Date: Tue, 5 Dec 2006 17:35:17 EST
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #24

Recap of Chapter 23:

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...

Brutal Trucker Sex
Chapter 24

Suddenly the frantic chef propelled my kneeling frame over towards a
counter across the room until my head was firmly wedged between his
gyrating hips and the cold hard supports of the counter.  Almost
immediately Chef Ricardo threw his arms up and "air fucked" me.  You know
like playing an air guitar except my head served as the guitar and his dick
was scratching out a fuckin wild rockin and rollin rhythm with my throat.

I knew it was useless to try to fight the huge menacing man off; he out
weighed me and out muscled me even with Sarge's Boot Camp training.  I
could feel the thick bulbous head of Chef Ricardo's cock tearing into my
throat again and again as I struggled to breathe between his powerful,
gyrating thrusts.  Every so often he'd slam his cock in hard, smacking my
head painfully against the counter supports and held it there relishing the
pleasures of my futile attempts to escape as my throat muscles
instinctively massaged the entire length of his hard Italian cock.  I
fought and struggled in vain yet Chef Ricardo seemed to enjoy, no he really
seemed to need my struggling for his maximal pleasure.  Through the entire
assault I heard the constant clatter and clanging of a typically busy
restaurant kitchen with waiters scurrying in and out carrying plates and
barking orders; ignoring the two of us as the sweet intoxicating sweat of
hot horny male on male sex coated our bodies.  Chef Ricardo pounded my
throat with the same speed and urgency that he might also pound a chicken
breast for one of his award winning dishes or his palm while jerking off
and with the same regard for my throat as he had for the piece of meat or
his hand.

Still the huge horned man pounded my throat like there was no tomorrow.  He
simply put every ounce of strength he had into the violation as any kitchen
staff not immediately occupied gathered round to catch the show.  Chef
Ricardo was quite the showman too.  Just as his entrees won prestigious
awards from international organizations for their style and pizzazz; he
fucked like he cooked; with inspiration, savage power and creativity.

Chef Ricardo ran his kitchen like a dictator, shouting commands and orders
in rapid-fire fashion in an apparently random fashion.  He kept the kitchen
functioning at top efficiency on the edge of chaos.  Chef Ricardo was also
a masterful throat fucker, a throat fucking dictator if you will, deriving
the maximal amount of pleasure for him and the maximal amount of pain and
humiliation for me with each perfectly timed power thrust of his rock hard
bologna.  He seemed to relish the power and control he had over me with
simply his rock hard cock; no need for hands or threats, handcuffs or rope
just his hard cock was all he needed to complete subdue this slim muscular
guest of Mr. Anthony J. Spignotti in the pink polo shirt and tight Gloria
Vanderbuilt jeans.  I had become his sex slave and cum hole an instant
after being pushed into the kitchen.  My dick was rock hard and pressing
against the brass bottons of the jeans.

Finally I could smell something burning on Chef Ricardo's stove, the acrid
smell filling my nostrils, as anger and urgency mixed in the power
throat-thrusts.  He pummeled my throat with new exigency ending his
throat-rutting fuck with my mouth full to overflowing with Chef Ricardo's
hot slimy spunk.  A smile spread over his face for only a second as his
thick hot cream spilled from my tautly stretched lips down my smooth chin
and onto my fine new polo shirt.  Then in the next moment he was gone to
rectify the latest catastrophe on the stove. He set to work with me still
on my knees gasping for air and his still rock hard cock sticking straight
up dribbling the last of his precious seed as we walked.

My respite only lasted for a minute as Chef Ricardo barked out the straight
forward order, "Get the kitchen slut the fuck outta here.  Spread him out
on the fuckin table in the hall by the coat check.  Use the same fuckin
ropes we used for the last bitch we served to our clientele last weekend. I
was hoisted up by four strong hands and dragged out of the kitchen, cum
still dribbling down my chin, across the restaurant (in the full view of
the patrons no less!) and callously draped over a large wooden table.  All
eyes turned as I was dragged across the room except Mr. Spignotti and his
guests who were deep in their negotiations.  It was clear to everyone what
I was here for.  If my cum-covered face wasn't enough of a clue then my
rock hard dick pressing against the front of my brass-buttoned jeans sure
was.  I had passed muster with the chef so I was to be "the special dessert
not listed on the menu" for the evening.  Quite a few powerful business
executives expressed intense interest; especially as I was positioned with
my hands and legs tied to each leg of the broad table forcing me to be
spread taunt across the table with my head hanging over one side and my
butt bent over the over.  My jeans were slid off first and crammed under my
pelvis so my muscular tight boy butt and cum covered face were perfectly
positioned at clientele hip level.

