Pushy trucker throat fucker

Discussion in 'Fictitious Stories' started by Woody110, Aug 15, 2010.

  1. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    Previously posted (incomplete) as "Title Suggestions Welcome", which didn't get it much attention. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it
     
  2. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    Final thing - please leave me your thoughts
     
    #2 Woody110, Aug 15, 2010
    Last edited: Aug 16, 2010
  3. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    I was running late by the time I walked to the gym on Thursday evening, and the place had pretty much emptied out by the time the clock hands swept towards 10pm - closing time. I decided to skip my shower rather than cut my workout short. The evening cleaners were moving through the building by the time I was done, carrying mops, buckets and the rest of their equipment. They patiently moved aside as I apologetically snagged my belongings from the locker room and hotfooted it towards the doors. I shrugged my zip-up hoodie on over my vest, threw on my backpack and struck out for home.

    The August night was already a deep dark blue. A light breeze played over the skin of my legs and across my chest, making my sweaty shorts and vest thrillingly cool. My nipples hardened immediately and I felt my balls slowly tighten inside my briefs.

    My route took me alongside one of the town's larger parks. It wound up uphill away from the town centre and into more residential areas. On the spur of the moment, I turned off the road and ducked through the park's main gate. Home was at least a 20 minute walk from here, but I guessed that cutting through these well-kept gardens and avenues wouldn't add more than a few extra minutes.

    The place was deserted as far as I could tell. I seemed to be the only person passing under the canopies of the large trees that filled the park; the only soul moving in and out of the pools of light cast by the infrequent street lamps. I didn't mind this at all. I don't spook easily and I don't tend to attract trouble but, even if I did, I know how to look after myself. So I was at ease as I strolled through the night.

    The path I chose arced towards the edge of the park before curving uphill towards the far exit. I liked this route. Here, the park's boundary was a wooded bank sloping down to the bypass, and beyond that was a clear panorama of the seafront and harbour. As the path drew closer to the bank, the trees around me thinned and the view opened up before me. I paused to watch the lights of distant boats bobbing on the water and enjoy the cool, clean sea breeze. Vehicles sped past on the road below, the passengers oblivious to me in my green world up above.

    After a minute or two I turned from the view and resumed the trek home. The path ahead curved gently away from the edge of the park, leading up into tree-covered slopes. Soon I was in amongst the greenery once more and the night seemed to darken around me. However, I soon noticed patches of light amongst the leaves up ahead and a thrill buzzed through me as I remembered what they were. First, on the left side of the path, the Ladies, and then further on, to the right, the Gents.

    I had visited this park many times as a youngster and used these toilets once or twice. During my teens, I had heard rumours about the things that went on here sometimes - all unsubstantiated but still secretly thrilling. It had never crossed my mind to explore the idea of finding out, but now the concept took hold of my imagination. A rapid slideshow flashed through my mind, a collage of images and yearnings from many innocent toilet trips in my past: guys meeting eyes, split-second glimpses of dicks, the sound of a zipper opening...

    My heart was suddenly running at double time. The path ahead curved right and continued to gently climb, and I followed it. The night around me subtly brightened as I passed by the Ladies but it was the cold glow of mindless convenience - the little building was silent and no doubt empty of the warmth of human life. All this only barely registered with me as my attention was firmly fixed on the Gents up ahead. Soon I was back in the dark as the Ladies fell behind and disappeared around the curve of the path. I listened closely to the night. Nothing but the surrounding sound of wind in the trees and, further off, the low hum of traffic.

    The lights through the leaves up ahead slowly became clearer and resolved into a row of frosted windows, set high up off the ground. As I drew nearer, the bulk of the unremarkable squat brick building came into view. It was set back from the main drag, nestled in the greenery like a forgotten relic, and was accessible by way of a narrow pathway leading back through deep planting beds. The open door, out of sight behind a privacy wall, let a cool wash of light out into the night. This illuminated nothing more than bushes and trees, and I realised there was nothing but undergrowth behind the toilets all the way to the bypass. I could see now how this place had earned a reputation as a cruising ground - it was discreet, as public places went.

    As I drew nearer to the Gents, my body virtually thrummed with an unexpected excitement. The place had taken on new meaning. It was no longer just a small brick building tucked away in a forgotten corner of my everyday world. It was now an outpost of another world entirely, a kingdom filled solely with men where the usual ideas of modesty and decorum were obsolete. Anything could happen in that secret place. My dick began to stir a little, peeling away from my sweaty balls and drawing luxuriously across the fabric of my briefs.

    The little footpath leading to the Gents was just up ahead now and I chanced a glance behind me. No one. A strange mix of relief and disappointment eddied through me. From here I could no longer see the lights of the Ladies, the bypass or the harbour. All of it was hidden from me in my tree-crowded curve of the path.

    The sound of a shoe scuffing against tarmac brought my attention front and centre in a flash. A few seconds later a figure appeared up ahead, slowly strolling alone in the dark night. Downhill, in my direction. My heartbeat ratcheted up another impossible gear. I couldn't see any details in the gloom until the burning tip of a cigarette glowed brightly in the dark. The sound of a deep inhalation reached me, and then the cigarette butt was flicked expertly into the undergrowth. I read into this simple action; it seemed like something someone would do when idle time comes to an end.

    And too soon I was alongside the entrance to the little path, still twenty metres or so from the new arrival. Decision time. Saunter into the Gents to see what might happen, or just head on home and allow this silly, unbearable adrenaline rush to burn itself out on the way? My mind was still tumbling over itself when a more animal part of my consciousness stirred and took control. I stepped on to the path and headed towards the Gents. Jeez, I thought to myself, here we go!

