Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2006 17:34:32 EST
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #23

Recap of Chapter 22:

...After that day I never saw little Timmy again.  But the rumors were
flying; some said he was "adopted" by one of the Black truckers on the west
coast as his co-driver and that he ended up being put to work by him at
truck stops, local bars in all Black neighborhoods and even at every
delivery he made if any brothers expressed an interest.  These rumors were
mostly spread by the Black truckers while the White truckers all said he
left trucking and became a clerk in a factory in Cleveland.  I guess we'll
never know for sure.

Mr. Spignotti announced with pride in his voice.  "Get some sleep
sweetheart.  Tomorrow's Saturday and you've got your first date.  That's
right sweetie pie, I'm taking you out for a date tonight.  And you're gonna
really enjoy yourself too," as he broke into degrading laughter.  I heard
Sarge ask him snidely, "Gonna take the bitch to the Pleasure Trove are you
Boss?" as nasty snickers around me sent shivers down my spine even though I
had no idea what the Pleasure Trove was...

Chapter 23

The day after the Dodge Ball and Bocce Ball games was Saturday, technically
a day off for me but I wasn't about to mention this to Mr. Spignotti and
risk his wrath.  It turned out however that Mr. Spignotti didn't plan on
taking me out on a date to the Pleasure Trove; a place I later discovered
was a private club where white pussy boys were routinely subjected to
horrific interminable periods of painful aggressive sex and rape at the
hands of horny dominant Black men.  This club is well known to the readers
of Jarrod's story "Raw Recruits".  Instead he took me out to a fine Italian
restaurant called Acapella on Hudson Street in the Tribecca Neighborhood
just across the Holland Tunnel from Jersey City.  The restaurant was famous
then for the finest Italian food in New York and probably still is today
for all I know.  The service was white linen and the staff was all male in
black Tuxedos and white glove service.  Before he arrived to pick me up for
our "date" Mr. Spignotti made sure that I bathed and was given appropriate
clothes for the evening.  He sent out to the shed a pair of super tight
Gloria Vanderbuilt jeans and pink polo shirt and a monogrammed cashmere
sweater to wrap around my shoulders in the fashion of the day.  Sarge's
boot camp had really toned my body, my six pack abdomen rippled through the
pink polo shirt, my legs looked long and muscled, and the jeans made my
chiseled bubble butt stand out and my semi hard cock filled the brass
buttoned front to perfection.  The clothes fit me like a glove, as
Mr. Spignotti seemed to have planned.  I felt great for the first time
since I'd first entered George Kincaid's cab that fateful afternoon only
three weeks earlier.

Mr. Spignotti even arranged for a town car to take us around the city and
he was clearly a sort of celebrity walking or driving along the streets of
Little Italy.  Everyone shook his hand.  Some even bowed slightly and
kissed the back of his hand as sign of respect.  I was completely ignored
by Mr. Spignotti and his acquaintances; like I was not worth their time or
attention. I took this slight with good nature however; after all less than
eleven hours earlier I'd been on my hands and knees with grimy trucker cock
violently pounding my mouth and butt hole with old cooling congealing semen
dripping down my chin and thighs.  I was, after all, just a trucker slut
now but at least Mr. Spignotti was pleased enough with me to bring me out
in public.  I even found myself with an erection from the simple pleasure
of his company and attention.

If an acquaintance did take notice of me Mr. Spignotti rejected my
significance with a dismissive wave of his fine manicured hand mumbling
something in Italian that I couldn't understand and immediately shared a
few of "my Polaroids".  Both men would immediately collapse in laughter at
my expense.  Several of these pictures were even passed around to other
handsome swarthy Italian men simply passing by as my shame returned and my
downcast face reddened.  Still a part of me enjoyed the fact that these
strangers knew exactly what I was, what I could do, what this strong
handsome man had subjected me to and all my many special talents, and my
hard dick confirmed the fact for all to see.  The Gloria Vanderbuilts left
nothing to the imagination as my hard dick twisted and turned with each new
bout of derisive laughter.  Mr. Spignotti was like a kid at Christmas as he
showed his favorite new toy to his friends.  I was glad he was enjoying
himself, even if it was at my expense.  He worked long hard hours running
the trucking company and he certainly deserved a little fun.

