Recap of Chapter 23:
I was roughly pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen and dropped onto my knees directly in front of the head chef by a vicious gut punch. The chef seemed to have been waiting for me with his pants down around his ankles, his grimy, stained apron lifted high and his huge hard cock pointed directly at my upturned astonished face. Chef Ricardo was a huge muscular man, around 45 years old, at least 6-2" tall, salt and pepper hair and goatee and the comfortable wide girth of an accomplished chef who enjoyed the fruits of his own labor. Currently he was also clearly a man with a real need to empty his huge low hanging, hairy, swarthy Italian balls and deposit some fine Bologna swimmers into a hot receptive hole. My astonished mouth seemed to be a fine place at the moment. Without a word he grabbed my head and started pummeling my throat like there was no time to spare. Apparently a fine Italian restaurant like Acapella is a very busy place and if a man has the need to drop a load on the job he needs to be fast, he needs to be efficient and he needs to be ruthless towards both his coworkers and the slut taking his load...
Brutal Trucker Sex Chapter 24
Suddenly the frantic chef propelled my kneeling frame over towards a counter across the room until my head was firmly wedged between his gyrating hips and the cold hard supports of the counter. Almost immediately Chef Ricardo threw his arms up and "air fucked" me. You know like playing an air guitar except my head served as the guitar and his dick was scratching out a fuckin wild rockin and rollin rhythm with my throat.
I knew it was useless to try to fight the huge menacing man off; he out weighed me and out muscled me even with Sarge's Boot Camp training. I could feel the thick bulbous head of Chef Ricardo's cock tearing into my throat again and again as I struggled to breathe between his powerful, gyrating thrusts. Every so often he'd slam his cock in hard, smacking my head painfully against the counter supports and held it there relishing the pleasures of my futile attempts to escape as my throat muscles instinctively massaged the entire length of his hard Italian cock. I fought and struggled in vain yet Chef Ricardo seemed to enjoy, no he really seemed to need my struggling for his maximal pleasure. Through the entire assault I heard the constant clatter and clanging of a typically busy restaurant kitchen with waiters scurrying in and out carrying plates and barking orders; ignoring the two of us as the sweet intoxicating sweat of hot horny male on male sex coated our bodies. Chef Ricardo pounded my throat with the same speed and urgency that he might also pound a chicken breast for one of his award winning dishes or his palm while jerking off and with the same regard for my throat as he had for the piece of meat or his hand.
Still the huge horned man pounded my throat like there was no tomorrow. He simply put every ounce of strength he had into the violation as any kitchen staff not immediately occupied gathered round to catch the show. Chef Ricardo was quite the showman too. Just as his entrees won prestigious awards from international organizations for their style and pizzazz; he fucked like he cooked; with inspiration, savage power and creativity.
Chef Ricardo ran his kitchen like a dictator, shouting commands and orders in rapid-fire fashion in an apparently random fashion. He kept the kitchen functioning at top efficiency on the edge of chaos. Chef Ricardo was also a masterful throat fucker, a throat fucking dictator if you will, deriving the maximal amount of pleasure for him and the maximal amount of pain and humiliation for me with each perfectly timed power thrust of his rock hard bologna. He seemed to relish the power and control he had over me with simply his rock hard cock; no need for hands or threats, handcuffs or rope just his hard cock was all he needed to complete subdue this slim muscular guest of Mr. Anthony J. Spignotti in the pink polo shirt and tight Gloria Vanderbuilt jeans. I had become his sex slave and cum hole an instant after being pushed into the kitchen. My dick was rock hard and pressing against the brass bottons of the jeans.
Finally I could smell something burning on Chef Ricardo's stove, the acrid smell filling my nostrils, as anger and urgency mixed in the power throat-thrusts. He pummeled my throat with new exigency ending his throat-rutting fuck with my mouth full to overflowing with Chef Ricardo's hot slimy spunk. A smile spread over his face for only a second as his thick hot cream spilled from my tautly stretched lips down my smooth chin and onto my fine new polo shirt. Then in the next moment he was gone to rectify the latest catastrophe on the stove. He set to work with me still on my knees gasping for air and his still rock hard cock sticking straight up dribbling the last of his precious seed as we walked.
