Date: Tue, 4 Jul 2017 10:11:50 +0100 (BST)
From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" <rampage938@btinternet.com>
Subject: NEVER RIDE WITH STRANGERS

NEVER RIDE WITH STRANGERS

Part One

My beautiful scarlet and black Kawasaki with chrome trim was stolen some
time between eleven last night and eight this morning, while I slept the
sleep of a new-born babe in a sleazy motel bedroom with seven other
unwashed stinking guys. The fucking cops have been their usual
bloody-minded sarcastic selves and took great delight in pointing out to me
that was a period of some nine hours. One of the sods even had the
effrontery to hint that I had been shooting up! "That might explain why 'e
'eard nuffin'," he said to his mate, well within range of my
hearing. Bastards.

I must say that it could not have been any of the guys I was sharing the
room with and whoever the thieves were they could have been almost anywhere
by then, even on the Continent if they'd been quick and lucky enough to
connect with a ferry going somewhere exotic. I had to agree with the
rozzers, of course, but deep down I had a suspicion who the bastards had
been but could prove nothing. I had no idea either where to start looking
for the sods. It was the most certain thing in existence that they would
not be within a hundred miles of the doss-down squat we had all shared in
Kemp Town. With their usual air of trying to be solicitous and helpful, the
boys in blue had more or less ordered me to "...go 'ome, Mr Wearne and let
the insurance deal with it. We take it you do 'ave insurance?..." the
bloody cheek of it! "...and we'll give you a crime number for you to pass
on to your insurance people. That way it becomes official, like." I
muttered something grossly obscene and unintelligible. I was not in any
mood to deal with that nausea right there and then.

I'd been riding without a break for a full day and half a night on my way
to meet up with my butt-buddy Greg from Uni, who had moved down to the West
Country from up north for a summer of sex and surfin'. He'd invited me to
join him just as soon as I found an opportunity to stick two fingers up to
the slob who owned the greasy spoon café where I'd been forced to work
my balls off. The wages were lousy and I paid 'rent' for what he laughingly
called 'my room' by the expedient of allowing the fat slob to bugger me
until he discharged his slimy, foul smelling load over my arse whenever he
felt like it, sometimes even in full view of any customers. I often
wondered how he managed it - his weensy little dick reminded me of a
half-eaten chipolata and his balls looked like dried prunes, all wrinkly
and shrivelled. Anyway, back to my predicament and most immediate
problem. That superb piece of Japanese engineering had been an eighteenth
birthday gift from my family, my stepfather and older stepbrother in
particular. I'd been the proud owner of it for several months but now it
was only God knew where, probably stripped of everything that could be
disposed of quickly for a premium - and I had been left stuck in the middle
of nowhere. "Fuckin' hell," I thought, "I suppose I'd better phone home and
try to explain what has happened."

The call was not long and only resulted in making me more determined to be
on my way. Ma has never ceased complaining about stepfather's drinking for
as long as I can remember and she was still at it. I could never figure out
why the fuck she had gotten herself stuck with the bastard in the first
place. It was not as if he could boast a monster dick or anything. I
couldn't be sure she was still taking her medication or if it had done her
any good and sorted her out. Stepbrother Brett's in enough trouble of his
own: he's been juggling three women and trying to prevent them finding out
about each other; they've sussed he's been shafting one before moving on to
one of the other two. I told him, "...give all three of 'em a good
shagging, Brett and then either dump 'em or trade 'em in to some of your
cronies and concentrate on getting a decent newer model." Later on I said
to him, "You shouldn't have any trouble what with your looks and that
cracking package of yours, Brett. Fuck, I'd let you sodomise me with that
thing in your pants if you were my way of thinking. Get a couple of mates
in to help if necessary and have a fucking good orgy with the lot of them,
guys included." I've always thought Brett could make a packet selling his
body on the meat-rack!