At Acapella Mr. Spignotti was greeted like he owned the place, given his
personal private table, a leather clad booth along the back wall.  The
maître d', in his fine black tuxedo, wavy shiny black hair and thick black
moustache, olive complexion and piercing black eyes seemed like a familiar,
if reserved, old friend.  Mr. Spignotti ordered for himself only,
explaining that he was going to be meeting two business associates shortly.
Not once did the handsome maître d' even acknowledge my presence and in
truth I didn't have the nerve to ask whether I'd be eating tonight too.
Mr. Spignotti's conversation with me was pleasant and polite, discussing
banalities like the weather and how I liked the clothes.  The only time I
was even acknowledged to a stranger was when the busboy came by to place
the silverware.  Mr. Spignotti asked him to set two more places and when
the young Italian busboy, probably just eighteen like myself, started to
place silverware in front of me he stopped the lad, saying something to him
in Italian and showing him some of the Polaroids as well.  A quick
conspiratorial Italian conversation passed between Mr. Spignotti and the
busboy, the maître d' and even the head chef.  The three joined in the
animated conversation at the table enjoying my photos and laughing and
smacking each other on the back.  They all really enjoy the embarrassing
photos at my expense as was clear by the beads of sweat on their foreheads,
their flushed faces and tented tuxedo trousers.

The only information I could discern was that apparently I wasn't going to
be eating at the table this evening but by the hand movements and knowing
looks it seemed like there was some changes that were needed in the kitchen
for me.  The young busboy hurried into the kitchen smiling broadly with a
fistful of Polaroids and a hard dick that was clearly tenting the front of
his uniform.  I began to get a little nervous at this point; suddenly not
so sure that Mr. Spignotti invited me out for my sparkling repartee or
engaging personality.

Once the superficial conversation wound down I noticed that every table
immediately around us was filled with groups for three or four high powered
business men in fine tailored silk imported suits just like
Mr. Spignotti's.  In fact there were no women or children in the entire
restaurant, as if there was some kind of unwritten rule for the comfort of
these VIP patrons.  When he was tired of passing pleasantries Mr. Spignotti
simply looked me squarely in the eyes.  "Know what fuckface", he snarled
like the domineering boss I knew from the warehouse, "I feel like getting
my fuckin dick sucked while I wait for my guests.  Climb under the table
and put your fuckin talents to use.  Do it now!" he commanded.

I was completely taken aback; my hard dick immediately shrunk as a gleam
shined in Mr. Spignotti's eyes as if he could read my mind and my dick.
Here I thought Mr. Spignotti really enjoyed my company; that he was in
someway proud of me.  I even convinced myself that sharing my Polaroids
with strangers was a way for him to show others something about me that he
was proud of.  Instead, I realized, I was only here to provide him pleasure
and a distraction while he waited.  I imagined that I felt the way that
uncounted numbers of male and female hookers before me had felt at the
hands of this achingly handsome domineering Sicilian man.  Completely
devastated and limp-dicked I quietly slid under the table only to discover
that the table cloth didn't go down to the floor and every patron in the
restaurant would have a clear view as I took Mr. Spignotti's lengthening
cock into my mouth.

The visibility didn't seem to bother him at all as he let out a huge sigh
of pleasure with each downward stroke of my mouth.  My practice with
trucker cock had really improved my cock sucking technique as I started to
deep throat Mr. Spignotti as soon as his cock was rigid and dripping
precum.  He even grabbed my head between his huge manicured paws and
shouted, "Here's your fuckin meal fuckface!  Swallow my fuckin dick
cocksucker!" and started slamming my throat down his rigid cock to the
base.  Visitors would saunter over to the table to converse with him and
they'd have a completely normal conversation; ignoring the fact that
Mr. Spignotti was hunched over in the leather banquette pounding my face
for all he was worth.  Clearly his friends were well acquainted with this
particular desire and found nothing wrong with a powerful, strong and
virile man like Mr. Spignotti relieving such a common biological need while
enjoying a fine meal among good friends and business associates.  To these
fine upstanding business tycoons a throat, a butt hole or a pussy were all
the same.  Any hole was good enough to fuck as long as there was a desire
by the superior members of this select club.