    The harsh glow from the door and the high windows brightened as I drew closer, darkening the nighttime woods around me. I heard the sound of a drip falling in a concealed cistern, a lonely sound in that empty space. As I reached the privacy wall and turned to head inside, I took a look back out into the night. I could see nothing now, my night vision shot, and I didn't know if I really would have company.

    I slipped inside. The heavy aroma of piss mixed with the sharp note of urinal blocks, just like in all the Gents ever. White tiled walls reflected the harsh glare of four overhead lights while rough grey tiles on the floor absorbed it. A long white trough-style urinal lined the wall to the left; three sinks and a hand drier occupied the right. Dead ahead, the side wall of the first stall stared back at me, the tiles cracked here and there. Beyond were two more stalls. I glanced quickly down the row and saw all three doors standing open. Alongside my excitement I felt a sense of familiarity - I knew this world and I had always been welcome here, both as an innocent visitor in days gone by and also now as a fully paid up member of this men-only realm.

    I realised then I also had a legitimate reason to be here. I desperately needed a piss. All this preoccupation had kept me from noticing that the water I'd downed at the gym had caught up with me. I stepped up to the urinal and positioned my feet widely just back from the gutter. I hooked my left thumb under the waistband of my shorts and briefs, drawing both out and down under my junk. My dick popped forward, semi-hard, and I grabbed it with my right hand, giving it a few pleasing squeezes to help it plump up some more. The designer of these Gents had placed the door and urinal in an ideal configuration - any guy walking in is given a perfect line of sight along a row of cocks pulled out to piss, if he cared to look. I guess I'm something of a show off as this idea pleased me, and right then I wanted to be looking my best. I flipped my fingers a few times and my dick slapped meatily up and down. It's not the biggest in the world but it's a shower and it laid proudly across my hand. Satisfied, I finally began to piss. The thick stream hit the porcelain and ran down into the gutter, quickly pooling and running towards the drain.

    Another scuff on the path outside caused my heart to jump again and my cock twitched in my hand. I had company after all. I subtly readjusted my stance so my manhood was fully on show to the new arrival. I quickly ran through possible scenarios in my head. Would he be hot or someone that I didn't find attractive? Maybe he wouldn't find me attractive. Or he might be genuinely looking to take a piss and leave. None of it really mattered I realised. The thrill of showing off my manhood, even if only briefly, would be a good buzz in itself. I smiled to myself and waited to see what my options were.

    The door was suddenly filled as the man from outside sauntered into view. My smile faltered as my eyes ran over him. The scuffing I'd heard had been made by his heavy boots, worn with age and loosely laced under the bunched-up hems of his jeans. These jeans also looked like they'd seen better days - old oil stains marked them and they were threadbare in places. They hung loosely around his calves but clung much more tightly to his thick thighs. A black belt with a large buckle held his jeans firmly in place around his hips and pulled the denim snuggly around his crotch, which protruted from his groin in a solid mound as if he'd shoved a fist down there under his waistband. He demonstrated that this was not the case as he paused in the doorway, leaned against the frame and crossed his arms across his chest. His shoulders pulled against his jacket and clearly expressed his solid mesomorphic frame. The neck flared as it disappeared into his t-shirt and rose thickly to his heavy, stubbly jaw. His dark, deep-set eyes regarded me from under a heavy brow and a thick thatch of charmingly boyish hair. A wide smile broke across his face and his brows dipped in an expression which was part curiosity, part amusement and wholly intense. He muttered something to himself in a European language I didn't understand, revealing himself as one of the truck drivers who passed through town and sometimes parked up in a layby on the bypass.

    Too late, I recognised he wasn't the first one to be giving things away. I had openly apraised him up and down, lingering on his crotch and beefy arms, and my dick had quickly stiffened to a steel rod in my hand as I'd done so. My piss, still arcing from my hard on, was hitting the urinal much higher up than necessary and sending splatters every which way. All this was plainly visible to my companion. I hadn't expected him to stop in the doorway, watching me inscrutably like this. My subtler senses recognised that he was blocking the only exit. Not just blocking it but filling it.

    With a slight widening of his predatory smile, he shrugged himself away from the door and sauntered forward, closing the distance between us.
     
  4. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    I stood motionless as the guy walked towards me. His arms uncrossed and dropped to his sides, relaxed. Big hands swung in time with his slow strides as he approached. I held my breath and waited to see how close he would come. Four paces away, then three, then two.

    And then he was beside me. He did not turn to face the urinal at the last moment as I thought he might. Instead he unashamedly faced in my direction. His frame seemed as wide as the cubicle wall to my right, creating a little enclosure around me and making my public display a private show for one. His clothes smelled vaguely of smoke and cool night air. His head cocked slightly as he ran his eyes from my face, down my body to my cock and back again.

    For a thrilling heartbeat neither of us moved. The scene was silent except for the sound of my own piss, now beginning to taper off but still racing from the head of my dick. My earlier confidence was missing in action, leaving me without a clue as to how I should proceed. The protocol here was a mystery to me, as my spectator was fast realising. Any opportunity I might have had to take the lead evaporated as we both silently acknowledged my hesitancy. With a palpable sense of the upper hand being traded, my new companion broke the stalemate.

    His right hand was suddenly moving across my arse and then his fingers slipped between the backs of my thighs. Strong fingertips pushed up against my shorts and briefs, pressing both into my crack. My breath caught as the material ground against my arsehole, sensation blooming through my nerve endings there. His left hand came forwards, pushing between my own hand and my cock before curling around my shaft and sealing into a rock hard fist. His palm was rough on my soft skin. Reaching out his arms like this caused his deep chest to deepen yet further, his tee shirt folding into a vertical crease between his bunched up pecs, and the sight of his solid masculinity cranked up the pleasures down below. He pressed his fingers more firmly against my hole and constricted my dick, throttling the stream of piss. A gentle rhythm of loosening and reapplying the pressure was established, making the last of my piss shoot from me in rapid jets. He smiled at this effect, clearly toying with me. The experience was beguiling. Never before had I surrendered this bodily function to the whims of someone else, and what had been a simple everyday act before was now unfolding into an array of exciting possibilities.

