The CB radio crackles.

“Hey, there Darlene, got your ears on?”

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Darlene says to me.

I’m riding in the passenger seat of Darlene’s Kenworth. There’s five hundred horsepower in front, eighteen gears plus eighteen wheels underneath, and twenty-two tons of steel pipe behind. We’re rolling down a stretch of Texas highway somewhere between nowhere and one of my investments in the oil patch.

Helping Darlene gives me great cover to snoop on some businesses, a chunk of stock in each I happen to own. No one suspects a couple of chicks in a big rig of doing anything but running away from a gaggle of horny men, especially around here.

Darlene enjoys playing taxi driver when I’m sniffing for news around my money pots, and I like her company. She’s quite a lady as you’ll soon find out.

“Lost or lonely there, Mr. 8?” Darlene says into the microphone.

“Now that I’m on your tail, I gotta be headed in the right direction,” comes the reply.

Darlene laughs, then says, “Be happy to show you the way, but I got company.”

“I’ll share if you will,” Mr. 8’s voice says.

“Sounds like a good friend of yours,” I comment.

“We slap bellies now and then,” Darlene replies.

“I can be on my own tonight if you want some privacy,” I suggest.

Darlene laughs again. “Mr. 8’s the kinda guy would rather you stuck around and watched.”

“Well…,” I drawl, mimicking Mr. 8’s radio voice, “I’m happy to watch the show as long as I stay in the audience.”

Darlene shoots me a look. “Ain’t you full of surprises.”

“Merely a suggestion,” I say with a shrug.

Darlene pulls another gear then grabs the microphone.

“Company says it’s a show only, and she ain’t playin’ no parts.”

“My bunk or yours?” comes the reply from Mr. 8.

“We’re fancy here now thanks to her. At the place off Exit 34. Don’t be early and bring your own towel.”

“Ten-four.”

Darlene breaks out laughing and slaps the steering wheel.
=
After a diner supper and separate showers in our respective rooms, I’m wondering what I got myself into. Hopefully, something fun.

I’m also excited to be able to sit back and watch the action without being part of it.

Wearing a white T-shirt over clean jeans, I knock on Darlene’s door.

She greets me in a terrycloth robe and bunny slippers. Her hair is damp. The scent of lavender soap wafts around her.

“Come in! Come in!” she says, stepping back, waving me to a chair. “You want a drink? Sure you do. Need one myself.”

She pours two double shots of Jack Daniel’s into paper cups and hands me one.

“Gonna be a hoot!” she says then downs the booze.

I sip mine.

“Mr. 8’s alright,” she explains. “Help you out with a flat tire or if you need some extra straps. We dated a while after my divorce.”

“Was he part of that week you mentioned?” I ask.

“Oh, no, honey. That was something else entirely. Mr. 8 showed up later on, when I took the longer runs out to your knucklehead hole-drillers.”

“Thanks for having me along for the ride,” I say.

“Thank YOU for buying me hotel rooms and hot meals. Beats sleeping in the bunk and showering at a truck stop.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Company has arrived!” Darlene cheers.

She opens the door to reveal Mister 8, a man darn near big enough to fill the entire doorway. He wears a loose T-shirt, jeans, and open boots. A beach towel hangs over his shoulder.

“Glad you dressed for the occasion,” Darlene chides him.

He opens his mouth for a toothy grin.

“Her name’s Jen,” Darlene says pointing at me.

I wave with my fingers.

“Nice to meet you, Jen,” Mr. 8 says. “When the party starts, don’t be afraid to jump in if the urge strikes you.”

“Get in the shower!” Darlene shouts, yanking him by the shirt.

Mr. 8 disappears into the bathroom.

“He’s alright,” Darlene tells me.

“No problem,” I assure her.

It isn’t what you’d call foreplay, or even a warmup, but we have a little chat about hauling rates in the oil patch.

Twenty minutes later, Mr. 8 comes out of the steamy bathroom, naked, grinning ear to ear, and sporting a neatly trimmed public area.

“Ladies, I may smell like a woman, but as you can see… I’m all man!”

We laugh.

He’s definitely all man. Although only partially erect, he’s got a hefty package. Darlene will have her hands, and other parts, full. No doubt about it!

