The Brutal Trucker - No.8 - by Danhol900
Brutal Trucker Sex Chapter 8
Recap of Chapter 7 for context:
"Shit, Brundt here would probably know some of the best players but I'm sure he'd come out on top in any game of "Ëhockey' after seeing him play tonight, wouldn't you fucker? Shit, the fucker might even make some extra cash by charging a small fee to join the game" . "The secret is volume son" , Mr. Spignotti sneered condescendingly, "god damned sheer fucking volume" , as a sadistic smile was shared between the two and both men seemed to dissolve in sadistic laughter at the mental image. Mr. Spignotti was such a strong storyteller I felt like I was living the events. I was scared, humiliated and more turned on then I'd been in my life. My dick was so close to cumming, all it would take was a single stroke of Mr. Spignotti's nail to push me over. A brutal slap of my balls sent sharp pain to my balls, nausea to my stomach and drove the urge to cum from my mind even as my cock got even more rigid and sadistic laughter purged forth from both Mr. Spignotti and Brundt..."
Mr. Spignotti's cruel story was interrupted when Johnny Smithson, the Black kid who'd taunted me as I came in that afternoon for my interview stood up and started to walk from the lounge. Mr. Spignotti asked him what fuck he was
doing and Smithson sheepishly informed him that he was going to the head because he had to take a wicked piss. Mr. Spignotti just laughed and said, "Why waste your steps fucker, you've got a willing pisshole right here, all spread out and just waiting for some hot fuckin trucker piss. Ain'tcha baby cakes?"
Again my head was forced to nod affirmative even as my mouth unsuccessfully tried to form words of protest and only garbled croaking emerged. The best I could manage was to try to plead with my eyes that I just couldn't do that; to take another man's piss down my throat was the ultimate insult and degradation. I could imagine nothing worse but my dick betrayed my true feelings with a twitch of its own which Mr. Spignotti enjoyed pointing out to Smithson to both men's laughter and my embarrassment. "Shit fucker, the bitch wants your hot piss now, don't disappoint the faggot after he's so graciously entertained you and the boys this evening, that would be fuckin inhospitable and the men at Spignotti and Sons are anything if not hospitable, wouldn't you agree faggot?" again my head was made to nodded affirmative.
Smithson saddled up to my head with his semi-hard black cock showing both his excitement at having a willing victim drink his piss and his anxiety at this new experience. Always a trooper Smithson forced my clenched mouth open roughly with his thumbs and forced his lengthening cock to the back of the throat. My throat was so sore from the night's festivities that the brutal tearing of my jaw caused unbearable pain and a grunt of protest. Mr. Spignotti loved this new pain and encouraged Smithson to, "be as rough with this toilet as you would with any toilet that won't open for your piss, fucker" .
"Shit, a fuckin whore like you has got to learn to appreciate any gift a horny trucker has to offer" , he instructed me. In spite of this advice I tried to shake Smithson's hardening cock from my mouth and he pulled out and cold cocked me with a rough backhand as my head snapped backwards, only restrained from snapping off by Mr. Spignotti's strong headlock. " That a boy Smithson, teach this cocksucker who's the boss" , Mr. Spignotti continued.
The sound caused a few of the sleeping truckers to stir so I decided to endure the inevitable, this new humiliation, with as few onlookers as possible. A smug Smithson proudly forced his dick back home and slowly let loose with a few drops of piss. Mr. Spignotti's cruel voice sounded in my ear as he warned me "Don't get one fuckin drop of piss on this suit or I'll see to it that you'll wish you were never born" as the drops became a torrent. I knew enough about Mr. Spignotti to understand that he definitely meant every word and I was more determined than ever to swallow every last drop.
I had never felt such pain before in my life as the acidic urine burned my raw, battered and scratched throat. It felt like a knife was being dragged down my throat. I could suddenly feel all the rips and bruises the brutal bastards had inflicted with their savage throat rapes and sadistic game of Honey Buns Hockey. Mr. Spignotti was in heaven as I struggled to get free and choked and gagged as my throat muscles spasmed and twisted trying to swallow the foul liquid. Smithson was enjoying my struggles and throat convulsions and his black cock hardened and swelled ripping my sensitive throat yet again as I tried to squeal through my nose, having lost my voice long ago, and his thickening cock was quickly cutting my supply of air. Mr. Spignotti hoarsely whispered in my ear, "That's right baby, struggle all you want, all you're doing is making Smithson's cock harder, waking up a few dozen sleeping giants and getting my own fuckin ball juices boiling."
Suddenly, when I didn't think I could stand anymore I felt a thunderous SMACK, SMACK, SMACK as Mr. Spignotti started pounding my tender and savagely brutalized butt. Each slap sent my head lunging forward; deeper unto Smithson's
now rock hard cock and the pain at my rear was matched by the pain in my throat. Mr. Spignotti was forcing my head onto the hard cock and removed his headlock and quickened the pace of the pounding as the throat fuck gained speed
to the inevitable conclusion; another slimy load of trucker seed down my sore and savaged throat. Mr. Spignotti proudly announced to
Smithson and the awakening truckers, "Look here, the bitch's cock stayed fuckin rock hard even as I was beating the shit out of his ass and Smithson was fucking the hell out of his throat. This fucker's a real slut, ain't ya bitch?" to agreement from all in the room as my red-faced head was forced again to nod yes.