    But those were not to be explored just then. The guy's hand was gone from my arse and his eyes were back on my face. His smile was gone, replaced by a more intense look. His body shifted and he began to move away from the urinal, one hand still wrapped firmly around my dick. I had no choice but to move with him, turning on the spot as my manhood remained clamped within his fist, and then following him in an awkward sideways walk. The last of my piss oozed out of me, splattering the floor. He was unconcerned by all this as he drew me deeper into the Gents to the last toilet stall, where he stood to one side and finally relinquished my cock. His hand moved up to grip my shoulder, not roughly but decisively, and he pushed me forward into the cubicle.

    I stepped forward until the toilet bowl was directly in front of my shins, and I shrugged off my backpack. The tiled walls around me were dotted with crude graffiti and messages. Before I could focus on any single thing, I felt the big guy enter the stall behind me and his shoulder shoved me as he turned to push the door shut. I moved round to face him as he turned back to me, the two of us pressed deep into each other's personal space. Neither one of us spoke, and I wondered how much English this guy had.

    He reached up and clasped one hand to the back of my neck, then pulled me forward with a casual strength. His lips met mine in a hungry snarl and, before I realised it, his kiss was bearing down into mine, bending me back with its force. His bristly face rubbed against my skin as his tongue forced its way deep into my mouth. His free hand found my dick once more and curled tightly around it.

    My own hands came alive then. They slid up between us and pressed flat against his firm gut, which bowed out slightly to brush my own. I moved upwards until my fingers found the overhang of his chest. My hands were full of the mounds of his pectorals, his big nipples hard against my palms. I explored further, up under the collar of his jacket where the thick cords of his trapezius muscles ran into his huge shoulders. These I grabbed and squeezed tightly, as if challenging the brute strength they suggested. Sensing the insolence in this gesture, the guy pressed his body against me, flattening me to the wall. If the situation was unclear before, there was no room for misunderstanding now - he was fully in charge. My dick throbbed at this realisation and at the feel of his solid mass pinning me.

    He broke away from the kiss and eased back a little, but his face remained inches from mine, our eyes locked. His hands moved to my chest and slid my top off my shoulders. I let my arms fall to my sides and he shoved my top to the floor. He moved back further in order to take in my upper body, revealed by my tight white vest. His brows gathered and his lips pouted as he drew an appreciative breath. The horned-up approval on his masculine face sent a fresh jolt of desire through me. He roughly grabbed my right pec, his thumb seeking my nipple and playing back and forth over it. His other hand slid under the vest at the point where it brushed my pubes. He drew it up over my stomach, revealing my lightly-haired abs. This glimpse clearly whet his appetite and he wanted more: both his hands were suddenly dragging the vest up over my body. I hurredly raised my arms and the vest was off, then dropped on the floor, already forgotten. He was instantly all over me, his mouth sucked tight to my nipple, the lower curve of a pec, my armpit. As I marvelled at the breadth of his hunkered frame, I felt fingers probe under my waistband. My shorts and briefs eased down over my arse and then dropped to my ankles.

    He slowly straightened and leaned back again, taking in my naked body. He lifted one hand to cup my balls, manipulating them roughly before taking hold of my stiff prick again. His hands were larger than mine and all but my swollen helmet was enveloped by his thick hairy fingers. He gave me one slow, luxurious stroke before both hands were on my shoulders, pushing me down. Just for the thrill of it, I resisted for a second, making him bring his strength into play. The effort made him rise slightly onto the balls of his feet, but then his weight came to bear on me and down I went.

    My knees hit the cold tile floor either side of his boots. I looked down at my hard cock, reddened from the rough attention he'd paid it but still engorged and straining for more. My nuts dangled freely below. A cool breeze played across my sack as I slid my hands around his ankles and anchored myself to his big calves. Then I raised my eyes to the prize in front of me.

    His crotch was directly before my face. A swell of pure desire surged through me at the sight of this perfect basket. The denim strained tautly out from his hips to stretch around his package, and the button fly gaped slightly with internal pressures as it ran down and under the bulge, disappearing snuggly between his legs. My hands crept up over his big thighs, to his hips and then slowly inwards towards the prize. The denim there first hugged his contours, then lost contact with his body as it pulled out to contain his junk. The material gave slightly as my fingers ran over those air spaces either side of his cock, then tautened again as I came within a hair's breadth of his manhood. I glanced up at his face. His mouth was slightly open and drawing aching, anticipatory breaths; his brows knitted in concentration; his eyes fixed firmly on his own crotch, waiting to see how his endowment would be received.

    My hands slipped away, reaching behind him to grip his meaty arse and pull his groin into my face. I pressed myself against his fly, rubbing my lips and cheeks across the hefty bulge. The two firm orbs of his balls shifted around under the denim and in front of them, amazingly still not fully hard, was the spongy mass of his cock. I tilted my head, my mouth opening to engulf his length, but the stiffness of the fly baffled me. Instead I ran my tongue over it, savouring the subtle tastes and aromas here - the ultimate centre of the man.

    I was possessed with the sudden need to feast my eyes on his dick. My mind span with the possibilities of what he might be sporting. I settled back on my haunches and began unbuckling his belt. He was still looking down but his eyes were on me this time. A smile broke across his face; part affection, part filth. He rubbed one big hand on the side of my face and up through my hair, making my head bob with the force of it. He truly was a big bear of a man. I tried my best to ignore this contact and keep my eyes on the buckle.

