HGV2 Slutty Fantasy
What a boring day!
Interminable meetings with the industry's most tedious people, all spouting off about rubbish as if it was the most important thing in the world that a concept is delivered.
She had spent the morning trying to stay awake, doodling and eyeing the people around the table whilst wondering about their motivations.
A chinless twat chaired the meeting; a brash wunderkind had all the ideas and constantly tried to take over every conversation. There were a couple of older people with a lot more reservation born of age and experience and the usual assortment of sycophants and mouth breathers agreeing to everything without even a vague understanding of the concepts under discussion.
Then one man had winked at her as she had surreptitiously yawned at a ventured idea from the loud and annoying youth.
At the time she had felt affronted as though he had in some way demeaned her attendance at this meeting, but on reflection she changed her mind. He had a kind face and she didn't think he meant anything by it. He had most likely been offering his solidarity with her against another.
Or had he been offering something else?
Now, on the motorway and heading home, it was what she played most in her mind... over and over.
What if she had smiled back or winked at him? Could that have led anywhere? Possibly a snatched lunchtime moment of fun? Would he have understood what a particular kind of smile she offered in reply would mean? Did men understand the difference between a smile of 'I am happy' and a smile of 'come here, you'. There had been a kind of sexual frisson between them at times throughout the day from that moment on, with neither taking the initiative to make a further move.
Unless she had had too many blouse buttons undone at her neck? Had he just been looking at her chest with sex on his mind? How had he viewed her?
Why did she always have to over-think these things?
It was hot in the car now and she felt the perspiration of the day on her blouse and aware that her nipples were slightly emphasised within her damp bra.
If he had been looking at her sexually, would he have been man enough to make good on his wink? She began to idly visit the scenario in her head and wonder if she would have been brave enough to meet him somewhere quiet and encourage him to fuck her. Would he have been brave or excited enough?
Were men always ready for sex?
She could have taken her knickers off during a toilet visit and then just been prepared to lift her skirt up around her waist when it called for it. He, on the other hand, would have to extricate himself from his trousers through his fly. Easy with some underwear, a tougher ask with others. A simple quick fuck on the fire escape staircase and then back into the meeting as though nothing had happened.
She reluctantly joined the thronging evening traffic queues at a greatly reduced speed and started looking around at the other drivers, wondering how prepared the men around her would be, at any given time, if she presented herself and asked for sex?
The thought made her slightly damp between the legs. She could feel it. What the fuck, girl?
Why are you playing this in your mind?
Did attractiveness equate to preparedness? The man in the next car, for example, was not bad looking. But would that mean his cock was ready, right now, to fuck her? Or the swarthy hirsute individual with the beanie hat in the van. He looked as grumpy as fuck with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Would he be able to get it up instantaneously?
How many of these men in the surrounding cars had had sex recently, or had the opportunity that morning? How many would jump at the chance if it was offered on a plate? If she called out, 'fancy a fuck?' how many would be prepared?
It would be an interesting experiment of course. To see how many would step up and sort her out?
She felt her nipples stiffen and took a deep breath to try to control herself.
At the motorway Services there were always tens of lorries parked up, their drivers on their official breaks, and bored shitless. That would be a perfect place to run an experiment; a captive audience if you will. Generally a fit and active demographic and usually all men on a forced work break looking for anything to alleviate boredom.
With the homeward bound traffic slowing and the fact she needed to visit the toilet, the Services were a preferred option for the moment rather than sitting uncomfortably in yet another queue desperate for relief.
She turned to leave the motorway and entered the lane to the Services parking.
Her mind still mulling her thoughts over, it seemed obvious to park overlooking the lorries across a small verge. She pulled into a space closest to that area between a couple of empty vehicles and turned the engine off.
With the silence and stillness now calming her, she looked up and down the extensive rank of rowed up HGVs which all wore their logos down the lengths of their vehicles: Convenience stores, furniture, fuel, drinks, hardware, machine parts and so on. Most had native plates but a couple were foreign. All the drivers on mandatory breaks from their time behind the wheel.
She caught sight of a couple of men leaning against a truck deep in conversation. Both were well built with broad shoulders and wearing hi-viz jackets.
Her hand went instinctively to her thigh. She lifted her skirt slightly and stroked her flesh as she rocked her legs as far apart as she could under the wheel. Deep soothing massaging strokes helped ease the muscles in the one leg from working the clutch in the traffic.
She could feel the warmth emanating from beneath her knickers and couldn't help run a finger along the gusset along the line of her slit whilst her hand was down there.
She did it again, feeling her lips beneath the damp material part slightly at the touch.
She felt very turned on whilst watching her captive audience of men with the potential of completing her experiment. All she needed to do was go and offer herself.
Come on... she could do it. A stroll over there and the grassy area behind that first truck would be perfect. Nice and soft for her to be on her hands and knees, or kneeling down if she was required for that. A picnic bench too, if some height was required: she could be laid on her back and fucked in both ends without the men having to kneel awkwardly.
How could she let them know she was available for a thorough fucking though?
She mused on it for a moment, using the time to now thoughtfully cup and squeeze her breasts. She felt their weight and encouraged the sensations to jolt down to her own sex.
It was an idea: she could take off her skirt and then the white blouse she wore was long enough to sit just below her bottom. If she removed her jacket and bra, her breasts should be visible through the sheer material. She could emphasise them and her figure by wearing the belt from her skirt. If she tied that around and undid a few more buttons, it would make the blouse look like a very short and very slutty dress.
Then she could comb her long hair down from its officious style for today and put her work high stiletto heels back on in preference to the flat shoes she wore to drive.
That would look slutty and wanton. The men should get the message that she was available, especially with a slow strut past their cabs, her legs looking even longer without a skirt. The heels always gave her bottom a sexy sway. Without the bra, her breasts would also claim their attention under the opaque material swelling up through the vee. With the blouse scraping the bottom of her ass cheeks, it would make her pussy alluringly almost within sight. A tantalising view and possibility for any red-blooded male.
She hooked a finger beneath her gusset and then eased it right inside herself. Yes. She was soaking. She grasped at her knickers with the other hand and wrenched them away so she could tease her clit freely.