Mr. Spignotti didn't seem to worry about making too much noise as he
pounded my throat; enjoying the involuntary grunts that each vicious upward
thrust produced as he tore into my sensitive throat opening.  Mr. Spignotti
even developed a type of rhythm as every third plunge he's bury his rock
hard Sicilian cock to the root so that his full, heavy, hairy balls slammed
hard against my chin.  Without the ability of making eye contact, because
the table and white table cloth prevented this, he seemed to need to hear
the pain and humiliation he was inflicting on me as I struggled for air at
the mercy of this strong and powerful man in more ways that I had
previously imagined.

The causal conversations continued and I knew that no matter what
Mr. Spignotti chose to do to me under the table there was no one in the
establishment who was going to stop him.  He could suffocate me with that
huge piece of meat and there was nothing I could do.  All I could hope for
was that this new assault would end quickly with a huge load of
Mr. Spignotti's sperm pumped down my throat.

As the rigid piece of flesh pummeled my throat I tried to remember just
what Mr. Spignotti's sperm tasted like.  I could remember the subtle
differences of each and every trucker's cum as he dumped his load in my
mouth but for the life of me I couldn't remember what Mr. Spignotti's sperm
tasted like.  Then I realized that for all the times I was used by him for
his relief not once had I ever tasted Mr. Spignotti's cum.  In fact, every
time he climaxed I realized it was always into a condom as if I was somehow
an inferior piece of shit and not worthy of such a high class man's cum. I
remembered anew my sense of humiliation and inferiority as Mr. Spignotti
unloaded into a piece of rubber rather than soil his seed with me.  It felt
as if I wasn't even good enough to be a receptacle for his sperm; but
tonight there was no condom, there was a chance to finally serve as
Mr. Spignotti's cum bag and to taste the sweet nectar that had been so long
denied.

I started sucking and swallowing his rock hard cock with more enthusiasm
then I'd even given a man before in my life, groaning with pleasure each
time his cock rammed home to let him know just how much I wanted his cock
and his cum inside me.  It was as if he could read my mind and this new
yearning of mine; to finally be allowed to taste his cum only seemed to
enrage him further.  While still firmly held under the table Mr. Spignotti
started one of the most violent throat rapes I had ever endured, slamming
his cock so hard and deep inside my throat time and time again that my head
was slammed equally hard against the table.  BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM
the rapid fire pounding of his cock and my head echoed throughout the
restaurant.  BAM, BAM, BAM it continued unabated as it soon became clear
that my intentions had not produced the desired effect and that
Mr. Spignotti was more than capable of continuing the vicious assault
longer than my throat could hold out.

I started to be concerned for my safety as the brutal throat assault
continued for what felt like hours and tears streamed down my face.
Occasionally he'd burry his cock deep and hold it there as I struggled for
breath.  Mr. Spignotti could tell my face was turning blue; enjoying the
retching sounds of my involuntary choking and gagging on his monster
Italian cock.  I imagined the casual appreciative glances from his peers in
the surrounding tables as every man in the room knew, to one extent or
another, the pleasure Mr. Spignotti was getting at the expense of my
throat.  A sort of warm haze of testosterone-fueled camaraderie filled the
restaurant.  Still Mr. Spignotti refused to limit his overwhelming assault
on my poor traumatized throat hole.

Finally, two pairs of fine polished dress shoes, with distinctive red mud
staining both pairs, appeared at the table side.  Mr. Spignotti mercifully
dropped my head, ripped his hard cock from my throat in one violent heave
leaving me gasping for air on the floor under the table.  In my
oxygen-starved haze I realized that that particular type of red mud is
unique to the NJ meadowlands in the entire region.  I was immediately
curious why these men in fine tailored suits would be walking around a
wasteland like the meadowlands of NJ.  By the time I regained full
awareness Mr. Spignotti had apparently greeted his guests and seemed to be
negotiating a business deal in either Italian or Spanish; I didn't speak
either so their secrets were safe from me.

