Date: Tue, 11 Apr 2006 16:16:40 EDT
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #7

Brutal Trucker Sex Chapter 7.
Mr. Spignotti's turn.

Mr. Spignotti knelt down and with his mouth near my ear whispered so as not
to disturb the exhausted and drained truckers, "Shit faggot, I know you
enjoyed the fuck out of that and we're not even close to being done yet.
Your hard little dickie here told everybody that.  I know your tight little
pussy and throat are still pulsing like my men are still pounding away at
you, aren't they cunt?"  And he was right, it was like my body had some
kind of nervous and muscular memory and I could still feel the rigid cocks
of the truckers tearing into me causing increasing levels of pain and
humiliation even though the actual rape had stopped.  This physical memory
is like when you've spent the whole day on the ocean and can still feel the
rocking even on land.  In this case it wasn't rocking but fucking, gagging
and cumming inside my holes I could feel.  It made me feel violated anew,
psychologically this time, to think that Mr. Spignotti knew my inner most
thoughts and feelings.  I tried to block this out and fight against this
new intrusion.

And yet, very quietly Mr. Spignotti coaxed me into a trance; reliving the
horrors of the brutal gang rape I had just endured.  With my arms and legs
still duct taped to the four legs of the table I was completely vulnerable
and at the mercy of whatever these horny sadists wanted.  I vaguely
remembered that several times during the last 4 or 5 hours there had been
similar lulls when I had allowed myself to imagine that the tortures were
over, only to be disappointed with the arrival of fresh horny truckers or
the awakening of those asleep on the cots and floor.  Now I had the man who
had planned this whole thing, the brutal sadistic leader of them all,
whispering in my ear that there was a hell of a lot more that I'd have to
endure before I "got the job".  Got the job, got the job?!!  I couldn't
believe it, I'd have run like hell if I could get out of there but as it
was I was forced to endure whatever Mr. Spignotti and his men wanted.  I
tried to tell him that but my mouth and voice had stopped working hours ago
and all I could do was croak out some garbled and incomprehensible
gibberish.

Mr. Spignotti loved that fact that his men had subdued me, broken me and
used me with such devastating results that I was unable to even voice my
objections.  "They've fucked the voice right out of you, haven't they
sweetheart?" he snidely commented.  Next, he mockingly pretended to
understand my comments and added words to my mouth that I did not intend to
say but could not rebuke.  He said things like, "Yes baby, I know you want
more hard trucker cock", "just can't seem to get enough can you sweetie
pie?". "OK beautiful, we'll wake up your boyfriends here for more fun" and
"What's that sweet cakes, you say your butt hole is just aching for more
poundin, you disgusting slut you" The distain was clear in his whispered
voice and it was obvious he considered me beneath contempt.  I had long ago
figured out that when Mr. Spignotti hated you he addressed you with terms
of endearment and when he wanted to express camaraderie he called you
insulting names like shithead of asshole.  Many times during the night he'd
addressed his men as "fuckers" or "scumbags" or worse but for me it was
obvious that he viewed me with utter contempt with sweet musings.

He added, "I've got to admit, the boys sure seemed to get a kick out of
you; but now it's my turn to play, you like that idea baby?"  My mouth was
unable to form the words of my true feelings but to add insult to my
degradation Mr. Spignotti grabbed my hair and forced my head to nod in the
affirmative and said mockingly, "I thought you'd want that baby and I'm
sure you want me to really enjoy myself, don't you, you baby?" The anger
again grew in his voice and I was getting scared about exactly what this
sadistic and powerful man had in mind.  After all, if these horny truckers,
who really only wanted to release their pent up cum, could cause me so much
pain and damage; what would a man like Mr. Spignotti, who obviously enjoyed
my pain and degradation, do?

With Mr. Spignotti on his knees, still dressed in his expensive suit at my
head, and me tied to the table legs with duct tape he got my head into a
painful head lock and held me tight and pressed his mouth even closer to my
ear as he started to trace the manicured forefinger nail of his right hand
along my sore and brutalized body.  Each touch caused me incredible pain
and I found myself concentrating solely on his melodious voice in my ear
and the sliding of his nail along my skin.  My body involuntarily twitched
with his touch.  He purred into my ear with his guttural voice, "You love
the pain this single finger is causing you ain't you sweetie pie?"  He
dragged his nail slowly and painfully across my stretched body enjoying my
uncontrollable physical reactions, my skin twitched and reddened everywhere
he touched me.

"You lost your voice while Madd-dog was fucking the shit out of you, do you
remember that, sweetheart?  Thought we'd have to turn on the radio or
something to drown out the fucking screams but all you accomplished besides
loosing your voice was to bring in a few more truckers that I hadn't even
thought to include.  Shit, babycakes, your `love callin' brought in some of
the worst fuckers in the place and they really got my balls boiling watchin
`em havin fun", he informed me to my embarrassment and shame.

