A Trucker & Mack

“Fuckkk! Fuckkk!” he moans, “Go deeper! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Push that cock. All the way, in…uh, uh, uh…yeah…yeah…uhhhh!”

His ecstasy-fueled sighs reverberate off the four walls of the dingy hotel room.

Sweaty perspiration, wells up, mightily, from his open pores as the friction stirred up by the pair’s furious passions continue. The revved-up air conditioner is not providing much atmospheric relief for the two men and the stifling enthusiastic rough lovemaking.

His hairy ass cheeks are parted, as he slithers in, his swelled cock, willfully divides the waiting ass as he sinks, deeper, ever deeper into the dark recess of the fleshy cavern.

“Shove it in! Shove it in!” he shouts, as his cock squirms its way back in, moistened by the same precum-leaking tool that delves deeper into the dark hole.

The wet squishy sounds, created by sweat, pre-cum, and exertion, lubes up his welcoming passage.

“Oh! Fuckkk! Oh! Fuckkk!” he shouts.

The suctioning sound of each plunge echoes through the room.

“I want more!” Mack shouts, as Trucker’s cock makes another dive into the deep dark hairy pit.

“Uhhh! Uhhh!” Trucker grunts, he whips his hair from his face with a slight of head.

His strong hands are on either side of Mack, as his hairy sweaty chest is pressed hard against Mack’s sweat-soaked back, flesh-against-flesh, melding the two, into one, as his fleshy rod makes another, well-drilled, disappearance into Mack’s bend-over ass.

“Deeper! Deeper! Deeper!” Mack yells.

Trucker grunts as he does what Mack wants with all the Nordic power that courses through him.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Trucker stops, his tool still buried deep to its hairy hilt inside Mack’s sweaty ass.

“What the fuck?” Mack says.

“There is someone at the door,” Trucker says.

Trucker steps back, his cock escaping from the tight clutch of Mack’s well-lubed and stretched hole. A magical pop is heard as Trucker’s cockhead breaks the seal of Mack’s dark inner chamber.

Trucker walks to the door and looks through the peephole.

“We have us some company, Mack” Trucker says, coyly.

“Is it him?” Mack asks.

“Uh-Mmmm.”

Trucker grabs the doorknob, and slowly turns it, opening the door.

“Hello!” he says.

“Hi!” says the man on the other side of the door.

He does not hide his nakedness nor his leaking erection from the visitor. He stands in the doorway, his hands placed on his hips, swaying his body from side-to-side, expelling his man-juice, like a whip in front of him.

“Come on in,” he says to the man at the open door, “Your name is Pete, right?”

“Yeah, I am Pete,” the man says as he walks over the room’s threshold, “I am Randy Sanchez’s friend.”

“I remember you, c’mon on, in, bud,” Trucker says as a dollop of his cum drops onto the already many stained carpet under his bare feet, “Is Deputy Sanchez with you?”

“No,” Pete says, flatly. “Just me.”

Trucker does one step out of the room, his feet touching the concrete of the walkway in front of the now opened door. He looks east, then west, but sees no one. The sounds of crickets and other night insects making their evening noises.

He sighs. He had hopes it was Sanchez. Had he read that situation wrong?

He turns and walks back into room, closing the door behind him.

“He’s not with you?” Trucker says, moaning-like.

“No,” Pete says, flatly,” Let me help you with that.”

Pete squats down in front of the beckoning tool of the long-haul truck driver.

Pete unbuttons his shirt, revealing a thick nest of fur covering his chest.

“That was what I was doing, “Mack says, as he strokes his cock, his ass longing for more of Trucker’s leaking cock.

Pete’s shirt is open, his hand is down on his cock, fondling it through his jeans, as he swallows Trucker’s down to its furry root, his nose buried deep in the man’s pubes.

“He tastes like your sweet hole, Mack. I think.”

Pete nods his head with his mouth still clamped tight around Trucker’s cock.

“I think he likes it.”

Pete nods his head again.

“He does.”

“I want that cock back in my hole, Trucker,” Mack says, “I do not want that seed dumped down that young man’s throat. I want it in me.”

Trucker pumps his hips a few more times making his cock gyrate in the younger man’s mouth.

“You heard the man,” Trucker says, “He wants my seed. And I aim to please.”

Trucker pulls his spit-laden cock from the man’s mouth and walks to the edge of the bed where Mack has re-positioned his ass back up, where he lays on his back.

“I want it back in me,” Mack demands.

The kid stands. He yanks his open shirt from his chest and throws it in a heap on the floor. He sits on the bed, kicking of his boots and then his socks.

Trucker slides his spit-lubed cock back into the waiting hairy ass of his longtime hook-up named Mack. He creeps ever slowly, feeling the man’s ass grip hold of his cock, each inch he slides inside the man’s splayed ass parts Mack wider.

Pete unbuckles his belt and unsnaps his jeans as he lies back on the other bed, watching the two men on the opposite bed commence with their furious fucking, picking up where he had interrupted them.

