Date: Fri, 29 Sep 2006 15:09:10 EDT
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #20

Recap of Chapter 19, for context:

"...There was no way I could get those panties off until my balls shrunk
significantly so I fell asleep on my bed on my stomach with my legs spread
wide hoping the cool air in the shed would shrink my swollen balls before
the next shift.  My cock was still much too sore to even think about
jerking off, Sarge had made sure of that.  Simply laying on it hurt like
hell but I had no alternative if I wanted to get any sleep.  I knew I'd
simply have to try to get some rest and hope against hope that the swelling
and soreness resolved before Friday's shift.  Shit I wasn't looking forward
to that god damned fuckin Bitch Dodge Balls game tomorrow..."


Brutal Trucker Sex Chapter 20

I awoke for Friday's third shift feeling no better than I did when I went
to sleep.  In fact, my cock felt even more bruised and tender and my balls
felt like they could explode at any instant.  Getting dressed in my usual
"uniform" I waddled into the warehouse not sure what to expect.  As I
entered the warehouse it had been transformed into a kind of arena with
grimy truckers standing around a center court; really a large white circle
about 30 feet across drawn on the cement floor of the 20 truck entrance
bays.  The loading bays were sunken down about three feet to aid in the
unloading of the trucks which gave everyone a better view of the
festivities on the court.  A rope had been hung from one of the I-beams in
the ceiling at the very center of the circle with a four foot long metal
bar tied with a strong knot.  The bar hovered about eight feet from the
cement floor of the receiving bay.

The truckers were in an especially sour and angry mood, having become
accustomed to as much free access to bitch hole fucking as they wanted
during the past week, last night's interruption seemed to have frayed a few
nerves.  Every trucker there was showing huge bulges in the front of their
grimy blue jeans.  Mr. Spignotti had apparently decided that tonight's
festivities justified a celebration of sorts, my having completed my first
week of Sarge's "Truckers' Bitch Boot Camp".  There was a red, white and
blue banner proclaiming this very fact with a hand drawn sketch of a figure
on his hands and knees, cum dripping from his mouth and ass taking cocks
from hulking trucker figures in both in his mouth and ass at the same time.
I had to wonder just who the artist had been.

Mr. Spignotti even provided a keg of beer, lots of hard liquor and as much
smokes as the truckers wanted.  It was obvious even as my shift was just
beginning that many of the horny truckers had been partying for a while
already.  Madd-dog sauntered over to me slightly off balance his slurred
speech just barely perceptible, "Bout time you got your sorry ass down here
pussy boy.  We were just about to make little Jimmy here our honorary bitch
for the evening. Aint that so Jimmy boy?  Bet that tight pink hole of yours
is just itching for some hard trucker cock?  You weren't getting jealous of
ole bitch boy here now were you, Jimmy boy?  Maybe just a little bit now?"
as the room full of horny slightly drunk truckers exploded in raucous
laughter.  "Might just make a fucking man out of you," Madd-dog continued
ominously. "put some god damned fuckin hair on that scrawny pink chest of
yours."  Smithson blanched and squirmed free from the towering Black
trucker's grip around his shoulder, obviously relieved that I had made my
shift.  Madd-dog had apparently had a lot to drink and found little Jimmy ,
the white trucker from the woods after my second meeting with George, quite
attractive.  The humungous bulge in the front of Madd-dog's grimy trucker
blue jeans told everyone his feelings plainly.

I was stripped naked and led to the hanging metal bar and my arms were
stretched wide and firmly attached to the bar with duct tape.  A second
metal was attached to my feet the same way so that I was spread eagle,
suspended on my tip toes as the horny and slightly drunk truckers
surrounded me, enjoying the sight of their next victim, poking at me,
slapping me as much as they wanted.  Freightliner even came up, spit a
great big wad of spit in my face and smeared it all over my face and into
my mouth.  Mr. Spignotti, dressed tonight in a glistening shark skin suit,
called for attention as he explained tonight's game.