“Get over here!” Darlene tells him pointing at the bed beside which she stands.

From my vantage point in the chair on the other side of the room, I watch him take his time, pausing to open her robe for a feel of her boobs.

Darlene’s got a curvy bod. Her bra is a definite D cup. Her hips match. She may sit behind the wheel of her Kenworth much of the day, but she also does a fair amount of climbing around the trailer and whatever happens to be the cargo on board. In other words, she’s got solid legs and arms.

Mr. 8 nuzzles between her boobs and does the motorboat thing.

Darlene has a giggle fit. I join in the laughter.

To my surprise, Darlene drops the robe and falls back on the bed.

“Scoot up there,” Mr. 8 says.

Darlene moves toward the headboard.

I switch on the floor lamp in the corner and flip the switch for the other lights.

“Mood lighting,” Mr. 8 says. “I like it!”

He spreads her legs and practically face-plants her crotch.

A little unsure of what I’m supposed to do, or, I don’t know, how to get started myself, I take a seat and sip whiskey in the corner shadows.

I can’t see exactly what Mr. 8 does between Darlene’s legs, but I notice her reactions. She runs one hand through his hair while pinching a nipple with the other. She’s moaning and groaning, rolling her hips up to intensify the contact.

Seeing her pleasure ignites my own. Yeah, the fire is lit down there. In preparation for possible exploration, I open my jeans and lower the zipper.

Mr. 8 stops, comes up for air, glances over at me to release a wicked smile. Yeah, he was enjoying that as much as her.

Darlene pushes him back, says playfully, “Get on your back, you bastard!”

She changes places with him so he’s laying flat with his head on a pillow.

“I love this part,” Mr. 8 beams as she kneels over his face, leans down, and takes his cock in one hand.

Oh, my. The sixty-nine position on full display!

Her skills far exceed mine. Darlene takes his hard rod into her mouth almost all the way to his balls. She’s definitely deep-throating part of that thing.

Bracing herself with one hand, she uses the other to add a twist to the up and down motion of her mouth. Her tongue peeks out on some of the strokes, no doubt adding extra action to those fingers.

I can’t really see what Mr. 8 is doing. His hands grip her ass, though, keeping her well spread for full access.

Suddenly Darlene stops, cranes her neck, and says, “I think I’m gonna cum!”

She releases his cock and braces herself on both hands. Her hips roll side to side over his face. I catch glimpses of Mr. 8 under her, see his chin moving.

The steamy scene has my wetness flowing. Without distracting them, I slip off my jeans. With my bare legs on either side of the chair, my own hand slides down inside my panties.
Oh, yeah. Very slippery there.

Fully upright now, Darlene grinds down on Mr. 8’s face. How he can breathe between her legs is a mystery, but he hasn’t complained.

The next thing I hear is Darlene shout, “OH, fuck, yeah!”

Her legs and hips shudder as the orgasm takes over. She bucks and rolls, her face tilted at the ceiling, her hands reaching for her own tits. Now I can see Mr. 8’s lips and tongue moving around her pussy.

Her peak fading, Darlene falls forward, takes his cock into her mouth again, and moans. Loud!

Her body shivers a few times before she rolls off and lays on the far side of the bed to catch her breath.

Mr. 8 sits up on his elbows, looks over at me with a glazed mouth, and says, “You ever need a tune up, missy. Just let me know.”

I give him a thumbs up and a smile.

Not one to waste time, Darlene squats over Mr. 8, this time his lower half, while facing away. Reverse cow-girl I think that’s called.

“You ready for this?” she asks him.

“Get on it!”

She guides his cock into her pussy, takes the first couple inches, then settles onto the rest. She hovers there for a couple seconds with her eyes closed
Wow. Yeah. I know that feeling. Delightfully stuffed. To share the moment, I push my middle finger into my pussy. Not as big as that dick in Darlene but helps do the trick for me.
Clearly, Darlene has some cowgirl in her. She rides Mr. 8 like a bronco, which fits him perfectly because he’s no lazy bum.

Her hands in the air, his on her ass. Her rocking back and forth. Him pushing up and down. It’s a no bullshit rodeo underway on that bed.

