Get Out Of My Truck

It was my first month working as a flatbed driver when I met her. We were at the same customer securing our loads in the gravel lot beside their dock, although she was working significantly faster than I was. I kept having to refer to my handbook to make sure I was using the right number of chains and straps to keep the load from shifting or coming off the truck. Eventually I would have it all memorized, but I wasn't there yet. She was, and I tried not to look like a creep while I watched her quickly throwing her straps, but I was impressed and jealous of her skill.

She finished before me and was struggling with her tarp when I decided to offer my assistance. It was hot as Hell that day and we were both dying in our thick high-vis shirts, protective sleeves, and hard hats. She gratefully accepted my help and then came to help me finish my load. I hadn't expected it when I offered to help her, I just wanted an excuse to talk to her and tell her how much I admired her abilities without sounding like a predator. She was hot, though, and I could tell that she knew it.

I asked her if she knew where the nearest truck stop was. My clock was almost up and I was dog-tired after dropping off one load earlier in the day, which required removing and putting away all the chains I'd used on it, and then struggling in the heat with this second load. Even for a lycan it was rough. I'd also never been to that place before and had no idea where anything was. That's one of the drawbacks of flat-bedding, or one of the perks, depending on who you ask. Most of the shippers, or customers, are in rural or industrial zones. Sometimes there's nothing else around for miles. She helped me tarp my load and told me to follow her. I didn't take it as an invitation for anything more. She seemed nice and I didn't bother to get my hopes up. After a day of working in the heat I smelled, was streaked with dirt and kingpin grease, and was sporting just a little bit of a sunburn. So was she, but she made it all look good.

I followed her to a stop about twenty minutes away and managed to find a spot not far from hers. She hopped out of her truck and I waved at her to say thanks, then was surprised when she continued toward my truck and came to my door.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, "I'm cooking steaks in my truck."

What wolf is going to turn down steaks from a hot lady?

I gladly followed her and brought along a box of cookies and some electrolyte water, the only things I had on offer in my truck. She grinned and opened the door of her truck, giving me a fabulous view as she climbed inside while I stood on the ground below her. I followed her in and was instantly impressed. Her truck was clean as a whistle. She'd made it cozy with little pillows and rugs and cute little decorations. Mine was still devoid of any decor or anything personal. Inside the sleeper she had a little electric pressure cooker plugged in and I sat on her bed at her direction and watched as she seared the steaks in it, then threw in sliced onions, a packet of gravy, and a few potatoes. The steaks rested beside the pot while it sealed and we talked shop. She happily accepted an electrolyte water and asked me about my tattoos.

They were a montage of my life in the Army. Guns, truck parts, and parachutes covered both of my arms, a Persian carpet motif serving as the background. I'd spent a lot of years in the Middle East and it had left its mark on me in many ways. I loved the culture. I hated what was happening there politically. The art was incredible. And then my parachute had failed to open properly on my last jump and I'd crashed into a tree, shattering my pelvis and ending my career. I healed fast, of course, but the lingering effects wore me down. I had scars on both hips and on my back from the German surgeries to repair my pelvis and decompress my spine, and afterward I was the picture of health. I just couldn't lean over to repair a truck engine anymore, and everyday tasks like cleaning a tub or oven were torture.

I was discharged and then I met Travis, a truck dealer and mechanic who helped me stop drinking and get my first truck. He was a good guy and a great pack leader, although a little strict with the rules. I didn't mind, though. I was good with strict rules. It's when I didn't have any that I struggled. He suggested I try flatbed driving because it would get me out of the cab throughout the day. I would still get a workout and wouldn't get as stiff as I'd gotten driving around refrigerated trailers, or reefers, as we called them in the business. Most of the time securing a load didn't require me to stay leaned over for long periods or on my knees, so it didn't aggravate my injuries and for the most part I could forget about what had happened.