"The game tonight is Bitch Dodge Ball.  Each team will consist of six
players with three tennis balls for each player who will compete bare assed
naked.  Vinton Brundt has selected to be captain of the red team.  Sergeant
Carter will be captain of the black team.  The winner of tonight's contest
will have first shot at the pussy bitch tonight.  Fuck" Mr. Spignotti
continued in his low sexy baritone, "I honestly have to say they'll
probably have fuckin first, last and every shot in between at 'im too-
can't imagine there'd be enough kick left in the scumbag by the time either
winning team is through with this piece of shit tonight", he motioned to my
stretched body dismissively.  "There are no fuckin rules for how the bitch
is treated tonight, no fuckin time limit on the celebration festivities
either.  Winner takes all tonight men, every fuckin thing the winners want
they get tonight" as the warehouse exploded in applause and cheers.  "Is
this clear to everyone?"  Mr. Spignotti paused for the response from the
crowd to quiet down before he started again.  "The balls for this contest
will be tennis balls, the red team will dip theirs in this bucket of red
powder, the black team will use this bucket of black powder.  We'll use a
points system to determine the winner."  Mr. Spignotti swaggered over to
me, his fine pressed and creased shark skin suit sparkled in the
fluorescent lighting of the warehouse.  "Two points for any shot above the
neck" as he grabbed me by the hair and twisted my head painfully backwards
and drew a line with a large thick black Magic Marker around the base of my
throat, "front or back fuckers, front or back above this line gets your
team two points.

"One point for a shot to his ass" as he drew a circle that accentuated my
bubble butt cheeks still recovering from Sarge's vicious boot fucking,
"back only here men.  But five points if you hit his cock", as I was spun
around on my tip toes.  Again the marker delineated the sweet spot as
Mr. Spignottti grabbed my still painfully swollen battered cock with
Sarge's precise bruises from the previous night's whipping forming still
perfect little diamonds along the entire length of my swollen cock. "And
fuckin ten points if you hit the bastard in these little tiny pink balls",
as he viciously grabbed my balls and drew a circle around the base of my
low hanging ball sack.

"Just to make it a little easier to hit the jack pot I'm asking Sergeant
Carter to attach a leather ball stretcher and weigh the suckers down with
as much weight as he thinks the scumbag can hold."  Sarge strode over to
me, slightly staggering also from the beer or booze and roughly attached
the leather harness and ten pounds of lead weights. I was stretched as far
as my body could be stretched, the pain in my shoulders as intense as the
pain in my balls.  My balls were stretched a good eight inches making an
inviting target.

Brundt's team consisted of himself and five other white men I had never
seen before.  Each man was huge, well over 6 feet tall and muscled.  One
guy was introduced to the spectators as HayStack a grimy, sweaty blond man
with wild unkept hair a full blond filthy beard and cold china blue eyes.
He was tattooed over most of his body with animals, snakes, Celtic symbols
and naked women.  I could smell the man from where I was suspended, so
strong was the reek of this unwashed sweaty brute.  The next guy was simply
called Harley and looked like your typical outlaw biker; dark hair and
goatee, hair sprouting from his chest, back and crotch, the prominent
swastika tattoo on his left bicep indicating that he was probably a Nazi
sympathizer like Vinton Brundt.  Then Sam Jones was introduced, a clean cut
boy next door-type with a blond crew cut, piercing blue eyes and no hair on
his well muscled body.  Freightliner and Montana, minus his cowboy hat
rounded out the red team.

Sarge kept most of the team that had served him so well last time;
Madd-dog, Spider, Ranger, Shades and Prime-meat.  Before Mr. Spignotti
could signal the start of the game, Ranger staggered forward to ask in a
slurred voice if the black team might add a little something extra to
"spice up" the game.  Spice-up, I didn't like the sound of that.  "Whatever
the fuck either team wants", Mr. Spignotti proclaimed, "there's no fuckin
rules for this game remember; just stay behind the line or the shot doesn't
count.  Both teams huddled and the black team decided to add some Black
trucker piss to the black powder to form a sort of paste.  It was decided
this would help to pinpoint the hits.  For the red team, it turned out that
Sam Jones was not a trucker but a house contractor and he had a bundle of
fiberglass insulation in his truck.  They added the fiberglass shards with
the logic it would help identify their hits with clear red marks left by
the microscopic shards of glass.

