Trucker 11–Trucker vs Construction Boy

The bar wasn’t just dark and smoky; it was also small and fairly crowded.  The last attribute, at least was good.  It expanded the range of prey.

 

The Trucker was on the hunt.  He had a week and a half’s worth of seed swelling his already-enormous ballsack; he needed to unload so badly it fucking hurt.

 

And, of course, the only way to do that was to make someone else hurt even worse.

 

It had been a long, hard slog—a combination of tight delivery schedules and nasty weather across the country; the Trucker had plowed through snow, sleet, torrential rains, and, worst of all, ice.  He was far enough south at the moment not to worry about ice, though, and the weather was nice.  It was time for a release; it was time for someone to gag, choke and die on his cock.

 

The highway had been cut through an older part of town; the truck stop was adjacent to what appeared to be a low-rent and potentially rough neighborhood.  Parking at the far end of the small lot, the Trucker found his cab was less than a hundred feet from the closest rig; not ideal in case he needed a little privacy later on.  Using an app he’d put on his phone for the purpose, he located the closest gay bar.

 

Surprisingly, it was only three blocks east of his location.  It was called Mack’s.

 

Once there, he’d been disappointed by how small the place was—and how nasty; it really was a dive bar—but liked the selection of meat on display.  He was also disappointed by the service.  It seemed to take fifteen minutes just to get a beer.  “What’s the problem here?” he gruffly asked the bartender, once his brew finally arrived.  The latter, a broad, hairy-chested young man sporting nothing but a leather vest above the waist, started and flushed at the commanding tone of the handsome stranger across from him.  He was beautiful, but for some reason, the Trucker wasn’t into him.

 

Even after getting lucky with a cute boy at closing, he had no idea how truly lucky he got that night.

 

“S-sorry, sir,” he stammered, grinning lopsidedly, feeling his dick swell unaccountably.  “We’re short-handed tonight.”  Leaning forward, he whispered confidentially, “Bitch’s name was Robbie—he was our barback.   Little twink whore who used to take it up the ass back here where he though no one’d see him.  Fucker met the wrong dude after he left here; got himself raped and strangled on the way home.”

 

The Trucker snorted contemptuously.  As he turned away from the bar to survey the fuckmeat on offer, the bartender muttered vindictively under his breath, “Selfish cunt, leavin’ us in the lurch.  Hope it hurt like fuck…”

 

It was helpful to know that someone else had successfully tracked down and slaughtered meat from here; it told the Trucker two things.  First that this place was evidently a good hunting ground—and second, that he needed to be more cautious than usual.  After all, if some cunt got offed leaving this place, it could be staked out.  Glancing around, the Trucker kinda doubted that the cops would bother looking too hard for the killer of some low-life faggot hanging out in this dive; still, he’d take no extraordinary chances tonight.

 

The serial killer squinted his cold eyes as he tried to peer into the murky depths—such as they were—of the bar.  There was a lot of fuckmeat available, but none of it seemed to be worth the effort.  At least a third of the crowd were hustlers; the Trucker had no objections at all to banging and wasting a whore, but these cunts were so strung-out and skanky, the alpha almost wished he had a ten-foot pole with which not to touch them.

 

That was when he heard a voice behind him; he’d been facing the back of the building, not the entrance, so he didn’t realize someone had entered and approached the bar next to him.  “Just-just a Bud, man,” it said tentatively, the youthful, shy voice instantly intriguing the Trucker.  He turned casually and took in the view.

 

The guy next to him couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, but the red cadet cap on his head, the brow pulled low over his eyes made his specific age hard to determine.  That was a clue, right there—the kid was on the down-low.  He was ashamed to be in here; he didn’t want to be recognized.  That was good.  Made him harder to ID afterwards.

 

What part of the face was visible below the cap revealed a large nose with a swelling on the bridge, a souvenir of a past break.  The full, vulnerable lips were surrounded by a patchy golden fuzz spread across the boy’s cheeks.  His hard, muscled torso would have been intimidating had the Trucker not been obviously better-built and more powerful.  It was displayed very well by a navy-blue t-shirt that looked sprayed on; tight as it was, his jeans looked even tighter.  The latter were a slightly lighter shade of blue—relatively new, but well worn, slightly stained, and torn across the left thigh, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of smooth flesh.

 

On his feet, the youth sported a pair of genuine shitkickers; pointy-toed boots of raw leather, worn to the texture of suede, the heels and soles replaced at least once.  They seemed to go with the large oval belt buckle clasping closed the thick dark leather strap circling the boy’s narrow waist.

 

At that moment, the boy noticed the Trucker.  While his cap made his age difficult to figure out, the expression on his face made his emotion easy as hell to figure out.  The hard-bodied youth was in a state of awed lust.