I told her all of that, well, not about Travis being a pack leader, of course, and we ate the first home-cooked meal I'd had in a while. I'd been living on truck stop sandwiches and stuff that came in wrappers for too long by that point. She offered to teach me some recipes if I got my own pressure cooker, and I groused that it was too bad our paths would probably never cross again. That's when I found out we were headed to the same delivery location, same date and time. "What are the odds?" I'd asked, but she told me they were building some kind of big factory and she'd been running the same load for weeks now, so it wasn't totally unusual. I still felt like it was a sign.

I'm not proud to admit I fucked her almost as soon as the meal was over. I could smell how aroused she was despite the fact that I smelled like I'd been sweating in the sun all day. In my defense I hadn't been with anyone since I left the Army, which was years before I met her. I don't usually do things like that. I don't want to be irresponsible and give some girl a werewolf baby, then never see her again. I know some guys live their lives like that and they seem to get away with it, but I could never live with myself if I put a wolf out there in the world not understanding what it was and with no one around to explain. She told me she was on the pill, though, and to my surprise, didn't make me wear a rubber even though she barely knew me. That should have been my first warning.

I slept in her truck that night, fucked her again in the morning, then we took a shower together and I had her again in the shower. By the end of it she could barely walk and she giggled while I carried her across the parking lot to her truck. I kissed her and left her to do her pre-trip inspection while I did mine, then followed her lead out of the lot and onto the delivery. I helped her unstrap her load and unstrapped mine while she got unloaded, and once we were both finished we compared schedules. Neither of us had anything to pick up until the next morning, and if I got up early and really pushed it I could make it to my pick-up. So I followed her to another truck stop, but this time I took her out to dinner at the Iron Skillet. Fancy, I know.

We spent the night in her truck again because frankly it was nicer than mine. I'm not one for cute throw rugs but my truck had about as much personality as the barracks and no spare blankets. She rode me until she couldn't anymore, then I plowed her until she told me it was starting to hurt. She let me finish in her mouth and I knew I was totally in love.

We stayed in touch over the phone and a few times I did stupid things like went out of my way to park close to her so I could see her, even though I knew I wouldn't get paid for the miles I was out-of-route. I didn't care. I was lovesick for her the way we always are for our mates. After a few weeks of that we decided to become co-drivers and I moved to the company she drove for. I found out she didn't own her truck, so we moved all her fluffy blankets and cute rugs to my truck and got rid of her truck payment. We still kept separate apartments, and I guess maybe that should have also been a sign.

Sierra was a good driver, a good cook, and great at giving head. I filled in a lot of blanks based on how much I liked her and decided she was also a good woman. We'd been co-driving without issue for over a year when things finally went bad. There had been a lot of signs. She liked the male attention at shippers a little too much, sometimes flouting safety requirements to wear low-cut tank tops and then eating up all the attention she got from forklift drivers and dock workers. She'd let other drivers hit on her at truck stops - no, scratch that - she didn't let them, she encouraged it and invited it. It would make me jealous as all Hell and I'd end up taking it out on her in the truck, fucking her roughly while she apologized over and over for being a slut.

There were so many red flags but I just ignored all of them. I even fucked up and let her find out I was a wolf. At some point I was obviously going to have to tell her, but I thought we'd be talking about moving in together and then a conversation would have to happen. She never wanted to talk about moving in together and said she liked having her own space. I figured it was a side effect of living in such close quarters in the truck and dismissed it.

Fucking idiot, me.

I had a key to her apartment for a long time but hardly ever went there. On the rare occasion we were off the road we'd usually spend the time at my apartment, or she'd tell me she had family things to take care of and I'd kiss her and tell her I'd see her the day we got back into the truck.

One night, on her birthday, I bought three dozen roses and went to her apartment. The plan was to let myself in and leave them on the table. She'd told me she had family stuff to take care of and that her parents were taking her out to dinner. I found it a little strange, and honestly it hurt my feelings a little that she never invited me to meet her parents. We spent almost all of our time together and were responsible for each other's safety, but I didn't rate a dinner with mom and dad? It was fine, I guessed. She told me they were old-fashioned and strict and she didn't want me to have a bad time. I believed her.

