My Fiancée Cheated at the Truck Stop on Our Car Ride Home

Jake drove his decrepit Camry like a demon. His face pinched tight. Hands gripped the steering wheel as if he wanted to strangle someone. His fiancée shifted in the passenger seat, sweat pouring off her. She begged, “Please, Jake, take me home!”

Through gritted teeth he hissed, “You promised, Brittany. Never again. You promised me.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled deep and pulled in only short breaths. He could not stand the foul smell coming off her. It kept reminding him she was soiled.

Promises on the Highway

“I know, dammit. I know.” She let out a loud, low groan. “Please. Just take me home.” They had gone to visit her grandparents six hours away. Of course she would not have sex under their roof, especially with the guest room so close to their bedroom. They had made love the night before the trip, but for a young couple, and especially for Jake, three days without sex felt like forever. Brittany had teased him all weekend long, from their early Friday start until they left her grandparents’ house. She had leaned in close on the couch, her breath hot on his ear, whispering how wet her pussy got just thinking about his cock sliding inside her raw once they got home. Jake’s dick had throbbed the whole trip back, his mind racing with images of her soaked cunt gripping him tight.

“You know, if you’re a good boy,” she purred on Saturday night as they lay together in the dark, “maybe I’ll let you go raw when we get home.” This seemed like a reasonable treat. Brittany was on the pill, but she usually could not stand the mess of sex without a condom, especially when he came inside her. She added quickly, “As long as you pull out, of course.” Jake reached for her, but she slapped his hands away with a giggle. “I’m sorry, babe.” She could almost hear the pout on his face, so she tried to reassure him. “I am. It’s hard for me, too, babe.” Not as hard as it is for me. Another giggle came from the darkness. “Well, you keep that hard for me, got it, mister? When we get home, I’ll give you whatever you want, whenever you want, all week long. Within reason, I mean. I promise.” He grumbled, “Fine. But it better be—” Brittany cut him off with a quick kiss. “It will be, babe. Better than you could ever imagine. You’ll see.”

They set out mid-morning for home. They packed the car after one of her grandmother’s hearty Midwestern breakfasts: thick-cut bacon, dense biscuits, and a cheesy baked egg dish called strata. Jake had become a bit of a food snob over the years. He could have taken or left the meal, but Brittany adored that kind of fare. Sometimes he thought they came to visit her grandparents solely for the food. Still, it did mean they were both stuffed when they left, which pleased him. He had every reason to want to drive straight through. This meant they could skip lunch, make a quick pit stop for gas, and get home in time for a quick dinner. Then, hopefully, he could coax Brittany into making good on her earlier promises. That was not what happened. They got started well enough. They gassed up before heading out and made good time. Brittany sang along with the music on the radio. She got to pick the songs, as always. She flirted in between, laughing as the engine revved alongside her fiancé’s libido. He asked for road head halfway into the journey. As always, she denied him.

“But we’re not home yet, baby. That was the promise, right? Whatever you want for a week, once we’re home.” He grumbled a little but said nothing. She tried to hide her smile, mostly with success. Of course she was not going to pull his dick out and suck it in the middle of a road trip. That was something sorority sluts did, and she was not one of those. Not anymore, anyway. Brittany did open a couple of buttons on her cardigan. She leaned over to show off her ample cleavage, even flashing a nipple one time. That was not going too far. Neither was allowing Jake’s hand to run up and down her thigh before letting him slide it under her skirt to rub her moist pussy through her panties. She reached out in kind, stroking his hard cock through his slacks. It was such a nice one, just the perfect size for a husband, neither too large nor too small. For a moment, as she drew closer and closer to orgasm, she considered giving in. She thought about opening his zipper and leaning over to put her head in his lap. The notion made her feel nostalgic, then just the slightest bit guilty. She had quite readily blown other boyfriends on road trips, but never Jake. Now that he was very nearly her husband, maybe she did not need to worry so much about seeming like the good girl she had tried to be while working so hard to get that ring on her finger.