 

The Trucker was an alpha stud and dressed to show it; his outfit was similar to the kid’s, but gave greater emphasis to the killer’s muscle-bound physique.  He wore his trucker’s cap, its brim, like the boy’s was pulled down.  Under a bomber jacket of distressed brown leather, he was wrapped in a far-too-tight white t-shirt.  The thin cotton was stretched to such an extreme that the V of wiry fur on his chest was clearly visible from its widest expanse across the sadist’s broad pecs down to where it narrowed into a dark treasure trail that vanished below the waistband of the soft, frayed jeans that clung so closely to his bulging thighs that they looked sprayed on.  The cuffs of the jeans were tucked into a pair of Ariat Workhog boots, basic brown leather pull-ons with a thick rubber tread.

 

The boy gaped at the Trucker open-mouthed and took an instinctive step backward, where he made contact with a post.  Jerking forward, he bumped into the Trucker; startled, he looked up at the erotic killer’s cold, handsome face, shadowed by a dark stubble.  Eyes a startling shade of emerald glanced up as the youth’s gold-stubbled cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  “S-sorry, man, I-I just…it was an accident…” he trailed off shamefacedly.

 

Whatever humiliation or shyness he may have felt, though, it did nothing to dispel his lust.  “I-I’m Derek.  What ya looking for tonight?”

 

The Trucker stared down at the punk without speaking, letting the silence draw out uncomfortably.  The kid—Derek—cleared his throat and had started blushing again before the hulking alpha spoke.

 

“I’m looking for boymeat to stick my dick into,” the Trucker said even in a deep baritone growl that made Derek shudder in sexual anticipation.

 

The punk’s desire was obvious; a dark circle the size of a quarter was slowly expanding six inches down his right thigh where the thick ridge in his jeans indicated his dick ended.  The homo was already oozing form his cock, just from looking at the Trucker in the dim chaos that happens in gay bars an hour before closing.  The Trucker smirked, his lips twisting cruelly on his handsome, masterful face.

 

Derek noticed.  The wet spot on his leg grew visibly.  “I-I, uh…” he stammered.

 

“You’ll do,” the Trucker said dismissively, “Gotta place I can fuck ya?”

 

Derek gulp so violently it looked like he was trying to swallow a golf ball.  “Y-yeah man,” he gasped, somewhat breathlessly, “I gotta place in an SRO around the corner.  Company I work for rented it; see, I’m from outta town and they—”

 

“Ok, where is it?” the Trucker asked curtly, cutting the excited kid off.

 

“Uh—around the corner to the right, a coupla blocks down…”

 

“Ok, bitch, go wait for me at the corner.  Gotta go drain my hog.”

 

With that, the Trucker turned abruptly away, heading to the bathroom.  Still blinking and gulping with lust, Derek headed for the door, still stunned at his luck.  Holy fucking shit, that stud was gonna cum in his ass tonight; he could scarcely believe his luck.

 

Once outside, he was hit by a sudden breeze, making him regret he’d left his jacket in his room; first glancing down at his phone, Derek saw that it was a quarter past one on Saturday morning, then, looking up, saw that the overcast sky had cleared—a cold front had come through.

 

Things were gonna be cooling off overnight, he thought, heading towards the appointed corner for the rendezvous—never realizing that one of those things was gonna be his corpse.

 

Derek’s thick bootheels echoed loudly on the empty pavement; as full as the bar was, there was no one out here.  Literally no one—he couldn’t even see anyone at the corner.  Fearing that the huge, muscle-bound stud had found someone better and bailed on him, the young man hurried his steps.

 

Rounding the corner, he saw the hot alpha standing about halfway down the block; Derek’s relief was so great that he found himself babbling as he approached the dude.  “Hey, man,” he called out, “I’m in the fourth building down on the right.  Not my real place, a’course; I’m in town on a construction job.  Company I work for put us up in this shitty fleabag…”

 

The Trucker maintained an icy silence on the way to the run-down building, letting the boymeat pour out his story.  It didn’t matter; what mattered what getting the motherfucker’s ass to grip the Trucker’s enormous tool, and that meant torturing and killing this young man.

 

Kid was well-built, though.  Looked tough—not jacked, but strong and sinewy.  Cunt was gonna take some killin’…

 

The building turned out to be a seven-story walkup; the kid’s room was on the sixth floor.  The climb sapped some of Derek’s enthusiasm—well, at any rate, it shut him up until they actually reached the right floor.

 

The landing was halfway down a single corridor running the length of the building; it was lined with doors on each side.  At the far left end, a flickering exit sign over a window hinted at the presence of a fire escape beyond.  Derek indicated the battered door at the far right end. “That’s the bathroom, dude, if ya need to go—like I said, it’s SRO.  Don’t even have a private bathroom.”

 

Derek’s room was to the left, away from the bathroom; in fact, it was the next-to-last on the end, to the right, overlooking the rear of the building.  Room 602.

