Date: Fri, 24 Mar 2006 11:33:04 EST
From: Danhol900@aol.com
Subject: Brutal Trucker Sex #4

	I arrived at the rest area the next Thursday at 3:00 and George's
rig was not in the lot.  After a little while he pulled into the trucker's
lot, right next to where I was waiting for him and swung the door open
shouting, "Get your faggot ass in here, Scumbag.  I've set up a job
interview for you and the mean sum-bitch hates to be kept waiting."  Just
like that, no question about whether I wanted or needed a job.  Truth was
I'd just graduated from high school and given up my after school job in a
grocery store to relax for the summer before heading to Rutgers in the
fall.  I'd started regretting that decision since money had recently become
an issue.  I didn't qualify for the expected financial aid since my family
made too much money, but not enough to help with my tuition.  I was on my
own if I wanted to get into school.  I didn't know how I'd pay for my first
year in school and I was worried.  The grocery job didn't pay enough anyway
and I was frustrated working long hours yet not able to save enough to get
into college.

	We drove for about 30 minutes in complete silence but I noticed
George's cock was straining against his grungy jeans, with obvious pre-cum
stains forming down his right leg.  The bastard's cock was bigger then I
remembered and the total silence made me nervous and scared.  In-spite of
my nervousness, knowing that George's cock was hard made my own little cock
hard, just wondering what he had planned that was getting him hard.  George
saw me looking and smirked an evil, knowing grin.  The rig pulled off
Rt. 78 into a commercial district of Jersey City, there were no signs on
any of the businesses and it was obvious that only people with good reasons
to be here dared show up.  I was getting more scared by the minute.  George
pulled around the back of the third building off the interstate into a 15
bay medium-sized warehouse.  Only then did I see the small sign, not
visible from the road reading: Spignotti and Sons.  Distribution Center

	George parked the rig and strode around to the passenger side of
the truck, opened the door and roughly grabbed me by the hair and threw me
to the ground, shouting, "Get on your feet, scumbag.  They're waiting for
you inside."  An overly-muscled black guy of about 25 was outside the
warehouse smoking a cigarette and he just smirked, grabbed his hefty bulge
in the front of his jeans, spat on the ground in front of where I was being
led and said, "Fucking faggots.  Think you got a replacement for the last
fucked out cunt, hey George?"  George just nodded and said, "You'll see
soon if you hang around long enough Smithson."

	George turned to me and whispered just out of ear shod, "Smithson
there is the kind of guy you'll be interacting with if you get the job.
Sort of your `clientele'" and an evil wry smile broke over his face like he
thought this was a great joke.  I didn't see the humor but my dick jumped,
like it understood better then I did.  George led me straight back to an
office with the name Anthony J. Spignotti, Proprietor on the door.  George
knocked and a gruff voice with a strong New York/Brooklyn accent shouted,
"Yeah, What the fuck is it?"  George sheepishly opened the door and entered
leading me by the scruff of the neck.  I stood there taking in the office;
this was obviously the office of a very important man and that man was
sitting behind the desk with a smug grin on his face looking me over for
what felt like hours.

	He didn't bother to stand up, like George's and my presence didn't
warrant the bother.  He simply asked George, "So this is the little whore
you porked on 278, hey Kincaid?  Think that little pussy's up to the job we
spoke about?"  George simply said, "I believe it is, Sir."

       I was really surprised, George was usually totally arrogant and
cocky and this guy, I assume Anthony Spignotti, had him cowed.  If George
was bullied by this guy then I knew I didn't stand a chance.  I wasn't
introduced to Mr. Spignotti, and he never used my real name, it was always
either third person, like I didn't exist, or some insulting nick name like
bitch, cunt or faggot.  I was told to strip, with which I complied
immediately and was humiliated to see that my dick betrayed how excited I
was finding this unexpected turn of events.  Mr. Spignotti chortled
derision at my hard cock and mumbled, "fuckin spirit is willing, we'll see
about the fresh".  George pushed me closer to Mr. Spignotti for an
inspection and without getting up from his fine leather chair he rubbed his
calloused hands over my body paying particular attention to the fine blond
peach fuzz on my legs, arms, cock and balls.  He squeezed by balls hard and
seemed pleased to see that in spite of the pain my dick responded by
jerking upward and expanding even more.  Mr. Spignotti asked George, "You
said the fucker likes it rough, didn't you?" and George just nodded and
said, "'e claims the rougher the better".  George was putting words in my
mouth but I was too scared to contradict him.  Mr. Spignotti smiled and
squeezed harder bringing me to my knees in agony.  Surprisingly my dick
never softened but got even more rigid with the abuse.  Mr. Spignotti just
sighed, "Shit..." and sat back in his chair like a man about to enjoy a
feast.  On my knees in front of this brutal boss wearing a shiny black silk
suit I couldn't help but notice the gigantic tenting in the front of his
pants showing his obvious enjoyment of my debasement and humiliation.  In
fact, I felt like the main course of the feast.

	Mr. Spignotti said, "The interview starts in 5 minutes George.
Think he can handle it?" George just said, "Shit yes, don't really give a
shit if he can't", to raucous laughter from them both at my expense.  I was
led naked into a conference room.  There were 12 seats around a table, ten
men walked in and when George and Mr. Spignotti took their places there was
no chair for me.  I stood to Mr. Spignotti's left with my hands folded
across my crotch in embarrassment.