The more Brittany thought about it, and the closer she got to orgasm, the better the idea sounded. After all, she had grown to love him, and she was certain now that he would never leave her. Yes, she decided, maybe her Jake did deserve a little taste of the slut she used to be. Not too often, of course, but she could count this as a special occasion. Her hand moved from his cloth-covered cock and up to the buckle of the sensible brown belt he favored, ready to undo it with one hand and blow his mind for the last forty-five minutes or so of the trip. Right then the “Low Fuel” notification pinged. “Fuck,” he muttered as Brittany withdrew her hand. She giggled, “Later, baby. I promise.” He did not even need to do the calculations in his head. Fifty miles worth of gas would not get them home, even if he pushed it and tried to run on fumes. He considered trying to get Brittany back in the mood. After all, there were plenty of gas stations between here and there, and she had been so close to granting him a long-time fantasy. But what if the car started to really run dry just as he was about to cum? No, best to stop now and see if he could get her to finish what she had not quite started.

Detour at the Pumps

Jake exited the freeway as soon as he could and pulled into the first available truck stop. His ancient sedan’s suspension strained mightily to avoid bottoming out in the copious, deep potholes in the parking lot. He glanced around with a certain nervous energy when he hopped out of the car to fuel up. He willed his erection to go down and hoped no one noticed his awkward, hunched-over gait. Fluorescent lights flickered above the pumps. Parked next to all the nearest were pickup trucks, not the shiny, lifted toys driven by suburban wannabe alpha males, but real, dirty, working trucks. The more distant ones serviced semis. The men he saw all appeared to be welders or plumbers or other blue-collar types, dressed in practical, durable clothing, with weathered faces and callused hands. They were men worlds away from the office workers he most often associated with. Thankfully, the grungy, weather-beaten keypad and LCD screen still seemed operable, and soon he had begun filling the tank of his car. Unfortunately, while the part of the pump that took his money was in perfect working condition, the components that actually pumped out gas did so only at a trickle. He thought for a moment of moving his car, but even if there had been any other pumps open, the notion felt slightly embarrassing for reasons he would have found hard to articulate. Instead, he waited. And waited.

“Hey, I need to go to the bathroom.” Brittany popped out of the passenger door, purse in hand. Her skin retained a marked flush. He took some comfort in the knowledge that their play in the car had turned her on, too, although that comfort went out the window when he noticed the various burly men at the truck stop openly, hungrily staring at her. “Brittany—” “Babe, really, I really gotta go.” And without another word she was away and through the glass doors of the building, smiling brightly at the truck driver who held it open for her in a gentlemanly manner. There was nothing gentlemanly, however, about how he stared at her ass as it retreated, nor the shit-eating grin he shot at Jake, the one that said, “Yeah, that’s right, I’d fuck her.” As though any man there would not. Jake tried not to worry about that, and Brittany had done her best to reassure him on the rare occasions it came up. Those reassurances often felt a little condescending to him, as if she was speaking to a child about monsters under his bed. She did not take his concerns anywhere near as seriously as he would have liked her to. Jake also tried not to worry about this. It is strange how the human mind works. With his phone still inside the car and insecurity needling him, Jake had time to think on this topic and more while waiting for the glacially slow machinery to complete its task. Horniness still clouded his mind somewhat. It usually did in topics regarding Brittany. That frustrated arousal only added additional layers to his ruminations, and in this state he began to notice an uncomfortable pattern in their relationship. How often had she done that? Treated him as something less than a partner? Even when he was doing something that was undeniably good for her, like finding and cooking healthier recipes that she would still enjoy, she treated it like something he was doing for himself, not for her. Or worse, when she did accept that he was trying to show his love for her, she treated it as something that was her due, not a loving gesture to be appreciated. And what was that shit at her grandparents’ house? He knew they both knew that she could lead him around by his dick, but did she has to be so cruel about it? About not only denying him, which he understood in the circumstances, but also making that denial literally, physically painful with her teasing? Brittany knew he got blue balls. She knew how much they made him ache, and yet she did it regardless. He had never done anything that intentionally cruel to her. He would never do something like that to someone he loved. She should not either. The fact that she did, that she had fallen so easily into a mindset that said it was acceptable, stirred the coals of a fire that had seemed long since extinguished. When she got back in the car, they would need to have a long, hard, The loud ka-chunk of the pump as it finished its task pulled Jake from his thoughts. How long had he been standing there ruminating? Long enough to have gone from chilly to freezing, that was for certain. And where was Brittany? Most of the surrounding trucks had moved on, with others taking their place, their owners having gotten what they needed from the truck stop before getting back on the road. Two men came out the door now, laughing heartily. One asked the other, “Shit, you ever seen anything like that? Bitch was going to town on—” before locking eyes with Jake and letting his laughter die down to a knowing smirk. “Wish I had a bitch like that at home. She fucking ate that shit up!” Before he could hear more, they turned toward their truck, their words lost to the wind. Not their laughter, though, which rang out once more, just before the doors slammed shut.

