasms. He sinks his fingers into my hips until they leave bruises. He stays buried to the hilt, exhausted, panting over my back.

I finish too, barely touching myself, staining the rug underneath me.

He collapses on top of me with all his weight, without pulling out. That’s how we stay, him on top, his cock still inside me, his beard resting on my shoulder. Within minutes he starts snoring like an idling engine.

I don’t move. I smell his neck. I lick his jaw carefully, without waking him. I stroke his hairy arm slowly, as if he were my most precious treasure.

I hope next week he keeps his promise and brings Romero and Veneno. I hope the three of them show up drunk, sweaty, hard. I hope they’re as filthy as he is. I hope they use me between the three of them until I’ve got no pride and no breath left at all.

But that will be another day. Tonight is only mine, only his. I curl up beneath him, trying to keep his cock from slipping out of my ass, and close my eyes, feeling him still hot inside me.