Henry Morgan - The drivers

She had to do something to please him, to stop him bringing the belt down on her burning flesh once more. Finally she begged him to fuck her, pleaded with him to mount her and run his meat up inside her body. He released his belt then untied hers. Immediately she dropped to her knees and took his prick gratefully into her mouth.

"Not yet," he told her. "Not just yet."

With tender hands he guided her up and down his shaft, out to the tip then back until his hair brushed her nose. Fearful of the strap, Susan licked and slavered along his length and prayed that her mouth would not dry up, prayed too that an end would soon come to this nightmare, then prayed again for a return into the arms of Peter.

Her husband was a kind, considerate man. He had never forced her to fellate him, never made her bend in the lewd ways she had been bent these last few days. How could she face him now, after what she had done, after what had been done to her? Perhaps it was better Peter never found her…

A smart tug of her hair reminded her of present duties and the slap of white lubricant in her throat told of duties to come. When he was satisfied she had taken the lot he led her back to the wagon and to her place below the bunk.

He felt tired after strapping her so firmly and needed some sleep before a long night on the road. He had waited long enough to pierce her slit and tomorrow would be the day. It had been hard enough to stop himself so far, but like Annie said, 'the sun will come out tomorrow, so we better hang on'. With the little girl's words fading in his head he drifted pleasantly off to sleep.

Below him in the inky blackness of her confinement Susan drifted off too. At first the thought of being shut off completely had terrified her but she had grown used to the darkness and the comfort solitude could bring.

Up on the bunk Susan sat with her buttocks resting on the back of her ankles. Her knees were bent and slightly parted in order for him to see her prominent labia, which protruded like a Negro's kiss beneath her. Her sex was all the more visible because of the sparse growth of blonde pubic hair which totally failed to hide her feminine crease.

Behind her head she clasped her hands as he'd instructed, pushing out her breasts like a teenager desperate to prove she needs her first bra. The Driver pushed his foot below her bottom, positioning his toe between her lips where he wiggled it back and fore.

"I bet your old man has fun with these," he said. "Does he like to chew on them? Like to pull them open and get his tongue right up there?"

Susan shook her head. "No. He doesn't do those sort of things to me." She thought for a moment then plucked up enough courage to add, "and he doesn't make me do those dirty sort of things to him either."

The Driver jumped up and forced her head down onto the bunk until her rear was pushed high in the air and her anus was left wide by her parted cheeks. He licked his finger and spoke through a grin

"So he doesn't do this then?" He pushed his finger firmly up her arsehole. Susan grimaced into the mattress, disgusted by the probing of the fat finger but too scared to move until he had finished his puerile joke. He reamed her for quite some time before adding to her fears by saying he was going to use his cock in the same way, his words producing a notable tightening of her sphincter that amused him.

"Back on your heels," he ordered, removing his finger and giving her bottom a resounding smack. "I like my women shit side down, at least to begin with."

Susan resumed her earlier position while the Driver continued to play and taunt her. It had become obvious to him that she was a girl of limited experience whose naivete had won the heart of an older man. It was an innocence she was rapidly losing and it was excellent fun to be the one responsible.

"Good in bed is he?" he asked.

"Who?"

The Driver stabbed a cautionary toe into her vagina as a reminder of her place.

"Your old man." He emphasised the term old. "Good fuck is he? Or does he need a splint to keep it hard?"

Despite her position Susan accepted the challenge and chose to defend her husband's honour.

"Peter's fine," she informed him.

"Fine!" He exploded into laughter, lurched forward and grabbed a tit in each hand. "Listen," he snarled, "if you've no complaints you should have said, hey! he's fucking great. Fine! Fine my arse. You've been gagging for this, haven't you? Desperate for a proper man to put you on your back."

He released her breasts and fell back against the cab wall to regain his composure, then, relaxed once more, he resumed his probing, both with toe and question.

"Do you drink his spunk?"

She turned away.

"Or does he like to trim that quim?"

He saw a tiny knowing spasm quiver the length of her body.

It was just the once and they had both been drunk. She'd let him do it when he asked, but oh, the embarrassment when they'd gone to the local swimming pool and the other women looked and pointed. The Driver saw her shiver and lovingly caressed her womanly folds.

"So you like a shave," he grinned, rubbing his fingers through her sparse pubic cover. "Hardly seems worth it for a few golden strands. Or does the old man like them young?" He relished the slight tremble generated by his words and his touch. "That's it," he added. "Loves a bit of jail bait don't he? Loves the girlies in the back of his car, ironed skirts and cotton panties?"

Susan squirmed at the memories of Peter and the huge Granada he used to pick her up in. How every Tuesday and Friday he would take her out to a pub in the country and they would have their drinks in the car in case she was spotted in her school uniform. On the way back they always stopped in the same place before climbing in the back, where he used to slip his cock up the leg of her knickers to fuck her, still fully dressed. He liked undoing her blouse so that her little titties would wiggle in her white teenage bra, then he'd pull out his cock and spurt his cum over her panties.

The number of times her mother had asked her what those stains were on her knickers, and she'd had to say she had tipped over the mixing bowl in home economics or something. Her mother would look with a wry smile and tell her to be more careful.

"You don't want any accidents," she would say. "Not at your age. You should always have some protection." It was a clever game in which both knew the rules. She was in a new game now though, and the Driver made all the rules. Reaching below him he pulled out her mobile telephone then told her to get on her back. Once there he knelt between her thighs to part her legs, putting one foot over the seat and the other on the ledge behind the bunk. She was now well and truly spread before him, although apart from a few fumblings down below he made no attempt to mount her.

"Here," he said, holding out the phone. "You're going to make a little call. You're going to telephone your sister and tell her you've met someone else. Tell her you've gone off with a lover because he gives you what you need in bed. Tell her what a great fuck I am." He pulled a few strokes on his angry cock while Susan slowly tapped out the numbers.

In a way she was almost glad it had come to this. At last he would fuck her and she would just have to get used to it. If he ever let her go no-one was going to believe her story and everyone would know she had spent her time being screwed up and down every motorway in the country.

She would simply be another runaway wife. God knows there were plenty of them.

Three rings and then the click.

"Hello?"

"Claire?"

The Driver pushed home his cock, penetrating, in and up, filling her completely.

"Claire, it's me. Susan."

His cock pulled back to the glans to be encased by fat lips that clenched against its every movement until, with a powerful thrust, he drove it back up her.