Dark Fantasies Read online

  Copyright © Tess West

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are at least eighteen years old. These stories contain explicit material.

  LADY TRUCKER

  By

  Tess West

  A mber was behind time. With another 800 miles to go, she was entering the last leg of her journey. Fatigue was gnawing at her, as her whole body implored her to rest. Her eyes were becoming heavy, and her driving skills were becoming sloppy. At the beginning of the journey, she’d hugged every corner, and with deft precision she’d navigated the winding streets. She didn’t need a satnav, she knew this route like the back of her hand. It was the same as the ones she used to drive years ago. But back then she was driving a truck. This little hatchback was a much simpler vehicle to master. Trucking was much more difficult than many realized - balancing the sheer weight of the vehicle and navigating around corners was an ordeal that she did not miss. She knew that being a female trucker was unusual, but she didn’t care one little bit.

  As she pulled out into the empty highway, darkness consumed the road ahead. The headlights cut a path through the night, and the warmth of the engine blew through the vents. She wound down the window, the cold air sharpening her senses as she stifled a yawn.

  She knew she needed to pull up somewhere and rest. Tiredness killed on the roads, in a creeping subtle way. In the warmth of the car, with the soft lullaby of the radio and the darkness outside, it was easy to slip into sleep and let the car veer off the road. It only took a second to lose control of the vehicle.

  She remembered an old joke she’d heard many years ago.

  I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather. Not screaming, like the people in his car.

  Driving a truck was hard, you were chastised for missing deadlines, but you had to get the minimum sleep requirements for health and safety purposes. Amber envied those people who could drop their head down and fall asleep in minutes. She was nothing like that. It took her an hour just to get comfortable, and another hour to fall asleep. She was a sporadic sleeper too, waking up several times in the night to change positions or relieve herself. A truck was no place for restful sleep. After a few days, the boredom and fatigue caused her to become a bit loopy, singing songs of her own invention to herself as she thundered down the highway, several tons of exported goods at her back.

  She remembered an old bend that the trucker’s called ‘Devil’s Corner’. It was a particularly tight bend at the top of a hill, with a sheer drop on the other side and a meager barrier between the road and certain death. There was no room to maneuver, so if you didn’t get the turn right the first time, you were screwed. One time, after many hours of driving and very few hours of sleep, she’d come across Devil’s Corner. She’d overshot the corner, scraping the back of the truck against the barrier, bending and warping it. For a moment, she feared the truck would tip and the whole thing would disappear over the cliff. Oddly, in her panicked, sleep-deprived state, she worried more about losing the cargo than her inevitable death.

  It’s a strange phenomenon, but after living and driving in a truck for long enough, you begin to feel as though the vehicle itself is an extension of your own limbs. Psychologically, you merge with the truck and the truck with you. A strange kind of phantom limb syndrome, in which you’re so accustomed to the truck being your only real source of momentum, that your brain begins to feel as if the truck itself is your body. Like a sailor returning to port for the first time in months, walking on solid ground feels strange and unnatural.

  She looked out as the cat’s eyes glowed on the road. A sign at the side of the road indicated that there was a truck stop just a few miles ahead. She’d pull up there for a while, rest for an hour, and continue her journey. Even if she didn’t sleep, an hour of rest would surely help to sharpen her senses.

  As Amber pulled into the truck stop, she parked up, shut off the engine and lowered the radio to a point where she could barely hear it. She reclined her chair as far as it would go, and closed her eyes. The radio played classical music, it helped her to drift into a peaceful sleep. At first, she couldn’t get comfortable. She found it strange that out on the road she felt as though she could drop into unconsciousness at any minute, but now that the car was stationary, she just couldn’t switch off.

  She closed her eyes, listening to the soft melodies of the music. After some time, her thoughts became unintelligible and rambling, and sleep consumed her wholly. Wading blissfully through an ocean of sleep, the troubles and tribulations of the world melted away into nothing, giving herself over entirely to dream.

  At once, a loud horn jolted her sharply from her slumber. The horn brought back vivid memories of her days as a trucker. She opened her eyes. The car was illuminated by headlights coming from behind the vehicle. She shook herself to her senses, opened the car door and stepped out into the sharp, cold air. A stationary truck stood behind her car.

  She looked up at the windscreen, shrugging at the driver.

  “What?!” Amber shouted, irritated that she’d been pulled so roughly from her rest.

  The trucker wound the window down. “Hey!” he shouted from the darkness of his vehicle. “This is where the trucks fill up!”

  Amber sheepishly climbed back into her car, started the engine and moved the vehicle to the correct spot. In her tired state, she’d parked the car in the same place she used to refuel as a trucker, an unconscious throwback to a time when she used to drive trucks for a living. She rested her head back and sighed deeply.

  Just when she was about to close her eyes, an ominous dark shadow appeared across the side of her car. Suddenly, Amber realized she was being stared at. She looked to the side, and saw that standing right next to her, was the same trucker from a few minutes ago, his vast frame looming over her car.