 

The room was tiny, no more than two hundred square feet, if that.  To the right was a double bed, frame and mattress only.  The fitted sheet was still in place but the flat sheet and a thin microfiber blanket were tangled on top, with a single pillow tossed in.

 

To the immediate left of the door was a small closet; its door was closed, but just beyond it was an armchair with a pair of stained jeans draped over it.  On top of the jeans sat a neon-yellow hardhat.  Under the chair was what looked like a wadded-up t-shirt, nest to another pair of workboots—lace-up and very soiled.  Beyond the chair, in the far corner, was a white porcelain pedestal sink, badly chipped, with rust stains trailing from the tap.  Above the sink, a plastic medicine cabinet with a mirrored door—also chipped—had been tacked unsteadily to the wall.  The far wall, to the left of the bed, had a decent sized window with a three-drawer dresser under it.

 

The window seemed to be painted shut, which was unfortunate—the room was stiflingly hot.  A tiny steam radiator next to the sink was giving off visible waves of heat.

 

“Wow,” Derek said as they entered the room, “Fuck.  Sorry about the temperature, man, I don’t control the heat and I can’t open the fucking window.  Oh, and the clothes—haven’t made it to the laundry yet, heh.”  So saying, the buff young man opened the closet door.  Tossing his cap onto the chair, he peeled his blue t-shirt off of his smooth, lithe torso, balled up it and threw it in.

 

Closing the door, he turned back to the Trucker, revealing strawberry-blond hair, wide blue eyes, a long straight nose and full, almost pouting lips.  Below the nose, a dirty blond mustache, barely more than peach fuzz, covered his upper lip. His chest was broad and his pectorals large; even though the Trucker was taller and much more powerful, Derek had the muscled body of a construction worker.

 

Standing in front of the towering alpha he’d brought home, the kid was well aware that he was still physically outclassed by the anonymous stud.  How badly outclassed he truly was did not become clear to him until later.

 

Slipping off his jacket, the Trucker handed it to Derek.  “Here, boy, hang it up,” he demanded, “And treat it right or I’ll take the damage outta yer hide.”  The punk shuddered with pleasure at the deep tone of command in the Trucker’s voice; it made his cock throb.  The wet spot on his jeans continued to grow.

 

The Trucker noticed and grinned.  This pig was already primed.  As the boy searched for an appropriate hanger for the leather bomber jacket, the older man quickly removed his own cap and t-shirt, placing them on the small dresser.  He’d already retrieved his cigarettes and lit one up by the time Derek came out and closed the closet door.

 

The room was warm and steamy; the smoke hung heavily in the air.  “Hey!” Derek squawked, “They don’t allow smoking in—”

 

“Strip, faggot!” the Trucker barked menacingly.  “Get it all off—now!”

 

The boy flinched as if he’d been struck; his jaw fell open with shock.  “I-I just—”

 

“NOW, goddammit!  Or I’ll fuckin’ rip those jeans off with my bare hands!”

 

Leaning against the wall, Derek bent one leg and slowly reached down to slip the well-worn boot off, his foot encased in a white tube sock inside.  He never took his eyes off the Trucker, entranced with the alpha’s toned, furry chest, glistening with sweat, with a gleaming pair of dogtags dead center.  The hard, muscled physique, the intimidating, threating manner—it all turned the closeted bottom pig on.  He had to obey; his pulsing dick insisted on it.

 

As the well-built youth unbuttoned the waistband of his jeans, the Trucker took another drag from his Marlboro and exhaled. Letting the smoke hang lazily in the humid, overheated air, his cold eyes appraised Derek’s smooth, strong body.  The kid didn’t need to work out; it was part of his daily job, and it showed.

 

Gearing up his courage, the kid tried another request.  “Man, go gentle with me, willya?  See, none of the dudes I work with know that I—well, that I…”

 

“That yer a cumsuckin’ faggot who want manmeat shoved up his ass?” the Trucker sneered.

 

Derek swallowed and dropped his jeans.  Nude but for the pair of white tube socks that went almost to his knees, the boy stood revealed to the alpha stud, including his thick fat cock—six inches of oozing dick already jutting proudly from a curly nest of sand-colored pubes.

 

Even as the head of his shaft swung free, drizzling precum on the floor, Derek was explaining himself.  “Well, it’s just that…I, I really don’t have much experience…” he cleared his throat nervously, “I—I just don’ wanna make too much noise, y’know?”

 

The Trucker said nothing in reply; he just unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out.  As usual, it took a bit to free the entire rod from its tight denim confines; Derek’s eyes got wider and wider as more dick kept coming out.  He opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t get anything coherent out.

 

“Quit oinkin’, pigboy—get over here,” the older man snapped.  Derek moved forward, stepping out of the jeans that were on the floor around his ankles.  The sexy young laborer, his smooth skin glittering with beads of sweat, reached out and ran his fingers across the Trucker’s hubcap pecs, feeling the older stud’s chest fur rasp in his hands like steel wool.

