Date: Mon, 30 Oct 2006 14:26:29 EST
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #21

Brutal Trucker Sex Chapter 21

Recap of Chapter 20;

"...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 all merged and filled the entire ware house.  For some reason,
that I didn't understand at the time my dick 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 Honduran 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 him to stop..."

Brutal Trucker Sex Chapter 21

... and still the fuckin animal just kept the cigar on my tit as wave after
wave of agony spread outward from the site.  The calloused, drunken
arrogant men holding me down just laughed and mocked my screams, making me
feel like my own pain meant nothing to them; or more accurately making me
feel like it was my pain and screams they were after.  My thrashing and
attempts to get away from Brundt's hot cigar only made the cruel cigar
sting me more, burning my flesh as my screams filled the warehouse.  These
even got the attention of Mr. Spignotti but if my initial thoughts that the
nasty Sicilian sadist might be my savor these fleeting hopes were soon
dashed.

It was clear as the swarthy, achingly handsome, confident and arrogant
Sicilian strode over to my writhing body held down on the cold cement floor
that his intentions were not to put a stop to my tormentors.  In stead he
was there to lend encouragement shouting loudly from across the bay, "Hell
yes fuckers, now that's the fuckin way to treat a fuckin trucker slut, men.
Make the bitch into your own personal fuckin ashtray.  God damned slut is
only good enough to fuck, fill with cum and save you the trouble of
emptying the fucking ash tray.  Here ya go slut", as he painfully forced my
mouth open with his strong fingers prying my jaw open, "taste some real
fuckin man's cigar ash.  Taste this shit, gonna make it a new fuckin job
description, slut."  Mr. Spignotti took Harley's Cigar, puffed on it
several times to get a good ash built up and flicked the still hot embers
into my painfully forced open mouth.

The taste was terrible, very acidic and burnt tasting.  I actually choked
as the ash instantly pulverized and filled my mouth and nostril with its
taste and smell.  I was choking on the strong Honduran cigar ash as I felt
the sharp pain of Mr. Spignotti's fine hand crafter Italian dress shoe slam
against my throbbing swollen balls.  I immediately opened my mouth to
scream from the pain as I felt the hot tip of Harley's cigar forced into my
mouth preventing me from closing it.  Tears welled in my eyes as
Mr. Spignotti's intense glare caught my gaze and instinctively held it
firm.

"Now that's fuckin beautiful.  God damned fuckin BEEE-UUUU-ti-ful" as
laughter roared from the drunken, grimy unshaven white truckers around me.
Every man there knew that this was, in some way, a direct insult to Sarge.
The white supremacists took this comment as a green light to do with me as
they pleased.  "The fuckin floor is all yours you god damned mothafuckin
bastards.  You won the contest, no fuckin doubt about it so the prize is
fuckin all yours" as a new cheer and guttural grunt of agreement rose up
from all around me.

By this time Sarge was no where to be found.  He, his entire team, all of
the other Black truckers along with poor little Billy boy and the orange
traffic cone were all no where to be found.  I was surprised that almost
thirty men could silently leave a room while dragging an unwilling victim;
so strong was the attention focused on me or so drunk had these horny
truckers become.  I had no time to dwell on this issue as that evil
sadistic bastard Brundt increased the intensity and the needle like pain of
his cigar jerked my attention from the cigar forcing my mouth open to the
one burning my left tit with unbearable agony.  The smell on burning hair
filled my nostrils as my blond peach fuzz slowly and methodically fell
victim to the hot Honduran cigar, just as the virgin Honduran rain forest
fell to bulldozers.

Almost immediately I felt the intense heat of several more cigars scrapping
painfully across my body.  The drunken truckers were very unsteady and I
was burned excruciatingly many times as they cleared my body hair from my
chest, stomach, arm pits and legs.  The whole time Mr. Spignotti kept the
hot cigar in my mouth to prevent my screams; only removing it so some nasty
son of a bitch trucker could flick his ash down my throat, or even spit a
huge wad of trucker spit in my mouth; forming a thick black acrid paste in
my mouth.  My body was actually beginning to be covered by burned hair and
cigar ashes and was beginning to develop the grey black coloring Brundt
said he was after.

While held firmly down with my mouth open and prevented from screaming or
pleading with my assailants, all I could do was lie there and endure the
complete agony, fear and feeling of helplessness.  My mind was forced back
to my early childhood when I was about 5 years old.  I hadn't thought of
this in many years and even now I'm not sure how much was actual memory and
how much was simply family stories told to a vulnerable young child but I
remembered that I had been burned by boiling water as a young child by my
own father.

