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The pop sounded more like an explosion the second time around. Your iron grip on the wheel was in vain as your car swerved across the road. The speed limit sign took out your passenger side mirror, a metallic scraping sound accompanying the impact. Switching your foot from the gas to the brake, the scent of burnt rubber overwhelmed you. Finally, your car screeched to a stop, but your heart still raced.

Your hand shook as you put your car in park. Turned on your hazards. Stared blankly at the blinking headlights on the pitch black road. You hadn’t dozed off at the wheel. No way. 

A dull pain pulsed through your chest, and you brought your hand to it. The seatbelt had locked, digging into your sternum as it kept you from any further damage besides the cut in your skin that began dripping blood. Not deep enough to need stitches, at least. You unbuckled the seatbelt, opening the door to stumble out of the car. 

Both of your driver’s side tires had popped. The front passenger tire deflated from skidding on the uneven asphalt. You looked at the section of the road you’d just driven over. Country backroads were riddled with potholes. That could’ve been the culprit. Hard to see so late at night, even with your headlights.

You grabbed your phone from your pocket and flipped it open. No signal. Calling 911 only resulted in a dead dial-tone. At least you tried. Two options left. Stick around and hope someone would drive by and be able to offer help or walk back to the main road. In the hour or so you’d been driving, you’d only seen an old pickup truck drive in the opposite direction. The whole point of going this way was to avoid other drivers and get to your destination that much quicker. Walking back to the main road sounded torturous. There was nothing for miles, and it’d probably be daylight by the time you reached a sign of civilization. If you could even walk for that long. Either way, you were fucked.

Giving in to your defeatism, you walked around to the passenger side of the car. Your duffle bag had flown to the floor, not that you were too worried. It mostly had clothes, along with a few toiletries. When you opened it, however, you found your small shampoo bottle had opened, coating your belongings in soap, including the book you’d brought along in case you needed to pass the time somewhere. 

“Worst night of my fucking life,” you muttered to yourself.

Not bothering to close the door behind you, you sat on the hood of your car and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

You checked your phone’s clock just as it was about to die. A little after two in the morning. Half an hour and nothing. Just you and the sound of crickets. The occasional howl in the night. Rustling in the trees and bushes. You had turned off your headlights to save the car’s battery. There was no reason for anyone to know you were there, hidden under the cover of darkness.

“Hey, you alright?” a disembodied voice asked.

You blinked, bleary-eyed and squinting at the bright lights that assaulted your vision. Throwing an arm up to shield your eyes, you sat up, your back aching. 

“Thought you were dead or something,” the man said, motioning to the bloodstain on your shirt.

“I think I fell asleep,” you mumbled, before jolting awake. You were talking to someone. Someone with a car. “My car got wrecked from the–I don’t know exactly, potholes I guess. I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

“Happens a lot out here. The DOT don’t keep up these roads much. Boss has us drive around some nights just to check,” the man said, throwing a thumb in the direction of the truck behind him. A tow truck. You nearly cried in relief.

He offered you his hand, helping you off the hood of your car, keeping you steady as you got your footing on the road beneath you. Your legs felt sore too. As your eyes adjusted to the odd lighting, you tried to get a better look at your hero. His face was obscured by shadows.

“Mind headin’ over to the truck with me? I just gotta get a look at your license,” he said.

You nodded, following him to the tow truck as you pulled your wallet from your purse. He stood in front of the headlights. He glanced over your license, and you allowed curiosity to get the better of you, looking at his face better. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, nestled next to the cap he had on, dark curls peeking out from beneath it. His work shirt had a name patch sewn into it. Bo. If that was even his real name.

“Checks out to me,” he said, handing you your license back before your mind could begin racing too much. 

“Thank you so much, Bo.”

He pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, placing it between his lips. You watched as he lit it with a lighter he fished out from his pockets. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll get your car hooked up.”

“Thirty bucks right?” you asked, digging through your purse for the fee listed on the side of the tow truck. Two crumpled twenty dollar bills were outstretched in your hand for him to take. 

“Hold on now, night shift is double.”

“I can give you my credit card.”

“Cash only.”

“Well, this is all I have.”

He grinned, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You got a lot more that I’m interested in.”

Didn’t even hide the way his eyes raked over your body. It was pitch black out apart from the tow truck’s headlights. How much of you could he even see? You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat. 

