Recap of Chapter #18 for context...
"Therefore, I'm pleased to announce" Sarge paused for impact, "open fuckin bitch time for the next two hours. Play nice ya hear". As cheers went up I immediately felt hands grabbing every part of my body, pulling me this way and that as my mouth was crammed full of smelly slimy trucker cock and firm fingers probed my traumatized fuck hole. The next two hours were a blur as I was fucked in every position imaginable, on my back, on my knees, by one cock, by two cocks, a cock and a fist, two fists. The racial tension earlier evaporated as black and white cock merged with one common objective, to empty every set of horny trucker balls in the place. I was as likely to take two blacks inside me as two whites or a black and a white cock side by side. I was forced to eat out black and white grimy sweaty trucker asses, swallow more than a few trucker farts just for amusement and was subjected to every imaginable form of abuse, humiliation and degradation.
By the end of the shift I was a complete wreck a babbling incoherent fool. So complete was my degradation that I had to be dragged back to my shed but not before one last humiliating trip through the front offices while dangling like a puppet on the end of Madd-dogs humungous thick rigid Black cock. My reputation was already sealed among the truckers; this cemented it for the office staff as well. I was the official warehouse slut."
Brutal Trucker Sex #19 Thursday, my forth day on the job.
I was exhausted and sore as hell from all my exertions of the night before. I slept in the shed at the back of the property until late the next afternoon. I was really glad Mr. Spignotti announced no bitch time for Thursday's shift. I didn't think my poor fuck hole could take another shift like last night's. I woke up with the hardest cock and my balls felt like they were going to burst but there was absolutely no way I could relieve the pressure, it hurt like hell to simply touch my overly sensitive cock and stroking it was completely out of the question. Precum dribbled from the head as my need for release was blocked by the pain from simply touching my cock.
All day and into the night I heard the sounds of big eighteen wheelers rumbling into the parking lot of the warehouse. Lying on the bed half asleep, my body still throbbing from last shift's activities, I couldn't help but relive the past week at the warehouse. I went through every scene of the past week, the dogs, the fisting, the beatings, the humiliations, everything. My mind focused on some of the most intense experiences like the double fuck that George Kincaid and Madd-dog inflicted on me and of course that hate-filled kick fuck Sarge put me through. I kept running these scenes through my sleepless mind over and over again, remembering every last detail and sensations. I even remembered look on George's face as he finally drained his balls for the fifth time that night or the sensation of Sarge's black leather boot crammed inside me so far I feel every stitch in the leather and count each steel eyelet as it slid over my super sensitive fuck hole lips.
Hearing the trucks outside the shed only fed my imagination as each truck reminded me that there was one, possibly two hard horny truckers arriving at the warehouse looking for relief. I heard semis rumble in, the farts of air brakes, trucker cab doors slamming, even truckers spitting on the ground or pissing on the side of the shed. My half conscious imagination was filled with images of every truck driver I heard pull into the lot. I imagined young muscled white guys, older bear-like men in flannel shirts and beards, black truckers in tight jeans and bulging crotches and even short fat truckers with bald heads and huge protruding pot bellies from years behind the wheels. I imagined what each driver smelled and tasted like, what their cocks felt like slamming down my throat or crammed painfully inside me from behind.
I'd imagine what each man particularly liked and needed to drain his balls into me; what he'd demand that I did to him. I'd imagine that some guys were private types and some more gregarious types enjoyed the encouragement of comrades as they used me. In my mind each arriving truck to the warehouse brought me anther trucker to satisfy, to bring pleasure to and another set of trucker balls to drain. These thoughts kept my painful swollen cock hard and my balls filled to the brim this cum as imaginary truckers filled me again and again.
But my cock much was too sore to touch to relieve the pressure. I tried but even the sensation of the sheets on my cock sent surges of pain and pleasure rocking my trembling body. I did however feel an intense throbbing in my hard cock and balls that kept me on the verge of cumming all day and into the night. My entire body was so battered and bruised my nerve endings were tingling and sending out sparks of sensations; like little explosions of pleasure mingled with twinges of agony. My imagination fed my body's craving for trucker cock. Every step I made sent waves of pleasure flowing through me as my sensitized pussy lips rubbed against my tight muscled butt cheeks. I knew that tonight's calisthenics would be extremely difficult if simply walking across my dark and dirty shed caused my hips to thrust involuntarily forward and my cock to stand at rigid attention dribbling copious amounts of viscous precum liquid. Throughout the day and night urgent pressure of pent up cum continued to expand my young sensitive balls as they slowly changed from a raw red color to a purple blue clearly showing my urgent need.