I remembered that he had been watching me while my mother worked nights as
a waitress to make ends meet; but he was drunk as usual.  I saw my father
as I remembered him as a five year old, very big, very muscular and strong,
very dark, mean and angry.  I saw his dark swarthy looks and cold, cold
grey eyes.  I remember he took the water and deliberately poured it over me
as the pain came roaring back as intensely as it was happening today.  I
don't know if it was the memory of the pain from my father or the pain I
was feeling from the drunken trucker's cigars but my body was wracked by
the most intense pain I had felt in my life; a combination of intense
physical pain and agonizing mental pain exploded upon me.  Mr. Spignotti
seemed to sense this as I could see his hard dick twist and turn under the
silken grey sharkskin material of his silken trousers.  Our eyes met and I
knew that the evil man could read my mind and could sense, maybe he could
even smell (like a wolf or vicious dog), my pain and my humiliation.  His
dick loved all this but I had never felt so scared, defenseless and alone
in my life.

"Shit fuckers, now this is a god damned well prepared fuckin trucker slut,
shit `es fuckin twisting and turning under a few expertly placed Truckers'
cigars.  I've really got to commend you sons-a-bitches.  Bet this bitch's
cunt is just goin to town, fucking twistin and turning like a god damned
fuck tunnel should.  Aintcha bitch", he sneered as he removed the cigar and
twisted my face up just inches from his own, "aintcha just dieing for some
hot fuckin trucker dick, boy?  Fuckin itchin for some dickin boy?  Fuck I
bet that bitch gel is doin a number on your cunt right now, aint it fuck
wad?  Fuckin drivin you nuts".

Suddenly a broad smile spread across his face as if he had discovered a god
damned gold mind.  "Fuckin lookee here men, finally got the little bitch to
go soft for me.  A god damned fuckin present from you fuck wads to express
your fuckin gratitude for hiring this tight fuck hole for ya.  You scumbags
know I only enjoy a bitch with a soft dick.  I simply got no interest
knowing any bitch is enjoying it", as knowing snickers and murmured 'fuck
yeahs!' echoed around me, "but this fuckers; this is god damned fuckin
beautiful.  Now that's fuckin god damned slutmanship for you, god damned
fucking expert slutmanship" as Mr. Spignotti took his shoe and rubbed it
across my dick; I knew instantly that my dick was soft and Mr. Spignotti
appreciated the fact that it was, as if my terror and pain was a present to
him from his men.  I however was not enjoying this, it was no longer fun.
I knew that if I could I would escape this hellhole as soon as I could.
The evil fun and games had ceased to be fun any more, only the games
remained for the drunken truckers.

After about an hour of constant attention from the six white victorious
truckers and their victory cigars I was completely hair-free from my neck
down.  I didn't have any of the blond peach fuzz that had covered my arms,
legs, chest and abdomen.  Even my pubic hair had been singed off.  I was
covered in a grey dusting of cigar ash

"Tell you what Ranger and Jones", Mr. Spignotti demanded, "spread the
bitch's legs high and wide over his head for me.  I want to work my cigar
over that tight little hole we all love so much" as laughter and cheers
went up from all the white truckers around us.  Mr. Spignotti took a few
puffs on his cigar to get the tip red hot and started to trace the tip
around my fuck hole opening.  I screamed and twisted as much as I could but
the two strong sets of trucker hands held me firmly in place.
Mr. Spignotti increased both the pressure he applied and the length of time
he applied at as he methodically jabbed his hot cigar over my hole and a
circle about an inch outside the entrance forming a red, ultra-sensitive
throbbing batch.  I was screaming hysterically and pleading with the
bastard to please stop but he just laughed and even taunted me by
pretending to ask the drunken men around me if he should stop.  There was
not one voice in the crowd raised to my defense; I felt completely
abandoned and vulnerable as the drunken, sadistic truckers cheered and
encouraged Mr. Spignotti above my screams and pleadings.

I looked over at Mr. Spignotti's crotch which was only a few feet from my
face and could see distinctly that his huge hard Italian cock was twitching
and turning under his fine tailored suit trousers.  There was even a wet
spot halfway to where his belly button would be letting me know without a
doubt that he enjoyed my agony immensely.  Finally he took the hot cigar,
which by now was about half smoked, away from my butt hole and cruelly
flicked his manicured index finger against his handiwork sending waves of
agony through me as the pain racked my body and sweat beads formed on my
forehead.  I was devastated that a simple index finger could produce so
much agony for me as sweat covered my body and my babbling turned to
desperate pleading and begging.

