Archive of Our Own

Most girls’ fathers had—or should have—already taught their daughters how to change the oil, replace tires, and how to jump-start the good ol’ chevy in case of an emergency.

Unfortunately for you, your father hadn’t taught you any of that—nor had you been bothered enough to learn.

You never imagined yourself getting stranded in the middle of nowhere, standing on the side of a deserted road with no signal and a car that wouldn’t start. You began pacing back and forth, kicking rocks as your mind raced—not even knowing where to begin.

“Dang it,” you grunted, directing the frustration at both yourself and your past self for refusing your father’s help and warnings.

You knew you should have listened, but you were a spoiled girl who never got her hands dirty—always having strong and reliable men to take care of things. When there was a concert just a few hours drive away from home and your parents refused to buy you a ticket—you took matters into your own hands. You stole the keys to your dad’s car, negotiated with someone online for a last-minute sold-out concert ticket to meet up with at the venue, and that’s how you ended up here.

Stuck with no concert ticket and a car that wouldn’t start.

So, you did what everybody would tell you not to do.

You stood on the side of the street, one hand blocking the sun, and the other with your thumb out.

You were hitchhiking.

How bad could it be, really? It happened all the time in movies. You had heard stories where people actually ended up where they needed to go in one piece—where they met kind people and went on wild adventures with stories they could recite to their kids for years.

But, of course, there was also the horror stories. You tried not to let your mind wander to that.

Several cars zoomed past, kicking up dust in their wake. Every time one slowed down, it would edge dangerously close to the shoulder—close enough to make you squeal and jump back toward the safety of your chevy.

Each time you thought someone might actually stop, it turned out to be a middle-aged man behind the wheel, lecherous eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. His wife, seated beside him, would take one look at your concert-ready outfit, glare daggers, and snap at him to keep driving.

The longer you waited for salvation, the more your anxiety gnawed at you.

What if no one stopped? What if you never got signal, never made it home—just stayed here, stranded in the middle of nowhere? You should’ve listened to your father. This is what you get for being a spoiled brat chasing a stupid concert.

Maybe if you started walking now, you could make it home in… what? Four days? Five?

You felt your heart thudding faster in your chest as every terrible scenario raced through your mind. Just as you were about to go back into your car to rest your aching feet from standing for so long, your hand paused at the door handle.

In the distance, the sound of a large, heavy truck, like thunder rolling far off in the desert filled your ears.

A long-haul truck—silver cab, a little beat-up, with various worn stickers fading on the bumpers—slowed as it approached. The truck hissed as it finally came to a full stop beside you, the brakes slightly creaking. The window rolled down, and a blast of cooled air from inside hit your sunburned skin.

“Hey, little lady.”

You lifted your head and rose onto your tippy toes, squinting through the harsh glare of the sun to get a better look at the man behind the wheel.

He looked like he had been carved out of the same roughness that the road was built on. A close-cropped haircut framed a strong jaw with days’ worth of obvious scruff. He—and his truck—smelled faintly like cigarettes. His eyes were blue and cold, a contrast to his sun-kissed skin from driving around for days. He must have caught you staring, because he narrowed his eyes, a little skeptical.

“You lost?” he asked, pulling your attention back to him.

You stood up a little straighter. You had your thumb sticking out for over an hour, and not once did you prepare what to say if someone were to actually stop for you.

“Oh, um—” you hesitated. “My car won’t start.”

He blinked as if he couldn’t hear what you said, the softness of your voice barely audible over the music playing on his radio. He turned it down and leaned in a little closer from his seat.

“I see that,” he huffed. “The closest town is about a hundred and seventy from here. You need a ride?”

You shifted on your feet, your fingers tightening on your door handle. You hadn’t expected less from a trucker—he looked rough, the kind of man you wouldn’t approach in any other situation. He was clearly older, with the kind of face that looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You swallowed, suddenly not feeling as confident as you were moments ago. “I—I don’t know,” you said quietly, taking a cautious step closer to your own vehicle. “Could you just—help me out and try jump-starting it?”

His jaw clenched for a moment, and he exhaled through his nose. His grip on the steering wheel tightened—like he was contemplating just driving off and leaving you stranded once again. Eventually, he sighed, pushed open his door, and climbed down from the cab. His boots hit the asphalt with a heavy thud, and up close, he was even taller than you’d thought.

Without a word, he walked past you toward your car. You trailed behind, keeping a good distance between the two of you.

He crouched beside the front end, his eyes scanning the hood, the tires, and the faint line of oil that had started to pool beneath.

“What’s your name, mister?” you asked, trying to start light conversation.

“Bucky,” he replied, eyeing your Chevrolet carefully. “And yours?”

You gave him your name, and he repeated it back softly, the sound rolling off his tongue as he stared at the car.

Then he straightened, wiped a hand across his jaw, and looked at you.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “She’s not going anywhere.”

You frowned. “What do you mean? You didn’t even—”

He gestured toward the car with a nod. “You’ve got a blown gasket, maybe worse. She’s been leaking for a while. You could crank her ‘til sundown, and she still wouldn’t turn over.”