You scoffed. “I-I don’t—“

“‘Less you wanna rough out the rest of the night on your own. Not sure when the next car’s gonna come through here.”

Your lower lip quivered at the predicament you found yourself in. Whatever. He’d probably make you blow him and be done with it. Hopefully never have to recount the humiliating situation to another soul. 

“What do you want me to do?” you asked.

“Get on your knees.”

You hesitated.

“Ain’t got all night.”

With a shaky breath, you knelt in front of him, eye level with his crotch. The cracked, uneven road wasn’t kind to your knees, but Bo didn’t care. He flicked his cigarette aside, grabbing your face with his rough hand. 

“Lucky I found you,” he said, his gaze burning your skin. “Lotta people wouldn’t be as nice as me if they found a pretty little thing like you alone out here.”

You tensed when he began undoing his belt buckle. “I changed my mind. I’ll wait here for someone else.”

He chuckled. “Too late for that, girl. No refunds.”

That was all it took to keep you there. Trapped. Your gaze kept fruitlessly looking for some sign of help from the road behind him. He seemed to know that no one else would come, smug as he palmed at his crotch before unzipping his jeans.

“Let me see you open that pretty mouth ‘a yours nice and wide for me,” he said.

You opened your mouth, presenting your tongue to him and trying to look at anything but the cocky expression on his face. He spit in your mouth, and you nearly gagged at the taste. Tobacco and beer. Stale. Bitter. You held his spit on your tongue until he said—

“Swallow.”

You did, trying to ignore the feeling of his saliva sliding down your throat.

“Attagirl,” he praised, giving you a patronizing pat on the cheek before prying open your mouth again with his fingers.

Your knees were on fire, and he hadn’t even shoved his cock in your mouth yet. You watched as he pulled it free from his underwear, already half-hard and intimidatingly big and veiny, twitching as if eager to break you. He gave it a few strokes, precum dripping from the head as he positioned it in front of your mouth.

“Give it a kiss.”

As soon as you pressed your lips to the tip of his cock, cold and chaste, you knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. 

“C’mon now, like you mean it,” he chided. “Get a lil’ tongue in there.”

You could hardly see his shadowy grin, but it was clear from his voice he was getting off on your humiliation. Pervert. You shuddered to think of the other women who’d been in your place as you made out with his cock, your lips wrapping around the head, tongue flicking at his leaking slit before pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his shaft. His scent was strong, a sweaty musk that threatened to overwhelm your senses as he pushed your face against his hardening length.

“Shit girl,” he groaned, “you’re a natural whore.”

Suddenly, you felt a painful tug on your scalp, your yelp muffled by his cock forced down your throat, gagging as you tried to breathe. Your vision blurred with tears at his force, ears ringing as you could swear you heard him laughing at your struggle. 

There was nothing you could do but take it, choking out sobs around his cock as he fucked your throat, hips thrusting with a punishing brutality that almost made you wish you’d driven into a tree instead. His cock filled your mouth, giving you little reprieve from him. Your throat burned at the relentless friction, head pounded from the lack of air.

“You’re gonna let me cum in your mouth, ain’t ya?”

You realized when his dark blue eyes pierced yours that he wanted an answer. Humiliated, your ‘yes’ was hardly intelligible with his cock in your mouth. To your shock, he slapped you.

“You ain’t gonna let me do shit,” he taunted through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna swallow it all, slut.”

Tears rolled freely down your cheeks as he pushed the limits of how much of him you could take, your throat constricting around his throbbing cock in panic and bringing him over the edge. He thrust hard when he came, nearly knocking you over if not for his hand firmly buried in your hair. His warm, bitter cum pumped in your mouth, down your throat, though you knew some of it spilled out from your lips despite your best efforts to swallow it all.

When he finally pulled his cock from your mouth, you took a painfully deep breath that burned the back of your throat. He reached down, a sinister gleam in his eye when you flinched. His thumb collected the cum from the corners of your lips, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked it clean, hoping you could silently communicate how much you hated him. He returned your death glare with amusement.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, inspecting it with a grin. “Good girl.”

You winced as you pushed yourself to your feet, drool and cum dripping from your puffy lips, knees split open and bleeding, grit and asphalt deep in the fresh wounds. You could hardly stand, leaning against the side of the tow truck, watching in disgust as he tucked his cock back in his pants and adjusted his cap.