I got the roses and went to her apartment. I unlocked the door and as soon as I opened it, the smell hit me. Someone else was there with her. Another man. And he was inside of her, and it wasn't the first time. I stood in the dark in the hallway and watched for a few minutes, not believing my eyes. I'm not a vain man, but he wasn't better looking than me and his dick was smaller. I didn't get it. I left the roses on the table, then followed his scent out to the parking lot to an unexciting sedan. I thought about slashing his tires or stuffing leaves up the tail pipe or going back up to the apartment and killing him. Instead my thoughts turned to self-destruction and a few days later Travis had to bail me out.

I didn't remember what I'd done. According to her I got blackout drunk, came back, beat the shit out of that guy, then went off somewhere else to look for new methods of self-destruction. I'm not proud of it. I plead no contest and paid my fines. Thankfully I hadn't driven a car during any of it and they couldn't take my CDL away from me. A week later we got back on the truck together and I did my best to pretend she didn't exist. Sierra kept trying to talk about it but I didn't want to hear it. She told me she just liked the attention and she would get help. I told her no wolf would want an unfaithful, disloyal mate like her and she could get herself help for the next guy. She told me I should get help too and I told her there was no point. There wouldn't be another woman after this fiasco.

You might be thinking, "why the Hell would you get back in the truck with her, John?" We made a premium driving together and we made a good team. We could deliver faster than other drivers because the truck moved just about 24 hours a day, and some customers were willing to pay for that kind of service. I thought we were good in other ways, too, but I was just an idiot. For the first month every time she tried to talk to me I told her to get out of my truck and leave me alone. She'd get back in the bunk and wait for her turn to drive. When it was her turn to drive I'd get in the bunk and cry. I couldn't drink to forget and I don't know, I don't like to get too into my feelings but something about the whole thing really fucked with my PTSD. When I managed to sleep I was stuck in that fucking tree again, but now it was worse; I was stuck in the tree and the only person who could help me was Sierra, but she was too busy fucking the other GIs to cut me down.

She did go to therapy, in case you're wondering, but for me it was too little, too late. Every time I looked at her I saw that sweaty accountant on top of her and wondered how many others there were. One night, when I was feeling particularly self-destructive, I asked her how many. She didn't know. Maybe a hundred. I wanted to throw up.

I got myself tested and vowed to never touch her again. She vowed to be celibate and told me about her celibacy milestones, as if that would prove to me that she had learned how to be worthy of me. She was still hot and she still turned me on, but now when I thought about fucking her I wanted to choke her, like really choke her, and not just for funsies. I didn't like that at all. I didn't know where that had come from and it scared me. I obviously hated her deeply. She was still obviously "in love" with me. We both still wanted that money so she put up with being ignored until she learned to resent me as much as I resented her.

I didn't realize that in her quest to improve herself she'd become a sloppy driver. I guess maybe she'd gotten all of her self-esteem from sucking dick and when that was gone she didn't have any pride in much of anything else. I'd already fallen asleep by the time she started her day, so I didn't know she hadn't bothered to do an actual inspection that morning. I'd only been asleep for a couple hours when she woke me from, what else, another shitty dream about my parachute not opening. She was in tears and I thought I'd somehow slept through an accident at first. Then I realized she was blubbering about not doing an inspection and that something was wrong with the truck. I yelled at her for not doing the inspection and got dressed to look. It's possible the truck just broke while she was driving and that doing an inspection wouldn't have helped, but I'll never know and I was pretty mad when I envisioned the bill.

The truck was really, really broken. Another driver would have to come get the trailer from us and we'd have to get a heavy wrecker to tow us to a shop for repairs. But first we'd have to wait forever, because of course it broke down in the middle of nowhere.