My stepfather, as usual, was too pissed to do or say anything, probably
dreaming of thrashing me on my naked arse when I returned. I always knew
when he was thinking about me from the raging stiffie in his pants. It was
obvious to a blind man that it made no sense to go home. Luckily, I still
had money and a change of clothes in the backpack I always keep with
me. What I actually meant by a 'change of clothes' was an old unlaundered
T-shirt, a pair of soiled jeans badly worn through, a couple of pairs of
piss stained briefs and some thick woollen socks. The money I had was not
much but I reckoned it was enough to get me down to the coast, where I
could hitch a ride to the surfer's beach and sell my ever-ready
arsehole. Then I had a light bulb flash in my brain. "Hey, genius, why not
hitch a ride all the way? You've done it scores of times before you had the
bike, putting your arse out and about if the guys were halfway decent and
horny as fuck. Yeah, that's cool thinking, dude!"  I was already well into
my journey and that would be the quickest, easiest and cheapest way of
getting there and to Greg. I'd already calculated I'd be an old man by the
time the insurance paid out, so early afternoon found me on the road in my
T-shirt and old jeans. I'd introduced a couple more rips in the arse, just
where my cheeks met the back of my thighs. I'd also stuffed my good jeans,
a pair of brand new shreddies, a clean shirt and a thin leather jacket into
my backpack. I walked out to the road, faced my travel direction and stuck
my thumb up like a miniature dick with a hard-on.

One or two locals stopped and gave me short rides to help me on my way -
with a couple of horny gropes at my crotch, naturally! Then, at one point,
I got a ride that lasted less than half a mile down a narrow, twisting
country lane. The guy started groping me almost as soon as I got in. His
dirty, calloused hands fumbled about inside my jeans, reaching my dick
nestling behind the flimsy protection of my threadbare shreddies. He was
truly repulsive, a hideous living gargoyle. And his smell. . .phaugh!

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I snarled. "Quit groping me, you
filthy pervert. I'm not interested." He pulled over to the side of the
road, slammed on the brakes, leant over me and flung open the passenger
door.

"Fuckin' cock tease, git aht and take yer cruddy arse wiv yer. You fuckin'
kids fink rides is fer free? Yer gotta pay yer dues, boy, or else they'll
'ave yer dick an' yer nuts!" I was out of there quicker than I had got in,
I can tell you. He sputtered off down the road, muttering obscenities under
his stinking breath. Oh, it was so good to breathe fresh air again!

The daylight was fading fast and a sharp wind had sprung up, increasing in
strength every minute. Heavy dark clouds scudded across the leaden sky,
warning of a downpour on the way. It began with what they call 'mizzle'
where I'm headed, a misty drizzle that soaks into everything in sight and
long before I found the main road I was wet through. The few drivers who
passed me were in too much of a hurry to stop and pick up a sodden
hitchhiker who probably looked like a meths-ridden old tramp. No one even
bothered to slow down. The mizzle had turned to rain and it was falling in
torrents, making me feel very cold. My old T-shirt had become almost
transparent and my threadbare jeans clung to my crotch and arse like a
second skin. I was not relishing the thought of being out in the open all
night and was becoming a mite concerned about the lack of any sign of a
barn or outhouse where I could shelter from the downpour and try to warm up
a bit. I was on the verge of getting my thin leather jacket out of my
backpack when I noticed an articulated truck in the distance, heading my
way. As it got nearer, I stuck out my arse as well as my thumb in the hope
of getting a lift.

As the big truck approached it slowed and hissed to a halt in a cloud of
icy spray. A few seconds passed during which I presumed the driver was
giving me the once over, just to make sure I was not going to suddenly wave
a gun or hunting knife at him, force him to open the rear of his vehicle
and a horde of illegal immigrants would appear as if by magic and pile in,
demanding he "Tek us London." Satisfied no such thing was about to happen,
he flung open the passenger door and a gruff, gritty voice told me to get
in fast and shut the fucking door. I couldn't make out much of the driver
from the road but as I heaved myself up into the passenger seat I could
just see what the owner of the voice looked like: he was BIG. Everything
was in proportion but BIG. Nor could I see an ounce of fat on him, just
prime well maintained muscle.

"Hi! My name's Wes and thanks for stopping," I stuttered hesitantly,
extending my hand. He ignored my proffered hand but just looked me over
more intensely than he'd been able to do while I was standing on the
tarmac. He quite openly gave my crotch a lot more attention than a quick
glance. I was beginning to feel a tad uneasy at the silence. "You'll do,"
he growled, "I'm known as Bull - for reasons you'll understand when you see
me in the shower!" He made a curious sound half way between a roar and a
growl and without saying another word he slammed the truck into gear and
moved off.