Eventually, after what felt like hours as I remained in this embarrassing
position, Chef Ricardo came out of the kitchen and made an announcement
that there was a new desert being offered tonight that is not on the menu.
He described it as simply delicious, hot, spicy, dripping with exotic
flavors and an intoxicating creaminess and certain to bring total pleasure
to the purchasers for the low low price of only $4.95 for tonight and
tonight only.  In fact, he added with a wry smile, the dish actually can
serve two and he strongly recommended seconds.  The room broke into
applause as Chef Ricardo bowed royally.  Only then did Mr. Spignotti and
the negotiators look up.  He surveyed the room, seemed to know immediately
what was going on, nodded his acceptance to the chef with a dismissive wave
of his hand and returned to the negotiations.

Apparently this was all fine with him as again I felt like I had been
duped.  This was no dinner date, not even a chance for Mr. Spignotti to
show me off to his friends.  I was simply here to provide pleasure to the
all male patrons of Acapella Restaurant in Tribeca New York.  I may even
have served Mr. Spignotti's need for a plausible distraction so the
high-level international negotiations could proceed unnoticed.  Two lines
quickly formed at the dessert table as even men who were in the middle of
their main courses, still eating their appetizers, their salads or even
finished with one desert suddenly had room to try "Tonight's Special".
Apparently Chef Ricardo's proposition that the patrons would enjoy seconds
rang true for these high powered New York and international businessmen as
each figured $4.95 was a damn fine deal and two or three servings would
certainly make the meal at Acapella more memorable for them and their
business colleagues.

Throughout the rest of Mr. Spignotti's meal, which was a traditional long
drawn out affair consisting of many courses one after another with plenty
of time between courses for intense discussion and negotiations, I served
the patrons of Acapella the best that as my training at Sarge's boot camp
allowed.  These men were different than the dirty grimy truckers I had been
subjected to previously but were actually the same when it came to fucking.
All men love to cram a hard dick in a tight hole and pound away at it hard
until they drain their balls.  The next three hours were a blur of hard
patron cock pounding me incessantly and painfully, wet, slime-dripping
holes constantly filled and refilled by horny restaurant patrons throughout
the evening.  It even seemed to me that word must have gotten out on the
street that Acapella was serving a special that night because I swear there
was no way any restaurant could hold as many men and as many cocks as I
endured that evening; even assuming seconds and thirds for the grateful
patrons.

No doubt the tips to the waiters were pretty good that night as a warm glow
of macho testosterone-drenched male camaraderie descended on the dimly
light fine Italian restaurant.

I even closed the place tied spread eagle on my stomach across the dessert
table but even this didn't relieve my suffering as patrons pounded out
their final desserts of pure pleasure they were replaced by the Maitre d',
waiters, bus-boys, lowly dishwashers, janitorial staff and finally in my
most humiliating experience I was roughly tossed into the garbage strewn
alley behind the restaurant to service the local tramps, homeless and
druggies.  Draped over a trash can as I was I didn't even have the power or
self-will to fight off the social underbelly of New York society.  I was
now truly the lowest of the low; serving as a cum repository for such
low-lives.  My final humiliation came as one dirty unshaven bum said to his
companion as they saw me stretched invitingly across a trash can, "Lookie
here Elik, a fuckin pussy just wantin and needin my hard dick" as he
cruelly inserted one then two fingers effortlessly.  "Fuckin love my
pussies dripping dude, been a fuckin month o' Sundays since I had me some"
as he loudly licked his slick fingers like they were covered with cake
icing.  "Fuckin been a god damned month o' Sundays" as I heard a dirty
rusty zipper being tugged down and felt again for the umpteenth time that
night a hard dick slamming deep into my poor battered hole.  It didn't take
the vagrant long to pound my hole to his ecstasy as I felt his dick twist
and convulse as it dumped rope after rope of hot slimy cum deep into my
guts joining the potent swimmers on many other men.

As Elik found the sweet spot and pulverized my hole anew his companion
circled around to my head, brusquely lifted my head by my blond hair and
sneered, "These fine restaurants sure do throw out some mighty fine trash,
don't they Elik?"  Then he pried my mouth open with his dirty fingers and
shoved his still hard dick in my mouth telling me, "Now clean all that
pussy juice from my nice sweet clean cock, baby.  Clean me up better than
I've been for years".  His smelly cock reeked so badly I thought I'd puke
all the cum I had swallowed already on his pants; though I doubt he or
anyone would notice.  With one filthy softening cock in my mouth and a
second plowing me from behind tears of complete humiliation, shame and
disgrace started streaming down my face.  I was powerless to prevent my
freefall in social standing as yet again Mr. Spignotti had managed to
remind me exactly what he thought of me and exactly where I stood in his
eyes.  My heart sank even further as both tramps happily switched places
sharing laughter and amusement as they too enjoyed second.