       Mr. Spignotti addressed the assembly saying, "Gentlemen, I've
arranged for sort of a", he seemed to search for the word, "multimedia
presentation for this meeting describing my plans to expand our functions
of operations".  George just nodded and said, "Under the table faggot where
you belong".  I started to crawl underneath and George stopped me with a
hard slap across the face sprawling me back against the wall.  As I
gathered my wits on the floor and crawled under the table I was surprised
to see that even though these executives were all wearing very expensive
suits, every one of them had their pants and underwear down around their
angles with big hard cocks pointing up and begging for attention.  My head
was led to the crotch of the young, blond guy just to the right of the head
chair.  The guy looked like a preppy lawyer type and one thing was
immediately different then all the trucker cocks I'd encountered.  This
cock was washed and smelled of soap and talc powder.  I had more time with
these men and was able to play with their cocks and balls more, enjoying
getting them to the edge and keeping them there, not letting them cum too
soon.

       The guy with the first cock did surprise me though when I finally
brought him over the edge I was deep throating his 6" pinkie and suddenly
found my head slamming hard against the underside of the mahogany table,
"BAM, BAM, BAM".  With his cock fully down my throat he was just pounding
away, pumping load after load down my throat.  Mr. Spignotti had obviously
told these men to save their loads for tonight's festivities.

       I realized then and there that even though these college educated
executives were refined and their dicks were well scrubbed, when it came to
the most primal instincts of depositing their seed, instinct takes over to
drive and pump as hard and as deep into the available pussy hole or mouth
as possible.  After swallowing the load of the blond executive I was
unceremoniously passed to the next and the next, swallowing every load.
Sometimes twice for the younger hornier executives.  Mr. Spignotti however,
sat slightly back from the table and kept his pants up as if to say that he
was above such base instinctive needs.  His words and deeds focused on
encouraging these men to enjoy themselves which they seemed to by my
reckoning.  The men made no attempt to hide their pleasure as I sucked and
swallowed them, even joking among themselves about what a talented throat I
had.  I could not verbalize my appreciation of their compliments except for
a muffled grunt since usually a cock was buried to the hilt in my mouth.

       While under the table I couldn't hear much except for a few snippets
and phrases that caught my attention.  I caught the voices of George
Kincaid, Madd Dog and even Freightliner, all giving embarrassing details of
my brutal experiences at the hands of these truckers.  They let these
executives know how much they had enjoyed using me.  This strangely made me
feel good.  Every executive that I had already visited under the table
understood.  When the truckers finished describing my assault I heard
Mr. Spignotti reciting pieces of a complex plan involving me to bring in
more business for a new third shift.  His plan involved some sort of
movement of some "product" but I couldn't tell what.  I did hear phrases
like, "...without detection by the authorities...", "...this fucking faggot
will bring in every horny trucker on the east coast ...", "...as cover...",
"...the authorities will never suspect...".  As I gobbled executive cock
and swallowed executive cum I tried to follow everything but it was beyond
my young years.  The men either dumped their loads directly down my throat
or some enjoyed pumping onto my face and hair.  By the end of the meeting
my face was drenched in cum but I was enjoying myself with all the hard
cocks under the table.  I heard Mr. Spignotti say, "Well gentlemen, then we
are all in agreement."  And the newly relaxed and refreshed executives
pulled up their fancy trousers and left the room joking among themselves
with a new feeling of purpose and camaraderie.

I crawled out from the table, cum dripping from my hair, face and down my
chin and Mr. Spignotti smiled a really evil smile and grabbing me by my
blond hair he looked me squarely in the eyes and said to George, Madd Dog
and Freightliner, "We oughta mark this scum bag for the next part of the
interview, don't you think boys?"  They also smiled and Mr. Spignotti,
still holding my head by the hair took a thick black Magic Marker and wrote
on my forehead a word I can still feel going on to this day.  He wrote, "C"
"U" "N" "T" in bold block letters.  Looking at his handy work he seemed
pleased.  Then, he forced me to stand and roughly threw me down bending
over the conference table and wrote just above my blond peach fuzzed butt
cheeks, "T" `R" "U" "C" `K" "E' "R" "S" "P" "U" "S" "S" "Y".  Standing back
he said to the men behind me, "There, that should be clear enough for those
bastards in the trucker's lounge out back."


With me still sprawled over the table Mr. Spignotti twisted my head around
and I could smell fine Cuban cigars and good scotch whiskey.  He was
clearly a man who got and enjoyed whatever he wanted.  He then said to me,
"Well sweetheart, are you ready for some real men now?" to laughter from
the truckers who joined in with, "don't really matter if he is, does it
Sir, as long as the men are ready for this pussy" and an assurance from
Madd Dog that everything was set.

Mr. Spignotti said with lust in his voice "Gentlemen, please bring the
prospective employee to the next committee who he will interview with in
the lounge." It was obvious from the bulges on all three men that the
interview was about to enter a very intense stage.  My own cock was hard
and aching for relief just from the thought of what awaited me in the back
lounge?


I'm working on installment #5 next.  Let me know if you've enjoyed hearing
me tell my true experiences as a young man back in NJ.

Danhol900@aol.com