 

Annoyed, the Trucker knocked his hands away just as they reached the dogtags.  Instead of taking the hint, the lust-fueled youth placed his hands on the alpha’s biceps and fondled them as the bulged.  He didn’t get long to enjoy them, though.

 

“I didn’t tell ya you could touch me, cunt, did I?” the Trucker growled and backhanded Derek across the face—not hard; just enough to split his lip.

 

Holding his face, the punk fell to the floor, stunned.  He wanted rough sex from a rough top; he didn’t mind getting slapped around some—but how the fuck was he gonna explain this in the morning?  He’d have to tell the rest of the crew he’d gotten mugged…

 

“Lick my boots, ya fuckin’ homo!”  The command slashed through Derek’s hormone-muddled mind; his dick swelled in response—and again, his bottom pig nature took over.  Before he’d followed his idea to its logical excuse of mugging, his tongue was scraping across the raw leather of the dominant hunk’s workboots.

 

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, he slowly worked his way along the left boot.  Suddenly, his head was clamped in a crushing grip and pulled up.  “Enough, slut; get yer fag face to work on the other!”  This time, though, the Trucker took pleasure in grinding the boy’s face into the rough surface of the upper.  Derek cried out, his hands grasping upwards, reaching around the top’s massive thighs, trying to free himself from the aggressive manhandling.  It felt like he was trying to uproot a thickly-knotted tree trunk, and the result was identical.

 

Then he was jerked backwards so fast he got dizzy.  “Get on my dick, faggot!” the Trucker grunted—and suddenly Derek found his mouth full of manmeat; his already-burning cheeks swelling as the alpha’s enormous, vein-wrapped hog was crammed down his throat, sliding down on a lube of streaming precum.  “Yeah, boy!” the aggressive sadist jeered, “Yer eyes waterin’ yet, huh?  Gag on my fuckin’ cock, ya homo piece of shit!”

 

On his knees with his own erect cock slapping against his belly, Derek clutched frantically at the Trucker’s boots, trying to hold on as the cruel hard-bodied top throatfucked him brutally.  At one point, he reached up and grabbed the Trucker’s wrists in an attempt to pry himself away from the crushing grip on his head.

 

And yes, his eyes were watering, badly.  They were leaking almost as much as his dick; in fact, his whole face was leaking as he gagged and coughed up white foamy drool around the enormous, vein-wrapped shaft that was reaming his esophagus.  He couldn’t breathe right; at the tempo he was being skullfucked, he couldn’t catch his breath.  He was choking—in the dim, buzzing, background, he could hear the alpha’s malign chuckles…

 

Then, suddenly, he was free.  The huge tube of hard, throbbing flesh was withdrawn from his throat and Derek was able to take a deep breath that instantly led to a wracking fit of coughing.  He crouched on the floor, hacking and drooling onto the Trucker’s boots.

 

“Yer a worthless facefuck, cunt,” the dominant sadist snapped viciously.  “What, you been suckin’ off little kids?  Damn sure can’t take a real man’s cock, can ya, ya little fag?”

 

By this point, Derek had recovered enough to speak.  “M-man, I d-don’t do th-this much,” he coughed.  ‘My homies on the crew don’t know I like dick—they’d probably beat the shit outta me if they found out.”

 

The Trucker laughed aloud.  “So the dude sleepin’ next door don’t know yer gettin’ fucked over here, huh?”

 

“I-I ain’t gotten fucked here yet,” Derek muttered.

 

The Trucker’s grin grew even more sharklike.  “Get up on that bed, cocksucker and put yer ass up in the air.  Time to christen your shitty little room, boy.  Get up there, cunt; I’m gonna ream yer ass like I’m drillin’ for oil!”

 

Lust and anxiety flowed through the well-built young construction worker; this stud’s words were making him so hard it hurt—but he knew that that pain was nothing compared to what he’d endure when the alpha shoved that massive hog up his tender ass.  “D-dude, I…I dunno, man—I dunno if I can keep quiet if you stick that thing in me…”

 

“Don’t worry, bitch,” the Trucker said steadily, “I’ll make sure you don’t make too much noise.  I got ways of keepin’ my fucktoys quiet.”  As Derek climbed onto the bed and swept aside the rumpled bedding, the Trucker noticed a power strip on the floor near the head of the bed with a phone charger plugged into it. He noted its location just before the eager young pig shoved the pillows off onto it.

 

Once the bed was clear of everything but the fitted sheet, Derek moved to the center.  Crouching on his hands and knees, he raised his ass in the air, like a cat, presenting himself for mounting.  “Go slow stickin’ it in, dude,” he said hoarsely, wriggling the smooth globes of his bubble butt, letting the dim light from the wall sconce shimmer on the barely-visible peach fuzz.