    I quickly got it undone and the belt fell open, hanging stiffly from the loops. My left hand gripped his jeans while my right hand undid the top button. To my surprise, the waistband of a pair of underpants appeared. I'd have laid money on him going commando, but I was happy to be wrong. With a quick tug, the rest of the buttons popped open and the fly eased apart as his heavily-laden briefs bulged forward, unrestrained. I reached inside the denims to help free him more fully, and the first touch of my fingers on his package was electric. My hand cupped the heavy contents and eased them forward until the whole pouch was spilling from his fly.

    He was wearing white Y fronts, slightly greyed with age. His heavy nuts stretched the cotton and pulled it slightly away from his groin, revealing curls of dark hair inside. The double panel in front conspired to keep secret the details of his cock, but I could still make out the flared rim of his helmet.

    With my hands now hooked in his open jeans, I leaned in once more and pressed my face against his bulge. This time, there was no tough denim to dull the sensations that met me. His cock was a large, rubbery thing that moved and unfurled beneath the cotton; his balls big and solid against my lips.

    Without warning his hands clasped the back of my head and forced my face into his crotch. My mouth and nose pressed deep in amongst his junk. As the cotton stretched, I took a deep draw of the heavy, masculine smell which is found nowhere but here. My mouth flooded with saliva and I wetted his pouch with it while he ground against me, both of us groaning in mindless pleasure. His thick manhood, now a heavy pressure against my left cheek, twitched as it continued to engorge.

    He released me long before I wanted him to, then gently eased me back a few inches. His big hands delved into his jeans, pushing them down to the midpoint of his big thighs, then he reached up and laced his fingers behind his head. His tee shirt rose slightly to reveal part of his hairy stomach. His packed Y fronts were now completely on show to me. A big grin appeared on his face and I realised just how much he was buzzing on my adoration of his huge basket. We were playing out the scenario of what he knew to be a central truth in life - I've got a massive cock and you fucking love it.

    My own dick was as hard as rock as I hooked a finger into the waistband directly below his navel and began to pull.
     
  5. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    The elastic stretched as I dragged it slowly from the horizontal, forming an ever-deepening V thats first revelation was a coarse thatch of hair. My fingertip grazed through this on its downward journey, then finally struck upon the soft skin of the root of his dick. My first touch.

    I glanced up. The guy was running his hands up over his torso, pushing his tee shirt up and over his chest. The muscles there were not the sharply-defined result of many hours at the gym but rather the beautiful alchemy of a bulldog body and a history of physical labour. A dusting of hair graced his pecs and described a line down over his stomach, naturally leading my eyes back down to his crotch.

    I drew the waistband of his Y fronts down yet further. The trunk of his cock was revealed, emerging thick and glorious from his pubic hair. My fingertip ran down along its length, tracing over veins both big and small. My pulse quickened at the girth of his manhood, undoubtedly more than I could encircle with one hand.

    And then the final moment of anticipation was upon me. His waistband, now approaching the limits of its elasticity, snagged against the rim of his cock head. For a last thrilling second the universe paused and everything held its place. Then the weight of his heavy shaft combined with its growing stiffness popped the entire organ free.

    It was beautiful - consistently hefty from root to just beneath the helmet, with just the slightest of downward curves. A network of veins traced out along its length and ended in a thick foreskin still partially covering the big, juicy head. This was the kind of dick I only ever had fevered fantasies about; the kind of filthy, arrogant fuckstick I sometimes imagined doing nasty things to me. And here it was in front of me. I could scarcely believe I was awake. Beneath it his sack was riding high and tight, stretching over a pair of heavy bull nuts. I pulled the waistband of his Y fronts down and under them, then relinquished my grip. The elastic pulled all his junk forward, presenting it to me in all its brute glory.

    A quiet laugh above me made me look up. The guy was grinning down at me, his face bright with smug self-satisfaction. His pride in his cock was horny enough, but his pleasure in the fact I had to have it was hornier still. There was nothing he couldn't do with a prick like this - no man could intimidate him, no situation could cause him to fear - and here it was. Mine. He raised his eyebrows and gave a slight dip of his chin. What are you waiting for?

    I wrapped one hand around his shaft, trying to make my fingers meet my thumb and falling short by a good half inch or more. I squeezed but his cock was now hard as wood, the veins proud beneath the straining skin.

    I pulled back on it and his foreskin rolled back to reveal his massive helmet. I dove forward. His cock head popped between my lips and pushed back over my tongue. It felt like holding a warm plum in my mouth, one with a dark scent and a vaguely salty taste. I ran my tongue around its creased underside, playing over the place where his foreskin gathered and joined the head, then all around it, getting it slick and wet. Sealing my lips tight, I sucked and felt the helmet swell further. He pushed forwards slightly - teasing me, testing me. Two inches of his veiny shaft ran through my lips and his cock head eased towards the back of my mouth, exploring. He pumped in and out to this same depth and no further; gently but insistently, like a whispered threat.

    After a moment I backed off, letting the cock pull heavily from my mouth and bob before me. I wanted to eat it further, and there was no question that I would, but I didn't want to miss the chance to feast my eyes and play with my new toy.

    Squeezing and pulling back with my hand, I studied his piss slit. In direct proportion to the rest of his dick, the slit looked huge, big enough to push a fingertip into. I imagined how this guy must look taking a leak, what a thick stream of piss he must be capable of, and I realised it was a sight I'd quite like to see. I stuck out my tongue and licked his slit, then tilted my head and pressed the tip of my tongue inside. The slit widened as I forced my way into the head of his dick, and I revelled in the sensation. I wished I could go further and push my whole tongue inside, delving as far down his hot, throbbing shaft as it would reach.

