Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2006 17:26:17 EDT
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #8

Mr. Spignotti's story was interrupted when Johnny Smithson, the Black kid
who'd taunted me as I came in 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 heading to the bathroom
because he had to take a wicked piss.  Mr. Spignotti just laughed and said,
"Why waste your steps fucker, you've got a willing toilet right here, all
spread out and just waiting for some 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 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 seemed to love 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 backhand, 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 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 him to know he 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 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 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 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 pisses me off to think a little
faggot is enjoying this shit.  You know that, scumbag?" And this time I
nodded my head in the affirmative on my own.  "Shit, this hard faggot's
hard cock is mocking, fuck no it's taunting, this entire room full of
fucking real men.  I want to see that little useless pink dick of your 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.  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 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 it.  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 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 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 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 your time and 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 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.

This is the end of Chapter 8.  Please let me know if you are enjoying this
true story so far.  Comments welcome, send to

Danhol900@aol.com