"You know what fuckers?" Mr. Spignotti addressed the crowd just before the
game was to begin, "I think the trucker's bitch might need a little fuckin
inspiration."  With those words he took a huge finger full of Sarge's bitch
gel that always got my pussy craving trucker dick no matter what and coated
my entire fuck canal with the stuff as a low satisfied growl escaped his
lips. This time he used a hell of a lot more than Sarge ever had and my
pussy started to itch and crave trucker cock almost immediately.  In spite
of my fear, my dick jumped to attention as a result to the amusement of
every rigid grimy "hard scrapple" trucker there.

The horny naked trucker teams all fanned out around the circle with their
huge hard cocks standing straight up dripping precum, threatening to "shut
my fuckin lights off" or "pound me into fuckin hamburger": bravado as much
for me as the opposing team.  The first tennis ball to fly at me was thrown
by Sam Jones and flew comfortably by my head a few inches too high.
Immediately Sarge send his first tennis ball careening towards my distended
balls and I was forced to throw my hips wildly to the right to avoid a
direct hit, my balls straining painfully under the weights.  Suddenly a red
ball, I didn't see who threw it smacked me hard in the chest, knocking the
wind out of me as a cheer went up from the white truckers watching the
game.  "No points fuckers," Sarge sneered.  "Go ahead and waste your fuckin
shots.  We're gonna make ours count", as Ranger sent one black balls
sailing through the air smacking my left butt cheek with a loud "SMACK"
that echoed through the warehouse.  I didn't have time to think as ball
after ball flew at me at greater and greater speeds and increasing
accuracy.  I was like a dancing bear dangling on a string, clumsy and slow
but still able to avoid most shots.  Suddenly I heard a loud grunt and
turned my head just in time to see Vinton Brundt's arm in the final phases
of a complete overhand throw and the red missile heading directly at my
eyes.  I didn't have time to think as the "SPLAT" sound of the tennis ball
hitting my forehead knocked me senseless for an instant.  Time enough for
at least ten more balls to come flying at me in all directions, landing
painfully on my back, my stomach, my balls twice and my ass twice.

The pain in my poor stretched balls sent wave after wave of nausea over me
as instinct took over and I twisted and turned violently to avoid other
thrown tennis balls.  Still the tennis balls kept flying, hitting the back
of my head, my neck at my Adam's apple, my shoulder and my cock three times
in quick succession.

The truckers were about halfway through their allotted balls and the crowd
was going crazy at this point, cheering for their favorite team without
regard for the pain the sadistic truckers were inflicting on me.  I managed
to avoid several more tennis balls whizzing by me until they players got
smart and started using their teammates or their competitors like picks in
basketball.  If one throw was heading towards my cock I could only move to
the right or the left so quickly there would be other balls thrown to
anticipate my motions.  I endured many more hits before the supply of
tennis balls was exhausted as I collapsed like a limp rag doll pleading and
begging for the game to stop.  "Don't fuckin believe the bitch, his cock is
as hard and cum-filled as I've seen it.  You love all this attention, don't
you slut", Sarge slurred "just fuckin love being the center of attention of
all these hard trucker cocks.  Aint that right fuckwadd, slimy trucker slut
loves the fuckin attention, fuckin would have popped you load if the game
had gone on any longer" as the jeers of the spectators and my own hard cock
told me they agreed with him.