You stood there with a blank face, the words sounding like a different language. “Oh,” you nodded as if you understood, but you didn’t at all.

He watched you for a moment, then checked the sun sinking lower behind the hills. “Look, I’d stick around and help you figure it out, but I’ve got somewhere to be before nightfall.”

Bucky stepped back toward his truck, his hands pausing at the doorhandle.

“I’ll drop you off at a nearby gas station. You can use the payphone to call your ma or pa—whoever it may be—to come to your rescue.” He glanced at you again, nodding his head at the passenger seat.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, the faint rasp in his voice making you hesitate. “I don’t bite.”

You looked down at your shoes—now dusted from the desert sand—bit your lip, and looked back up at him warily.

He seemed kind enough; he’d technically stepped out of his truck and taken the time to at least try helping you. Despite his rough appearance and gruff demeanor, there was something about him that made you want to trust him. He gave off the same steady, dependable energy as the other strong men in your life—the ones who always made sure you were safe, even when you didn’t deserve it.

It was instinctive, almost paternal.

When Bucky realized you weren’t moving, he let out a tired sigh and shrugged.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t have all day,” he said, walking around to the front of his truck to get back into the driver’s side. “I do hope that you find your way back home. Be safe out here—”

“Wait,” you protested.

He paused, the sound of his boots shuffling against the ground as he glanced over the hood to face you again.

“Um—if you don’t mind the company, I’ll tag along.” You said, your fingers fiddling in front of you anxiously. “I just need to—uh,” you hiked your thumb over your shoulder, “grab my stuff…”

Bucky raised his brows in surprise, not actually believing you’d come. “Okay, then.”

He walked back to the side of the road, watching as you quickly scrambled into the backseat of the chevy to grab your belongings.

As he rested a shoulder against his thousand-pound rig, his eyes lingered a little too long, staring at the slight curve of your back as you bent over. His tongue slowly swept across his dry bottom lip at the sight of your hips swaying as you tried to grab something that was out of reach, your legs dangling slightly.

Just a single breeze, or just an extra stretch, would expose whatever was hiding under that deliciously short dress you were wearing. He shouldn’t be eyeing you like this. He was probably double your age—if not more. His own nephews and nieces might even be about your age.

Bucky forced a smile once he saw you gather your things, your hair a little disheveled from rummaging around.

“Need any help there?” he nodded toward the two bags you were holding.

“Yes, please,” you huffed with a smile, raising your arms.

He smiled back, clearly finding it amusing that you needed his help. It was to be expected, really. In his eyes, you were this helpless little thing who couldn’t do anything on her own. Good thing he was here—cause what could you have done without him?

He reached out and grabbed both bags out of your hands, lifting them with ease, and tossing them haphazardly onto the floor of the passenger seat.

Bucky extended a hand, helping you up. “Not too roomy in here, but better than standing out all alone in the desert, right?”

You smiled and grabbed his hand. His hands were rough and calloused—a complete contrast to your soft and dainty fingers. He hauled you up and watched as you wiggled slightly, tugging the hem of your dress down to cover your thighs, trying to get comfortable in the passenger seat before you buckled yourself in.

“Good?” he asked.

You nodded.

The engine started, slowly but surely, as Bucky merged back onto the main road. The sight of your father’s car grew smaller and smaller as you watched it slowly disappear into the distance in the side mirrors. The ride was silent—only the faint sounds of the wheels turning on the road and the low music playing in the background.

You snuck curious side glances at Bucky. He had one arm resting on the window and the other lazily holding the wheel. You were waiting for the part where he pulled out a knife and started stabbing you, or made a sudden right turn off-road and murdered you in broad daylight, but he just kept his eyes on the steady on the street, humming to the music as if you weren’t even there.

“Curious little duck, are you?” he spoke suddenly.

You blinked, his question throwing you off guard. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shyly averting your eyes back to your lap.

He chuckled, a deep, raspy sound rumbling from his chest that only sent a shiver down your spine and made your heart beat faster. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You’ve never been inside a rig before, have you?”

You shook your head. “No… I’ve only seen the inside of these,” you looked around again, “in movies and stuff.”

“And stuff,” he repeated, the corners of his lips tugged up in an amused smirk. “And that bel air back there, that ain’t yours now, is it?”

“No,” you confirmed softly. “That’s my dad’s.”

“He let you drive that scrap all the way out here?”

You shook your head with a frown. “No…. um—I stole his keys. There was a concert I really wanted to go… but my parents wouldn’t let me.”

He raised a brow, his head turning slightly to meet your eyes. “Jesus,” he huffed. “If I was your daddy, I would’ve had you over my knee.”

A little laugh escaped your lips. “Do you have daughters, mister?”

“No kids,” Bucky said. “And don’t call me mister—it makes me feel old. Bucky’s fine.”

“Okay, mister Bucky,” you repeated with a gentle nod.

He snickered, shaking his head. “Just Bucky, sweetheart.”