* * * * *

The warmth of the cab brought my body temperature back to somewhere close
to being normal and my sodden clothes steamed gently as they began to dry
out. Bull stared straight ahead into the rain-drenched gloom, concentrating
on keeping the artic steady in the blustery gale that was threatening to
develop into a near-hurricane. I had relaxed somewhat and was trying to get
a conversation going, but I guess he was too focussed on his driving to pay
much heed to the infantile gabbling of a nearly twenty year old, albeit
said youth was clearly amply endowed and without doubt "it" was used
frequently - not just for pissing, either. All I could get out of him was
an occasional "Yup", "Nope" or "Mebbe". He was one dour, sober dude and my
feeble attempts at lightening things up with some schoolboy humour failed
to get any kind of reaction at all.

I did not feel particularly threatened by his taciturnity and anyway it
gave me an excuse to look more closely at him. He turned out to be much
better looking than I had at first supposed. I guessed he was in his mid to
late thirties. He had short-cropped hair, a trimmed moustache and a couple
of day's growth of stubble. His eyes were a strange kind of clear grey,
reminding me very much of a wolf's eyes. He was wearing a faded olive green
sweatshirt with the legend US MARINE CORPS emblazoned across the breast. It
looked to be the genuine article to me and was probably a size too small
for him, stretching across the broad expanse of his chest, his pecs and
nipples creating an almost entire range of mini-mountains under the thin
material. A pair of heavy-duty dark blue jeans supported by a broad thick
leather belt struggled to contain his rude bits and gripped his sturdy
thighs and strongly muscled legs. Big boots banged on the pedals as he
shifted gear.

My gaze was held by that belt and I could not help thinking: fuck, one
strike from that could leave my arse stinging for a week!  My eyes kept
being drawn back to Bull's belt and I could not help wondering if it had
more uses than merely holding up his jeans! In my time, I had taken strikes
on my exposed backside at school from Mr Jonas - the Maths teacher - more
than once, always when I'd fucked up with my homework or not bothered with
it all. On one memorable occasion when I'd goofed real bad with a simple
problem, Mr Jonas made me drop my trousers and briefs in front of the whole
class and he'd really laid into me. He had given my tender twelve-year old
naked arse such a pasting the rest of the class witnessed my first full
hard-on as it dribbled a clear sticky liquid from my cock slit all over the
classroom floor. It certainly wasn't piss! I was made to lick the mess up
until that fucking floor was cleaner than it had been for decades.

Bull caught me staring at the belt and threw me a thin-lipped, menacing
sneer, prompting my speculations to take a darker turn. Would he ever use
it on me, to teach me some manners and respect and to show deference to my
elders and betters? He must have seen my crotch bulging and know I was
already rock hard. I pictured him flexing his arm and the belt, giving me
the order, "Bend over, boy." I felt a muscle twitch deep inside my arse and
my dick slit began leaking pre-cum - just like at school - at the idea of
taking a bare-ass beating, being thrashed so hard that I could dump a load
in front of him - quite likely as I had not had time to jerk off before I
left and as a consequence had about eight to ten days of cum stored in my
balls to get rid of! He had to see how desperate I was. I hastily turned
away and looked out of the side window of the cab at the sodden fields
flashing past, hoping Bull had clocked my hard-on and the rapidly expanding
damp patch in the fly of my jeans. By now the warmth in the cabin and the
mesmerising thrum of the vehicle's heavy tyres on the wet tarmac were
making me feel sleepy. Without the stimulus of conversation I inevitably
dropped off. The next thing I became aware of was the artic slowing down
and pulling up on to a rough, potholed gravelled area in front of a kind of
stopover place for weary HGV drivers and their crews (or illegal passengers
like me.) It clearly provided food and motel style cabins where they could
snatch a shower and a few hours sleep. A few other trucks and a couple of
cars were already parked up. I apologised to Bull for dropping off but he
didn't seem to care one jot. He was obviously totally indifferent to me.

"Don't bother yerself about it, Wes," he growled, "I always stop off 'ere
on this run and rest up for a while. If yer 'ungry you can join me for a
meal."