My respite only lasted for a minute as Chef Ricardo barked out the straight forward order, "Get the kitchen slut the fuck outta here. Spread him out on the fuckin table in the hall by the coat check. Use the same fuckin ropes we used for the last bitch we served to our clientele last weekend. I was hoisted up by four strong hands and dragged out of the kitchen, cum still dribbling down my chin, across the restaurant (in the full view of the patrons no less!) and callously draped over a large wooden table. All eyes turned as I was dragged across the room except Mr. Spignotti and his guests who were deep in their negotiations. It was clear to everyone what I was here for. If my cum-covered face wasn't enough of a clue then my rock hard dick pressing against the front of my brass-buttoned jeans sure was. I had passed muster with the chef so I was to be "the special dessert not listed on the menu" for the evening. Quite a few powerful business executives expressed intense interest; especially as I was positioned with my hands and legs tied to each leg of the broad table forcing me to be spread taunt across the table with my head hanging over one side and my butt bent over the over. My jeans were slid off first and crammed under my pelvis so my muscular tight boy butt and cum covered face were perfectly positioned at clientele hip level.
Eventually, after what felt like hours as I remained in this embarrassing position, Chef Ricardo came out of the kitchen and made an announcement that there was a new desert being offered tonight that is not on the menu. He described it as simply delicious, hot, spicy, dripping with exotic flavors and an intoxicating creaminess and certain to bring total pleasure to the purchasers for the low low price of only $4.95 for tonight and tonight only. In fact, he added with a wry smile, the dish actually can serve two and he strongly recommended seconds. The room broke into applause as Chef Ricardo bowed royally. Only then did Mr. Spignotti and the negotiators look up. He surveyed the room, seemed to know immediately what was going on, nodded his acceptance to the chef with a dismissive wave of his hand and returned to the negotiations.
Apparently this was all fine with him as again I felt like I had been duped. This was no dinner date, not even a chance for Mr. Spignotti to show me off to his friends. I was simply here to provide pleasure to the all male patrons of Acapella Restaurant in Tribeca New York. I may even have served Mr. Spignotti's need for a plausible distraction so the high-level international negotiations could proceed unnoticed. Two lines quickly formed at the dessert table as even men who were in the middle of their main courses, still eating their appetizers, their salads or even finished with one desert suddenly had room to try "Tonight's Special". Apparently Chef Ricardo's proposition that the patrons would enjoy seconds rang true for these high powered New York and international businessmen as each figured $4.95 was a damn fine deal and two or three servings would certainly make the meal at Acapella more memorable for them and their business colleagues.
Throughout the rest of Mr. Spignotti's meal, which was a traditional long drawn out affair consisting of many courses one after another with plenty of time between courses for intense discussion and negotiations, I served the patrons of Acapella the best that as my training at Sarge's boot camp allowed. These men were different than the dirty grimy truckers I had been subjected to previously but were actually the same when it came to fucking. All men love to cram a hard dick in a tight hole and pound away at it hard until they drain their balls. The next three hours were a blur of hard patron cock pounding me incessantly and painfully, wet, slime-dripping holes constantly filled and refilled by horny restaurant patrons throughout the evening. It even seemed to me that word must have gotten out on the street that Acapella was serving a special that night because I swear there was no way any restaurant could hold as many men and as many cocks as I endured that evening; even assuming seconds and thirds for the grateful patrons.
No doubt the tips to the waiters were pretty good that night as a warm glow of macho testosterone-drenched male camaraderie descended on the dimly light fine Italian restaurant.
I even closed the place tied spread eagle on my stomach across the dessert table but even this didn't relieve my suffering as patrons pounded out their final desserts of pure pleasure they were replaced by the Maitre d', waiters, bus-boys, lowly dishwashers, janitorial staff and finally in my most humiliating experience I was roughly tossed into the garbage strewn alley behind the restaurant to service the local tramps, homeless and druggies. Draped over a trash can as I was I didn't even have the power or self-will to fight off the social underbelly of New York society. I was now truly the lowest of the low; serving as a cum repository for such low-lives. My final humiliation came as one dirty unshaven bum said to his companion as they saw me stretched invitingly across a trash can, "Lookie here Elik, a fuckin pussy just wantin and needin my hard dick" as he cruelly inserted one then two fingers effortlessly. "Fuckin love my pussies dripping dude, been a fuckin month o' Sundays since I had me some" as he loudly licked his slick fingers like they were covered with cake icing. "Fuckin been a god damned month o' Sundays" as I heard a dirty rusty zipper being tugged down and felt again for the umpteenth time that night a hard dick slamming deep into my poor battered hole. It didn't take the vagrant long to pound my hole to his ecstasy as I felt his dick twist and convulse as it dumped rope after rope of hot slimy cum deep into my guts joining the potent swimmers on many other men.