Without missing a beat, Mr. Spignotti simply motioned to his still rock
hard cock under the table and I knew what I had to do.  I crawled up onto
all fours and allowed him to slam his cock deep into my throat once again.
My gagging sounds raised chuckles from his guests as ever the hospitable
host he cruelly grabbed me by my blond hair and shuttled my face over to
the lab on his right.  Without ceremony, or a lull in the business
conversation this new cock continued where Mr. Spignotti left off as again
the sounds of hard cock tearing deep into my throat echoed throughout the
restaurant.  In a relatively short time guest number one plunged deep into
my throat and held me there as I could feel rope after rope of hot, slimy
man-seed spurting into my throat.  There was no need to swallow, in fact
with the cock buried to the root like it was there was no way to swallow,
the sperm simply slid unimpeded into my gullet.

Again, without an apparent break in the negotiations my head was passed
further around the table to guest number two who continued to thrust and
pound his rock hard monstrously thick uncut tan cock hard and deep into my
throat.  This guy was merciless and really seemed to enjoy stuffing my
throat and blocking my air flow until I couldn't take any more then ripping
it out and enjoy my gagging and retching under the table.  He was putting
on a show for Mr. Spignotti and the other patrons of Acapella as it was
clear to everyone that he was a very powerful and dangerous individual who
had very little regard for human life, especially one so inferior and low
as would willing allow himself to be put under a restaurant table with an
anonymous cock buried deep down his throat spewing ropes of hot slimy cum
into his stomach.

Finally, I was passed onto Mr. Spignotti again as he continued the assault,
punctuating each and every demand of the negotiation with a powerful thrust
into my throat accentuated with a squeal of agony from me.  We made quite
an intimidating team to the negotiator; like he was going to kill me, so
brutal and vicious was the painful assault.  However, unlike his guests
Mr. Spignotti pulled his cock from my throat just shy of his orgasm and
shot his sperm in long thick streams starting from my blond hair, into my
eyes and across my left cheek and finally dribbling onto my chin.  For his
post orgasmic pleasure Mr. Spignotti rubbed his hot and slimy load of
swimmers all over my face with his cock but not once was I given the
pleasure of tasting his seed or feeling the pleasure of this powerful man's
cock twitching in ecstasy or pumping load after load of sperm into my
mouth.

Without comment I heard the maitre d' approach the table and after a brief
conversation I heard Mr. Spignotti announce loud enough for the surrounding
tables to hear, "Just think of this as a tip for all the great service you
and the boys in the kitchen have given me and the organization over the
years".  Then after the maitre d' said something in Italian Mr. Spignotti
replied, "Think nothing of it my good man.  Me and these fine Honduran
gentlemen will need a little privacy with out the prying ears of this
lousy, no good trucker slut".  I was lifted none too gently by the maitre
d' to my feet and led through the restaurant with all eyes staring at my
ruffled hair and slime covered face, my circumstances were clear for all to
see.

I was roughly pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen and
dropped onto my knees directly in front of the head chef by a vicious gut
punch.  The chef seemed to have been waiting for me with his pants down
around his ankles, his grimy, stained apron lifted high and his huge hard
cock pointed directly at my upturned astonished face.  Chef Ricardo was a
huge muscular man, around 45 years old, at least 6-2" tall, salt and pepper
hair and goatee and the comfortable wide girth of an accomplished chef who
enjoyed the fruits of his own labor.  Currently he was also clearly a man
with a real need to empty his huge low hanging, hairy, swarthy Italian
balls and deposit some fine Bologna swimmers into a hot receptive hole.  My
astonished mouth seemed to be a fine place at the moment.  Without a word
he grabbed my head and started pummeling my throat like there was no time
to spare.  Apparently a fine Italian restaurant like Acapella is a very
busy place and if a man has the need to drop a load on the job he needs to
be fast, he needs to be efficient and he needs to be ruthless towards both
his coworkers and the slut taking his load...

End of Chapter 23.  Please let me know if you're enjoying the story.  As
I've written some of my readers I am in the process of ending this story
and expect maybe two or three more chapters to accomplish this.  I'd like
to hear what you think.  Comments are welcome at;

  danhol900@aol.com