I was feeling ravenous as well as horny so I jumped at the chance of
getting some hot food inside me...and maybe something else! Once inside the
place, I went off to the toilet to make good use of it. Sitting in a
cubicle I wondered where I was going to spend the rest of the night. Was I
expected to find a place for myself or would Bull insist on me sharing his
cabin and his bed? Nothing had been suggested or even vaguely hinted at: in
fact, the subject had not been mentioned at all. Finally, I concluded that
Bull was probably used to being alone and I should just find a room for
myself. I came out of the cubicle and found the washroom was surprisingly
busy. As I leant over a hand basin to wash my hands, I felt several men
touch my butt as they brushed past. I supposed my old jeans being stretched
tight over my buns were giving an inviting view of my arse to anyone who
had fucking on his mind. I thought that just maybe it might not be too
difficult to find a place for the night after all. Only one question
remained to be answered. What price would I have to pay?

I quickly found the table where Bull had said to join him. As I sat down
opposite him, he growled, "I've ordered you a rump steak, medium rare. It's
the best fucking thing going in this dive. If you don't want it, I can eat
two but you'll 'ave to take yer chances with somethin' else." I thanked him
and said it was fine. He seemed to be a little more relaxed now that he
didn't have to concentrate so hard on his driving. He was also becoming
more talkative as the food and steamy warmth of the place worked their
magic on him.

"Where you gonna stay the night, kid?"

"I dunno Bull, but I'll find a place somewhere."

"Take my advice and watch out, boy. Some of the creeps in this joint would
give their last penny to give someone as young and tasty as you a good
fuck." He said no more and we sat looking silently at each other. "Look,
matey, I've booked a room and there's two beds in it. One of 'em's yours if
you want it." The thought of spending the night in the same room next to
this hunk caused my gonads to start itching and my dick to resume its
throbbing. I jumped at the offer.

"That'd be great, Bull. Thanks."

"OK, I'll settle the bill." He tossed over the keys to the room. "If you
need a shower there's one with the room. I'll be along later as I've got
some business to sort out first."

He got up and strode off down the room, greeting people he knew until he
got to the far end of the building, where a small bar had been set up. I
last saw him in a huddle with a group of guys who greeted him with whoops
and yells. I should have been on instant alert when I noticed several of
these guys glance over in my direction with dirty, lascivious grins spread
across their faces. My head yelled at me to get out of there but my balls
persuaded me to hang around and maybe catch some raunchy fun. That night I
was to learn the hard way you should never, ever let your cock and balls
override your brain!

* * * * *

I found the accommodation Bull had rented easily enough. It turned out to
be a small cabin standing on its own some distance from the main cafeteria
block. A momentary doubt crossed my mind: it looked to be too far away from
the main building for any cries or screams to be heard, particularly late
at night. However, at twenty you quickly tell yourself, "Yer a fuckin'
stupid bastard, Wes. You can look after yerself!"

The cabin was cleaner inside than I had expected and was comfortably
furnished with a couple of armchairs, a desk, an old-fashioned wardrobe, an
ageing TV set and two double beds. I switched on the TV but there must have
been a fault somewhere with the Hold as the picture simply kept on
scrolling down the screen. I took off my damp footwear, jeans, skivvies and
T-shirt and stretched out naked on one of the beds. There was only one
persistent thought going through my head: was Bull expecting anything from
me? He'd said nothing to make me think he would, but in my mind I suspected
some payment 'in kind' should be anticipated. I had to be honest and admit
to myself that I would probably enjoy whatever he would demand of me by way
of 'payment'. These thoughts started to make me feel horny again and my
cock was rising. I decided to go for a shower and let the stinging nettles
of hot water sluice away the sweaty crud of a long day's travelling so I
slipped my skimpy thin briefs on again and spent several minutes under the
soothing jets of steamy water. It may seem strange to some but I've always
enjoyed showering with my knickers on ever since that day at school when I
had forgotten to take them off after a gym session. I always enjoy the feel
of warm wet cotton clinging to my arse and cradling my dick and balls.