You nodded again, folding your hands in your lap as the truck rumbled down the empty stretch of road. For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the steady thrumming of the engine, the faint rasp of the tires against the pavement, and the rock music playing quietly.

After a few minutes of silence, he glanced sideways at you. “So,” he said, his voice low over the hum of the radio, “where were you headin’, anyway?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts. “Oh—um, there was a concert a few towns over. I was supposed to meet a guy for sold-out tickets. ”

He raised a brow. “Stealin’ your old man’s keys and meeting up with a stranger online,” he made a face. “You’re just asking for trouble, little duck.”

You frowned, your fingers fiddling in your lap as you bowed your head in embarrassment. “I know. It sounds stupid now.”

“Sounds stupid? It is stupid.” He sighed. “Girls like you have it easy—I mean, you look well-fed, you’ve got on a nice little dress—probably drained your parent’s wallet for that outfit, and now you’re protesting because your old man won’t let you go to a concert? You’re a little spoiled cookie, aren’t you?”

Your chest tightened, your face started to feel warm, and you blinked quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sting behind your eyes. You had already been stranded for hours, burned under the sun, humiliated by your own choices—and now, the stranger who had come to your rescue was reminding you just how foolish you had been.

It felt demeaning. Here you were, an adult woman, getting lectured by a man you didn’t know as if he were your own father. And the only thing you could do was sit here and take it, because he was the only person who had the decency to stop for you and give you a ride. Riding with him and actually getting to a safe destination was far better than standing on the side of the street, getting catcalled by every old man who drove by.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice breaking just a little. “I know it’s stupid. I just… really wanted to go, okay?”

Bucky glanced at you, his expression softening slightly when he caught the little wobble in your voice. You were turned to the window now, blinking hard, pretending to be fascinated by the endless stretch of desert instead of his lecture.

“Hey,” he frowned, his voice softer and almost apologetic. “Didn’t mean to sound like that.”

“It’s fine. I get it.”

He sighed, his fingers tapping the wheel as he looked back at the road. “I just—” he exhaled through his nose, “guess I ain’t the best at talkin’ nice.”

There was another moment of long and awkward silence. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, still looking out the window, perfectly still with your timid hands in your lap, perched like a proper doll.

Bucky couldn’t take this silence anymore. He found you amusing—too kind for your own good. What could have happened if it wasn’t him that picked you up? What if some other man with no good intentions had swept you off the road? You probably would have been dead by now.

He was drawn to you, almost protective. And now that the ride was nearing an hour, he couldn’t handle sitting here in the tense silence any longer.

He tapped a few switches to grab your attention, pointing them out as he spoke without preamble. You turned a little in your seat, watching as his hand moved to the dashboard.

“This one here controls the trailer brakes. Don’t wanna hit that one by accident unless you’re lookin’ to stop hard. This one’s for the axle lock. That one—” he pointed to a faded red knob, “that’s the parking brake. The whole thing’ll hiss like a snake when you pull it.”

You sniffled quietly and wiped your nose with your finger, hoping he wouldn’t notice. He did, of course—but he didn’t say anything. He just kept talking, hoping to cheer you up.

“And this one—” he continued, nodding toward a small, rusted switch near the radio, “turns on the cabin light. But don’t mess with it too much. The thing flickers worse than a Christmas tree with bad wiring.”

You let out a small, involuntary giggle, and he caught the sound, glancing over with a grin that deepened the faint lines around his eyes.

“What?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “You laughin’ at my truck?”

“No, it’s just…” you chuckled, trying to hide your smile. “Comparing a creaky rig to a Christmas tree is silly.”

He looked over at you for a moment, the light from the sun reflecting in his eyes. “You’ve got a nice laugh, little duck,” he said.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because that’s what you are,” he grinned. “A cute little duck.”

You looked down at your lap, finding the contrast between being in a pretty dress and sitting inside an aged rig amusing. “You make me sound so little,” you shook your head, grinning. “I’m not some fragile little thing, you know.”

“No?” he hummed, clearly entertained. “You might be right. Especially since you were standing on the side of the road all by yourself without a scare in the world.”

He gave you a subtle sideways glance that you didn’t catch, one hand steady on the wheel as his eyes roamed over you. He watched you sitting there, like a princess perched on a dirty seat, how you squirmed a little and fiddled with your hands in your lap, unsure what to do with them.

You were the picture-perfect image of innocence—and for some reason, Bucky wanted to ruin it.

When you’re sitting down all day as a trucker, you don’t get much blood flow in your legs. It’s vital to stop and take breaks to stretch them out, keep the blood pumping. But sitting here next to you, he seemed to no longer have any issue with his circulation as his blood flowed warmly from his core and straight to his cock.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, adjusting the growing tightness in his jeans.

You turned to look at him, eyes wide and innocent. “Are you okay, mister Bucky?”

“M’fine,” he grumbled, forcing his eyes back onto the road. “And stop calling me mister.”

“It just feels…” you pursed your lips into a subtle pout, “… impolite.”