    The guy sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and grinned down at me. The sensation was as much as he could stand and so he had clearly decided to reiterate the chain of command. One big hand slipped over my scalp and took a firm grip on my short hair, then tilted my head back. The other hand batted my fingers aside as he gripped his cock at the base and swung it up and down like a weapon. Arching his back, his big shoulders pressed into the wall and his groin came towards me. My chin pressed into his balls and his dick was a vast club hovering directly over me.

    With a smirk, he hoisted his cock upwards to gain momentum, then slapped it down on to my face. His meat made a solid thwack as it hit me, falling firmly across my lips, nose, one eye and forehead. Its heavy heat felt like it would brand my skin. He hoisted it up and slapped me with it again, then again and again.

    I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, trying to taste him and loving the way he mashed against me. Sensing my fervour, he pulled my head back and focused his assault on my mouth, slapping his helmet up and down into my open lips and tongue. His face was serious now, changed into an intense mask of concentration as he used the heft of his cock on me.

    His eyes flicked to mine and read that I was beyond turned on. My own prick was twitching between my legs but I didn't dare touch it yet. In my current state, just a few strokes was all it would take to make me explode.

    The display of dominance brought him to a new level of need and, without releasing my hair, he pushed his cock head back into my mouth, using the grip on his shaft to drive it in. I tried to exert some control over his efforts by placing my hands on his thighs and slowing his movements, but with little effect.

    His big helmet slid over my tongue and pressed irresistibly on towards my throat. The sudden urge to gag overcame me then and, as if on cue, he eased back a touch, the slickened mass of his shaft emerging from between my lips. This was just a brief respite I knew. He released his grip on his dick and placed that hand on my head as well. With a slight shuffle to adjust his stance, he began in earnest.
     
    #5 Woody110, Aug 16, 2010
    Last edited: Aug 16, 2010
  6. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    His strong hands brought my head forwards with the slow certain movement of pistons. At the same time, his hips came towards me like the side of a vice. Between all this my open mouth, already fastened over his hard on, had no option but to admit the oncoming inches.

    Once again, his dick hit the back of my mouth and pushed on. This time I relaxed my throat and willed myself not to gag. I watched as the dark mass of his pubic hair eased towards my nose, and more of his shaft disappeared between my lips. His helmet forced itself down into my throat, sealing it tight, stretching it, then pressed deeper still. He moaned as my gullet enveloped him like a tight fist.

    This was the limit of my experience. I'd deepthroated in the past, but never before had a guy pushed this far into me and still had inches to spare. Mild panic bubbled up inside me then, but I was too horned up to heed its warning.

    The guy eased my head closer to his crotch, stuffing more of his length into my mouth and down my neck, arousing sensations there I'd never known before - an uncomfortable, stretched, violated feeling that only served as a shine on the glory of the act, of his bullish usage of me.*

    He paused, anticipating the need to take things more slowly now. He must have pushed people to their breaking point before and made them regret that their dreams had come true. Had he been disappointed often? The thought of that made my heart ache a little. I didn't want to let him down.

    I strained to look up at him. He was hunched over so he could look down into my eyes, and his face was a mix of conflicting emotions. I could see a dirty enjoyment at being three-quarters embedded in my throat, but this was tempered by the wonderful expression of someone watching a bubble and waiting for it to burst. As I looked at him, he began to nod gently and silently mouth what I guessed were numbers, like he was marking of the time in this brief respite for my benefit.

    With a final nod, his hands dropped to the back of my neck and pulled me slowly in from there, allowing my head to tilt and my throat to open as wide as it could. His dick bullied its way further down my gullet, then further still, choking me. My vision blurred as my eyes watered, but still I watched in amazement as the last of his length eased into my mouth.

    My nose at last brushed his pubes and pushed into them, finally pressing up against his abdomen. His fat nuts pressed against my chin. My lips met the base of his cock with all the slow momentousness of a lunar landing.

    We were there - all the way in. Wild joy thrilled through me. The guy sighed in an expression of pure pleasure.

    He luxuriated in the sensation for a long moment, the feel of my mouth and throat clamped tightly around his dick from root to tip. Then he was pulling himself back out of me. His cock dragged itself up and out of my neck, the big head finally coming to rest behind my teeth and the long shaft glistening with saliva before me. I drew deep breaths through my nose, grateful for the chance to inhale.

    Then he was pushing back inside me again. Now that he knew I could take it, he was not such a gentleman. There was no pausing, just a steady force-feeding of his entire length until my nose was back in his pubes. This time he pushed on the back of my head and ground himself forward, forcing his dick deeper than before, as deep as he could go.

    Again he pulled almost entirely out and then pushed himself back in. This time round, he placed his big hands gently around my neck so he could feel his dick as he shoved it down my gullet. His fingers read the motion of his helmet as it forced its way down. The dirtiest smile yet flashed across his face as he saw the external proof of just how deep in my throat his meat was going.

    My hands, flat against his thighs all this time, came alive at last. I pulled his briefs down as far as I could and took hold of his hairy nutsack. His balls were large and heavy in my palms; big, bullish things that summed up his brute masculinity. I wrapped my hand around the top of his sack and pulled down, stretching his balls and pulling the skin taut around them. I wished I could take these in my mouth as well; wondered if I even could.

    But there was no danger of that. Now that I was properly warmed up, the guy was moving his hips more quickly, pulling and pushing his big cock in and out of my throat. Initially this wasn't a huge motion - just enough to free my nose from his pubes then mash it back in again. But gradually he began varying the depth, sometimes withdrawing almost totally and teasing my tongue with his helmet before plunging his length back inside me. I was becoming hot and raw under his assault.

