Truck Stop Negotiation

The sound of the last satnav instruction fades behind the purr of the engine. I ease my foot down onto the brake and we slow to a halt in perfect position between the white lines. A self-congratulatory smile is on my lips. Now to other matters.

She’s beside me with a expectant expression on her sweet, sweet face and a look in her eyes that tells me she’s wondering if this is a good idea. I gently touch the tight spandex covering her legs and feel the tension in her muscles.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods.

I tilt the mirror so I can see the back seat. There’s a different story back there. He has fear in his eyes, rightly so too. Not that he complains as the big red ball jammed between his teeth makes sure he stays silent. I wonder if he’d still be silent if I took it out?

“Looks like we’ve got business.”

There’s five trucks opposite. One of them has the driver sat in the passenger seat watching us. I nod and he nods back.

“We’re on.”

I get out and the leather on the seat makes a beautiful sound as the leather of my jeans slides across it. I close the door and walk slowly towards the truck, looking left and right as I cross the park. It’s early afternoon and quiet. Could do with it being busier.

“Hey,” I call to the man in the truck.

He opens the door and looks down at me. He’s smart in his brown uniform, mid-thirties, thinning blonde-grey hair. Deep blue eyes that hurt the back of my head.

“You got something?” he asks in broken English. I’m going with Romanian for his accent.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Nice piece. Fresh for today and very submissive.”

“The girl?” he asks, looking back at the car.

“Guy. She’s his,” I pause, looking for the right word, “owner. She wants to pimp him out.”

“How much?”

“Sixty for fifteen minutes. Either hole but you use a rubber.”

“I see him.”

“Fair enough.”

I nod at her, the signal for her to get out. He makes an approving murmur as she appears, which is understandable. She’s tall, slim, dressed in red spandex leggings and a cropped leather jacket that leaves enough of her toned tummy on show. The rear door opens and she almost vanishes, leaving just those long legs and the high spiked heels for us to admire.

“She not available?”

“Nope,” I tell him casually.


Then he appears, the man from the back of the car. He’s tall, taller than her by some margin, and strong. It doesn’t matter that he seems to be able to break away from her without effort as he obediently follows her across the park, apparently oblivious to the sharp stones that press into the souls of his bare feet. He’s naked. Not just of clothes, but of body hair and dignity too. The ball gag is gone, removed so the merchandise can be properly inspected.

“Nice looking man,” says the driver.

“Fresh today,” I remind him. “You’ll be first one on him.”


“To a man, yes.”

She stands beside me and pushes him forward. He stands with his head bowed and hands behind his back.

“Very nice looking man. How much you say?”

“Sixty for fifteen minutes.”

The driver rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“I give you that for twenty minutes,” he says.

“For twenty minutes I can let him go at seventy.”

“Seventy sounds too much.”

“He’s very talented,” she says. “Aren’t you, sweetie?”

He nods.

“I’m very talented, sir,” he tells the driver. “I can deep throat a nine-inch strap-on and can do a variety of anal positions, sir.”

“He talks!” the driver exclaims. “Does he squeal like a pig too?!?!”

We three laugh. The naked man, the man whose arse we are negotiating to sell, stays silent. His head bows a little lower and he trembles.

“OK,” says the driver. “Sixty for fifteen.”

The deal is done and the naked man extends his hands as if begging. His face rapidly turns scarlet and he shakes from his stomach as the moment he’d pleaded so hard for just a few hours ago rapidly approaches.

From a wallet in his jeans pockets the driver takes three crumpled twenty pound notes. He counts them out into the outstretched hands. Once the money is there the naked man lowers his hands, recounts the notes and hands them to her. She takes them, checks again and passes them to me. I don’t bother to count, just fold them and place them in the back pocket of my jeans.

While this happens she takes a pair of small blue squares out of her jacket and hands them to the driver.

“It’s the conditions,” she tells him. “You use a rubber. I’ve given you two in case.”

The driver laughs and playfully says, “We shall see if I need them. I may just want a nice, long fuck.”

He turns and climbs up into the cab of his truck. Inside he fumbles with the curtains, closing them for privacy.

She faces the naked man.

“Fuck off up there then,” she says.

I see him hesitate, she does too. Her hand sweeps fast across his face and she moves closer to him.

“Don’t you fucking dare embarrass me now.”

“No, Mistress,” he says, his voice trembling.

He climbs into the cab after his “John”. His first trick. His first experience with a man and its in a truck stop with someone who’s paid for it. I try not to laugh. At least not until the door is closed.

“Shit,” she says as we lean against the cab. “He really did it.”

“You thought he wouldn’t?”

She shrugs her shoulders as the cab rocks and from inside comes the sound of a slave being used by the man who paid for him.

“He must truly worship you,” I tell her.

That makes her smile.

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About Razz

I'm a creative dominant type with a love of BDSM and fetishism. This blog is an outlet, so don't take anything you see or read too seriously.

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