Jake looked at the grimy glass door through which his fiancée had gone, and at the decals that all but obscured any view of the inside. Most were relatively tame, cigarette advertisements and crude political statements, although a couple of condom brands and long-faded mudflap girls were among their number. But then Jake spotted it: the grotesque graphic that told him why Brittany had likely gone inside and why she had stayed there for far too long. If it meant what he thought, then it told him, too, how little her word meant. The cowbell hanging from the door clanged as Jake shoved his way inside. It was a large space, but the owner had subdivided it with so many shelves, spinner racks, and stacks of miscellany that it made the whole place feel cramped. Poorly sorted merchandise, some with packaging so dated and faded as to precede the turn of the century, spilled off shelves and further choked aisles, moving the needle from “cramped” to “claustrophobic.” It smelled odd as well, a strange mix of dust, food grease, motor oil, and antiseptic cleaner. The last surprised Jake. From the look of the place, he assumed that both it and its denizens were on a first-name basis with E. coli. But it was the noise that most attracted Jake’s attention, or rather a suite of them, all emanating from the far corner of the shop. The store had surprisingly good signage, but even without the pointer that showed the way to the gorge-inducing combo of “RESTROOMS / MICROWAVE” he would have known the direction to head. All he had to do was follow the assorted noises of Brittany indulging in one of her favorite vices: the slurping, the smacking, and her own groans of near-orgasmic bliss, all alongside the urging of male voices. “Yeah, get it! Fuck, girl, I ain’t never seen anyone go at it like that!” Goddammit. She swore she was done with this. He rounded the corner just a hair too late to see Brittany finish off her second of the afternoon, the first nothing but a warm reminder in her stomach. She held the third in her hand, licking her lips as if to clear away the remnants of its predecessor so she could focus all her attention on this one, as if consuming it was the single most important thing in the world to her. “Brittany!” The small crowd of rough men turned to look at him, disbelieving smiles lingering on their faces. While any of them could have crushed him like a bug, they all recognized the look in his eyes and moved away. None of them were willing to get into a tussle over a bit of fun, no matter how hot the girl might be. That left only the woman he had proposed to months before, her expression somewhere between feral need and fearful shame. “Jake, I…” She stopped, mind racing for an excuse. “It’s… not what it looks like?” Bullshit. It was exactly what it looked like. Food wrappers emblazoned with the logo he had seen on the door, that of “BIG MARC’S MAN-SIZED BEEF BURRITOS,” crumpled underfoot as he approached. “Really? Big Marc’s? How have you not learned your lesson, Brittany? For God’s sake, you know what that shit does to you.” The indignant tone of his voice unleashed something in Brittany. She was not going to be lectured by him, of all people. She rose to her full height, still clutching the last of the three footlong monstrosities in her fist. “It’s my body, Jake. You don’t get to decide what I do with it.” He snorted, “Yeah, except that I’ll be riding in the car with you on the way home.” He gestured at the state of the store’s microwave, which looked as though someone in the recent past had confused it for the nearby bathroom. “And Christ, that assumes you don’t get fucking hepatitis Z or super ebola or something.” Brittany started to argue, but he threw up his hands before she could really get going. “Whatever. I don’t want to hear it. Just…” He shook his head in disgust. “I’m going to the car. If you aren’t there in two minutes, you can figure out how you’re getting home on your own.” “You wouldn’t dare!” “Try me.”