    I released his balls so that I could enjoy them slapping heavily into my chin, and I placed my hands on his furry arse cheeks. They tensed and bunched with his thrusts, two solid slabs covered with a dusting of hair. Changing tack, I reached one hand up between his legs. My thumb massaged his perineum while my fingers pressed against the tight pucker of his arsehole. It too tensed against my touch.

    He groaned up above me, and I sensed his movements becoming quicker and less controlled. Each time he pulled back now, his thick dick dragged great gobs of saliva up out of my ravaged throat. My chin was slick with it, as were his balls and his shaft. Glistening strings came into being on each backstroke, only to break apart and drop on to my chest and his legs. I ran one hand through some of this saliva and used it to slick up my own dick. I began to stroke it but only slowly - I was so horny that I could come in a heartbeat if I surrendered control.

    With quickening breath, the guy pulled back until his helmet was on my tongue and then he popped free of me completely. Keeping my head still with one hand, he used the other to grip his cock and pump it furiously. His fist sped backwards and forwards along the length of his meat, gliding wetly on my spit, and I gazed upon the glorious sight.

    Soon his strokes became tighter, more focused on the head and the shaft just behind it, and he began to pant like an animal. Then at last his head became too sensitive and he shortened his strokes yet further. I could feel the signs of his body orgasming through the hand I had between his legs. I pumped my own dick more purposefully and leaned in to receive his offering.

    I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, letting the tip of his cock rest on it. His helmet jumped up and down with his final few strokes, slapping on my tongue until at last, with a stifled shout, he exploded cum into my face. The first spurt went wild, covering my upper lip and cheek, but the next several were bigger and splattered directly into my mouth. The thick fluid burned on my tongue in jet after jet, until at last he was running dry.

    I swallowed, feeling his jizz slide down my brutalised throat, then licked my lips to catch every drop. He watched me savour his cum with interest then held up one finger - hold on.

    He grasped his dick at the root and, gripping hard, ran his fist right along his length. As his hand reached his helmet, a final thick glob of spunk oozed from his slit and glistened there. Once again reaching behind my neck, he pulled my mouth over his reddened cock head.

    Him pushing his cum-covered helmet through my lips and back over my tongue was the final straw for me, the point at which all the horny sensations of this encounter spiralled together and crested. My body stiffened as my orgasm erupted inside me, and I began to come thick jets of hot spunk on the floor between his boots. My mouth widened over his cock as my own muffled groans sprang from me; my body shuddering now as it shot itself dry.

    At last I slumped back on to my haunches and sagged against the cool tiles. We were both breathing heavily and grinning at each other. The sounds of the night came back to me - water moving through pipes, a breeze in the leaves, far-off traffic.

    His fat cock hung before me and I*reached up to feast my fingers on it one last time. I had come to know it well through its earlier performances and now it was entering into its final act - post-eruption. The thick meat was beginning to soften now and head back towards the perpendicular. I slipped my hand over the rubbery tube - gloriously thick, red, slick and heavy.

    The guy pulled me to my feet and held me steady while the feeling returned to my legs - the ultimate professional. He leaned against me, pressing his big frame to my slighter one, and kissed me. It was less fevered than before, more gentle this time - tentative, like he was respectful to the efforts my mouth had performed. I wondered if he could taste his own cum and I found that idea very horny.

    He broke off and pressed his forehead to mine for a moment, happily staring directly into my eyes, then there was suddenly space between our bodies. This was over now, I knew. All that was left were the courtesies.

    I pulled my briefs and shorts up from my ankles and began tucking myself inside them. At the same time, the guy was packing himself away like so much heavy equipment. He'd hoisted up his Y fronts and popped his balls inside. His cock, plump still and unco-operative, he laid sideways so it reached out to his hip. With a snap the waistband was released and everything was stowed. I watched as he hitched up his jeans, blue denim covering hairy thighs and white cotton, the mundane concealing the glorious. Holding in his stomach, he dipped his pelvis backwards in that wholly manly way and deftly secured the buttons of his fly. Lastly, his belt was cinched. The final seal.

    Finished dressing, the guy reached down and picked up my discarded tops. He held my hoodie while I pulled on my vest, then handed me the hoodie and retrieved my backpack. He watched me closely as I dressed, maybe committing my body to memory as I had his. Then I was done.

    He handed me my backpack and reached for the lock on the door. It was time for him to leave.

    I moved as far into the cubicle as I could and gave him room to open the door. He swung it right back to the wall then turned to face me. One large hand came up and fell heavily on my shoulder. His fingers squeezed hard for a moment and he blazed me a final broad grin, then he turned and walked away.

    I stood breathlessly and listened as his boots clumped across the tiles to the door. His footfalls altered pitch as he stepped out into the night, then soon faded away into the town's gentle nocturnal hum.

    I rested one shoulder against the wall and drew a deep breath.

    Well, fuck me.
     
  7. blackbottom2

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    well written and nice to read something from someone with real experience, the part where you begin to suck him off I feel should have been a bit more descriptive maybe like if you were blindfolded at that point and what his individual scents, textures and tastes were like
     
  8. hunginsouth

    hunginsouth Active Member

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    one word, amazing, and please tell me where this park is that gave you inspiration!
     
  9. D_yabbadabbadont

    D_yabbadabbadont New Member

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    I ain't gay but that was very well written and quite enjoyable. Hhmm!
     
  10. houtx48

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    it was written about you scottish
     
  11. D_yabbadabbadont

    D_yabbadabbadont New Member

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    As long as I was the one with the big dick ;)
     
  12. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    Cheers guys. I'm made up you like the story. Hunginsouth, I haven't found a place like this in the real world but, if I do, I'll let you know! Scottish, you've definitely got the credentials to be the trucker ;)
     
  13. taffy2020

    taffy2020 Well-Known Member

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    Hey great story i really enjoyed it that much i even became quiet aroused !
     