It took me about thirty minutes just to get dressed for my next shift, cramming my erect cock and swollen overfull balls inside the pink panties with the roses was excruciating. The super tight lavender overalls pressed my swollen cock and balls against my body forcing me into a semi-stooping position as I hobbled through the warehouse back to the shift supervisor's office. Once I got there I immediately saw a hand written note taped to the office door announcing:
No Bitch Time Tonight
Come Back Tomorrow, 3rd Shift
Bitch Dodge Ball Game
Vinton Brundt and Sergeant Carter Team Captains
Dread filled my heart when I saw the sign as I was forced to imagine what in the world a "Bitch Dodge Ball Game" was. I know I didn't enjoy dodge ball in elementary school and these sadistic truckers were sure to make it even more brutal and humiliating for me. Resigned to my lowly status I humbly knocked on the door to the office. "Who the fuck is there?" was Sarge's brusque reply. I stammered, "It's me, Sir". "Me who, fuckwadd? I aint no fuckin mind reader shithead" Sarge spat. "It's me the warehouse bitch, Sir, reporting for third shift duty, Sir" I cried out, trying to sound strong and confident even though my timid voice cracked from nerves. I heard Sarge laugh sardonically as he snarled, "Fuckin right there cum breath, god damned fuckin right" as he threw the door open wide and roughly dragged me into the office. The desk and chair had been pushed to the side of the room and the padded fuck board was replaced with an exercise mat spread across the center of the office.
Sarge stood there glaring at me intently, his arms folded across his chest and his hard black "Pussy Pounder" dripping precum and jutting from his tan uniform as if he hadn't moved an inch since I'd last seen him; after he had announced "Open fuckin bitch time for the next two hours" earlier this morning. I couldn't help myself but I stole a quick glance to make sure Sarge was still wearing his black leather work boots; the front of both still crusted with dried dog and trucker cum and battered pussy juice. After a few seconds pause Sarge finally lost his temper and walked directly up to me, with his face just inches from my own he barked out in his full strong deep baritone voice, "Do I have to fuckin remind you snot-nosed little fuckwadd every fuckin time that you will come to attention whenever you enter this office, you got that shithead? Every fuckin time!" I immediately snapped to attention, the automatic sharp motions sent shivers of pleasure and agony through my body as my hips instinctively thrust forward and a low grunt of pain escaped my lips.
Sarge smiled a broad smile, pleased as shit with my response. Sarge could read my mind, knowing exactly how I felt, both the agony and the pleasure that still reverberated through my bruised and battered body. He looked with intense hatred so deeply into my eyes that I was sure he was reading my thoughts as well; just standing there, inches from my face staring, as beads of sweat formed on my forehead and my cock painfully twitched and jumped as much as the tight clothes allowed.
Finally Sarge barked, "Outta that fag jumpsuit, bitch. I wanna see those pretty pink bitch panties." I stood there in those ridiculous panties, my hard swollen precum-dripping cock head poking through the elastic waist band and my huge painfully swollen balls bulging at the tear in the crotch. Sarge had me bend over as he inspected my battered body like an expert. He was reading each and every scratch and bruise; reliving the horrifying events of last night, remembering every agony inflicted on me; a far away look in his eyes as his cock jumped and bobbed. He even ran his right index finger along my body watching with pleasure my body's natural responses; twitching, shivers and grunts of pain. He traced every red swollen stroke from Mr. Spignotti's bull whip and every scratch and bruise from the dog's claws and trucker's scratches. "Fuckin BEEEE-U-ti-Fulll, god damned fuckin BEEEE-UUU-ti-Fullll" he snarled as he was lost in his single-minded focus of my painful reactions. "Shit" he snickered, "that's one worked of pussy bitch. One fuckin worked over bitch" he continued with pride in his voice and a cruel smile on his face.