"We need an unbiased referee to count the hits and tally the score,"
Mr. Spignotti announced, "Simpson, you've got a clean cut, fresh from the
farm honest face.  Get your skinny white ass up here and do the honors."
With a pen and paper Simpson dutifully counted and tallied every hit within
the accepted ranges.  Finally he announced that the black team had won by
two points.  Immediately the truckers were shouting and I thought a fight
might break out between Brundt and Sarge but Mr. Spignotti calmed them
down.  It was quickly determined that there was one red hit that was under
contention, the one that hit me in my Adam's apple exactly straddled the
black Magic Marker line drawn by Mr. Spignotti.  Little timid Simpson did
not look comfortable as all the pressure of the game title was weighted on
his shoulders.  I think Simpson knew he would make enemies no matter which
way he decided.  Still Mr. Spignotti wouldn't let him off the hook until in
the end he changed his mind and decided the red ball was enough over the
line to count as a red score.  The black truckers were furious and I was
afraid another fight would breakout until it was pointed out that now we
had a tied game, both sides had twenty-two points.

"How'r we gonna handle this Boss?" Sarge asked pointedly, as he strolled
over to my still limp hanging body and lifted my head so he could stare
with complete hatred into my eyes.  "We can't all fuck him," he continued
as a deathly silence filled the warehouse, "That'd fucking kill the bitch,
each team player taking a turn at this bitch, no rules and each fucker more
angry than the one before.  Shit fucker", he snarled "you ever imagine what
it'd be like to take on twelve really pissed off truckers at once?  One
after the other, each more pissed of than the one before."  My dick bobbed
and twisted as my mind was involuntarily forced to imagine the situation.
Sarge smiled seeing my reaction as he continued, "Sure you have fuck wadd,
you've thought of it, alone at night in your safe quiet fuckin middle class
house in the suburbs, pulling little peter there and thinking about pissed
off trucker cock" as shouts and catcalls went around the warehouse.  "But
it wouldn't be pretty and it wouldn't get you the trucker bitch you want
for the warehouse and in the end we all loose out" Sarge said addressing
the spectators and Mr. Spignotti.  "We don't want a repeat of the incident
with the little Billy boy.  You all remember the fuckin skinny blond 18
year old trucker slut Brundt picked up in Iowa.  Fucking slut didn't want
to be here and in the end you couldn't break the fucker and no one wins.
We sure as shit don't want a repeat of that fiasco.  Fuckin Freightliner
there had to dump the fucker in god-damned fuckin Kentucky..."

"Since Jimmy determined the bitch dodge ball game is a tie Jimmy will
decide the tie breaker," Mr. Spignotti announce with authority.  Finally
Jimmy decided that it was only proper that the bitch should choose who'd
have use of his tonight and he proposed what became known as Bitch Bocce
Ball.  Sam Jones just happened to have an orange traffic cone in his
pick-up truck and each team inserted three tennis balls into my itching and
convulsing pussy hole.  In the end my fuck hole was going to determine
which team would get the honor this evening- a kind of surreal justice not
lost on most members of the drunken horny audience.  After the tally it was
clear that the red team won the tie breaking match and I've never seen
Sarge and his team so angry.  Vinton and his team however was already
celebrating their victory, cutting my down for the fun to begin.

Poor Jimmy was very nervous about the developments as he was subtly
surrounded by strong, tall Black truckers and beads of sweat were clearly
evident on his forehead.  I felt sorry for the kid because I knew Sarge
well enough to know that as attention was diverted to me and my up coming
ordeal with the Brundt gang, poor little Jimmy would be quietly diverted
from view to serve as the unlucky recipient of all the rage and the hot
sperm of the frustrated Black truckers.  I knew Sarge and the boys would
never sit back and watch the victorious white Nazi-sympathizers fucking my
hole while they were denied their own relief.

A conspiratorial nod between Sarge and Mr. Spignotti told me that he was
secretly given tacit approval.  I wasn't really surprised when half an hour
into my abuse at the hands of the Brundt team I noticed that both Jimmy and
the orange traffic cone disappeared.  Poor Jimmy was about to learn what
I've known for two weeks now, how it feels to be reamed inside out by a
gang of hard Black trucker cocks as you have no say in the matter.  Little
Jimmy will be walking funny for the next week by the time Sarge and the
boys are through with him.  Poor, poor lucky Jimmy.