 

“What the fuck do ya think yer doin’?” the Trucker barked angrily.  “You ain’t earned my dick yet, cunt; get over here and pull my boots off.  Now, you cumsuckin’ faggot!”

 

 

Blushing furiously, the muscled youth quickly scrambled off the bed.  Sitting at the foot of the mattress, the Trucker raised his left leg, shoving his boot at the punk.  Derek grabbed the rough leather upper of the Ariat Workhog boot, still moist with his own saliva, and jerked, hard.

 

With an angry grunt, the Trucker swung up his right foot, kicking the boy, planting his steel toe  in Derek’s ribcage—not hard enough to do any real damage, but more than enough to bruise the kid’s tender flesh and cause him pain.

 

“Treat my boots with respect, cunt, or I’ll use ‘em to grind yer faggot face into hamburger.  Ya hear me, boy?”

 

Derek knelt on the scarred wood floor, head down.  He was terrified that the Trucker’s deep, commanding bass had penetrated the thin walls and woken Angelo in the next room.  Fuck, if Angelo heard this, everyone would know…

 

…after all, the blue collar bottom had already found that the top’s voice had penetrated to the root of his cock.  It was pulsing even faster and oozing even more—especially when the Trucker barked again.

 

“Goddammit, you little slut, do you fuckin’ hear me?  Answer me, you homo asswipe, or I’m gonna break yer fuckin’ jaw!”

 

“Y-yessir,” Derek whispered, trembling with a combination of fear and lust.  The mixture was not unfamiliar to a closeted faggot whose every sexual encounter was tainted with fear of exposure, but never as intense as now.  Gingerly, he reached out and grasped the Trucker’s boot.

 

It took him a couple of minutes to gently remove both of them.  Once he did, the Trucker stood, looming over the working-class stud.  He unfastened the button on the waistband of his jeans before speaking.  “Pull ‘em down, bitch.”

 

Derek obeyed immediately, grasping the rough denim in his hands and jerking down, feeling the fur on the alpha’s legs brushing against sensitive undersides of his forearms.  When they reached the ground and the Trucker stepped out of them, the older man deliberately twisted his waist so that his enormous cock smacked the boy in the face, streaking his handsome, youthful face with precum.

 

“Ok, faggot,” the Trucker sneered, “Get back up there—on yer fuckin’ back, ya stupid bitch.  If ya don’t work my dick right, I may still hafta break yer jaw.”

 

Again, Derek’s compliance was instinctual—as was the sexual thrill that ran through him at the taunts from the incredibly well-built top.  No one had ever abused him like this—not this viciously, at any rate—and he didn’t understand his own physical response.

 

Nor did he try to.  All he consciously knew was that this hulking stud scared the shit outta him—and that he’d never wanted another dude up his ass so bad.  He scurried eagerly onto the bed.

 

Then the boy rolled onto his back and spread his legs in the air, his hands gripping the back of his knees for support.  The Trucker moved to the foot of the bed; from here, he had a perfectly-aligned view of the kid’s pink, pulsating fuckhole.  Directly above was the youth’s large, puckered scrotum, hanging down from a bush of sandy hair.  Rising above all this, Derek’s thick cock stood erect and oozing between his firm, smooth thighs.

 

Nude except for his calf-high white tube socks—just like the kid—the Trucker positioned himself on the bed, just between the boy’s inner thighs.  He pressed the huge, dripping head of his cock against Derek’s trembling sphincter, pushing forward with very slight pressure.  The closeted slut felt it and moan faintly.

 

“Gimme yer phone charger,” the Trucker demanded abruptly.

 

Derek raised his head and blinked in confusion.  “My what?”

 

“Yer charger, ya stupid fag—on the floor beside you.  Reach down and grab it and hand it to me now or I’m gonna fuck you up.”

 

It was an awkward angle for Derek to reach while still lying on his back, but he knew he had to obey the commanding top.  Contorting his hard, buff body, the young stud managed to grasp the cord and yank it free from the power strip.  With a relieved grunt, he straightened and centered himself back on the mattress, tossing the cord at the Trucker, who caught it and laid it to the side, within easy reach.

 

“Dude, what’s that for?  You gonna tie me up?  I ain’t never—”

 

The kid didn’t manage to finish before the Trucker lunged forward and bitchslapped him hard across the face.  Derek gasped as his head rocketed to the side.  “Worthless piece a’ shit!” the Trucker snarled.  “I told ya to hand it to me, cocksucker, not throw it at me!  You don’t know yer place, boy.  Time I taught it to ya.”  With that, he swept his strong arm the other direction, backhanding Derek hard enough to split his lower lip.

 

The once-eager whelp cried out and clutched his face.  Withdrawing one hand, he looked at the blood on it from his lip.  “Fuck, man, what are ya doin’?!  I gotta work in the fuckin’ mornin’, dude, I can’t go lookin’ like I rolled in a goddam alley!  Stop hittin’—”

 

His protest was crushed into a wheezing grunt as the Trucker punched him in the solar plexus.

