Home to Mark

They’d been driving for days. Emma had lost track of time, though her body kept score her thighs rubbed raw from string straps, her belly tight from cheap beer and what she greedily called “protein,” her throat still rough from service at a dozen truck stops.

Wayne yawned as the cab rattled to a stop. “Need a drink,” he muttered. They hadn’t spoken much. They didn’t need to.

Emma stretched, bones sharp beneath her skin, her tits still swollen and heavy, barely hidden by the ragged white tee that wouldn’t cover them. Her shorts cut her so high she felt permanently split open, her sandals slapping as she stepped down onto the dusty ground. Men outside the bar looked her over, spitting comments that stung, “old cow,” “posh slag,” “truck-stop hole.” She flushed, but the humiliation only crawled deeper into her cunt, making her wet despite the shame.

Hours later, after yet another round of being laughed at, used, and fed the way she’d grown used to, Emma found herself back in the cab with Wayne. They parked at the final pickup point. She sat on the passenger seat, her skin sticky, her thighs trembling, still hungry for more.

She leaned across Wayne. “Want me to take care of you before you leave me behind?” she said, voice a mix of posh drawl and gutter filth. She put her hand between his legs, stroking lazily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Tell me a story,” Wayne rasped.

She smirked. Of course. Always the stories. Always the filth.

“It was just before I met you. I was on a train. Middle of summer, hot as hell, and I was wearing this floaty white dress. Thin as paper, see-through when the sun hit it. No bra, never wore one, my tits never bloody fit in them anyway. I sat there, legs crossed, pretending I was still the proper little wife, champagne tastes and all that.

“Then this man sat opposite me. God, he was the sort I’d never even looked at before. Greasy hair, belly pushing out his shirt, smelled of cheap lager and sweat. The kind of man I’d have thought was beneath me. And that’s exactly why I got wet.

“He kept staring at me. At my tits under the dress. At my thighs. I should’ve been disgusted. But instead, I opened my legs just a little. Let him see the line of my panties. Watched his face go red.

“And then… I leaned forward and whispered, posh as you like ‘If you want it, you can have it. Right here. Right now.’

“He nearly choked. But he followed me when I slid into the little toilet at the end of the carriage. Cramped, stinking, metal walls rattling. I bent over the sink, hiked the dress up myself, and told him to hurry up before anyone knocked.

“And I swear, Wayne, it was the filthiest thing I’d ever done. Letting a man like that rut into me, sweating, grunting, knowing he wasn’t worthy, knowing I was giving myself to someone I’d have never touched back in my proper life. And I came. God help me, I came hard. Because it was dirty. Because it was wrong. Because he was beneath me and I wanted it anyway.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. She pumped Wayne’s cock harder in her hand until he groaned, spilling hot across her fingers. She licked him clean with greedy swipes of her tongue, swallowing like it was her last meal.

When she sat up, chest heaving, she saw the car waiting across the lot. Mark’s. Black, sleek, expensive the opposite of everything she’d been living.

Emma tugged at her too-small shorts, though they still failed to close. Her tits hung heavy and proud under the stretched tee. In one hand she carried the carved wooden cock, worn smooth now, her private trophy.

Wayne didn’t even look at her as she climbed down. He just smirked and muttered: “See you, posh.” Then he drove off, engine roaring, dust in the air.

Emma walked to the car, ribs showing under sunburnt skin, legs thinner but still long and shapely. Mark opened the door, staring at her like he didn’t recognise her. On the floor, a silver ice bucket cradled a bottle of champagne.

She poured herself a glass, downed it, and sighed.

Mark’s voice was tight. “So… how was this year’s vacation?”

Emma leaned back, sticky thighs spread, the smoothed wooden cock still in her hand.

She smiled, lips filthy and sweet.

“Marvellous.”