As Elik found the sweet spot and pulverized my hole anew his companion circled around to my head, brusquely lifted my head by my blond hair and sneered, "These fine restaurants sure do throw out some mighty fine trash, don't they Elik?" Then he pried my mouth open with his dirty fingers and shoved his still hard dick in my mouth telling me, "Now clean all that pussy juice from my nice sweet clean cock, baby. Clean me up better than I've been for years". His smelly cock reeked so badly I thought I'd puke all the cum I had swallowed already on his pants; though I doubt he or anyone would notice. With one filthy softening cock in my mouth and a second plowing me from behind tears of complete humiliation, shame and disgrace started streaming down my face. I was powerless to prevent my freefall in social standing as yet again Mr. Spignotti had managed to remind me exactly what he thought of me and exactly where I stood in his eyes. My heart sank even further as both tramps happily switched places sharing laughter and amusement as they too enjoyed second.
Mr. Spignotti finally arrived to pick me up around 4AM obviously pleased with a successful negotiation. He didn't say a word, simply instructed his huge muscled Black driver Michael to put me in the car. The entire trip back Mr. Spignotti spend talking almost to himself about how he'd "really royally screwed those fuckin spics" not seeming to realized that I was the one who had truly been royally screwed that night. It was as if he thought that this was after all my purpose for Spignotti and Sons and that he had the right to use me as his needs dictated.
Back at the warehouse in Jersey City I was simply dumped in the parking lot for the head of security, Joe Bruno, to handle. After a few minutes with me spread out flat on the parking lot Joe came out of the building as the sun was just rising on this Sunday morning. He dragged me spitefully back to the kennels before strapping me into a kneeling position in the main kennel area. The six male dogs that patrolled Spignotti and Sons during the evening hours were due back in a few minutes as I struggled to escape my bonds. I couldn't understand why my dick was hard and my poor traumatized butt hole started to itch and quiver uncontrollably and for some unfathomable reason my dick was rock hard dripping precum juice. It didn't take long before I heard Joe leading the dogs back to their kennel. I started to struggle in my bonds as Joe cruelly spit out the now famous retort, "Oh yeah baby, struggle for me. Struggle all you want babycakes. You know we just love it when they struggle, don't we boys. Fuckin makes my hairy balls churn seeing them twisting and turning and trying to get away". Tears streaming down my face and as my heart raced in a panic I continued to struggle and plead with him as I implored, "Please Joe, please let go. Oh please, I can't take anymore. I'll do anything you want if you'll just let me go. Please Joe, these nasty fucking studs will mount me, knot and breed me all fuckin day long one after another after another. They'll never stop but just keep at me again and again and again. Please Sir, please, I've been fucked all last night at Acapella. Shit man, I was the fuckin desert for gods sake! I can't take these dogs too, I just can't" as tears of pain and frustration streamed down my face.
The nasty sadist bastard Joe Bruno just laughed. Years of lonely security details at the warehouse had jaded him with the cruelty of the place and de-sensitized him with its long lonely monotony. "Fuckin slut, you're doing just what I want now, kneeling down as you are with that fine juicy pussy pointing straight up invitingly. Shit, me and the boys got the whole fuckin day, our official fuckin holy day of rest; says so in the Bible. I know for a fact that you don't gotta work on weekends, won't nobody gonna be looking for your slimy little ass before Monday's shift and that's plenty of time for me and the boys, aint it boys, plenty of time to nail us some pussy. Shit fucker, you're gonna be drainin all these hairy balls and drainin these suckers dryer than the fuckin Mohave" as he broke into cruel laughter. "Shit", he continued condescendingly "That pretty little mouth of yours might be saying no but that hard dick and dripping quivering asshole says otherwise. Me and the boys are gonna give you what you need. And sure as shit will git a little something we need too" as he coldly opened the kennel door and let the six quickly hardening stud dogs in.
Max, the leader, was first; investigating my body with his tongue. It didn't take him long to remember me and know what to do. I yelped in pain as his quickly thickening knot tore past my battered opening locking us together in our now familiar butt to butt embrace I felt Joe Bruno's hard cock slam past my lips and plow deep into my throat tearing painfully past my throat opening. Both Joe and Max groaned in pleasure as they set to their tasks. Both sets of hairy balls slammed me hard again and again and I loved it. Still my dick was rock hard and stayed that way all day Sunday as cock was replaced by cock. But I was home again in my own comfortable surroundings and not in a strange restaurant in New York with a bunch of strangers or an alley being used as a cum-dump by tramps. I was back where I belonged at Spignotti and Sons and it felt good to be home. I figured next week was the start of my final week of Sarge's Boot Camp and he had menacingly promised a truly memorable graduation ceremony. But today was my day off and I couldn't think of any other place I'd rather be.
End of Chapter 24. Let me know what you think of my story. I'll probably wrap it up with a final scene. Write me at danhol900@aol.com I'd like to know your thoughts.