I was so preoccupied with enjoying myself that I did not hear Bull come up
behind me so I decided to give him a little bit of a show. I made out I had
not seen him, dropped my briefs and slowly lathered my fully stimulated
cock and balls, pushing a couple of soapy fingers up my chute just to tease
him a little, still making out I did not know anyone was there. I turned
round and feigned surprise and mild embarrassment to see him there, gazing
at my nude body. I need not have gone through that charade as he was also
buck naked and obviously ready for action. I could see now why he had been
christened "Bull". His entire body seemed to fill the shower room and my
eyes were riveted on the spectacular rampant cock protruding thick and hard
between his muscular thighs. He moved in and joined me under the hot
spray. As he moved next to me his sheer bulk forced me to back up against
the wall. Without a word he put his hands on my shoulders and forced me
down on to my knees. My face was level with his massive, fully engorged,
pre-cum dripping cock, aimed directly at my mouth. Holding my head steady
he used his hips to guide his weapon towards me. He spoke for the first
time since he had returned. "Open wide, boy. This cock needs some fast,
hard attention." I tried to protest that I could not possibly take such a
huge cock down my gullet but as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, he
drove the tip of his cock into it. His grip tightened on the sides of my
head. I pulled back only for my head to bang against the wall. There was no
way to escape. He shifted his weight and leant into me. My mouth could not
stretch any further and I felt panic setting in as he continued to force
his puissant cock down my gullet. I gagged, fighting for breath but he kept
on pushing. There was very little room in that confined space but he did
eventually allow me to move my head slightly when he saw my face turning a
delicate shade of purple. I was able to ease the discomfort in my
obstructed throat but my jaw was locked, every sinew and muscle in my neck
distended and tensed. There was no way I could even have bitten down on the
bastard!

Slowly, painfully, he began to withdraw. I thought for a moment he must
have noticed the look of fear and panic welling up in my eyes and was about
to ease up on the abuse but I was soon made to think again. Roughly pulling
his cock a few inches out of my arse he slammed it back in, ripping into
the tense, delicate membranes at the back of my throat. Using his hands, he
rocked my head back and forth, faster and faster, banging it against the
dripping wall. I heard a loud gushing resonance inside my head and realised
it was caused by my blood pounding through my veins. This, combined with
the cascading shower tumultuously beating down on me and coupled with
brutish grunts from Bull, made me feel I was on the verge of slipping into
semi-consciousness.

As his pace grew even more frenzied, I struggled to get my breathing under
some degree of control. A few demonically frenetic moments later he thrust
his hips into my face. I was firmly locked into position and could not even
move as his thick bush of wiry pubic hair crackled against my upper lip and
nose. I felt the vigorous throbbing of that monstrously swollen cock firmly
lodged in my throat as his seminal discharge upsurged from the root of his
cock, along the rigid shaft and fired directly down into my stomach. He
held me there for a few more moments, just to make sure the last drops of
sperm had been drained from his cock and some of its rigidity had lessened,
then he slowly withdrew. I felt demolished, crushed, but still had enough
strength to push past him into the bedroom. Gasping for air I threw open a
window and leant out, trying to snatch deep breaths of the cold night air
into my lungs but my throat was still raw from the pounding it had taken
and felt as if he was still implanted there.

I let out a hoarse, screeching yell as a sudden bolt of liquid fire struck
my arse and spread with the speed of a forest fire to my groin. The first
crack of that heavy leather belt on the soft young flesh of my quivering
buttocks sent a wave coursing through my body of extraordinary,
unbelievable desire to be severely thrashed by that belt. That first strike
was immediately followed by another, then another. I roared and yelled but
I knew I did not truly want the flogging to come to an end. The jukebox in
the café had been turned up to full volume and heavy metal rock music
thumped into the night easily drowning my cries of agony. My arse was on
fire and my cock had stiffened to such a degree I feared it might rupture a
blood vessel. It was harder than I had ever known it to be before, dripping
strings of clear sticky fluid on to the sperm stained dirty carpet. I now
knew what Bull used that thick leather belt for as he continued his
merciless lashing of my defenceless body. I roared, writhed, screamed and
squirmed as blow after blow descended with increasing ferocity across my
scalding arse cheeks. With one final heavy strike of the belt, the beating
ended as suddenly as it had begun. I collapsed where I stood by the window
and heard the door open and then slam shut. I raised my tear stained face
and looked round, only to discover I was alone. Bull had gone.

Part Two to follow.

Laurie <rampage938>