It was rare that Bucky felt cuteness aggression toward anyone or anything. He’d felt it with pets, sure. Maybe even with his nephews and nieces. But you? You were something else entirely. You were sickeningly sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. You were so soft and spoke so gently that he wanted to wrap his burly hands gently around your delicate throat to preserve your voice forever.

And throughout the drive, he felt exactly that. Cuteness aggression. Having these vulgar thoughts about a pure, innocent stranger was completely inappropriate. He began making pointless conversation in hopes to get his mind off of it.

“What concert were you goin’ to, sweetheart?” he had asked.

“Heart.”

“Heart?” he raised a brow. “I pegged you for the Olivia Newton-John type. I didn’t expect you to be fond of those Wilson sisters.”

You giggled. “I’m not as innocent as you think I am, mister Bucky.”

He smiled—not a genuine, kind one, but one that almost seemed taunting. “I’m not sure about that, little duck.”

These types of talks were supposed to distract him, to keep his mind occupied with something else, but they hardly dulled the warm feeling that was slowly building in his groin.

As the minutes went on, as an hour turned into multiple, the harder it became for him to ignore the way his cock was pressing insistently against the denim. Your soft laugh after every bad dad joke he threw, the way you would cross and uncross your legs every now and then, fiddling with the ends of your skirt. He grew more tense by the second, his body rigid and tense. He would let out a heavy sigh every now and then, his knuckles nearly going white around the wheel.

You noticed this, but you had been trying your best to ignore it. But after another agitated exhale from his nose, you decided to speak up.

“Mister Bucky?” you started, turning your head to face him. “Are you okay?”

He paused, his jaw clenching slightly. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said, though his voice was strained.

You frowned, leaning in a little closer. “Are you sure? If you want, I can take over. Though I’ve never driven a rig before…” your voice trailed off softly.

And there you went again—to Bucky’s demise, you were being aggravatingly adorable.

“No,” his jaw clenched again. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his focus on the road and not the sweet, intoxicating scent of your perfume. “I think I just need a smoke. You don’t mind, do you, doll?”

You pursed your lips together. You were never a fan of cigarettes, always hating how the smell clung to your hair and clothes no matter how many times you washed them. But what kind of position were you in to deny this man’s request—especially in his own truck?

So, you shook your head. “I don’t mind.”

He hummed, shifting his hips to dig in his back pocket for a pack of Marlboros. He opened the box and pulled a cigarette out, waving one toward you.

“Want one?” he asked with a smile.

“No thank you,” you declined with a polite smile.

Bucky shrugged and rolled the window down just barely, lighting the cigarette and taking a deep inhale before puffing it out. The smell already made you gag. Bucky was oblivious as he kept inhaling, exhaling an unpleasant cloud of gray smoke that made you cough and sniffle.

You kept coughing—small and stifled, like you were trying not to make a fuss. Your nose scrunched, eyes watering. And when you coughed a little louder, Bucky finally turned his head to look at you.

“You alright there, little duck?” he asked, blowing smoke out.

“I’m fine,” you wheezed.

Despite your words, he could clearly see that you weren’t fine. You kept blinking rapidly with a scrunched nose, trying not to let the smoke get to you as you sat there trying to be polite—trying to be good.

The sight of your innocence and purity only made his cock twitch in his pants even more. Bucky’s grip on the wheel tightened in frustration. With a deep sigh, he rolled the window down further, letting the cool wind sweep in as he stubbed the cigarette out in the portable ashtray in the cup holder.

“There,” he gruffed, flicking the butt out the window and flashing you a strained smile. “No more smoke.”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you looked at him warily. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were stiff, and he kept shifting around in his seat—as if trying to ease some sort of discomfort. If anything, he looked even more on edge than he did before he took his smoke break.

Now, guilt started to eat at you, and you began to feel like this was your fault. He had picked up a random woman on the street, who was taking up his space and alone time, and he couldn’t even take a proper smoke without you having coughing fits right next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke up suddenly, looking at him. “I feel bad for cutting your smoke break off early. Is there anything I can do to help you?” Your eyes quickly raked over his tense form with a frown. “You look like you’re in pain.”

He made a little grimace, not trusting himself to look at you.

“Stop worrying your pretty head,” he said, trying to sound playful, yet it came out strained. “I’ll be fine.”

You leaned in a little closer, trying to get in his peripheral view. His body stiffened.

“But, you don’t look fine.”

“Don’t push it, little duck.”

“Mister Bucky,” you frowned, leaning even closer. “I feel bad. I want to help you.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled deeply. The smell of your sweet candy perfume filling his nostrils that are usually clouded by smoke, seemed to be the last and final straw for him. He snapped his head at you, making you shrink back just slightly as he spoke.

“You know what pretty girls like you do to men like me to help ‘relieve stress’?” He asked. “Huh?”

You shook your head, biting your lip.

Bucky continued. “They put their mouths to good use.”

You frowned a bit, sulking in your seat. “Like… sing?”