I cried out in agony as Sarge roughly reached through the tear in the panties and violently pulled my sore and swollen balls through the hole; exposing them to the cold warehouse air. He held them both in his wide calloused palm bouncing them painfully up and down just to watch my instinctive reflexes and ineffective attempts to free them from his right hand. But I wasn't going anywhere as Sarge clamped down on both balls and squeezed them hard as I squealed like a stuck pig and Sarge exploded in hysterical laughter. "Fuckin pig, god damned fuckin pig" he snorted as I started begging for him to please release my poor traumatized balls. Sarge loved hearing me beg and the complete control he held over me. He seemed to focus on the thought that a simple squeeze of his hand would drop me to my knees in an instant. I understood this without his having to tell me as beads of sweat formed on my forehead and my body started to shake uncontrollably. Sarge towered over my bent body with complete authority over my every action. I was his to do with as he chose, especially during the third shift when he was my supervisor.
"These sure are fuckin pretty pink balls you got here scumbag. God damned fuckin pretty boy balls. But I think we got to do a little stretching of these fuckers. Gonna give you a fuckin set of real man's balls hanging 'tween those skinny pink honky legs of yours. How 'bout it bitch, you want a set of manly fuckin low hangers boy? You want that baby, fuckin real man balls hanging between those skinny white legs?" Sarge snarled assertively. All I could do was moan in pain as Sarge started tugging on my swollen balls, pulling them downward about five inches as my body naturally fought this new torment. My thought and desires, my wishes on the matter were of no consequence. Sarge wanted it so he was going to make it happen, no matter what I wanted.
Then Sarge walked over to his desk and removed a black leather strap-like devise that he wrapped tightly around and around my balls stretching them relentlessly and pulling them at least five inches away from my body. I struggled to breath from the pain; it was so intense. To this strange contraption Sarge then attached a large lead one pound weight. Pleased with his efforts Sarge smiled; enjoying my grunt of pain as he roughly dropped the weight and my tender balls were tugged excruciatingly downward. "This aughtta make tonight's calisthenics a bit more interesting, don't cha think bitch?" Sarge sneered. All I could do was manage a half hearted, "Sir yes Sir" as I struggled to adjust to this new unnatural sensation.
Throughout the night Sarge had me perform every boot camp exercise that came to his sadistic mind, all with that leather contraption on. Every hour he'd add another lead weight until by of the shift I was holding more than eight pounds of lead by my balls even able to do jumping jacks and squat thrusts this way! My cock never softened the entire night and my balls felt like they were about to burst at any minute.
During one of my rest periods, after a particularly exhausting set of exercises with seven pounds of lead hanging from my balls a change seemed to come over Sarge. He became almost pensive at one point as he quietly looked me directly in the eyes and asked, "Do you have any idea just how difficult it is for me not to plow that fucking pussy of your right here and now?" I was shocked. It was as if he wanted me to acknowledge that he was somehow entitled to my hole anytime he wanted it and only Mr. Spignotti's admonition that there would be no bitch time today prevented him from screwing me right here and now. His gaze let me know he was deadly serious as he gently rubbed his index finger over my poor stretched purple balls. "I know you want it too bitch. That's the kicker. I know you want my fucking cock buried so fucking deep inside you can taste it, aint that right baby? Aint that fuckin right?" as he increased his attention on my balls.
"And you know me too, don't you fuckwadd? You know exactly what I like. You know that while I might enjoy the feeling of my cock sliding around a tight hole that's never gonna be enough, fuck no it aint. You understand me", he stared intently, "that making a pussy bitch hurt really feeds a need in me. Making a bitch moan and beg just makes my balls start to burn; fuckin makes 'em explode. You know that don't you bitch? The fuckin always feels good but you know I need more and you just love giving me everything I need, don't you baby cakes?"
"And you know I hate you too, don't you fuckwadd; hate you to the very core?" Sarge continued in tight controlled language, "I've never kept my fuckin contempt for you a secret. Shit I've shown you my hatred to, every time I fuck you. But you like my hatred, you fuckin need my hatred. You feed on it as much as I do; it drives both of us onward. My hatred gives you something to concentrate on while you endure all the shit I throw at you. I fuckin know I through shit at you too, don't misunderstand me, slut. You can take all that shit and willingly take everything I throw at you because you like it. You have come to understand that my utter and complete hatred of you is the one thing that will never change, the one thing you can always count on. It's not just you either. It's all honky bitches I hate and you get to feel my hatred, like you felt my boot yesterday". Sarge was right, I hadn't thought of any of this before.
