Another night under the buzzing neon of the I-95 stop. My makeup is cakey, my wig is itching, and my heels are killing me, but that’s the price of being a lot lizard. I’m just a piece of meat in a cheap dress, waiting for some grease-stained trucker to decide I’m worth twenty bucks.
Tonight’s winner was a behemoth named Big Sal. He didn’t even say hello; he just grabbed my arm, bruising the skin, and shoved me into the cramped, smelling cab of his Peterbilt.
“Open up, you freak,” he spat, his breath smelling like stale tobacco and diesel. He didn’t care about my name or my “transition.” To him, I was just a hole with a surprise. He called me a “degenerate” and a “waste of skin” while he ripped my panties aside.
He didn’t waste time with foreplay. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat, and shoved his thick, throbbing cock right into my mouth. I gagged, my eyes watering, but he just laughed, slapping my cheek. “Take it all, you little tranny slut. This is all you’re good for.”
When he got bored of my mouth, he flipped me over, shoving my face against the dashboard. He slammed into my ass with a brutal, rhythmic force that rattled the whole truck. Every thrust was accompanied by a slur, reminding me exactly how low I’ve sunk. I moaned into the plastic, feeling the raw friction as he pumped his hot cum deep inside me, leaving me shaking and degraded in the dark.
Twenty bucks. That’s all I’m worth.
Henrietta
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