What Happened in the Campero’s Pickup

The heat that January night in Chivilcoy didn’t let up, not even close to midnight. El Potrero, that half-hidden nightclub on the edge of town, was packed. Violet lights swept across the ceiling, old cumbia mixed with reggaeton, the smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume clinging to everyone’s skin. It was the kind of place you went when you wanted something to happen and didn’t want anyone to find out.

My name is Daniela. My body was exactly the way I liked it: slim from taking care of myself, small but firm breasts showing perfectly beneath my black fishnet top, and an ass my denim shorts barely managed to cover. That night I’d painted my lips red and put on false eyelashes, and every time I caught sight of myself in a mirror, I liked what I saw. I knew the look I wore: that “do whatever you want with me” stare that drove anyone crazy.

I’d gone with my friends, all trans girls from downtown, every bit as gorgeous and shameless as I was. We were dancing the moment we walked through the door, drinking Fernet and Coke, laughing and shouting over anything at all. I moved slowly, rolling my hips, letting the men look at me and gauging which ones looked back. I liked feeling like prey before anyone touched me.

That was how El Potrero was: a big warehouse with the dance floor in the middle, a long bar along one side, and plenty of dark corners where people did all kinds of things. Passing truckers, farmhands who came down from the fields on weekends, local boys, and girls like us who went looking for exactly what we were looking for that night. There was a freedom inside that didn’t exist in the middle of town. Nobody judged you. Nobody gave you sidelong looks. Everyone was too busy with their own desires.

As I danced, I felt the gazes settling on me like hands. Some came closer, whispered something in my ear, bought me a drink, and I let them try for a while before turning my back on them with a smile. I wasn’t looking for just anyone. I wanted someone who wouldn’t ask me anything, who wouldn’t need me to explain how to treat me. Someone who already knew that beneath my shorts I had a cock just like his and that, even so, he was going to fuck me like the most womanly slut in the club.

I saw him at the bar almost immediately. Forty-something and wearing it well, skin weathered from spending all day in the sun, a plaid shirt open halfway down his chest. Big arms, enormous hands, the kind you used to handle a pickup’s steering wheel and throw a lasso. He was drinking a beer against the wall, alone, watching the dance floor like someone searching for one particular thing and not finding it yet.

Until he found me.

Our eyes met, and neither of us looked away. He gave me the faintest smile and lifted his bottle in greeting. I returned a small smile and bit my lip without breaking eye contact. Nothing else was necessary. Two songs later, he was behind me on the dance floor, one firm hand on my waist and the other barely brushing my ass, measuring me too. I leaned back against his body and felt the hard lump pressing between my cheeks, thick and long, outlined against the seam of my jeans like a delicious threat.

He bent down a little and spoke against my neck, his lips brushing my skin.

—Do you know what I’m going to do to you, baby? —he said, pressing me harder against his cock—. I’m going to split you in two.

My whole body prickled. I took his hand and brought it to my crotch over my shorts, so he could feel that I was hard too, that I wanted it too. He wasn’t surprised. On the contrary: he squeezed me through the fabric, gauging my cock like someone recognizing what he was going to use later, and smiled against my ear.

—Want to come outside for a while? —he asked, his voice rough with country air and whiskey.

I nodded without saying a word. My voice wouldn’t come out, and I didn’t need it anyway.

***

We went out through the side door. The parking lot was a stretch of dry dirt packed with pickups and cars, tall weeds growing between the tires. His was parked at the back, far from the club’s lights, as if he’d left it there on purpose. He told me his name was Hernán, that he had a farm twenty kilometers away, one of those places that still had cows and silence. He said it casually as he opened the rear door.

There was a blanket spread across the seat. He switched on the overhead light for a second, just long enough to see my face, then turned it off again. He wanted darkness, with only the violet glow coming through the windows and sticking to our skin.

He didn’t wait for me to say anything. He grabbed the back of my neck with one hand—not hurting me, but leaving no doubt about who was in charge—and slowly pushed me down. I let myself drop to my knees on the blanket, trembling, not from fear but from wanting it.

With his other hand, he undid his belt, unfastened his jeans, and pulled them down to his knees along with his underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and long, veins standing out along the shaft, the tip already wet with a gleaming thread hanging from it. I stared at it for a second with my mouth open, and he gripped it at the base and dragged it across my lips, smearing my red lipstick onto the hard flesh.

