What Happened in the Rancher’s Truck

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

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

I went with my friends, all trans girls from downtown, just as gorgeous and shameless as I was. The moment we walked through the door we were already dancing, drinking fernet with Coke, laughing our asses off at anything and everything. I moved slowly, swaying my hips, letting the men look at me and measuring which ones looked back. I liked feeling hunted before anyone even touched me.

El Potrero was like that: a big warehouse with the dance floor in the middle, a long bar off to one side, and a bunch of dark corners where people did everything. Truckers passing through, farmhands coming in from the fields on weekends, local guys and girls like us who went looking for exactly what we were looking for that night. There was a kind of freedom in there that didn’t exist in the middle of town. Nobody judged you. Nobody looked sideways. Everyone was too busy with their own wants.

While I danced, I felt eyes settling on me like hands. Some men came up, said 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 anybody. I was looking for someone who wouldn’t ask me anything, who wouldn’t need me to explain how to treat me. Someone who already knew that under my shorts I had a cock just like theirs and would still fuck me like the hottest bitch in the place.

I saw him at the bar almost right away. Mid-forties, worn well, skin weathered from being out in the sun all day, a plaid shirt open halfway down his chest. Big arms, huge hands, the kind you use to grip the wheel of a pickup and throw a rope. He was drinking a beer, leaning against the wall, alone, watching the movement on the dance floor like someone looking for something specific and still not finding it.

Until he found me.

Our eyes met and neither of us let go. He gave the slightest smile and raised the bottle, like a greeting. I smiled back a little and bit my lip without looking away. Nothing else was needed. Two songs later he was behind me on the dance floor, one firm hand on my waist and the other brushing my ass just enough, measuring me too. I let myself fall against his body and felt the hard bulge pushing between my cheeks, thick, long, pressing against the seam of his jeans like a delicious threat.

He bent down a little and spoke close to my neck, his lips grazing my skin.

—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 got goosebumps. I grabbed 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, sizing up my cock like someone recognizing what he was going to use later, and smiled against my ear.

—You coming outside for a bit? —he said, in a voice rough with country and whiskey.

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

***

We went out through the side door. The parking area was a dusty lot full of piled-up pickups and cars, with tall weeds growing between the tires. His was parked in the back, away from the bar lights, like he’d left it there on purpose. He told me his name was Hernán, that he had a ranch twenty kilometers away, one of those places that still has cows and silence. He said it like it was nothing while he opened the back door.

Inside, there was a blanket spread over the seat. He turned on the dome light for a second, just long enough to see my face, then shut it off again. He wanted darkness, only the violet glow slipping in through the windows and sticking to our skin.

He didn’t wait for me to say anything. He grabbed me by the nape with one hand, not hurting me but leaving no doubt who was in charge, and slowly pushed me downward. I let myself drop to my knees on the blanket, trembling, not from fear: from want.

With his other hand he opened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled them down to his knees along with his briefs. His cock sprang out, thick, long, veins standing out up the shaft and the tip already wet with a shining thread hanging from it. I stared at it for a second, mouth open, and he grabbed the base and ran it over my lips, smearing my red lipstick against his hard flesh.

—Open —he said. Just one word.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took him all the way down in one go. I felt the tip hit the roof of my mouth, then go deeper, sink in until my nose was pressed against the sparse hair of his pubis. He let out a low, satisfied groan, and he was not gentle: he held my head with both hands and started moving, setting the rhythm, fucking my mouth without hurry but without mercy, as if he were teaching me what he wanted me for.

Every time he hit the back of my throat I felt the gag reflex climbing up, saliva running thick down my chin, dripping onto my tits, my eyes filling with tears that ran the mascara into two black streaks. And still I pushed my face forward, swallowing him whole, offering him my throat. I squeezed his thighs with my hands, dug my nails in, sticking out my tongue between thrusts to lick his heavy balls hanging beneath him.

—Look at the little greedy slut I found —he muttered, and gave me a soft slap on the cheek, then another a little harder that left my skin burning—. Suck it well, baby. Suck that cock like the little whore you are.

I let out a muffled moan around his cock that was pure pleasure. I liked that he talked to me like that. I liked that he knew what I was and said it out loud. He yanked his cock out of my mouth, leaving a thread 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 in all the way to the hilt and fucked my throat like it was a cunt, nonstop, until I was choking and begging him for more with my eyes.

He hooked his fingers in my fishnet top and tore until it ripped. The night air hit my chest and my nipples went hard as pebbles. He bent down and bit one until he made me arch my back, then the other. He squeezed them with his fingers right to the limit, there where pain turns into something else. He dragged his rough tongue from one nipple to the other, sucked them hard, leaving them swollen and red, glossy with spit.

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

He slid a hand down and put it inside my shorts. He took my cock entirely in his palm, hard as it was, and squeezed it for a while, sizing it up, massaging it with that rough hand used to working the fields.

—Look at this, little whore. Hard and dripping. —He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked off what he’d gotten from the tip—. Tasty.

***

He turned me over onto the blanket, face down, and in one motion pulled down my shorts and black lace thong, both at once. I felt my ass out in the open, exposed, and his big hand moving over me slowly, opening me, like someone evaluating something he’d already decided was his. He ran his thumb over the hole, barely circling it, and a long moan slipped out of me into the blanket.