Mr. Spignotti finally arrived to pick me up around 4AM obviously pleased
with a successful negotiation.  He didn't say a word, simply instructed his
huge muscled Black driver Michael to put me in the car.  The entire trip
back Mr. Spignotti spend talking almost to himself about how he'd "really
royally screwed those fuckin spics" not seeming to realized that I was the
one who had truly been royally screwed that night.  It was as if he thought
that this was after all my purpose for Spignotti and Sons and that he had
the right to use me as his needs dictated.

Back at the warehouse in Jersey City I was simply dumped in the parking lot
for the head of security, Joe Bruno, to handle.  After a few minutes with
me spread out flat on the parking lot Joe came out of the building as the
sun was just rising on this Sunday morning.  He dragged me spitefully back
to the kennels before strapping me into a kneeling position in the main
kennel area.  The six male dogs that patrolled Spignotti and Sons during
the evening hours were due back in a few minutes as I struggled to escape
my bonds. I couldn't understand why my dick was hard and my poor
traumatized butt hole started to itch and quiver uncontrollably and for
some unfathomable reason my dick was rock hard dripping precum juice.  It
didn't take long before I heard Joe leading the dogs back to their kennel.
I started to struggle in my bonds as Joe cruelly spit out the now famous
retort, "Oh yeah baby, struggle for me.  Struggle all you want babycakes.
You know we just love it when they struggle, don't we boys.  Fuckin makes
my hairy balls churn seeing them twisting and turning and trying to get
away".  Tears streaming down my face and as my heart raced in a panic I
continued to struggle and plead with him as I implored, "Please Joe, please
let go.  Oh please, I can't take anymore.  I'll do anything you want if
you'll just let me go.  Please Joe, these nasty fucking studs will mount
me, knot and breed me all fuckin day long one after another after another.
They'll never stop but just keep at me again and again and again.  Please
Sir, please, I've been fucked all last night at Acapella.  Shit man, I was
the fuckin desert for gods sake! I can't take these dogs too, I just can't"
as tears of pain and frustration streamed down my face.

The nasty sadist bastard Joe Bruno just laughed.  Years of lonely security
details at the warehouse had jaded him with the cruelty of the place and
de-sensitized him with its long lonely monotony.  "Fuckin slut, you're
doing just what I want now, kneeling down as you are with that fine juicy
pussy pointing straight up invitingly.  Shit, me and the boys got the whole
fuckin day, our official fuckin holy day of rest; says so in the Bible.  I
know for a fact that you don't gotta work on weekends, won't nobody gonna
be looking for your slimy little ass before Monday's shift and that's
plenty of time for me and the boys, aint it boys, plenty of time to nail us
some pussy.  Shit fucker, you're gonna be drainin all these hairy balls and
drainin these suckers dryer than the fuckin Mohave" as he broke into cruel
laughter.  "Shit", he continued condescendingly "That pretty little mouth
of yours might be saying no but that hard dick and dripping quivering
asshole says otherwise.  Me and the boys are gonna give you what you need.
And sure as shit will git a little something we need too" as he coldly
opened the kennel door and let the six quickly hardening stud dogs in.

Max, the leader, was first; investigating my body with his tongue.  It
didn't take him long to remember me and know what to do.  I yelped in pain
as his quickly thickening knot tore past my battered opening locking us
together in our now familiar butt to butt embrace I felt Joe Bruno's hard
cock slam past my lips and plow deep into my throat tearing painfully past
my throat opening.  Both Joe and Max groaned in pleasure as they set to
their tasks.  Both sets of hairy balls slammed me hard again and again and
I loved it.  Still my dick was rock hard and stayed that way all day Sunday
as cock was replaced by cock.  But I was home again in my own comfortable
surroundings and not in a strange restaurant in New York with a bunch of
strangers or an alley being used as a cum-dump by tramps.  I was back where
I belonged at Spignotti and Sons and it felt good to be home.  I figured
next week was the start of my final week of Sarge's Boot Camp and he had
menacingly promised a truly memorable graduation ceremony.  But today was
my day off and I couldn't think of any other place I'd rather be.

End of Chapter 24.  Let me know what you think of my story.  I'll probably
wrap it up with a final scene.  Write me at danhol900@aol.com I'd like to
know your thoughts.