I got back in the truck to wait and she immediately started crying again and begging me to forgive her. For me that was the last straw. She'd broken my heart, now she'd broken my truck. I tried to get in the bunk and ignore her but she followed me and kept telling me how sorry she was. I'll be honest - it had been about six months since the incident at that point and there was a glimmer of hope on the horizon that maybe, just maybe, I'd consider couples' counseling and give it another shot. I did really love her at one point and she did know what I was and accept me. That was huge. But I now knew what she was and I couldn't accept that. The problems with the truck blotted out that last glimmer of hope.

That whole day was a nightmare. We were initially told someone would come tow us in six hours. Then they called back and said they'd come get us the next day. There'd been a pile-up accident on the freeway and they wouldn't have a wrecker free to come get us until that was cleaned up.

Now at this point I have to admit that I was being kind of an idiot. Because she knew about me and she was fine with handling things outside of the truck, I never took time off for the full moon. I knew it could eventually be a problem but part of the issue with me is I always think things will be a problem some other time and maybe by then it will be someone else's problem and I won't have to deal with it. I knew the truck could break down and I could end up stranded and wolfed-out. I just always believed it wouldn't happen because I ran such a tight ship.

Well.

We found ourselves sitting in the truck just staring at each other and wondering what to do. I knew I was going to shift as soon as the sun went down. She knew it, too. One of my other many problems with her was how much she liked it when I fucked her in wolf-form. It took all of my self-restraint not to indulge in her fantasies every month since the incident, but I'd always had driving and getting as many miles as possible on my mind. With the truck down I had nothing to keep her off my mind, and she was sitting right in front of me, her face still tear-streaked and still ceaselessly apologizing to me.

Then the fight started. I told her her problems were all her own doing, that if she were a better person she wouldn't be in the situations she was in right now. She told me if I wasn't such a cold asshole maybe she wouldn't have tried to fill the void with other men. I told her she was trying to fill something alright, then she slapped me. It was quiet in the truck for a little while before I told her something else I shouldn't have said. I always wanted to, but she never would let me fuck her in the ass.

"How many of them did you let fuck you in the ass?"

"None," she replied, and I sensed she wasn't lying. Then she cocked her head to the side and I knew I was in trouble. "If I let you fuck my asshole, will you give me another chance?"

My pulse was deafening in my ears. My fantasies about her had become so depraved over the previous six months that I didn't even want to describe what I would want her to do for another chance. My senses were beginning to heighten as the afternoon turned into evening and everything in me screamed at me to say yes so I could get what I wanted. But that's wrong, so I told her no.

"What would it take then? I've been going to therapy, I haven't even spoken to another man in six months. It doesn't have to be forever, it could just be for tonight." I knew that it was true. She'd changed her phone number, deleted all her socials, took the password off her phone, and regularly encouraged me to look at it to see that she wasn't on any dating apps. I never did because I didn't want to entertain the idea that I would actually forgive her. I knew it wouldn't just be for tonight if I gave into her. I missed her, even though I hated her guts. I could feel something in my neck twitching now. My shift was so close and here she was dangling a proverbial carrot from a stick. I wanted her just as badly as I ever had, even though that want was tainted with something dark.

"I want you to submit," I told her, "I want you tied up, legs spread, ass up, I want to fuck you in every hole-"

"Yes," she said, cutting me off.

"Fuck," I snarled, already starting to shift as the sun dropped below the horizon. I knew I wasn't going to be able to walk away from this one.

"I want to knot your pussy and your ass, too," I demanded. She hesitated for a few seconds before she said, "okay."

"Do you remember your safe word?" I growled at her. She nodded and disappeared into the bunk. I locked the cab and drew all the curtains, feeling my shift nipping at my heels as I followed her into the bunk and not wanting anyone to see it. She was already stripping off her work clothes when I opened the curtain. I grabbed my belt and she obediently turned around, putting her hands behind her back. I tied her hands together with it as tightly as I could, then pushed her down onto the bed on her stomach and mercilessly spanked her.

"Disobedient, disloyal, dysfunctional bitch," I snarled at her, drinking in her yelps and hisses of pain as I left handprint after handprint on her asscheeks and the backs of her thighs.