But I didn't have time for many thoughts on this as my head was painfully
bent back and the hard, slime covered cock of Haystack was crammed fully
down my throat and his hairy balls rested heavily over my eyes.  Almost
immediately the brute started pounding my throat with his monstrously thick
cock, tearing my sensitive throat lining and stretching my lips to their
capacity.  I felt calloused trucker fingers probing my hole as Haystack
increased both the tempo and the power behind each thrust into my mouth.
All I could hear from Haystack was an occasional grunt of exertion as he
pummeled me until I felt his hairy cock swell even thicker as ropes of hot
trucker sperm erupted from that monstrous cock over-filling my mouth as cum
leaked from my lips down my chin.

"Fuck Yeah, Oh god damned fuck yeah, yeah, yeah, fuck yeah.  Take it all
bitch, fuckin choke on my seed, slut, fuckin choke", I heard from Haystack
as spurt after spurt of trucker cum flowed into my upturned mouth.  It was
obvious the trucker had been on the road for many days both by the scents
emanating from his crotch and the incredible volume of sperm filling my
mouth; it seemed to last forever.  Finally the bastard ripped his cock
free, spat a big wad of saliva into my open gasping mouth and indicated he
was done with me for now with a sharp backhanded smack across my face.
Tears streamed down my face involuntarily.  Shit you'd think I'd be used to
this by now but every time it happened was so unexpected and shocking the
tears flowed like a little girl and I was embarrassed again.

I naturally stiffened when I heard a match being light and smelled the
undeniable smell of high quality cigars being shared by the victors all
around me.  Mr. Spignotti proudly announced, "Enjoy the smokes fuckers.
They're imported Vitola Figurados, 57 rings.  They're a special gift from
some secret visitors to the warehouse recently.  Aint that so, Brundt?"
Vinton Brundt simply nodded, obviously pleased that he was privy to a
secret from Mr. Spignotti that no one else knew.

I was held in place by many sweaty, grimy, hairy strong White trucker arms.
Then that bastard Vinton Brundt, clearly pleased with his private secret
and the victory of his team, grabbed my head and twisted it so I was
looking in Sarge's direction saying, "Fuck this little pussy bitch here
sure would make a nice fuckin ash tray for our cigars, don't you think
boys?  Might just make this little pussy bitch `bout as black as ole Sarge
there with our cigar ashes.  How `bout it Carter boy, you ready to welcome
a new fucked over brother to your tribe?  He'd be a brother stuffed with
nice hot Aryan cum though; fuckin filled with the shit like all you
brothers secretly want; to be fucked silly by strong Aryan masters.  Aint
that so bitch boy, you want to get black as ole Sarge there and filled
Aryan cum just like all you darkies really want?"  My head was forced to
nod yes by someone's calloused hand.

I could see the anger in Sarge's eyes as the muscled Black man only held
his temper because of the even stronger glare from Mr. Spignotti.  The
bulge in Mr. Spignotti's suit trousers told me that he was enjoying all
these events, the dodge ball game, the bocce ball tie breaker, my abuse by
the white victors and even the racial tension that filled the warehouse.
The scent of anger, sweat, danger, pain, cigar smoke, anxiety and
testosterone filled the entire ware house.  For some reason, that I didn't
understand at the time my dick, which had stayed hard throughout my ordeal
so far.  It was harder than I could ever remember it being. This fact was
not lost to my Aryan conquerors, despite their increasing drunkenness.  The
shit-eating smile of Brundt's face told the whole story as he brought the
red hot tip if his huge Cuban cigar slowly to my left nipple and asked
snidely, "Sure is a lot of little blond peach fuzz here.  What do you say
boys, should we give the bitch a special Aryan cigar shave?"  I was
terrified as the cigar slowly singed the blond peach fuzz around my
sensitive left nipple and I started to scream for his to stop...


This seems like a good place to stop the story for now.  Let me know if
you're enjoying the story and I welcome your comments and words of
encouragement.  It has been a while since I've updated the story, I've been
swamped here but it does me good to get these experiences from my younger
life on paper for others to read.  Write me with comments

   danhol900@aol.com