 

For thirty seconds, Derek thought he was dying.  He couldn’t breathe.  No matter what he did, he couldn’t inhale.  When he finally could, he came up off the bed with a loud frantic gasp, only to be met by another line-drive blow from his assailant.  The Trucker’s fist slammed into the kid’s hard, broad pec on the left side with a loud smacking sound.  The violent impact knocked the flailing punk back down flat on the bed.

 

“Yeah, keep fightin’ me, ya stupid motherfucker,” the Trucker sneered, “That’s gonna feel so fuckin’ good on my tool.”  Grabbing Derek around his narrow waist, he rammed the cunt’s ass all the way down on his dick like a sex toy.  His shaft ground so deeply into the youth’s colon that their pubic hairs entwined.

 

Derek had been unprepared—not that he could have actually prepared himself for that massive rod, but his entire body had clenched up during the assault, including his sphincter.  The alpha’s cock almost literally tore him a new asshole, splitting the rectal lining excruciatingly on the way in.

 

The Trucker could see it in the bitch’s eyes before it actually happened.  “Keep quiet and take my dick, whore, or I’ll hurt you so fuckin’ bad, ya useless—”

 

Derek squealed like a pig getting its throat cut—as the sadistic alpha had known he would.

 

“I warned ya, meat,” the Trucker chuckled with evil glee, “Gotta learn to obey me, asswipe, so here’s yer first lesson.”  This was accompanied by a roundhouse punch straight from the shoulder.

 

The blow connected with Derek’s jaw, snapping it like a wishbone.  The lesson was well-learned; the boy’s ability to scream was severely hampered by the agonizing pain of trying to open his mouth.  The punk’s large dark eyes were wide and tear filled; the uncomprehending expression on his face show how stunned he was by the sudden, brutal attack.

 

The Trucker laughed aloud as he felt the blow reverberate along the punk’s buff, taut body, right down through his guts to his rectum.  “Fuck, I could feel that one in my cock,” he sneered cruelly, “Ya musta really liked that, huh?  Yeah?  Then yer just gonna fuckin’ love what else I got planned for ya, homo fuckmeat!”

 

Derek snapped into a fight-or-flight mode; between his broken jaw and torn colon, his body issued an instinctive directive to get away.  From stunned paralysis, the hard-bodied construction worker exploded into frenetic flailing, like a trapped animal.

 

The Trucker had expected a burst of feral violence at some point—more than one, most likely—but despite his experience, this one took him by surprise.  The meat’s hands came up scrambling and clawing like a cat; the alpha managed to jerk his head up out of reach, but the boy’s hands raked viciously across his torso, scraping his rough, wiry chest hair, even as his smooth but strong legs drew up, trying to get his up knees under his assailant and push him off.

 

It was a bad move.  Derek had a fantastic build thanks to his employment—one of the reasons he’d never had any real problems in any of his previous anonymous hookups was that he was obviously strong enough to take care of himself—but he was no match for the Trucker.  All he’d succeeded in doing was pissing off the older and much more powerful alpha.

 

“Worthless faggot,” the Trucker grunted, catching the kid’s right arm as it came up against his chest.  In a single, swift motion, the highly-experienced sadist wrapped his left arm around the boy’s right, and jerking violently enough to cause his massive bicep to flex and bulge, the Trucker bent the cunt’s elbow backwards at a forty-five degree angle.  There was a loud cracking, popping sound as the joint was destroyed, accompanied by a high-pitched squealing sound from the agonized fuckpig.

 

Poor Derek still couldn’t open his mouth to scream.  Some normal part of the unfortunate punk was terrified; he wasn’t going to be able to call for help.  Some closeted part of him was glad that no one would hear his shame.

 

And way down deep, some pig part of him reveled in it, and made his dick even harder.

 

The Trucker noticed.

 

“Yeah, I thought so,” he muttered contemptuously as he reached down and picked up the phone charger, leaning back in such a way that his enormous cock probed even further into his victim’s intestines.  Wrapping the cord around his left hand and grabbing the transformer in the right he pulled them apart easily.  He was just about to toss the transformer to the side when Derek’s low, keening moans suddenly escalated in pitch.  The punk was coming out of his semi-conscious state and responding to the pain.

 

“Still haven’t learned to keep yer fuckin’ trap shut, ya stupid little fuck?” the Trucker growled.  “Goddam, guess I gotta beat it into ya, then—only way yer gonna learn, right?”