The earnestness in your voice made him suck in a breath.

Sing?

The words that had just come out of his mouth were filthy, practically an indirect invitation for you to suck his cock right then and there, but it had completely gone over your head.

This only made his patience wear thinner.

“Not singing,” he sighed in defeat. His hand went down to adjust the bulge straining against his jeans.

Your eyes trailed down to his hands—big and calloused—as he subtly tried to palm himself. Bucky’s breath hitched as he gave his cock one good rub against the denim before placing his hands back on the wheel.

He was hard. You knew that for a fact, because your eyes would not leave the tent between his legs, no matter how many times he tried to adjust himself; it almost seemed to be begging for you to notice.

In your desperation to help Bucky in any way you could, you leaned over and reached your hand out. Before you could think, your soft palm rested gently on his clothed erection.

He immediately jumped in his seat, thrown off guard by your sudden action.

“Jesus! Doll, what the hell are you doing?”

You immediately retracted your hand as if you hurt him, looking at him wide-eyed. “I’m so sorry—!”

“No,” he interrupted, his hand coming to circle your wrist and bring it back to his crotch. “Don’t apologize—just… just keep it there.” He instructed quietly, his hand closing around yours as he held you still.

Your face flushed as you felt his warmth beneath your palm. He felt heavy, full, and the way his cock pulsed when you slightly grazed your fingers against him made you sigh softly. Encouraged by his subtle reaction, you rubbed your hand again, watching him carefully.

He sucked in a breath, glancing at you. “Fuck. Do you have any idea what you’re doing—” a small groan left his lips as you squeezed him through his pants again.

“Is this helping you, mister Bucky?”

Bucky shuddered, his hips jutting up slightly to meet the palm of your hand. “Shit,” he mumbled. “It’s helping, doll, but…” his hand wrapped around yours firmly, guiding it up and down harder against his length. “Move your hand like this.”

You followed the motion he instructed, biting your lip as you watched him carefully. You eyed the way his jaw hung slightly as his breathing grew heavier, the way his eyes were focused on the road, though it was obvious he wanted to look at you.

“Like this?” you asked, palming him harder.

“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, rocking his hips against your hand. “Like that. Just like that.”

You continued moving your hand up and down against his cock. He pulsed and throbbed underneath your palm, but he made a face—a look that told you this wasn’t enough. That he needed more.

So, you took it upon yourself to unbuckle your seatbelt, reach over and adjust your knees in your seat as your hands clumsily fumbled at his belt.

Bucky finally looked at you, wide-eyed as you worked at his buckle. “What—sweetheart, what are you—” a shocked gasp escaped him as you started unzipping his pants. “Jesus Christ—you… you’re an eager little duck, aren’t you?”

You batted your lashes at him. “I want to help you.”

“Yeah?” he groaned, lifting his hips up to help you. “Go on, then. Show me how good girls like you take care of men like me,” he said. “And it better not be by singing.”

You dug your fingers in his jeans, your soft hands finding the hole of his boxers and pulling his length out—freeing him from its confines. Immediately, he felt hot and heavy in your hands, heavier than he had against the denim. He was big, too big, and you didn’t know if you could wrap your small hands around him fully.

A soft little sigh escaped you as you hesistantly tried to wrap your fingers around his warm shaft.

He groaned, his head dipping back slightly against the car seat, his cock already pulsing at the sensation of your timid little fingers. He’d been so starved of any female affection out on these lonely roads that just your slight touch and smell were enough to make him bust right then and there.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed. “Keep… keep going. Move your hand up and down.”

Encouraged by his instruction, you squeezed your hands a little tighter, causing him to groan. You started to move your hands up and down and his hips started to shake as he gave your warm palm shallow thrusts, beginning to fuck your fist.

“Is… is this good?” you asked softly.

It was like a bolt of ecstasy flooded his entire body at the sound of your soft and innocent question. He pulsed in your grip again, and you took that as a sign to keep going. You started to pump him steadily, sighing softly at the sight of him trembling beneath your hand.

“That’s… that’s good,” he grunted, forcing his eyes on the road. “…very good. Don’t stop, doll.”

And you didn’t.

Your hand kept pumping him eagerly, your fingers giving his length a squeeze now and then, leaving him trying to contain his grunts and groans. A bead of pre-cum started leaking at his tip, and with a shaky thumb, you swiped your digit over it and smeared his arousal over the head of his cock.

“Jesus, baby,” he groaned. “How would your daddy feel if he found out his daughter was such a dirty little girl? Getting picked up by a stranger and stroking a man who’s twice her age’s cock?”

You chuckled softly. “He’d be very upset with me, mister Bucky.”

Bucky’s body shuddered, a groan rumbling from his chest. Your hands—so clearly inexperienced—made him feel good, sure. But he wondered how well you could do with that innocent little mouth of yours. He wanted to feel the soft, wet, and warm press of your tongue against his cock instead.

He adjusted his seat back slightly. “Come here,” he urged.

You leaned in a little closer, confused, before he grabbed the back of your head, fingers slinking through the strands of your hair as he moved your face down to his lap.