Mr. Spignotti then stood and straightened his tie and smoothed down his fine silk suit as if he was going to make a formal announcement. "Men, I don't know about you fuckers but it just fuckin pisses me off to think that this little faggot is enjoying this shit. You know that, scumbag?"
And this time I wide-eyed nodded my head in the affirmative on my own. "Shit, this hard faggot's hard cock is fuckin mocking, fuck no it's god damned taunting, this entire room full of fucking real men. I want to see that little useless pink
dick of yours soft and limp like a real bitch" , he growled.
I willed my cock to get soft with all my might, but try as I might I just couldn't make get it down. Having been rock hard and with my balls bursting for relief for so long my cock stayed rigid and actually started twitching and bobbing as if it was taunting Mr. Spignotti further to do his worst. This of course only pissed Mr. Spignotti off more as he indicated to Freightliner to, "cut the bastard from the table" and to Smithson to "go out back and bring in a hickory stick from the swamp" .
Then My Spignotti tied my hands together with rope and attached me to a hook hanging in the center of the Trucker'
s Lounge. I don't know why I hadn't noticed that thing before! With Brundt's help they had me strung up so I was standing on my tip toes, completely helpless and once again at their mercy.
When Smithson brought Mr. Spignotti the five foot long stick about only as thick as a pencil he got this scary wicked look in his eyes. That bastard Blackmore, the dead-eyed skinny sadist, was like a shark with blood in the water. Blackmore was standing next to Mr. Spignotti, still dressed in his fine silk suit, giving him encouragement. But Mr. Spignotti didn't need any
encouragement as he took to this new task like a man for whom this type of recreation was second nature. He expertly took the switch in his right hand and landed it sharply across my butt.
It felt like the sting of a 100 bees. I screamed, jumped and instinctively twisted and turned within the limits of my bonds as I tried to get away from the whipping but this was just the game Mr. Spignotti was hoping for. I frantically jumped, tried to curl up, spring forward and backward all the time Mr. Spignotti had a wicked smile on his face and a nasty gleam in his eye. He
was landing brutal blows on any part of my body he chose and clearly loved it all. He had the benefit of time on his hands and I felt like a tethered mouse in a game of cat and mouse. After about 30 minutes of this uninhibited whipping; the dead-eyed sadist standing next to Mr. Spignotti announced, "Boss, even with all your whipping the fuckin faggot's still got a hard cock" .
Then in a cold and callous voice no different than if he were placing an order for fast food, the skinny sadist suggested to Mr. Spignotti, "Why not just cut the fucking thing off, Sir. The little bastard is only making you look like a fool and forcing you to work up a sweat. Shit Sir, at least let me take over for you. I'll get the fucker soft."
Well, with that the whole warehouse went quiet because everyone knew, even me, that Mr. Spignotti was capable of just that and much much more. Then Mr. Spignotti turned his rage on me, landing blows as hard and fast as he could, all the time I was willing my cock to go soft and all the time I was being betrayed by my own lusts and desires through this tube of pink flesh with a will of its own. Mr. Spignotti called Brundt over and said to him, "Hey Vince, drape the fucker over your shoulders and hold his legs up high. A few direct hits on that already tortured butt hole should knock some of the wind from
his sails" , to chuckles from the revived and quickly hardening, sweaty, dirty, grimy and stubble-faced truckers gathering round.
With my body painfully bent over Brundt's massive shoulders, my legs held high and butt hole exposed to Mr. Spignotti's whipping, there was nothing I could do but endure this new pain and humiliation. Finally, I could feel that my dick was actually beginning to shrink from all the direct hits to this super sensitive area. I begged Mr. Spignotti to stop that he had won. Well, Mr. Spignotti was not the type to be made a fool of twice so he sent the skinny sadist Blackmore over to check for him with me still over Brundt's shoulders. The bastard reached high over Brundt's shoulders and grabbed my cock,
giving it a few invisible quick strokes and a squeeze, before announcing to the room, "The fucker's lying boss! His dick is as hard as it was before you wasted all your precious time and fuckin sweat, Sir. Let me cut the fucker for you, Sir. Please."
He looked me squarely in the eyes as he said this and I knew I'd made an enemy for life at Spignotti and Sons Distributors.
An enraged Mr. Spignotti let into my exposed hole with new vigor and power and sent blow after blow from the stinging switch to every inch of my tortured butt. I was a crying, sobbing mess when Mr. Spignotti finally let me down
and determined for himself that my tortured dick was now sufficiently deflated for his next game to begin. In-spite of all the exertion, there was not a drop of sweat on Mr. Spignotti's brow and not a wrinkle in that fine black silk suit. I, on the other hand was a quivering mass of jelly.
Not able to speak for several hours and now not able to move my arms of legs without incredible wracking pain. Towering over me inspecting his handiwork Mr. Spignotti seemed pleased and I couldn't help but notice with dread the same prominent bulge in his crotch. He reached down and picked me up by my hair as he set me onto a rug in the center of the lounge. Then he reached around my head again in that power headlock and whispered in my ear, "Well fucker, ready for some real fun now?"
My heart sank at the dread of what this powerful sadistic man had in mind now. Then Mr. Spignotti announced to the horned truckers around us, "looks like the fucker's softened up enough for me now, don't cha think boys?" to raucous laughter and guttural testosterone loaded shouts of glee all around . " Fuckin yeah" came the almost simultaneous reply.
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