He bent down behind me. I felt his hot breath on my ass a second before his tongue sank between my cheeks, thick, wet, pushing into my hole. I screamed into the blanket. He licked me slowly at first, then harder, spitting on me and licking again, burrowing there with his tongue like he was preparing me for something much bigger. He dug his teeth into one cheek, then the other, sucked my ass with that big-guy mouth of his without the slightest disgust, while with one hand he held my cock from underneath and jerked it in rhythm with his tongue.

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

He pushed in one finger. Then another. He opened me with his thick fingers, giving me time to breathe, to get used to it, while he bit the small of my back and whispered filthy things against my skin. I bit my forearm so I wouldn’t scream too loudly, because the bar was still pounding thirty meters away and anybody could have walked between the pickups. I shoved my ass back against his fingers, impaling myself on them, begging with my hips for more, deeper.

—Relax —he said, even lower—. This is just getting started.

He pulled his fingers out. I heard him tear open the condom wrapper with his teeth, put it on with one hand without letting go of me with the other. I felt the tip settle against the hole, thick, pressing in just enough to warn me. And then he went in, slow at first for the first few centimeters and then all at once to the hilt. I let out a muffled cry that echoed inside the truck, a cry that was half pain half glory. He didn’t stop: he drove me against the seat back, gripping my hips with both hands, his fingers sinking into my flesh.

Every thrust was a blunt, deep удар that shook me through and through. His cock going in and out halfway, then plunging back down until I felt his balls bumping against mine. The truck rocked on its wheels like the ground outside was trembling. I cried with pleasure, face crushed into the blanket, clawing at the upholstery, repeating things I didn’t even know I was going to say.

—More… like that… harder… break me… —I begged, voice wrecked—. Fuck me like a bitch…

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

—Yeah… I’m your little bitch… I’m your whore…

Hernán grabbed my hair and lifted me as if I weighed nothing, put me on all fours on the seat, back arched, ass high for him. He gave me one slap on the ass that cracked through the night like a whip, then another, and another, until my skin was burning and I was trembling all over, still begging him not to stop. Every slap made me clench around his cock inside me, and he groaned every time I trapped him.

—Tell me whose you are —he said, never stopping.

—Yours… I’m yours… —I answered, and I meant it in that moment, with every fiber of my body.

He pulled his cock out suddenly, turned me around, laid me on my back against the seat, and lifted my legs onto his shoulders. Now he wanted to see my face. He drove back in like that, folding me in two, spearing me from above with his full weight on me, his cock going even deeper in that position. He sucked two fingers and ran them over the tip of my cock, which was bouncing against my own stomach with every thrust, wetting me, shaking me in rhythm with the way he was fucking 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 out asking for spit. He spat into my mouth. I smiled all filthy and swallowed the spit without closing my eyes. That finished him off.

He put two fingers in my mouth for me to suck while he fucked me, and with his other hand he squeezed my neck just enough for me to feel the weight of his will without cutting off my air. That combination —his cock pounding into my prostate, his fingers choking my tongue, his hand marking my neck, my cock shaking on its own against my stomach— finished burning me out from the inside.

I came without touching myself. A shudder that rose from deep in my ass and made my cock explode in thick spurts that splashed onto my tits, my neck, my open mouth, one after another, while I kept clenching all around his cock. My body shaking against his, the blanket soaked beneath me, my throat torn from screaming. That had never happened to me before, not with a hand involved, just from feeling dominated, just from being fucked right.

He ran two fingers over my tits, collected my semen, and made me lick it off. I licked his fingers clean, watching him, still trembling.

***

That finished him off too. He sped up, growling softly like an animal, driving all the way in over and over, the truck creaking, my legs slipping off his shoulders with sweat. He grabbed my hips and drove me down onto him, to the hilt, and stayed there. I felt him tense all over, bury himself to the maximum and unload with a held-back roar, pulsing inside me once, twice, three, four times, his cock throbbing in me every time he came, while he crushed me against his sweaty chest.

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

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

We stayed like that, pressed together, panting, with no strength left to move. Him on top, his arms crossed over my torso like he still didn’t want to let me go. He bit my earlobe, slowly.

—Whenever you want to do it again, come out to the ranch —he whispered in my ear—. Ask for Hernán. I’ve got a whole night for myself with you. And there, no rush, I’ll fuck you raw and fill your ass until it’s running down your legs.

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

—Yeah.

We kissed filthy, tasting of bitten lip, saliva, and semen, of everything that had just happened. His tongue still searched inside my mouth with hunger, as if it still hadn’t been enough. The truck smelled of sex, sweat, and cheap perfume, a mix that was going to stay burned into my memory for days. Outside, El Potrero kept thumping as if nothing had happened, the 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 up my fishnet top so it covered just enough, my tits still sticky beneath the fabric, and got out of the truck with my legs still weak, feeling my ass throb with every step, open, hot. The warm night air hit my face and for a second I just stood there, between the weeds and the pickups, looking at the bar lights trembling in the distance. My body was wrecked and my head light, that strange feeling of someone who’s just touched exactly what they came looking for.

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

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