Truck Driver

Note: This story contains Female Desperation, Female Wetting, Foreplay and Sex
I’m a truck driver.
That doesn’t mean I’m fat and sloppy – the girls say I look OK at thirty–one, and I have had my share of relationships. But spending most of my life in transit makes for a lousy home life, so I’m single.
I was on an overnight ferry to the continent, going to Hamburg with a load of machinery. I don’t drink much on these trips, but that doesn’t keep me from spending the night in pubs or the discotheque.
She was sitting by herself. I had seen her with two friends, but they were flirting energetically with a bunch of economists from Croydon (they were very loud) and this girl was not included. I didn’t exactly feel sorry for her, but I know the feeling of being left out and I would like to dance anyway. She was, well, ample is the kind word, dressed in a flowery short sweater and a very tight black skirt reaching halfway to her black nylon knees. She had straight black hair below her shoulders and a sharp fringe over a rather sulky look. She fingered her glass and stared into space, occasionally adjusting her skirt over soft thighs.
I thought, why not, and stepped over. She looked at me with an oh–no–expression, but I asked her anyway. Reluctantly she rose and followed me to the dance floor. All through the dance she focused on a point beyond my left elbow, moving uninterestedly to the music. Her tight skirt accentuated her soft flesh and showed the outline of full panties. When the music stopped she looked towards her seat, but I asked for another dance. She glanced at me and began moving again.
By the third number she actually looked at me. The fourth song was slow, and she let me put a hand on her soft waist. I kept hold of her hand, and as the next song began she stepped into my embrace.
Her full breasts squeezed against my lower chest, and I felt the softness of her belly against my groin. She danced with a serious expression, moving rhythmically.
The DJ upped the tempo, and she stepped away, shaking, bending her knees and circling. As the number ended she bumped into my arms and smiled, a warm look in her brown eyes. She raised her mouth to my ear.
— My panties are wet, she said. –Down my legs, too. Then she grabbed my hand and started dancing again.
Over a beer she told me her name was Pauline, she was originally going with three girls, but her best friend had gotten ill and she had reluctantly gone although she knew that her two companions would leave her out of the fun. She looked around, true to form they had left without telling her. She had no expectations; she’d had too many disappointing experiences.
Silently I cursed the insensitivity of my own sex, the flocking around the skinny dollies who would probably snub you anyway, leaving the nice but unfashionable girls to oblivion. We drank our beer, she seemed to regret having told me of her failures, and she looked at me. –I’m kind of tired, she said. –I think I’ll find my cabin.
It seemed we were on the same deck, hers just around the corner from mine. She smiled sadly at me and inserted her key card.
The economists were still very loud, and also very groping. She shut the door and sighed.
— Hey, I said, I don’t mean to be cheeky, but would you rather sleep in mine? There is an extra berth and no obligations.
— Are you serious?
— Look, I said, taking her hand, –you’re a nice girl and clearly not a part of the stag party in there. I made you smile out there on the floor, so you’ll probably enjoy yourself more around me than with them.
She looked ready to cry, fingered the hem of her sweater and rubbed her knees together. –Okay then.
I watched her as she walked, the round bottom with the tight panty lines, the soft flesh at her waist, the indentations of her bra. It may not sound like the girl of your dreams, but I had held her close and felt the cuddliness of her girlish shapes, the heaviness of her breasts against my belly. And honestly, her comment about being wet under her skirt did nothing to put me off.
The light inside my cabin revealed her makeup to be a little on the heavy side; the lipstick a little too red, the mascara a little too heavy, her eyelashes less darkened than tarred. –I’m wetting my panties, she said. Then she kissed me.
It was a total embrace, her arms tight around my neck, her breasts flattened against me, and her hips and belly grinding into my groin. I stroked her back down to her waist, and she managed to stick her butt out and press her pelvis against me at the same time. She moved her hips and kissed me wetly with her eyes closed. –I want you, she mumbled into my mouth. –Please touch me.
I slipped my hand between us and groped for the hem of her skirt. She didn’t make it easy for me by holding me so close, but by wriggling and coaxing I managed to get a hand between her legs.
She was soaking wet. “I’m peeing my panties” usually signals an upcoming need to go, but she had obviously meant it quite literally. I rubbed her soft mound and felt my hand become warm. –Oh, she said, and again as another warm flow enveloped my fingers.
She moved back all of two inches to pull her sweater off, and then she unbuttoned my shirt. I wriggled her skirt down, leaving her standing in black tights over black panties and with a full bra almost containing her breasts. She had a big wet circle in her groin. –Come, she said and pulled me into the narrow bathroom. –Pee first.
Eagerly she tore her tights and panties down and sat, the stream flowing instantly. Her hips were round, the soft folds of her belly meeting her thighs, holding my glance as the sound in the bowl kept on. Then she cut off the stream and rose. –You can have me, she said.
We lay on the narrow berth, spoon–fashion; I had my arms around her, cupping one breast and stroking her belly with the other, both hands full of woman. It had been an incredible experience. Forget technique; forget the sensitive foreplays and the careful stimulation of erogenous zones. I looked over at the big wet patch in the other bed. This had had not been making love or sleeping together – it was pure fucking in the best sense of the word, with no holds barred, no restraints, and no fear of escaping body fluids. My favorite image– maybe lying on my back, Pauline astride me, full breasts hanging, belly swelling, her trimmed black bush hovering over me, her slit a hot fountain every time I touched her. No wonder we had to move to the other bed afterwards.