“Closer,” he grunted, his hands tightening around your hair and making you whimper softly. “Sorry, little duck. Gonna need your cute little mouth for this one—think you can give me that?”

“I can try,” you said softly, adjusting yourself. “Though, I never—”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, his voice strained and raspy. His grip on your hair was tight, and you could tell it was taking everything in him to not shove his cock into your inexperienced mouth right then and there.

“Just give it a few licks—a few kisses. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your face burned hot at his question. The way he asked it made it sound simple and innocent—though every word that left his mouth was dirty.

But you were determined to please him. After all, he was doing you a huge favor by saving you off the side of the road and giving you a ride.

“I’ll try my best…”

You adjusted yourself in your seat, your knees digging into the worn fabric of the passenger seat as you leaned down, your face barely hovering over his lap. You looked up at him, and his jaw was clenched tight, one hand still laced in your hair and the other holding the wheel steady.

“Are you sure we should be doing this while you’re driving?” you asked hesitantly, your lips tugging down into a pout.

“We’ll be alright, doll,” he soothed. “The road’s empty, and it’s just one straight road for more than a hundred miles. And don’t worry—I’ll finish quick.”

He glanced down at you, eyes wide and innocent, your hand wrapped around his cock and your lips hovering right over his tip. The sight of you like this, innocent as a bunny, only made him want to ruin you further.

He claimed he’d be quick, but even he knew that was a lie.

He was going to drag this out for as long as possible.

“Go on,” he urged. “Give me a little kiss.”

You leaned in hesitantly, your breath warm over his shaft as you pressed a soft and tentative kiss against his cockhead. Bucky’s eyes momentarily fluttered shut, groaning at the feel of your soft, wet lips touching his sensitive length.

You kept giving him the same delicate and shy kisses all over him—each kiss was a taunt, leaving him wanting to defile you more and more. His hand tightened around your hair, and he nudged your face closer. You let out a small yelp as his cock started to rub up and down clumsily against your cheek. He groaned at the feel of your soft cheek rubbing against his sensitive and wet tip.

“God, fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips up against your face. “Bet you never had a grown man’s cock all over your face like this, huh?”

You whimpered beneath him, squeezing your eyes shut as his cock caressed your face. Deep, shallow thrusts of his cock smeared his pre-cum all over your cheeks and ruined your makeup.

“Go on, baby. Get a good whiff of that.”

Doing as instructed, you inhaled deeply, letting his masculine, musky smell fill your lungs. You’d never been this close to a man’s cock before—the smell and the close proximity of him was enough to make your head dizzy.

Bucky looked down, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips at the sight of your scrunched face.

“Aw,” he cooed, teasing you. “Look at you. What an innocent thing you are. You said you’ve never sucked a cock before?”

You blinked up at him, shaking your head shyly. “No, I’ve never done it before. I’m sorry if it’s going to be bad.”

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath at your words, and he had to stop himself from smiling even wider. You were so innocent, so pure, and you were actually apologizing to him in case you gave him a bad performance.

He didn’t care about that.

He just wanted you.

“Don’t apologize, little duck,” he said, his thumb wiping the smeared mascara underneath your eye. “I’ll be happy with you trying your best.”

A soft, faint blush warmed your cheeks at his words. Most people tossed out lines like that without thinking. But coming from him, it settled differently. People didn’t usually have patience for you and your various lack of experience with… things.

“Okay,” you smiled softly, feeling encouraged. “I’ll try my best.”

With that, you parted your lips slowly, giving his cockhead a slow and shy lick. When he groaned, you took that as encouragement to move your tongue around more, teasing the swollen tip. The taste of his pre-cum that gathered at his slit was unusual, a little salty. But the way he moaned and bucked his hips for more—it only motivated you to keep going.

“Don’t be a tease, babydoll,” he warned raspily.

With one hand around his shaft, you leaned your head down and opened your mouth wider, your soft lips enveloping the tip. You swirled your tongue in an attempt to please him, but it was clumsy, uncoordinated, and you were already drooling down your chin like an amateur.

Bucky laughed softly. Your attempt was cute, but he wanted to test you.

“Gonna push your head down a little, sweetheart,” he gave you a slight nudge, watching in satisfaction as your small mouth stretched around his length.

He didn’t even make it halfway before you immediately broke into a gagging fit, tears springing in the corners of your eyes. You whined and choked around his cock, though you didn’t pull away.

He felt bad, really. It was your first time with a dick inside your mouth, and it was one of this size. But he couldn’t admit he wanted to see you struggle.

“Oh,” he breathed, huffing out a small laugh. “You’re taking my cock like a champ, little duck. Ain’t this hurting you?”

He shouldn’t have bothered asking, because he knew he was not going to get an answer—not when your mouth was stuffed with just half his cock. When you muffled and coughed around his shaft, Bucky loosened his grip in your hair just slightly and gently started caressing your head, as if soothing you.