"You need it as much as I do, I know you do" Sarge snarled condescendingly. "Admit it bitch, admit it to yourself that you need me to hurt you; to make you moan, fuck to make you beg for me to stop even though you still want more. Fuckin twisted bitch, don't have no fuckin idea what you want, just so's you make ole Sarge happy, aint that right baby? That's the only thing you need right now, make ole Sarge happy. Aint that so, only fuckin thing?"
Sarge never took his eyes from mine as he continued calmly and quietly, almost conspiratorially. In a hoarse testosterone drenched whisper Sarge continued, "You know what I think, cum breath? I think Mr. Spignotti is fuckin mollycoddling you, god damned fuckin mollycoddling your trucker slut ass. Shit, my honky troops learn quickly to take a good ole fashioned boot fuck like that and come back for more the very next day. Fuckin pampering a fuckin slut hole will come to no fuckin good, no siree, no fuckin good." "Shit", Sarge continued, "I've fucking kicked the cum out of hundreds of honky troop holes in my years in this man's Army, fuckin kicked the living cum right out of the scumbags. Fuckin worse that I did to you too. Shit, I had those fuckers swinging on my big black cock the very next day just begging to get plowed by ole Sarge, fuckin begging for ole Sarge's hot seed" as a contented smile spread gently across his strong black face.
Then, with his eyes still locked on my own he started tracing my raw tingling fuck hole opening through the rose panties saying, "I know just what you're feeling right now, you know that? Do you believe me when I tell you that I know exactly what you're feeling? I know every sensation because I've seen them a thousand times before. Right now you're conflicted, god damned fuckin conflicted about what you want. Part of you wants me to defy Mr. Spignotti to slam you onto your slimy fuckin back right here on the cement floor and fuck you bitch-style, fuck you senseless, fuckin plow that tingling hole of yours long and hard for the next three hours before I finally pump you full of hot Black spunk. I know you want that bitch", he raised one eye brow as if to say he was sure of it, "I know it like I know my own fuckin name"
Sarge continued just inches from my face, "Your fucking pussy is at that itchy healing stage right now, you know it is. You can still fuckin feel my scum covered leather boot slamming your cunt hole right now and you want it again. Not just want, slut, fuck no, you fuckin need it again, fuckin need my big ole black Pussy Pounder buried deep inside you too, don't you bitch? You fuckin need to feel your pussy lips stretched wide, as my fuckin balls slam against your butt. Shit punk, that's 'bout the only thing gonna take away that fuckin itch you feeling right now. I know it's there, I can smell your discomfort" he continued quietly "I know the fuckin itch is there and that itch is fuckin building. Gonna tear you apart if you don't scratch it baby. Gonna fuckin drive you mad" as he burst into sardonic laughter. "But you can't get fucked tonight, against the rules and that means your fucking balls are gonna keep filling with fuckin honky cum. They're 'bout to burst already aint they baby? Your fuck hole is gonna drive you mad with the desires of a god damned fuckin trucker slut and your fucking balls are just 'bout to explode right?"
Sarge knew me so well, knew every feeling and every thought I had. All I could do was nod my head and whisper, "Yes Sir. You're right Sir, you're right about everything" continually throughout Sarge's diatribe. Suddenly Sarge stiffened, returned to his typical military bearing and announced loudly, "Tough shit, bitch. Mr. Spignotti has commanded that you will not be fucked tonight and you will not be fucked. I am gonna put some fuckin hair on that puny honky chest and add a little heft to those wimpy pink balls you got though. I sure as shit gonna do that, bitch!" The calisthenics began again with the lead weight swinging wildly form side to side.
At around 6AM Sarge stopped my workout, had me stand at attention for an "inspection of the troops". He walked around my sweating exhausted body, inspecting all sides, as if to make sure his exercise routines were having their desired effect. I could see the hatred glowing in his eyes as my cock bobbed up and down in anticipation, precum drooling from the head. Suddenly Sarge became very formal as he informed me, "I have been instructed by Mr. Spignotti to make certain that the warehouse trucker slut is not able to relieve pressure in his balls before tomorrow's shift. I have been given complete latitude in this matter. This is the method I have chosen" as he walked quickly to his desk and pulled out a four foot long piece of twisted metal, sort of like a long thick fly swatter handle. In one fast motion he brought the metal whip down onto my already swollen cock.
