Rock Me, Mama

“How can a guy who’s fucking me so hard love Jesus so much?” thought Cassandra, as her head banged against a rustic headboard in Somewhere, East TN.

Todd or Rod or Whoeverhewas dug into her ferociously. Old Crow Medicine Show’s “Wagon Wheel” played in the background. To her left, on the nightstand, lay an old Bible with tabs marking each of the Books, and a red ribbon marking a passage (“Wonder which one?”). A dusty, luminated picture of the face of Jesus graced the wall to her right. Cassandra’s 3 best friends slept in the next room; her ’87 Hyundai sat dissected in the garage, directly below the bed.

“So rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel,
rock me, mama anyway you feel…”

The bed thumped and bumped against the floor.

Cassandra decided, scooting her hips down so her head didn’t whack so hard, that she’d made the Right Choice in taking this “Hillbilly Culture Road Trip” with her friends from New York. Nashville then Asheville, they’d decided, because it sounded quaint. Loaded up her Hyundai, headed south, looking to take in some music and some local color. Right now, she was taking in the biggest cock of her life and loving it.

“Hey, mama, rock me…”

She cursed when her car made all those fucked up noises and died, southbound on Highway 81, just after she crossed the Tennessee State Line. She kept cussing, even when this huge man, with his gorgeous gold-toothed grin and his coincidental tow-truck, stopped on the highway and peered under her hood.

He told her what was wrong with her car in foreign, car-related terminology. He definitely had a drawl, but it wasn’t anything like the drawl that she expected or had heard up North from Alabama and Mississippi folks that she knew. There was something heady and low about his drawl that made her trust him immediately; she and her friends crammed themselves into his tow truck when he offered them a ride to his shop.

They all giggled when he promised not to gouge them. “Not too hard, anyways,” he drawled, and then grinned.

Cassandra cussed again, nonetheless, when her Hillbilly Hunk told her how much her car repairs would actually cost.

Now, with Todd or Rod or Whoeverhewas drilling deep inside her, she thanked Jesus and praised the Lord for every bit of her dumb luck.

“Rock me, mama, through the wind and the rain…”

She knew that she was going to come soon, because her pelvis began to throb from bearing the brunt of this Hick’s sexual frustration.

“Wonder why he acted so shy?” She thought.

When they found themselves alone in his room, he stuttered. “I’m not really very good at this kinda thang…” He was completely clumsy. His face reddened when she pulled off her shirt and his big, pale hands shook as he unbuttoned her jeans. “Ain’t got much experience with girls,” he whispered, when Cassandra pulled him onto the bed, told him just to shut up and do her.

His bashfulness flew off quicker than his coveralls when his hands and mouth found her pussy. She knew then and there that he was just being modest; he made her come three times before he put his giant cock inside her. His tattoos shocked her a bit at first, but only made her wetter as he rose up and began to slide in and out of her.

She gave herself a moment, a breath, to take him in as their fucking intensified and he pressed her knees, hard, into her shoulders. He was tall and well-built, but from work instead of working out. Not sculpted, but strong and broad-backed. His face was all sharp angles and shadows, with beady black eyes. His hair brushed across her tits in thick, shiny, chestnut ribbons. It smelled clean. His skin was translucent white, highlighting his veins and the snakes, daggers, and spider webs that twisted around the tops of his arms and snarled their way along to his wrists. From the bottom of his throat, stretched down to his navel, hung a bloody, crucified, Jesus Christ.

Cassandra thought, “I’ve never fucked anyone this Redneck OR this Religious,” and she ground her hips against him harder.

“Rock me, mama, like a southbound train…”


He bit her, hard, on her left tit, and she squealed. He shoved his cock into her even harder when he noticed her reaction to the pain. As he slammed, and the bed thumped on the floor, and he grunted, she noticed that the room smelled of potpourri and car-parts; her mind came to rest on her mother’s lingerie cabinet, her father after he’d changed the oil. Life back home.

She stared up at Todd or Rod or Whoeverhewas and thought, “I wish he’d choke me.”

Actually, she must have said it out loud. His eyes snapped open to meet hers; he moved his face in close to kiss her on the mouth for the very first time. She closed her eyes and felt his hands slide up her body. “Just a little bit, to make me come harder,” she thought, or said, or something; his hands slid around her neck and pressed.

Cassandra gasped.

His cock felt so good it made her want to cry.

“Hey, mama, rock me.”

Cassandra’s eyes flew open as the room turned white and she felt her neck bone snap out of her skull. Last notes of fiddle and banjo filtered into the foreground of her hearing; in the distance, Todd or Rod or Whoeverhewas groaned, “Lord, help me!”

Then her Little Light went out.