—Open —he said. One word.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took him all the way down my throat in one go. I felt the tip strike my palate, then go deeper, burying itself until my nose was pressed against the sparse hair of his pubic mound. He let out a low, satisfied growl, and he wasn’t gentle: he held my head with both hands and began to move, setting the pace, fucking my mouth without hurry but without mercy, as if he were teaching me what he wanted me for.

Every time he reached the back of my throat, I felt my gag reflex rising, thick saliva running down my chin and dripping onto my tits, tears filling my eyes and streaking my mascara in two black trails. Even so, I pushed my face forward, swallowing him whole, offering him my throat. I squeezed his thighs with my hands, dug in my nails, sticking out my tongue between thrusts to lick his heavy balls hanging below.

—Look at the greedy little slut I found —he murmured, giving me a gentle slap on the cheek, then another a little harder that left my skin hot—. Suck it properly, baby. Suck that cock like the tranny you are.

I let out a muffled moan around his cock, pure pleasure. I liked him talking to me that way. I liked that he knew what I was and said it out loud. He yanked it from my mouth, leaving a strand of saliva hanging between my lip and the tip, and rubbed it across my face, my cheeks, my forehead, marking me as his. Then he shoved it back down my throat in one hard thrust and fucked me as if my mouth were a cunt, without stopping, until I was choking and asking for more with my eyes.

He caught hold of my fishnet top with his fingers and pulled until it tore. The night air struck my chest, and my nipples hardened like little stones. He bent down and bit one until I arched my back, then the other. He squeezed them with his fingers right up to the limit, where pain blurs into something else. He ran his rough tongue from one nipple to the other, sucked them hard, leaving them swollen, red, and shining with saliva.

—Tomorrow, every time you touch yourself here, you’ll remember me —he said against my skin.

He lowered one hand and slipped it inside my shorts. He wrapped his entire palm around my cock, hard as it was, and squeezed me for a while, measuring me, massaging me with that rough hand used to working the land.

—Look at you, little slut. All hard and dripping. —He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked off what he’d drawn from my tip—. Tasty.

***

He turned me over on the blanket, face down, and pulled down my shorts and black lace thong in one motion, both at once. I felt my ass exposed to the air, and his big hand moving slowly over me, opening me up, like someone appraising something he’d already decided was his. He ran his thumb over my hole, barely brushing it in circles, and a long moan escaped me into the blanket.

He crouched behind me. I felt his hot breath against my ass a second before his tongue sank between my cheeks, thick and wet, pushing into my hole. I screamed into the blanket. He licked me slowly at first, then harder, spitting on me and licking me again, digging there with his tongue as if he were preparing me for something much bigger. He sank his teeth into one cheek, then the other, sucked my ass with that big man’s mouth without the slightest disgust, while one hand grabbed my cock from underneath and jerked it in time with his tongue.

—This is begging for cock, baby —he said, spitting between my cheeks again—. And we’re going to give it some.

He put one finger inside me. Then another. He opened me with his thick fingers, giving me time to breathe, to get used to it, while he bit my lower back and whispered filthy things against my skin. I bit my forearm so I wouldn’t scream too loudly, because the club was still thumping thirty meters away and anyone could walk between the pickups. I pushed my ass against his fingers, impaling myself, asking with my hips for more, for deeper.

—Relax —he said, his voice even lower—. This is only beginning.

He pulled his fingers out. I heard him open the condom wrapper with his teeth and put it on one-handed without stopping supporting me with the other. I felt the tip press against my hole, thick, pushing lightly, warning me. And then he entered me, slowly for the first few centimeters and then suddenly all the way to the hilt, in one thrust. I let out a muffled cry that echoed inside the pickup, half pain and half glory. He didn’t stop: he pinned me against the seatback, gripping my hips with both hands, his fingers sinking into my flesh.

Every thrust was a hard, deep blow that shook my whole body. His cock went in and out halfway, then sank back in until I felt his balls slap against mine. The pickup rocked on its tires as if the earth were trembling outside. I cried with pleasure, my face crushed against the blanket, clawing at the upholstery with my nails, repeating things I hadn’t even known I was going to say.

