Emily had been driving for hours, her old beat-up sedan chugging along the empty interstate under a scorching summer sun. She was 28, recently single after dumping her cheating boyfriend, and on a solo road trip to clear her head. With her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, cutoff denim shorts hugging her thick thighs, and a tank top clinging to her full C-cup tits, she felt free for the first time in months. But freedom came to a screeching halt when her engine sputtered, smoked, and died right there on the shoulder of the highway. “Fuck!” she yelled, slamming her hands on the wheel. No cell service, no passing cars—it was the middle of nowhere.

She popped the hood, pretending to know what she was looking at, but it was hopeless. Sweat trickled down her back, soaking her shirt. An hour passed, then two. Just as she was about to start walking, the rumble of a big rig echoed in the distance. A massive semi-truck slowed and pulled over behind her car. Out stepped the driver—a tall, broad-shouldered black man in his mid-30s, wearing faded jeans, a tight t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms, and a baseball cap. He was built like a tank, dark skin gleaming, with a confident swagger that made Emily’s heart skip.

“You alright, ma’am?” he called out, his voice deep and smooth like gravel wrapped in velvet.

Emily wiped her forehead, trying not to stare at his bulge—damn, those jeans were tight. “Car broke down. No signal out here. I’m screwed.”

He chuckled, walking over. “Name’s Marcus. Let me take a look.” He poked around under the hood for a minute. “Radiator’s shot. Ain’t fixing this without a tow. I can give you a ride to the next town—got a motel and a mechanic there.”

Relief washed over her, mixed with a spark of something else. He was hot as hell, and being stranded had her adrenaline pumping. “That’d be amazing. I’m Emily. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Hop in.” He helped her grab her bag, his hand brushing her arm, sending a tingle straight to her pussy. As she climbed into the high cab, she caught him checking out her ass, and she didn’t mind one bit.

The truck roared to life, and they hit the road. Small talk flowed easy—her breakup, his long hauls across the country. Marcus was divorced, no kids, just him and the open road. “Gets lonely sometimes,” he said, glancing at her legs.

Emily felt a flush creep up her neck. She’d always had a secret fantasy about black guys, that whole BBC thing from porn she’d binge-watched late at night. Her ex was average at best, and she’d never cum from sex alone. “Yeah, I bet. Must meet all kinds of people though.”