  14. Nicko88

    Nicko88 Member

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    Hey.....great job in writing the story!! It certainly was captivating. Thanks for sharing it.
     
  15. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    It took a while for the realisation to dawn that I'd been standing motionless in the open cubicle for minutes on end, replaying the hot encounter behind my defocused eyes. I probably would've felt quite embarrassed if I'd been able to see the idiotic grin on my face right then. It was like a fragment of a horny fantasy had mistakenly found its way into the real world.

    Wow.

    At last, I stepped over the tiles covered in my cum and spit and left the cubicle. The toilets were all mine. I washed my hands and splashed my face with cold water, then looked at my reflection in the hazy polished metal panel that served as a mirror. My hair was in disarray and my face was still flushed, but a wild joy flashed in my eyes. The face of my new friend came back to me then, masculine and unassumingly handsome, and my dick stirred immediately.

    I wanted to see him again.

    The realisation hit me like a thunderbolt. Duh! Of course I felt that way! This was the closest approximation of a fantasy man I had ever met. How many people were lucky enough to cross paths with that? Not many, and fewer still would stumble across it twice. I had to catch up with him - now! - and sow the seed of a future meeting while I had the chance. We lacked a common language but I felt certain I'd make myself understood somehow. I'd have to. I ducked out into the night once again.

    After the bright simplicity of the Gents, the park seemed like a vast black mystery. I stepped cautiously at first, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and soon enough I began to make out the shapes of nearby trees, and then the path. A slight wind had picked up and pushed thin clouds across the sky. The first drops of a summer shower were beginning to fall.

    I headed out to the path that snaked away between the trees in both directions. Nobody was in sight. I guessed the guy would've turned left and walked downhill, from where I had come earlier. That was where the park came closest to the bypass and where his truck would be waiting. I just hoped my assumptions about him were correct: if he wasn't a trucker at all, he could be heading away from me in just about any direction.

    I jogged down the path, filled with hope that I'd catch up to him every time I rounded a bend. But he'd had a good head start - three minutes? More? The ground soon levelled out into a shallow slope, the trees thinned, and the lower area of the park opened up before me. I saw a late dog walker off in the distance but otherwise the place was empty.

    Retracing my earlier footsteps, I followed the path to the park's edge. The wind was stronger there at that open spot and it flung heavier raindrops at me. I studied the slope that dropped away towards the bypass, looking for a way down. A minute later I found it - an old flight of steps, no doubt a more useful entrance in the days before the bypass but now dark, poorly maintained and forgotten.

    I jogged down the steps, careful not to slip on the debris accrued during many long years of neglect. I was surrounded by darkness and trees here; who would find me if I fell? The leaves around me were dense, obscuring my view, and they rustled in the wind, deafening me to other sounds. It was a solitary place.

    After a while, the steps hooked to the left and I stopped at the landing. Through the trees below I could now see the orange glow of streetlights, and here and there patches of tarmac. A car shot past - a blur of metal and light. Not much further.

    I came to the last few flights of steps and saw a path leading away in the direction of the road. The wind dropped momentarily and I thought I heard the powerful grumbling of a big engine. My heart leapt - this had to be him!

    I jumped down the last few steps and ran along the path. The trees abruptly ended and I found myself looking out over all four lanes of the bypass, an orange-coloured world that stank of exhaust and damp road grime. Across from me was a gap in the far railing, and two small green signposts telling me this was a public footpath. I recalled driving here before and seeing the 'beware pedestrians' sign just down the road. I also recalled the lay-by, just slightly further on around the bend. That was what I wanted.

    I ducked back down the path, planning on heading to the lay-by through the trees, and sure enough there was a little well-worn track through the undergrowth. It wasn't far at all - perhaps half a minute's journey. Finally I skirted a tangle of branches and the lay-by appeared before me.

    It was empty.

    My heart sank. I continued to walk forward, as if I didn't believe my eyes. I'd been wrong all along - the guy was not here.

    Then I noticed the ground at my feet. The tarmac was heavily spotted with raindrops, turning the dark dusty grey a shiny black.

    Except for one area. One long, rectangular patch of tarmac. The size of a truck. I walked alongside this lighter strip of ground to the far end, watching the gentle rain slowly darken it. A cigarette butt sat on the tarmac, pressed flat by a shoe. It was on the left-hand side - the side an overseas driver would climb up into his cab.

    Numbly, I witnessed the rain remove all signs of the truck's presence here. It took perhaps two minutes. He had been here, I had no doubt of that now, but he'd driven off and been swallowed up by the world mere seconds before I had arrived. If only I'd got here sooner!

    On the heels of that awful news came more. I realised I knew nothing about him - his name, his nationality, the company he worked for... I wouldn't even know his truck if it drove right by me. I had no way to find him.

    A rumble drew my attention to the right and another truck pulled into the lay-by, sleek and black. The driver turned his head as he trundled past me, no doubt suspicious of the strange man standing there in the gloom. That was my cue to get going, and I struck out back the way I'd come. Home felt a million miles away.
     
    #15 Woody110, Aug 25, 2010
    Last edited: Aug 25, 2010
  16. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    "A man on a mission" is how I'd come to describe myself in the following months, but "obsessed" was less of a mouthful, and probably closer to the truth.

    Of course, neither term occurred to me at first. That Thursday night, I walked home, showered and slept. I woke, worked, then went about a regular weekend. My car came back good as new. I worked out. I met my friends. Before I knew it, a week had passed since that night, then two, then a whole month.

    It was around then that my new behaviour patterns started to become clear. I was walking to and from the gym most of the time now, and I invariably swung by the park toilets, checking to see if he was there. A few times I even went down the steps to the lay-by in the hope of crossing his path but it never happened that way. I'd either find trucks with cab curtains tightly drawn or no trucks at all. I soon gave up that part of the routine.