 

Despite the red fog of agony clouding his mind, Derek heard and understood every word.  He couldn’t understand what had happened; all he’d done was sneak out to the local gay bar to he could get a good buttfuck on the DL.  He was getting it all right, but it came at a terrible and utterly unexpected price.  Even though he understood the threat in the Trucker’s voice, he couldn’t control his reaction to the nightmarish pain.  His screech got louder…

 

…until it was halted by a loud, wet, crunchy smack, the sound of the Trucker smashing his nose to a pulp, the older man’s fist still gripping the transformer from the cord.  Derek, grunting and gurgling, bit through his tongue on impact, as some lucid part of his mind noted the way his own hard dick was slapping moistly against his torturer’s furry, ripped belly.  Opening his swollen eyes, the naïve youth dazed and blurred vision focused on the glittering reflection of dogtags in front of his face, dancing with the alpha’s thrusts.  Somehow, the hypnotic jerking glint, coinciding as it did with the sensation of excruciating impalement, made him sink down and accept the pain as inevitable.

 

“Yer fuckhole’s gettin’ loose, cunt,” the Trucker snarled, seeing Derek’s eyes glaze, “How bad am I gonna hafta hurt ya to tighten yer ass up?”  The boy was so deep in his pain-induced reverie that he didn’t even flinch as the Trucker’s broad fist rocketed towards his face again.

 

This time, his left cheekbone snapped.  The boy coughed up spit, bloody from his bitten tongue, that ran down his faintly-stubbled cheek.  His body thrashed at the impact, but fell back limply afterwards.

 

“Holy fuckin’ shit, you really are a worthless waste of fuckmeat,” the Trucker muttered ominously.  “Hard-bodied little faggot twink like you shouldn’t be worn out this fast.”  Every punch he’d thrown had been with the cord’s transformer adding heft to his already-large fist; he now tossed it aside and instead the cord itself was wrapped around both hands, leaving about eighteen inches between.  “I had plans, asswipe.  I was gonna do things to ya you couldn’t’a dreamed of in yer worst fuckin’ nightmares.  I was gonna put you in pain so bad the thought of escaping it into death alone woulda made ya cum.  Now, I’m just gonna put ya down like a dog.  I’m gonna make those firm thrashing muscles of yers into dead twitchin’ meat, just so yer convulsions jack me off.  Hear me, ya useless cunt?  Time to die.”

 

Leaning forward, he wrapped the cord around Derek’s throat and pulled it tight and hard, sinking it deeply into the punk’s neck.  This was no playful squeeze; the kid’s esophagus was instantly crushed shut, cutting off his air immediately.

 

Derek’s mental retreat from pain had been successful; even as his body responded, his mind had been protected.  The instant cessation of oxygen broke the spell; the sudden wave of agony—still inexplicable mixed with lust—would have put him into shock had not the basic need to survive suddenly become imperative.

 

So he had to endure his pounded, smashed face.  He had to endure the searing, slashing pain from the huge, vein-wrapped cock rammed deep into his guts.  He had to endure the grinding, glassy pain in his elbow that made his right arm useless.  And now, he was having to endure strangulation.  He had to get away.  Somehow, he had to get up off this dude’s dick and out of this room.  It didn’t matter what the guys on the crew thought, they could laugh at him, they could spit at him, they could piss on him, as long as they saved him from this psycho…

 

The Trucker recognized the glint of panicked consciousness in the kid’s eyes.  Grinning, he spat into the slut’s battered and almost unrecognizable face.  “Yeah, that’s it.  Yer gonna die, homo, yeah?  Ya like that?  Yer dick sure does, cocksucker, haw!”

 

Giving the cord another jerk, he managed to compress the meat’s neck by another inch and a half in circumference. The appearance was almost grotesque as the youth’s smooth skin puckered and wrinkled at the point that the cord had sunk in; the cord itself was no longer visible.

 

Beneath the alpha, the buff young construction worker was already starting to writhe and sweat in extreme bodily distress.  The Trucker himself, already exuding heady mansweat from the effort involved in snuffing strong young meat, found his victim’s smooth body sliding around under him as if lubed.  The boy’s cock felt like a long hot iron rod, pressed between the grunting, shuddering male bodies.

 

“Yer startin’ to get it, cunt,” the Trucker jeered, “Ya feelin’ me?  Ya feelin’ my cock, yeah?  Ya feelin’ me choke yer worthless fuckin’ life out, yeah?  Yer crew—they’re gonna find ya fucked and murdered like the fuckin’ faggot cockpig ya are, cunt.  Everyone’s gonna know, bitch—everyone!”

 

Derek was sinking slowly into brain death but wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t process his killer’s taunts.  In despair, he realized that it was true—he was gonna be found raped to death if he didn’t manage to get out of this…

 

A last spark of lust for life flared up in the dick-filled musclemeat.  His firm, smooth legs wrapped around his assailant’s thrusting waist and his left arm batted desperately but ineffectually at the Trucker’s head.  But it was too little, too late, and the face of the dying fuckmeat made it obvious.  The cunt’s tongue, black and swollen, had painfully pushed aside the broken jaw and was protruding with a fount of foamy drool that cascaded down his chin.  The large dark eyes bulged from the sockets, the expression of terror amplified by the petechial hemorrhages that stained the whites red.