“That’s it, baby. Don’t try to force it, just take what you can—fuck, that’s it. Gooood girl,” he cooed softly.

One hand was tight on the steering wheel, keeping it steady. His eyes kept flicking back between you and the road—it damn near made him dizzy. “Try bobbing your head up and down a little, baby. Can you try doing that for me?”

You nodded against his dick gently, your head slowly moving up and down, your cheeks hollowing around his length. Your tongue rested heavy against his pulsing cock as you tried your best to take him deeper, and a little bump in the road made his cock hit the back of your throat. You immediately choked and pulled away slightly.

“Shit,” Bucky grunted. “I’m sorry, baby. The road’s a little bumpy. Just breathe in and out of your nose, okay?” He glanced down at you, pushing a stray hair out of your face and running a finger against your hollowed cheek softly.

“You’re already being such a good girl for me.”

You pulled his cock out of your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cockhead before you swiped your tongue over your lips. You craned your neck to look up at him. “… I am?”

Bucky’s eyes were glazed with lust, lips parted as he looked at your face—makeup smeared, hair a mess, drool painted all over your chin—it was a beautiful sight. “You are, baby. You’re being a very good girl.”

You were no longer the innocent, helpless girl who stood by the road with her thumb out. You were his now, his own little plaything that made him have fun with for the first time in a long time.

If he had a girl like you in his passenger seat for every car ride, he’d be the happiest, and luckiest, truck driver on earth.

“Am I making you feel good, mister Bucky?” you asked shyly, with one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and pumping him at an uneven pace.

“Y-yes, baby,” Bucky’s breath was shaky. “You’re making me feel more than good. Think you can try taking the rest of me in your sweet little mouth?”

You tried to catch your breath as your hand paused, eyes trailing back down at his length. He was big; you already knew that when you first pulled him out of his jeans. You were only able to take half of him inside your mouth, and that was with you already trying your hardest.

To say it wasn’t painful would be a lie. The stretch around your lips burned, and the ache around your jaw was a type of ache you’d never experienced before. Your own drool and spit were everywhere—even smeared all over your chin. And after that bump on the road, you hated the feeling of gagging.

But even then, there was a building heat that pooled between your legs from the very start.

Despite the ache, you liked this.

You liked knowing that you were able to please a man who was way older than you, with much more experience, even though you lacked it all. And seeing his face—handsomely desperate for an inexperienced girl like you... how could you deny him?

“I don’t know—I mean, I can try…”

“I know, doll. Just show me how much you want to please me,” Bucky encouraged, flashing you a lazy smile.

You blushed softly at his words. Eager to please him, you leaned back down, your soft lips finding the tip of his cock again before your warm mouth stretched around him, slowly sinking your head down further as your tongue dragged along every pulsing ridge and vein.

“Fuck!” he moaned as he felt you go in deeper than you had before, your mouth slowly constricting around his cock as you went deeper.

Tears were springing to your eyes, and you squeezed them shut to keep them from flowing.

“No, baby,” he grunted, his rough fingers tangling in your hair again. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to keep ‘em open while you take every inch—fuck, yesss, that’s it!”

His head thudded hard against the driver’s seat, his mouth dropping completely into an o-shape as he guided your head down deeper and deeper. A tear dripped down your cheek and onto his lap as the size of him started to get too much. Your mouth was not used to such a large object inside, but the filthy sounds that left his mouth were enough to spur you on.

He was more than halfway inside your mouth by now, moving with a gentle slowness that was almost excruciating for him. He pushed, paused and let your mouth adjust to his size, then pushed again.

But the more you gagged and the more his cock rubbed against the walls of your sweet, warm mouth, it made it harder for him to keep control. You were so close to taking him all—you just needed to be a good girl and take one last push.

“God—fuck!” Bucky shouted as he gave your hair one hard tug before pulling your head down in one hard, swift motion.

Your eyes went wide as your nose hit the base of his pelvis. Your hands flew to his thigh for support as you choked and sputtered around his cock. “Mmph!”

His grip on your hair was tight as he held you still, his hips rocking up against your face, fucking your mouth hard and relentless.

“Shit, shit,” he moaned loudly. “I know, baby. I’m sorry—fuck, but I couldn’t hold back anymore. Just… just stay still, okay? I’ll take care of the rest—shit!” He gasped as he felt himself getting close.

Everything was intoxicating.

The thrill of having a pretty, innocent girl’s mouth wrapped around his cock while driving, the wet sounds of your mouth as he slammed his hips up and fucked your face harder than you could take—the way your eyes rolled, your back arching slightly over the console, your dress barely covering your ass as your knees dug deep into the uncomfortable cushions of the seat…

It was more than he could take.

This very moment was everything he could ever dream of, and he knew that the minute he painted your pretty lips white with his seed, every truck ride after you wouldn’t be the same.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, his thrusts sloppy and uneven as he desperately chased his release. “Fuuuck, you little slut!”

A little sympathetic whine left his lips as he heard you mewl and sputter beneath him, choking and crying on his cock.