I collapsed in agony on the floor as Sarge stood over my writhing body in amusement, his thick black cock bobbing up and down dripping more precum than I've ever seen. I was lifted again to my feet, forced to stand at attention as Sarge continued his assault on my sensitive cock. Ever strike felt like a hundred bee stings but I was forced to endure it while standing at attention. After about twenty strikes I was a babbling mess, tears streaming down my face as I begged and pleaded with Sarge to stop.
Finally he seemed satisfied that there was absolutely no way I could jerk off and relieve the ball pressure. He stood there smiling, hatred filled his eyes as he again came just inches from my face saying, "I want to hear you say thank you Sergeant Carter." I was dumbfounded. He repeated himself more forcefully this time, "I want to hear you say thank you Sergeant Carter. Thank you for not fucking me tonight. You hear me bitch? Say thank you for not fucking the shit out of you right here and now" Sarge commanded his voice rising to a shout. All I could do was stammer a weak, "Thank you, Sir".
But that wasn't good enough as Sarge's fist slammed deep into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. I was caught in my freefall by Sarge's strong hand grabbing my hair. Lifted to my feet before ever hitting the ground I struggled for air as Sarge repeated in full Army Drill Sergeant shout, "I said that I want you to say 'Thank you for not fucking me tonight Sergeant Carter'. Say it bitch!" I was completely broken and devastated by this point as my will collapsed and I dutifully shouted at the top of my lungs, "Thank you for not fucking me tonight Sergeant Carter". A smile spread over his face as he added, "And thank you for whipping my pathetic pink cock Sergeant Carter". I replied along with him almost blindly. Why did Sarge have to take every opportunity to break me and then rub my face in shit just to show that he could? I had answered my own question as I shouted, "And thank you for whipping my pathetic pink cock Sergeant Carter".
I looked down and Sarge had marked perfectly symmetrical diamonds in raised red welts from the tip of my cock head to the base of the cock. There was absolutely no way I could jerk that cock off tonight. He seemed pleased with the results. The calisthenics began again with Sarge clearly elated with our latest exchange and new coming together of minds.
Finally at 7:00AM when the third shift ended Sarge removed the leather ball stretcher and admired his handiwork. True to his word I was not touched the whole shift and my frustration and horniness was obvious. I could feel my balls hanging down a good six inches, swollen even larger than when he started and rubbing painfully against both legs. Sarge insisted that I keep the balls poking through the fuck hole in the panties. With my balls so swollen and painful there was no way I could get them through that hole if I tried. There was also no comfortable way of walking back to the shed. Just for his amusement Sarge paraded me around the front office; stooped over and bowlegged I waddled through the front offices of the newly arriving salesmen and secretaries. Sarge proudly walked behind me, a good clear view of his success that evening, like a proud papa, beaming from ear to ear.
There was no way I could get those panties off until my balls shrunk significantly so I fell asleep on my bed on my stomach with my legs spread wide hoping the cool air in the shed would shrink my swollen balls before the next shift. My cock was still much too sore to even think about jerking off, Sarge had made sure of that. Simply laying on it hurt like hell but I had no alternative if I wanted to get any sleep. I knew I'd simply have to try to get some rest and hope against hope that the swelling and soreness resolved before Friday's shift. Shit I wasn't looking forward to that god damned fuckin Bitch Dodge Balls game tomorrow.
I think I'll end this chapter here.
I've received several emails from readers with their thoughts about whose cum I felt on my back during Sarge's boot fuck and just who the fuck those mysterious Spanish-looking guys were. The consensus seems to be that Sarge (by five to one) shot his load while boot fucking me, the aphrodisiac of complete and overwhelming power and seeing his thick black leather boot devastate a honky's bitch hole may have been enough to send him over the edge. At least in the opinion of most readers. The mystery men still seem to be a mystery to most and I don't want to give anything away too soon. I'd still like to know what others think about these questions. Thanks to those who wrote already for the input. I enjoy conversing with others and getting ideas for hot new scenes to come. It's the feedback from readers that keeps me writing. Write if you want more.
If you have any comments of opinions feel free to write me at danhol900@aol.com