A look of great pride and pleasure spread over Mr. Spignotti's handsomely
dark features as once again our eyes locked.  He bent over so that his face
was inches from my own, I could smell the cigar on his breath as he
grunted, "Fuck you, bitch.  Now you're gonna think of me all fuckin night
long as these fine, loyal, upstanding Aryan white men over here screw your
slut hole mercilessly for the rest of the night, aint that right, slut?"
Mr. Spignotti grabbed my blond hair and twisted my face even closer with
his left hand as his right hand traced circles around my burned and
throbbing hole; again reminding me just how painful the rest of the shift
was going to be for me.  He whispered so low, his testosterone drenched
voice so quiet only he and I could hear what he said, "In fact, fuck wad,
you're gonna think of my hot cigar as these fuckers tear into that burned
hole of yours.  These fuckers are so god damned drunk there's no telling
what they're gonna do to you, babycakes, but me and my cigar sure as shit
made sure you're gonna remember me, aint that right?  You're gonna think of
me, fuck you're gonna see my handsome face, as every hard dick in the place
stretches and pounds your hole".  Suddenly his attention shifted, "I've got
an appointment with the bastards who provided these victory cigars now, but
while I'm gone you'll know deep down inside that every spasm of pain just
makes my fuckin dick harder and harder for you.  And, "he added with deep
dread in his voice, "your little pink dick is gonna stay soft as these
fuckers pound away at you, aint that so fuckwadd?  You're gonna stay soft
because you know this pleases me and you know for a certainty that if I see
a hard dick on any bitch that I've personally helped prepare, well," he
added with a slight nod to his head that told me this was a true fact, "you
know sure as shit that I'd cut the fucker off.  We understand each other
don't we?  We recognize complimentary qualities in each other, aint that
the case, bitch?  We fuckin feed off each other."  Mr. Spignotti simply
hauled off and back handed me as my head swung sideways and I could taste
blood in my mouth.  Before I could respond or even get me breath back
Mr. Spignotti had my hair in his hand and his face just inches from his own
as he stared deep into each other's eyes; a kind of understanding passed
between us and I knew for a certainty the bastards was deadly serious.

I was terrified, drenched in sweat, tears streaming down my face and was a
babbling mess by the time he finally released my head, stood over me with
his arms folded in a commanding and dominant position, looking down at me
with such disgust and hatred in his eyes.  Mr. Spignotti looked over
towards the door to the warehouse for an instant and I swear I could see
the shadows of the same two mysterious figures as he gave me a quick swift
kick to my balls and informed the drunken white truckers around that I was
"all theirs" and strutted off to greet his visitors.

As Mr. Spignotti swiftly left the warehouse the power seamlessly shifted
back to Brundt as he stood towering over my scorched, singed quivering body
admiring my predicament.  An idea seemed to hit him as he stated with
noticeably slurred speech, "Hey fuckers, this punk just aint black enough,
you know.  Ranger, bring me that tub of black powder Sarge's team used for
their tennis balls.  I've got an idea" as a wicked smile spread across his
face. Brundt took the bucket of black powder set it on the cement floor.
Soon I could hear a strong stream of trucker piss filing the bucket as the
powder became a thick black paste.  When the right consistency was reached,
and this took both Brundt's and Haystack's piss, the paste was spread over
my entire body.

I was covered from head to toe; my blond hair was slicked back and matted
close to my scalp giving the impression of a shaved hard.  Even my soft
cock and swollen balls were roughly coated with the thick goo by multiple
calloused trucker hands.  Brundt seemed particularly pleased with this, a
tiny "black" cock hanging limp between the legs of his newest "black"
trucker slut.  With a sneer on his face Brundt demeaned every black man as
he snarled, "The god damned fuckin myth of the powerful and potent black
man is gonna be proved fuckin wrong tonight men.  We're gonna prove this
falsehood wrong once and for all tonight" as drunken cheers went up all
around me.  The only parts of my not painted black were my eyelids, my pink
lips and the swollen red burnt ring of muscle and flesh around my butt
hole.  Everything else was as black as coal.  This seemed to please the
sadistic white truckers greatly as I was paraded around the warehouse to
hoots and hollers from the drunken truckers.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the glass partition of
Sarge's office and I looked like a naked Vaudeville Minstrel actor in black
face; like a stereotypic cartoon of black men from the 1920s and I knew
this was meant as much to humiliate me as Sarge and the rest of the Black
truckers.  Finally, when the slick goo had dried and absorbed deep into my
skin Brunt strode up to me, placed his hand on my slicked down head and
pushed me roughly to the floor, cruelly forced his hard cock deep into my
throat in one painful thrust as cheers went up from the white truckers
around us.

"Shit that's fuckin beautiful, god damned fuckin 'BEEE-u-ti-FUUUULLL,"
Brundt snarled. "Fuckin black face and pink lips stretched fucking tight as
a drum across the base of my strong Aryan cock, fuckin BEEE-u-ti-FFUUULLLL"
I heard the son of a bitch spit out.  "Take that you fucking low life
slut", Brundt snarled as his hairy, heavy pink balls started slamming
against my "black" chin and his dick started tearing my throat as much from
its girth and powerful thrusts as from the thick cigar ashes coating my
mouth and throat.  Tears welled as I struggled to breath and I heard the
anonymous drunken taunt, "Fuck yeah, fuck the niggas' throat man, fuck 'im
good but save some of that shit for me, man" as dozens of slurred drunken
truckers agreed.

 God help me I just couldn't get Mr. Spignotti's face and tented trousers
out of my mind as Brundt's cock forced my throat open.  I imagined a broad
smile on Mr. Spignotti's face, his cold grey eyes staring deep into my own
as I made sure my little "black" cock was still soft and limp as a sign of
respect for my sadistic, handsome all powerful Sicilian employer"

End of Chapter 21.  Please write if you've got any comments or
suggestions. It's the comments from readers that keep me writing the story
as long as I have.  Shit, fuckin twenty-one chapters.  Who fuckin knew when
I started?

   Danhol900@aol.com