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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 "Ëœhockey' 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..."  

Installment #8

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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