 

“Almost there, faggot,” the Trucker muttered as he hunched over and pressed his heavy, hard body down on the thrashing youth.  “Work it out, homo, work the cum outta my shaft.  Here, meat, time to go.  Time to die, faggot.”

 

With a loud grunt, the powerful alpha tightened his arms to the point that veins popped out on his bugling muscles.  He pulled so hard that the cord actually snapped, but before it did, there was a distinct crunching sound as the cumsucker’s esophagus collapsed.  His airway was permanently blocked by a mass of shattered cartilage.

 

The last flicker of Derek’s consciousness heard and felt his throat getting crushed.  Then his eyes rolled back and the death throes started.  All the Trucker had to do was grab hold of the corpse and ride it like a bucking bronco.

 

The dead kid was strong and healthy; his balls were full.  As he died, he emptied them all over his killer, himself and the bed.  For every boiling spurt of seed the Trucker unloaded into the meat’s guts, the meat responded with a thick, ropy jet that splattered into the alpha’s chest fur, or shot between them to splash against the wall, viscous pearly drops raining back down onto the entwined males.

 

It seemed to take several minutes, filling the room with gasping and grunting, the sounds of bodies slapping together, the smell of sweat and seed and lust.  The alpha held onto the meat until his scrotum was empty and he’d filled the dead kid with spunk.

 

With a quick movement, he pulled out of the corpse and got off the bed.  Reaching for his smokes, he lit one up and looked down at the body.  Derek was lying on his back with his legs apart.  At some point in his death struggle, he’d kicked off his left sock; his right one was still on but twisted down to the ankle.   Between the splayed legs a trickle of bloody semen leaked from his mangled ass.  The youth’s hard, smooth body, covered with glistening sweat, trembled violently on the bed, each spasm forcing another bead of cum from the slowly-softening cock.

 

Up to the neck, the body looked like that of a sleeping stud—ignoring the grotesque angle of the right arm—but halfway up, the throat was constricted to a gruesome point.  Above that point, the resemblance to the attractive young construction worker who’d slunk furtively into the bar an hour ago was utter non-existent.  His face was puffy and dark; his head looked—appropriately enough—like a punching bag.

 

Grinning, the Trucker knocked his ash into the sink in the corner, the smoke adding to the steamy haziness, as he gloated over his latest kill.  Stupid little faggot.  Taking another drag, he felt his amused contempt grow—and his cock.  Striding over to the warm, soft shuddering boymeat, the Trucker plunged his still-erect shaft into the meat’s mouth.  The broken jaw helped him shove the swollen tongue aside with his pulsing tube of manflesh, his precum acting as lube as he forced his way into the dead fag’s throat.

 

Taking one last hit off his cigarette, he ground it out on the meat’s forehead, grasping the corpse by its ruined throat as he skullfucked it.  Still keyed up after the snuff, it only took about a dozen strokes of his shaft, probing the mangled windpipe until his swollen purple head fitted snugly into the shattered remains of his larynx, spat another hot thick wad.  The Trucker grunted deeply as a second and third load shot from him, backing up in the enclosed space until it flooded out the youth’s nostrils.  With one last gasp, the powerful alpha let his powerful body collapse onto the dead boy as he came, feeling the youth’s deathload smearing onto his chest.

 

Finally, spent, the older man withdrew from the twitching corpse, now completely filled with his rank manseed.  Feeling the need to clean himself, he looked at the sink with disgust—then sat at the foot of the bed and slipped his boots on, before standing and opening the door.

 

The bathroom, he remembered, was at the far end of the hall.  Some part of him, reckless and still horny, defied caution and made him step out into the hallway.  The tread of his boots echoed loudly on the wood floor as he strode confidently down the hallway, his massive shaft swinging freely and splattering drops of cum over the floor as well as the Trucker’s boot tops.

 

Reaching the bathroom, he looked around at the dingy facilities in disgust, quickly washing off with a stained towel in lukewarm water.  He paced quickly back to the murder room, never noticing that one door on the hall was opened to just a crack—wide enough for a curious eye to peer out.

 

“He was a big dude,” Ray, the occupant of the room, later told detectives.  “No one on the crew, I can tell ya that—we’d love to have someone that strong workin’ for us.  No, I didn’t see his face.  But damn, man, he was built.”  The CSI team found lots of pubic hairs and skin scrapings under the corpse’s nail, but the state of the corpse was a topic of contempt and derision among Derek’s co-workers for months.

 

Ray had actually fallen asleep by the time the Trucker had dressed, so he never say the killer leave.  The killer had gotten a meal, a brief nap, and refill of gas before the corpse was found, and was back on the highway long before cops arrived on the scene.

3 thoughts on “Trucker 11–Trucker vs Construction Boy

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