  The trucker unzipped his jeans and pulled out his huge black cock, which swayed angrily before him. Amber’s eyes widened. Gasping, her eyes went from the trucker’s face, down to his muscular pecs, down to his stomach, and all the way down to his ridiculously big member. Amber was about to switch her engine on, but the trucker grabbed her through the open window, wrapping both his arms around her in a tight embrace. He opened the car door and pulled her outside.

  Amber craved some much-needed attention, and her hands worked their way over the big black man’s upper body, as the trucker’s hands reached round to grab her pert buns.

  She knelt down and started to milk his huge cock like a dairymaid. Her fingers gripped his erect shaft tightly, causing strings of pre-cum to splash down onto the gravel floor. She traced her tongue all the way from his balls, up the length of his shaft, until she got to the tip.

  “I’m the master of this truck stop. And I’m going to make you my bitch for the night,” declared the trucker.

  His cock stood at full mast, yo-yoing up and down. Amber only had one thing on her mind. She opened her mouth wider and placed her lips on his throbbing shaft. The size of the cock meant that she was unable to take all of it in her mouth. So, she suckled on the throbbing head with her lips, the wide girth rippling in her hand whilst she jacked the hard length.

  Amber lowered her head to suck at the balls. Groaning into her mouthful of sack, she flicked her tongue over the surface, feeling the hard stick press against her face.

  She worked the man’s cock excitedly, his nuts churning whilst her wrist sped-up. Not distracted by the other trucks coming and going, they got to it.

  Amber had been in some risky situations back when she used to drive for a living, but she was really starting to enjoy how this particular evening was shaping up.

  The trucker smiled. “You’re good at this. But hold up a second, girl.”

  She looked into his deep
eyes, his enormous member pointing straight towards her.

  “Oh god… oh god...” she whispered.

  Abruptly, the trucker grabbed her by the waist and lifted her to her feet. His nuts strained. He needed to relieve himself. Amber quickly stood up straight, and he pulled her over by her hand to where his truck was parked.

  They walked briskly in the cool night air, the concrete beneath their feet. The smell of diesel sifted through the air and up Amber’s nostrils. When they got to his truck, the man pressed her up against the front of his vehicle, her back to him, her arms on top of the bonnet. Before she got a chance to take in what was happening, the trucker grabbed some rope from the passenger seat and stepped up behind her.

  He tied up her hands to the wing mirrors, and ripped down her jeans and panties, so that they fell to her ankles.

  The trucker brought his palm down hard upon Amber’s cheeks, making a smack so loud that a bird on a nearby tree got a bit of a fright and flew away.

  The man smacked her hard across the buns again, spanking her.

  “Aaaah, god. Go on, go on. Do it more,” said Amber encouragingly, her hot breath against the cold metal of the vehicle. Again the trucker brought down his hand upon her ass, smacking her at a perfect diagonal angle as she gasped, the ropes tight around her wrists.

  The trucker gave a deep chuckle and said, “Oh, this is good practice. You are my whore. My slave.”

  The trucker let out a furious yell and hopped up on the bonnet of his truck, sat down right in front of Amber’s face and parted his thighs. Again, her mouth was met with the huge cock, swinging before her, impressive and eager.

  He grabbed her by the back of the head and yanked her forward, pulling her face towards his exposed balls, forcing his sack into her mouth. She sucked on his full balls, before her hot, wet tongue flicked out to lick his wide girth. His shiny helmet bounced about in front of her, bopping her on the nose.

  With her mouth full of trucker-shaft, she gasped for fresh air, while the man stared down at her with his deep, dark eyes.

  She continued to suck like a keen college slut, as the man gave a deep groan, his huge balls resting on the bonnet below him. Amber saw this as her cue to take her lips off the shaft as she nestled her face between the beefy thighs.

  The man slapped his cock against her cheek, and she opened her mouth wide, allowing the head between her lips again. She did her best, nursling on the tip with incredible thirst. She was eventually able to take slightly more of it this time, her eyes watering as she craned her neck. With her hands bound, she used her lips to work the stick, jacking it up and down with her mouth. Panting for air, she removed her lips and flicked her tongue over the head. The man reached down and petted her atop the head, fondly, as his nuts bobbed. “Good slave. Good slave.”

  Amber focused her attention back to the shaft, and suckled on either side of it, tracing her warm mouth and soft lips up and down the slick girth. She ran her hungry mouth all the way back to the tip, where she suckled on the smooth head. The man groaned again, and Amber knew she should step up her game. She licked under the balls and started to lick the man’s taint, whilst also lapping at the wide base of the girth and managing to keep eye contact the whole time. She took her lips off the shaft to suck the tip once more, but the man slapped it against her face, letting it swing from side to side and decorating her cheeks with sloppy snail-trails.

  As much as they were both enjoying themselves, the man had other ideas. He hopped down off the bonnet.