“Sshh, shh… I’m sorry. I know, doll. I know it hurts—but fuck, you’re taking me so well. I’m close—just…move your tongue a little—”

His body immediately shook, and another loud and almost animalistic groan tore straight out of his chest the minute you—attempted to—rub your tongue up and down along his shaft. You tried to keep in time with his brutal throat-fucking, though you couldn’t keep up.

It was cute, really.

“Shit, shit, shit,” a litany of curses spilled from his lips as he felt his base coiling hot. “F-fuuck, I’m gonna cum—” his balls tightened up, and his face twisted as he felt himself let go.

With one hard thrust upwards, he sheathed his cock completely inside your wet mouth. You coughed and choked around him as warm, thick cum flooded your mouth, making it spill and drip around his length. You tried your best to swallow it all like he would have wanted you to, but with your gag reflex already overstimulated, you didn’t have it in you to choke it down.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, lifting your head up so that you could catch your breath.

Bucky’s cock was released from your mouth, and you immediately started coughing and catching your breath, your cheeks streaked with tears and long rid of its makeup.

His eyes flickered to the road—still empty—then back to you. He released his hand from your hair and clumsily swiped his thumb over your lip, catching any stray drops and sticking his thumb in your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he panted, giving you a tired and reassuring smile. “You did so well for me. I didn’t hurt you too bad now, did I?”

You coughed, shaking your head and giving him an equally tired smile. “It was a little rough. It was a new feeling,” you admitted. “But I enjoyed it.”

His smile widened, letting out a breathless laugh as he reached out and ruffled your already messy hair. “Good girl. Now, sit back down and buckle yourself in. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt now.”

You scrambled back into the passenger seat, adjusting your dress and putting your seatbelt back on. You pulled the sun visor down and rolled the mirror out, and you let out a shocked gasp at the sight of yourself.

You looked completely debauched. Your hair and makeup—once neatly done for the concert you were supposed to go to—were now smeared and desecrated. You looked like a woman straight out of a porn magazine. Even worse, you looked exactly like the woman your parents would warn you about.

“Oh my god,” you murmured, trying to flatten your hair.

Bucky turned to look at you with a grin, already tucking himself back into his pants. “What is it, little duck?”

You frowned. “My father would kill me if he saw me like this!”

Oh, that.

His smile faltered just a little.

Just a few miles from now, he had to drop you off at a safe location, say goodbye, and never see you again. His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles going white as he stayed silent.

You looked at him with a frown. “Are you okay, Mister Bucky?” you asked curiously. “Did my… did I not help you feel better? Are you still feeling tense?”

He immediately snapped back and loosened his grip on the wheel just slightly. He turned back to you—the sight of your wide eyes, still innocent and bright despite the brutal face-fucking you took from him just mere seconds ago—it tugged at the strings in his chest.

There it was. That damn cute aggression all over again.

“Huh? Oh, no. I’m fine, babydoll. Don’t worry about me now.” He forced a smile.

You smiled back, genuine. “Okay.”

There was an awkward, very tense moment of silence after that. Your eyes were peeking curiously at the window, and your thighs were clenched tight together. He kept stealing glances at your lap every now and then, and every time he looked, you were squirming and fidgeting. Your hands were playing at the ends of your skirt, and your teeth would catch your bottom lip.

You looked just as tense as he did before you… “took care of him.”

And he realized now how foolish he’d been not to take care of your own needs, especially after how diligently you worked to please him.

“You feeling alright, little duck?” he asked, keeping his eyes casual on the road.

“… I’m fine,” you mumbled.

You were not fine. After giving your first blowjob, your heart had been hammering in your chest with excitement. Your body felt warm, and the area between your legs felt tingly and, well, damp. You were so wet, your panties were practically soaked right through, and Bucky hadn't touched you once aside from the hair tugs and gentle face caressing.

You needed more. Your body ached for him—but you felt like it was too selfish to ask. The blowjob was supposed to be you paying him back for giving you a ride. He had already done too much for your sake.

“Hey,” he nudged you gently in the arm, grabbing your attention. “You hungry? There’s a little diner I know that’s just a few miles ahead. I’ll fill up the tank, and we can grab something to eat.”

You blinked at him. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be more of a burden—”

Your voice immediately trailed off as he reached over, his hand casually resting on your thigh. You stiffened, and that same tingling, clenching feeling you had came back tenfold. A little whimper escaped you as you felt his rough, calloused hand slowly glide up and tickle past your skirt.

“You’re not a burden, doll,” he reassured, voice deep. “Then after we eat, we can park somewhere… discrete, and just relax. We can continue having some private time to ourselves before you call your daddy to come pick you up.”

Then, he finally looked at you.

There was a glint behind his eyes, a look that told you that he was sensing what you were feeling. It was almost as if he didn’t want to drop you off somewhere safe—but rather keep you here with himself.

After all, you needed a reliable and trustworthy man to look after you—and who better than him?

“How about it, sweetheart?” he smiled. “Spendin’ more time with mister Bucky. Doesn't that sound nice?”