Three hundred kilometers in August heat, AC dead. Sweat soaks my shirt. Autopilot brain, fixated on my insane fantasy. Pulled into the southwest rest stop after 11 PM. Known spot for men only. Cars circle like sharks. Trucks idle. Shadows slip between spots in the humid night.
Jeans tight, tee clinging, sneakers quiet. Lock the car with a bip. Heart pounds. Toilets loom ahead. Still time to bolt. No. Stride firm. Push the door. Acrid tang hits nostrils. Clean enough. Muffled groans filter from inside. Slurps. Wet smacks. Dim bulbs flicker yellow.
The Contact
Eyes widen. Men circle a kneeling guy, pants down, ass bare. Torso slick with sweat. They pump cocks, stroke each other. One sucks neighbor while jerking his own stiff rod. Center dude’s face glazed with cum streaks, eyes glazed. Zippers open, pants low. Cocks everywhere. Thick veins. Dripping tips.
Belly knots. Timid steps forward. Air thick with musk. They caress chests, tweak nipples, fists flying. Expected this. Hunting my prize. Not any dick. Perfect one: erect, head purple-swollen, leaking pre-cum. Slapping low abs with each twitch. Happy trail: fine brown hairs from navel to bush. Trimmed, natural. No shaved porn shit. Love that virile fuzz. Chest hair too, not bear-thick.
Pulse races. There. Him. Majestic cut cock, scarlet glans. Hand gliding slow, twist at top. Balls heavy. Approach. Guys part, stares mix shock and envy. Smirk inside. Easy, kittens. Inch closer. Lips dry, tongue wets them. Hand on his warm belly. Skin jumps.
Look up. His eyes: quizzical, amused. Dimple flashes. ‘Can I?’ Nod. Yes. Crouch. Grip shaft, half-hard, slick. Pulses in palm. Saliva floods mouth. Tongue laps glans, circles ridge. Belly flexes. Breath hitches. Mine too. Slip hand in jeans, stroke myself slow.
Lips slide down veiny length. Eyes lock. Tongue explores. Balls soft-furred, cupped gentle. Suck frenulum. Groan rips low. Circle tongue. Lap stem. Dive deep, mouth wet sheath. Pull back. Suck again. Hips buck to meet. Hands frame my face. Gazes fuse. World blanks.
The Indiscretion
Slow handjob syncs. Read thigh twitches. Know what he craves. Ramp up. Fingers trace hip hairs, that trail. Nirvana. He leans: ‘More, fuck yes.’ Lick like popsicle, drool rivers. Mouth engulfs, piston rhythm. Balls slap chin. Moans louder, stifled. Grips hair, thrusts deep.
Jaw aches. Nibble sack, tongue skin. Back to shaft. His hands roam my chest, pinch nipples sharp. I whimper, twist. Lost in haze. Bodies sync. Sweat mingles. Faster. Deeper. Balls tighten.
Explosion. Jets hit throat. Four, five pulses. Gulp hard, hot salt coats. Shudders rack me. Soften him with laps. Rise, dazed. Fugue state. Bolt usual. No ties. Values shatter again. Childhood ghosts scream. Car. Escape.
Bip unlock. Door swings. Arms cage me. Pins it shut. Heat presses back. Neck tingles with breath. Reflection in glass: smirk soft, eyes pierce. Chin drops. Tears prick. Tremble. Dissociate urge hits. Old tricks. Predator scars.
Voice gravel-deep: ‘Not common for a woman here.’