  “If you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do...”

  “Don't worry, I'll prepare you first, young bitch.” He told her.

  And with that, the trucker stood behind her. Amber now felt extremely vulnerable, her ass cheeks clamming up in angst. She felt an incredible sense of submission as this brute took total control of her. She was like a piece of meat, waiting on his every move, her chin pressed against the bonnet of the truck. She felt big hands spread her ass cheeks wide, the cool air tickling her snatch.

  She heard a rummaging, and before she knew it the man had drizzled a large blob of lotion down her ass crack. There was nothing delicate about the way the man lubed her up. The cold lotion exhilarated her as it trickled down her tight crack. She gasped with passion and the man heard this, squirting more of the lotion across her buns, drenching her in white slop. He pulled her legs apart so he could open her wider and explore her further. The cold, wet liquid ran down her buns and over her tight pussy. Amber started to tremble and wriggle in the man's hands as he caressed her ass. His hands began to rub and circle her tense cheeks, both hands working the flesh, fingers reaching low and touching her pussy. The probing pressure of the thick digits on and around her pussy was almost too much for her to take, as her clit throbbed.

  After several minutes, she could take it no more and cried out, “Sir, will you just do me already?!”

  The man hadn’t shot his wad all afternoon, and he was sure going to do so, if it was the last thing he did.

  She felt his large brute-like hands on her pert ass, gripping her cheeks firmly.

  With the pink pussy exposed below the fleshy spheres of the young woman’s ass, the trucker couldn’t resist the welcoming hole lurking there, and he pressed his big black cock up against her. His pre-cum and the lotion made things easier, and he slid himself a couple of inches inside.

  Amber cried out, and the trucker couldn’t stop himself. He plowed nuts-deep, all the way in, and drilled her with every inch. Her walls clamped down incredibly hard, and she gripped onto the metal in front of her.

  The trucker wasn’t going to stop. Not until he had finished, and Amber was more than fine with that. He speared his enormous pole in and out of her, pumping her intensely while she moaned and groaned. He pummeled away, grabbing hold of her hair as he did so. She squealed like a wild animal, and as the dick stretched her she came, squirting the bumper with her juices.

  “Good slave. Good slave!”

  He picked up a ridiculous pace. Amber felt it expanding inside her, the enamel of his teeth against the back of her neck. With one final yell, the trucker shot his load, pumping rope after rope, spurt after spurt, deep into Amber’s fertile body. He filled her pussy with his seed, which kept cumming whilst he kissed and licked the back of her neck.

  The semen swam sightlessly inside her. She was his slave, and the potent sperm were going to make a new life. The sperm only had one way to go. They knew their direction. They knew their purpose, and they were going to reach the finish line.

  The trucker withdrew his cock and untied her. Amber spun around, knelt down and gently squeezed the man’s throbbing balls, as he shot a final spurt into her open mouth. It shot out like a garden hose, jetting into her mouth and running down her chin.

  With his balls completely emptied, the trucker squeezed the last drop onto her awaiting tongue, and the young driver took one big gulp.

  Amber’s day had turned out to be a very good one. With his balls emptied, the trucker zipped up and waved goodbye. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Oh, okay. Maybe I’ll see you here next weekend?” she said hopefully.

  The trucker nodded his head in agreement. Amber gave him a knowing smile and waved him off, as the man plodded his large boots along the ground and stepped into the driver’s seat.

  -----

  CAPTIVE IN PARADISE

  By

  Tess West

  T he Marañón River roared fiercely, threatening to swallow up and submerge any who dared cross it. People wouldn’t have believed Beth if she told them where she was. They wouldn’t understand why she would go there in the first place. It wasn’t exactly the holiday-maker’s location of choice, she just couldn’t stand yet another fortnight in Magaluf drinking overpriced booze and getting sunburnt.

  “This is truly a sight to behold,” the tour guide started. “The Marañón River is the principal river of the Amazon, from which all others are born, its estuaries stretching for miles, meandering
across the country. Its tributaries - the Cenpa, Numpatakay, Chiriaco and the Santiago - all stem from this river.”

  The tour guide had a flare for grandiose speeches. Beth hadn’t ever seen any tour guide with such enthusiasm for the job. With his wispy moustache and thinning hair, hands that were cracked and leathered, he reminded her of an old pioneering explorer of times long past.

  “Upon this river and in Northern Peru, the indigenous Awajún claim their home, their land and territory.” He continued, gesturing to the vast expanse of flora around them. “The Awajún are a proud tribe, having resisted both the Incan empire and the Spanish conquistadors, they remained one of the most isolated tribes in the world right up until the 1950’s.”

  Beth looked out at the river and the gnarled, dense potataorsa forests through which it meandered. The heat wasn’t so bad - maybe 25 degrees Celsius – but it was the humidity that defeated her. The air was thick with moisture, so much so that on the steeper inclines, she felt like she was drowning in it.