    This was my private life and nobody knew about my mission, but my friends noticed outward signs of some change. My regular fuck buddies didn't hear from me, and when I went out drinking I was immune to attraction. No one held any interest for me. To those who knew me, it seemed I had entered a period of celibacy. I shrugged away their curiosity and they soon gave up wondering - at least openly. Behind closed doors though, celibacy was the furthest thing from my mind. Each time I had a wank, I was back with my trucker and the things we did were far from virtuous. But that's all I had - reality failed to mirror my imagination.

    By the time summer was a fading memory, I'd taken to driving along the bypass in both directions, following it out of town and discovering all the places truckers were found. Lay-bys, service stations, industrial estates, cul-de-sacs - all became part of a web I traversed, praying for just one catch. I began stopping to scope out other toilets and to nurse coffees, giving myself every opportunity to spot the one face I wanted to see. And still I didn't.

    There were plenty of other hungry men out there, more than I'd ever realised, but every time a pair of eyes met mine I quickly looked away. More than once, that unmistakably direct stare came from a guy I found hot, but I couldn't go with someone else. It might have been fun, and maybe really quite hot in its own way, but it would be an empty reenactment of a greater night.

    Autumn turned stern and threatened to give way to winter without any sign of my friend. After so many evening forays, faces began to be familiar to me. I ran into a guy who had openly appraised me before, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette beside his cab at a rest stop. He was short but stocky with a sexy smile, and I came my closest yet to letting something happen. All but the smallest part of me ached to kiss him, to feel his hands and mouth on my cock, but that tiny part overruled my body and I walked away, leaving us both unfulfilled.

    But my resolve couldn't last forever, and I finally caved in early December. I had stopped at a service station a few miles out of town and bought myself a coffee. I sat at a table that gave me a clear view of the concourse, although I had largely given up hope of seeing my friend again. I wasn't searching for him nearly as thoroughly as I once did, and I was toying with the idea of giving up entirely - maybe as a new year resolution. This couldn't go on forever.

    With a whoosh, automatic glass doors retracted and a man strode in out of the night. He was tall and swaddled in a big coat that didn't hide his skinny frame. His shaved head accentuated the hard planes of his angular face, which I realised was quite striking. He looked around the place as he walked through, then his eyes fell on me and stayed there. His sure stride seemed to slow as he turned his head to keep me in view. He moved out of sight for a few minutes, probably while he visited the men's room, and then he headed into the dining area as I'd guessed he might. I returned his gaze. I hadn't had any fun with another guy for months now - months! - and I found myself responding to him almost on autopilot, as if my body had had enough of being idle. No small voice spoke up to stop me, or perhaps it did and I just could hear it no longer.

    To my surprise, the guy walked boldly to my table. With a slight lean to the side, he pointed at the empty chairs and asked, "You're sitting alone?"

    His voice was deep and his words clipped. English was not his first language, like many of the truckers I'd encountered lately. He appeared to be fascinated by my face, drinking in the details like an art lover studying a new exhibit, and I blushed under his scrutiny. My cock was twitching and lengthening, suddenly hypersensitive.

    "I am," I managed, cooler than I'd hoped. I gestured towards an empty seat. "You wanna sit with me?"

    The guy smiled and nodded, more to himself than to me it seemed, then leaned forwards to glance into my almost empty cup. "Coffee?" he offered.

    "Er... yeah, thanks," I said, disarmed by his civilised approach.

    He smiled again and headed over to the counter. The place was not very busy this evening and he was served without having to wait. I watched him as he moved and guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. His appearance had the slightly rough-around-the-edges quality that came from long hours of travelling. It was part endearing, part hot, and I wondered if I was converted to truckers for good now.

    He weaved his way back through the mostly-empty tables and set down my coffee. Beside it he placed a wooden stirrer and two packets of sugar.

    I realised he hadn't bought anything for himself. "What about you?"

    Then he did a strange thing. Once my coffee was in front of me, he took a step back with his hands facing me, much like a person who has just completed a house of cards, or successfully taught a dog to sit for the first time. I felt like I'd been arranged in some way, as if he was now going to photograph a scene he'd created.

    But then he turned and jogged away. Not back to the counter or even the toilets, but over to the automatic doors and out into the night.

    I watched him go in silence then burst out laughing. A couple across the room turned to look at me and I gave them a lazy 'don't worry about it' wave of the hand. Had I met a phantom drink provider? A Robin Hood for the coffee shop age? Maybe this was just the effect I had on men now - one close look and off they ran? Or perhaps he was planning on inviting me back to his cab and wanted to do some tidying first? I dumped the sugars into my drink and stirred it, waiting to see what would happen.

    Two or three minutes had passed before the doors opened and Crew Cut returned. He stepped inside then stopped, looking back the way he'd come and grinning happily.

    A second man followed him in out of the night, this one huddled inside a big jacket and wearing a close-fitting black beanie hat to keep out the cold.

    Crew Cut threw an arm around Beanie Hat, turning him in my direction, and pointed at me. The pointing hand then turned palm up, questioning. Well?

    Beanie Hat's eyes scanned around the room until they found me, and a familiar broad smile broke across his face.

    It was him!
     
    #16 Woody110, Aug 28, 2010
    Last edited: Aug 28, 2010
  17. blackbottom2

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    AWWW You fell for him ---- fell in love eh ???? -----hook line and sinker
     
  18. Woody110

    Woody110 Active Member

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    Sure did! Wait until you hear what happened next! ;)
     
  19. blackbottom2

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    MMMMMMMMMM love it when you turn into a slut for him
     
  20. blackbottom2

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    HEY

    wher u bin??

    youre getting too slow you kept us waiting tooo looong ????
     
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