—More… like that… harder… break me… —I begged in a broken voice—. Fuck me like a bitch…

—That’s what you are, isn’t it? —he answered without stopping his thrusts—. A hot little bitch who came to the club looking for cock.

—Yes… I’m your little bitch… I’m your slut…

Hernán grabbed me by the hair and lifted me as if I weighed nothing, put me on all fours on the seat, my back arched, my ass held high for him. He slapped one cheek, the sound cracking through the night like a whip, then another, and another, until my skin burned and I was trembling all over, still begging him not to stop. Every slap made me clench around his cock inside me, and he growled each time I squeezed him.

—Tell me who you belong to —he said, never stopping.

—You… I’m yours… —I answered, and I meant it then, with every fiber of my body.

He pulled his cock out abruptly, turned me over, laid me on my back against the seat, and lifted my legs onto his shoulders. Now he wanted to look at my face. He pushed back inside me that way, folding me in half, impaling me from above with all his weight on me, his cock going even deeper in that position. He sucked two of his fingers and ran them over the tip of my cock, which bounced against my own belly with every thrust, wetting it, jerking me in time with the way he fucked me.

—Look at me —he ordered, gripping my chin—. Look me in the eyes while I fuck you.

I held his gaze, mascara smeared, mouth open, tongue hanging out, asking him for spit. He spat into my mouth. I gave him a filthy smile and swallowed it without closing my eyes. That drove him completely wild.

He put two fingers in my mouth for me to suck while he fucked me, and with his other hand he squeezed my neck lightly, just enough for me to feel the weight of his will without cutting off my air. That combination—the cock buried to my prostate, his fingers choking my tongue, his hand marking my throat, my cock jerking by itself against my belly—finished burning me up inside.

I came without touching myself. A shudder rose from deep inside my ass and made my cock explode in thick jets that splashed over my tits, my neck, my open mouth, one after another, while I kept clenching all around his cock. My body shook against his, the blanket soaked beneath me, my throat raw from screaming. It had never happened to me like that, without a hand involved, just from feeling dominated, just from being fucked properly.

He ran two fingers over my tits, gathered up my cum, and gave it to me to suck. I licked them clean, looking at him, still trembling.

***

That drove him wild too. He sped up, growling softly like an animal, burying himself to the hilt again and again, the pickup creaking, my legs slipping from his shoulders with sweat. He grabbed my hips and drove me against him, all the way in, and stayed there. I felt his whole body tense, driving in as deep as possible and coming with a muffled roar, pulsing inside me once, twice, three, four times, his cock throbbing inside me with every release as he held me against his sweaty chest.

He pulled out slowly. He removed the condom carefully, tied it off, and showed it to me for a second, full and heavy, before throwing it out the window into the weeds.

—All that cum was for you, baby —he said.

We stayed like that, pressed together, panting, too exhausted to move. He was on top of me, his arms crossed over my torso as if he didn’t want to let me go yet. He bit my earlobe slowly.

—When you want to do this again, come out to the farm —he whispered in my ear—. Ask for Hernán. I’ll have you all night to myself. And there, without rushing, I’ll put it in you without a condom and fill your ass until it runs down your legs.

With my voice in tatters, I barely managed to whisper:

—Sure.

We kissed messily, tasting bitten lips, saliva, and semen, everything that had just happened. His tongue searched inside my mouth, still hungry, as if he hadn’t had enough. The pickup smelled of sex, sweat, and cheap perfume, a mixture that would stay etched in my memory for days. Outside, El Potrero kept thumping as if nothing had happened, violet lights pulsing against the windows, but the two of us were already somewhere else.

I fixed my torn clothes as best I could, knotting my fishnet top so it covered just enough, my tits still sticky beneath the fabric, and climbed out of the pickup with my legs still weak, feeling my ass throb with every step, open and hot. The warm night air hit my face, and for a second I stood there among the weeds and pickups, watching the club lights tremble in the distance. My body was wrecked and my head felt light, that strange sensation of someone who has just found exactly what she came looking for.

I went back inside. The music was still the same, and my friends were still on the dance floor as if no time had passed. They asked where I’d been, and I just laughed, bit my lip, and didn’t answer. Some things aren’t told. They’re kept for yourself, to bring out at night when you want to feel that chosen, that fucked, again.

And I already knew that sooner or later, I was going to ask for Hernán at that farm.