Then Mr. Spignotti did something that was totally surprising to me, he
dragged his finger back along my spine causing a shiver until his finger
rode over my butt cheeks and onto my hard sore and swollen cock and balls.
I'd been so intent on the truckers using my mouth and butt hole for their
sadistic pleasures and urgent release that I had completely forgotten my
own needs.  Mr. Spignotti sensed my body stiffen in recognition of this
fact and whispered in my ear, "Yes siree baby, your cock has been rock hard
the whole time they were fucking the shit out of you.  That's the only
thing that kept the fuckers going, baby, knowing that you were enjoying it
all, despite your `innocent pleadings' and protests.  But shit, boy, I'm
not like them.  It was your fuckin pleading that kept my dick hard the
whole time".

My body had betrayed my true inner most feelings, the feelings I could not
bring my self to admit before, that I loved the pain and humiliation these
men had caused me, that fulfilling their needs at my own expense fed some
kind of inner hunger in me and that I felt contented and satisfied because
of it.  I had unwittingly encouraged the brutal truckers to be as rough and
aggressive as they wanted.

Suddenly I realized my balls were painfully full to overflowing, but I knew
instinctively Mr. Spignotti wasn't about to relieve their pent up pressure
anytime soon.  A man like him would relish the total control he had over me
and use it against me for his own pleasure.  He gently stroked his finger
nail across my hard cock to allow me to concentrate on my needs as he kept
me just shy of climax and retold the story of the last 5 hours in a
whispered testosterone drenched dialog.  He asked me if I remembered the
new game the truckers had developed tonight called "honey buns hockey"?
"You're a fuckin star player sweetheart, a fuckin MVP" he chided me.

I vaguely remembered, or had the memories implanted, as Mr. Spignotti
clearly relished telling me about a struggle that developed while I was
taking one horny trucker in each end.  The one at my butt started thrusting
so hard he knocked the other out of my mouth and shoved the table about 6"
forward in the process.  Well the pissed off trucker at my mouth got back
in my mouth and shoved forward and the table then moved about 4" back the
other way.  A rivalry soon developed as each man tried to show his
superiority by fucking me harder and moving the table back and forth in the
process.

There was good-natured taunting between the brutes initiated and encouraged
by Mr. Spignotti himself.  I felt shame as I recalled that I knew
intuitively that the only way I could make the painful game end was if I
was to make each trucker cum as quickly as possible.  I worked my ass
muscles and throat muscle to try to end the game sooner.  My shame came
from the fact that Mr. Spignotti knew me so intimately that he knew my
thoughts.  Of course for these men the one who shoved the hardest and held
out the longest won the contest.  It didn't take long for the men to form
teams, with Mr. Spignotti's encouragement, so that once one team member
succumbed to the inevitable and dumped his slimy trucker's load inside one
hole his teammate took his place.  The table apparently made several
complete rounds of the room since it was in one corner when I was first
taped to it and on the complete other side now, who knew how many trips
across I'd been driven but the sound of satisfaction in Mr. Spignotti's
voice indicated I'd make several crossings.

Mr. Spignotti then informed me, "You know we have a Honey Buns Hockey
Champion, don't you?" He nodded in the direction of a large, muscular man
of about 45 stretched out on a cot.  "That there is Vinton Brundt and I
promised the winner that when it was time to send you on the road he'd get
first crack at you for shotgun.  Shit, the fucker tore you up pretty good
so I guess we'll need to toughen you up before I send you cross country
with that bastard, baby cakes.  But you'd like that wouldn't you Vinton?"
he asked the trucker on the cot.  The trucker half-opened his eyes and just
smiled.

Vinton Brundt looked gigantic lying down, at least 6-3 and about 300 lbs of
maturing muscle and black body hair.  Brandt looked like a man who had
outgrown his own skin with bulging chest, arms and legs and shaved head, a
thick walrus-like salt and pepper goatee and black hair on chest arms legs,
balls, back and ass crack with tattoos on his arms, shoulders, and back.
He had about 5 days stubble on his chin and a prominent dark unibrow and a
sloping forehead, thick lips and large flat nose that may have been broken
in more then a few fist fights.  Most scary to me however were his cold
blue-grey eyes and his evil smile and crocked teeth.  He had the look of a
man who knows what he wants and takes it without regard to anyone he
considers beneath him.  Vinton Brandt had a body and face that combined the
looks of a trucker with those of a biker.  The thought of being at his
mercy for an entire cross country trip in a rig made me scared but
strangely also made my cock jerked a little. Mr. Spignotti and Brundt both
noticed and shared a knowing look and laugh at my shame.  My face reddened
as my shame was exposed.

Mr. Spignotti then continued in his smooth masculine voice telling me how
he imagined my cross-country trip with Brundt would go; as much for me as
to let Brundt know what he expected.  He informed me that, "Brundt would
probably call all his buddies on the CB and suggest a private meeting
place, maybe a greasy spoon, truck stop lounge, adult book store or ware
house like this anywhere across the country.  Then he'd pass around the
polaroids of you tonight to give the men ideas and maybe suggest a game of
`hockey' to warm up the men.  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 `hockey'
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, sheer volume", Mr. Spignotti informed him with a
sadistic smile shared between the two.

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 shard 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 from
both Mr. Spignotti and Brundt.


This is as good a place to end installment #7 as any.  I'm working to put
my memories of the next part on that night down now.  Comments and
suggestions welcome.  Let me know what you think.

Danhol900@aol.com