Rubbing my pussy I’m thinking, Jen, you gotta up your game!

In the dim light, I see Darlene’s opening stretched around his thick cock. What would be too much for me, she takes in stride. All of it. And fierce, too. She goes all the way up so it nearly pops out before slamming down. His balls jiggle with every lunge.

Seeing that and feeling myself, I can’t help but sense an orgasm might be on the way.

Darlene interrupts me. She gets off Mr. 8, goes to the bathroom, draws a cup of water and comes back. She gulps half of it, hands the rest to Mr. 8. He downs it then looks over at me.
“Having a good time?” he asks me.

“Fantastic!” I answer.

Darlene interrupts again. “Time for you to do some work,” she tells Mr. 8. “Make some room!”

He gets off the bed. Darlene flops down diagonally across the mattress. She pulls her legs back.

“Let’s go before I change my mind!” she says to Mr. 8.

“Was enjoying the view!” he replies.

He climbs on, takes his cock in hand, and re-enters Darlene.

I’m surprised how much I can see at this point. Big guy that he is, Mr. 8 covers most of Darlene when he’s all the way in her. However, when he pulls back, I catch sight of her crotch with his dick still there. His balls hang close by, too. Then he plunges down and it’s his ass on full display.

Missionary happens to be one of my favorite positions. So, seeing this has me going from bubbly to boiling. I’m timing my fingers to his movements, going for a thrill of my own. My boobs are nearly hot as my crotch, which gives me the nice glow I prefer.

Hearing and seeing them edges me closer and closer to the cliff. Darlene’s moans, Mr. 8’s solid cock are both sights and sounds that flash around the small motel room.

I’m not part of action but I’m in the middle of it. Or, maybe I am part of it.

My fingers are working my clit and pushing into my pussy to their rhythm. I teeter on the precipice of the cliff.

Mr. 8 pumps hard into Darlene who is moaning loud enough for anyone in the parking lot to hear.

I’m jamming my fingers into me.

And then… Mr. 8 starts pounding.

“Oh, yeah, baby! Here it comes!” he shouts.

That’s all I need. The thought that he’s going to cum.

My orgasm hits five seconds later. A gush of my wet flows out around my fingers as my pussy clamps down. My body shakes with a ripping good wave of pleasure.

I open my eyes just in time to see Mr. 8 take his last few pumps into Darlene, who now has her legs and arms wrapped around him like she’s holding on for dear life. He cums with a bear-like growl, his balls slapping hard against her ass. He stays on top with her clutching him for the continued release.

We all remain in place as the room fills with sound of three exhausted people breathing hard.

Darlene lets go of Mr. 8, who flops onto the side of the bed opposite her. His cock lays against his leg, sticky with cum and Darlene’s juices.

It’s an erotic sight for me. One that holds my gaze a long moment. I shift over to Darlene, whose bush is matted wet. Sex does make a bit of a mess. In a good way, that is.

The practical part of me snaps out of the reverie. I take two hand towels from the bathroom, hand them to each of them.

“Thanks, missy,” Mr. 8 says. “How’d you like the show?”

“Was awesome!” I answer.

“I think you popped off, too, didn’t you?”

“I might have.”

“Don’t be shy with me,” he says.

Standing there in my damp panties I do feel shy. But, what could I do?

“Alright. Show’s over,” Darlene says.

“Aww! Thought we were just getting started!” protests Mr. 8.

She gives him a little shove with her foot.

He gets up, starts pulling on his clothes. Darlene remains on the bed. I take a seat in the chair.

“This was a blast, ladies,” Mr. 8 says with his hand on the doorknob. “We should do it more often.”

“Get goin’!” Darlene orders.

He grins and leaves.

When the door closes behind him, I go to Darlene’s side of the bed. I take the hand towel from her and carefully press it to her crotch.

“You like cleaning up?” Darlene asks me.

“Depends,” I answer. “Don’t mind lending a hand either way.”

“Let me ask another question then. You like it when someone cleans you up?”

“Be willing to give it try.”

“Let me know,” Darlene says. “Happy to oblige.”

“Is that right?”

And you know. She did oblige. But that’s another story.