We awoke as the loudspeaker announced arrival in two hours. She showered and dressed in bra, sweater and skirt, smiling as she crammed her wet tights and panties into her handbag. –I’d better find my friends, she said. –We’re staying at this hotel for the night before returning tomorrow night.
I sensed the sadness in her voice. –Look, I said, –why don’t you come with me? We’ll spend the night in Hamburg and I’ll have you back here in time for the return.
— Well, I couldn’t…
— You’re free, white and twenty–one, isn’t that what they say? Come on!
She laughed. –Wrong on all three. I have a kind of boyfriend, my mum’s from Brazil, and I turned twenty only last month.
She thought it over and then looked at me. –I’ll dump the boyfriend, but if you can accept the other two, I may consider it.
— I’ll park by the terminal, I said.
I waited for ten minutes and was on the verge of giving up when she came skipping around the corner. Skipping is the word; even if she was built on the heavy side she moved with surprising grace. God could she move. I opened the door and reached for her bag.
She settled in her seat and looked expectantly at me. For a second I wondered if she would like sex again, right here, right now, but I pushed away this male fantasy thinking and considered that a girl actually may look forward to going on an unscheduled trip to Hamburg with me.
She kept to her favorite color, wearing a tight – very tight and short – black tee shirt and black stretch – very stretched and very low cut – pants with an adorable soft belly between. Her thong, also black, rose two inches above her waistband. As she sat her hips swelled and her tee rode up and I had trouble keeping my hands to myself.
The traffic was heavy. After an hour and a half I saw only brake lights ahead and had to slow down to thirty before the traffic stood still. I shrugged my shoulders and took her hand. –Nice holiday, huh?
— This is wonderful, she said softly. Just being here with nowhere to go, nobody making noise, no race against the clock. Oh, I’m sorry, you are probably mad about being delayed and I’m enjoying it.
I squeezed her hand. –I stopped cursing the traffic a long time ago, I said. –I get there when I get there.
— I guess it’s okay, then, she smiled. –But I have to pee.
Jokingly I pointed at an empty coffee container. She looked at me mischievously and unhooked the clasp, pulled down the zipper, lifted her hips and wriggled her pants down. She paused with her thumbs hooked in her thong: –Don’t be shocked.
— At what?
— At what I did before I left the cabin.
— Nothing you do will shock me.
She slipped her thong down, revealing a smooth, silky, curved mound where her black curls had been. –Like it?
— You are the girl of my dreams, I said truthfully.
She slid to the edge of her seat, pushed her pants and thong to her ankles and spread her legs. Concentrating she held the paper cup underneath her and released the flow. I couldn’t help staring at the golden stream emerging from between her hairless lips. The stream fell to a trickle and then stopped, the level of liquid a mere half–inch below the rim. –Now what?
— Out of the window, I said. –Don’t hit anybody.
She wound down and looked around, then poured out the contents. She put the cup back in the holder and pulled her pants back up. –You will have to live with the stain in my panties, she grinned.
I could live with the stain in her panties.
— If you don’t mind my asking, I said as we were cruising again, –what is it with the boyfriend thing?
She shrugged. We’ve been together for two years. Mostly because he has been telling me that nobody else would want a fat girl who wets her undies.
I put my hand on hers. –Bullshit.
She smiled weakly. –But I sort of began to wonder. I planned to go on this trip and try to be myself. Okay, I am a fat girl who wets her undies, but why do I have to put up with him?
— Excellent reasoning, I said. –And you’re not fat.
— I am, she said, sulking.
— Will you settle for pudgy?
She smiled that brilliant, sparkling smile again.
— A pudgy girl with an active bladder. You know, I’m very turned on by the thought of a pudgy girl with an active bladder. Do you know that you look incredibly sexy in wet tights?
Her shoulders shook and her hair hid her face. I squeezed her hand.
— He said it was disgusting, she mumbled.
— It’s not. I’m serious. It’s the most erotic sight I’ve seen, that lovely round soft belly of yours with the dark circle underneath. I nearly came in my pants. Don’t you ever stop dribbling.
She wiped her eyes and looked at me. –I think I just squirted, she said.
We left the rig at the terminal and took a taxi into the city. We checked in at the hotel, found our room and dumped the bags in a corner. She looked at me. –Bed?
— Okay.
— I think I’m peeing already.
I sat on the bed and pulled her to me. She stood between my knees, her soft folds right before my face. Her round belly strained the fabric of her pants and big breasts heaved with her breathing. I slipped my hand between her thighs and felt moisture. –Come on.
She smiled at me and my hand got warm. –More?
I nodded. She let go again and the wetness spread down her legs. Small drops darkened the carpet.
— Come to the bathroom and watch me soak myself completely, she said in a soft voice. I rose and went with her.
She stood on the floor. –What shall I do?
— Sit on the toilet, I said. –The lid.
— Okay.
— Then spread your legs.
She complied. I saw the dark circle in her crotch, her black pants tight against her from the waistband to her butt. –I’m peeing, she said.
I watched as the shiny river broke through. I put my hand on her, feeling her hot flow against my palm. –Stop, I said, and she bit her lip and halted the stream. I unhooked the clasp and pulled down her zipper, and she lifted her butt as I wriggled her pants off. I knelt before her, my face inches from her soaked panties. Her naked slit was visible through the material. I lowered my lips to her.
— Now.
Aquarius