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Brittany had always been a junk food junkie, ever since she was a kid. Whenever her family went on road trips, she would eat the vilest, most unhealthy road food she could sneak past her parents, from occasionally expired microwave taquitos to regional candies whose packaging processes skirted the very edge of USDA regulations regarding rat feces. Once she got to college and away from their semi-watchful eyes, it was only a lucky combination of genetics, concern about appearing trashy to her friends, and a near-fanatical love of the gym that allowed her to maintain the killer body which had attracted so many men’s attentions, including Jake’s. When they started dating, he knew, looks-wise, that he was punching above his weight. Still, she seemed to like him, for whatever reason, and he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. For her part, Brittany did enjoy Jake’s company from the start, finding him to be all the things she wanted in a future husband: decent in bed, they could work on that, reasonably handsome, good earning potential, and, most importantly, willing to let her have her own way most of the time. She also knew the value of allowing him to think that she was indulging him. For example, when his father’s heart attack curtailed Jake’s finances for a time, she had suggested they limit their date options to the local fast food places, most often Wendy’s. In one fell swoop, she had managed to appear the loving, devoted girlfriend while also getting a few extra doses of her fix each week, even after Jake taught himself how to cook a variety of dishes to both dazzle her and stretch his budget. Within a year, however, Jake knew of her “guilty pleasure,” as she described it and as he usually thought of it. Within two, he knew that it went beyond that, into something just this side of mania. He had attempted to steer her toward healthier options, even trying his hand at homemade simulacra of some of her favorites. She politely ate them and made all the appropriate yummy noises, but secretly she still craved neon-orange circus peanuts and Taco Bell Cheesy Beefy Doritos Crunchwrap Gorditas. Sometimes at the same time. Occasionally, Brittany had allowed herself to openly indulge and told Jake in no uncertain terms that he could just deal. He had suffered through a few of her poor culinary decisions and their consequences as a result, having to nursemaid her for a few days after she overindulged at the “Everything Fried” vendor at the Texas state fair, for example, but last year’s gas station sushi incident and the subsequent multiple rounds of upholstery detailing finally forced him to put his foot down. Even now, Jake shuddered at the memory. The final leg of the trip began with an icy silence. Jake stared straight ahead, eyes never deviating from the road. Brittany resolutely refused to look at him. Instead she crossed her arms and watched the world go by outside her window, trying to assess just how much damage control this little slip-up would require. “I’m not doing this anymore, Brittany.” “Doing what?” she snapped. “I was hungry. I wanted something to eat.” “We were almost home. I could have cooked you something when we got—” All but shouting, Brittany interrupted, “Well, I didn’t want your food!” Brittany knew she should probably keep her mouth shut and play the chastened penitent, but a headache had sprung up right behind her eyes. Between that and his little bitch fit at the truck stop, she was done. Instead of letting him respond, she continued. “Sometimes, I don’t want your cute little homemade meals, with their sophisticated flavor profiles and just-so plating! Sometimes I don’t want steamed veggies and perfectly seasoned grilled chicken! Sometimes, I don’t want something healthy made with love, Jake!”

They pulled into their driveway just as the sun dipped low over the suburbs of Atlanta. The silence hung thick until Brittany reached over and grabbed his thigh, her fingers inching toward his still-hard cock. “Fuck me, Jake. Right here. Hard. I need it now.” He growled and yanked her close, thrusting into her dripping pussy with raw need, skin slapping loud in the car as she moaned his name and came hard around him, her walls pulsing while he filled her with hot cum. “Yes, right there,” she gasped, pulling him deeper until they both shuddered in release.