“Fuck him, man!” Pete says, as he pulls his cock of his jeans, “Fuck him! Fuck him!”

Trucker moans as he pounds Mack’s ass.

The sound of the squish fills the rented room.

Pete lifts his legs, sliding his pants down and off. He is naked as the two other men in the room. Pete vaguely resembles the man that Trucker is firmly planting his cock into with such an astounding force.

Pete is in his mid-twenties. Mack is just shy of being forty, himself. Both men have a light wisp of a beard on their rugged faces. They could pass for father and son, but neither are kin. The years of physical labor have worked wonders on both men. Muscles grown by fighting the tasks before them, both are proud of their bodies earned by their hard work. Each are blessed with a dark matt of fur on their chest, creeping up from the equally plum of pubes that encircles their respective cocks. This is their biggest asset. Both are empowered by a fleshy 10-inch rod.

Trucker aka Leif Erickson McLeod, like a mythical Norse god, looks like a man that has leapt from the pages of the ancients and manifested in full adorning flesh before all of humanity.

Pete strokes his cock harder as Trucker oozes more of his cream in Mack’s loosened hole, the creamy excess streaming from his lubed ass.

The room is in its own universe, all by itself, the sounds of ‘the fuck’ drowns out the world just outside the motel room door, all that matters is ‘the right now.’

Trucker grits his teeth, holding back a squeal, a yelp of intense gratification.

His cock is being squeezed like a vice by Mack’s soft tender interior.

Pete gets on the floor, behind the hectic pair, watching Trucker’s cock enter and exit from Mack’s tight hole. The picture is that primal saturation, he gets on his knees and sups on the juices of both men, as Trucker’s plummeting ‘fucking’ brings forth much more abundance.

The delicate lick, this liquid feast mingles on his extended tongue, he can taste Trucker and his masculine juices as they seep onto his extended tongue.

“That’s right, boy,” Trucker says, “Lick my balls.”

The sweat of his exertions are salty-sweet, Pete smells and taste of power.

Pete eases up from Trucker’s plunging balls, as they slap against the opened ass of Mack, riding the dense trail of fur from the swinging and dangling balls to the sweat-dripping ass-crack of Trucker. His nose smells the man’s power as he rides with wet tongue and waiting lips to Trucker’s ass. He takes one lick, then another, breathing in the sweet aroma of this powerful Norse god.

“Oh, yeah, boy,” Trucker says, building in deep bass tempo, “Rim my ass! Rim my ass, boy!”

Pete’s tongue darts into the furry feast. Trucker slides his ass back, letting the spry young man delve deeper in his crack. It stirs him to push his cock further into Mack’s ass.

“That’s right, Trucker-Man,” Mack says, “When someone eats that hot ass of yours, you fuck me, much better. Deeper.”

Pete munches as a man starved on the furry posterior plastered before him in its magnificent splendor.

“Eat me! Eat me, boy!” Trucker yells as he continues with his plunges.

“FUCCCCKKKKKK!” Trucker moans, “FUCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Someone is at the door, again. Cops?

“What the fuck? What the fuck? When did this fucking place become Grand Central?” Trucker says as he stops mid-plunge.

“Someone must have called the office,” Mack says, as the room grows eerily quiet.

“They would have called here first, wouldn’t they?” Pete says as his stops eating his furry lunch, the juices of Trucker’s ass, soak through the fine course hairs on his stubble-laden face.

Pete stands, his cock waving about, clear cream seeps, slowly, from his statue-like fleshy-wand.

Trucker, still buried, up to the hilt, in Mack’s parted ass, eases out his wand of flesh. It is covered in a thin sheen of their shared man-juices.

His steely-hard cock drips like a leaky faucet on the carpet as he trudges to the door once again.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

He reaches for the silver doorknob and slings it open.

“What the fuck!” he says in an animated musical tone.

He looks over at who stands there and feels the eyes of the one, who stands on the opposite side of the threshold.

“That’s more like it,” Trucker says.

“Is the invitation, still good?” the person says as they step into room.

“For you,” Trucker says, “The invitation is always open.”

“Randy!” Pete says as he sees who the person is.

“Sanchez!” Mack says, as he strokes his cock, while he still lies back on the bed, spread-eagled. Ass ready to be taken again. By any of these men.

“I see I have not arrived too late for the party,” Sanchez says, “Close the door, Mr. McLeod, I want to taste that.”

Sanchez points to the fleshy-steel girder, which waves like beacon between the two men.

“Son, you are right on time,” Trucker says, “C’mere.”

Sanchez walks towards the blonde tasseled giant of a man, his hands wanders over the exposed flesh of the one before him.

“This is what I want,” Sanchez says as he squeezes the plump stiff rod of the god-like man between his fingers.

Sanchez kisses Trucker, their faces meld, into one. The others in the room are ignored, non-existent to them. For the moment.

Their eyes meet, Trucker’s blue and Sanchez’s dark brown.

Sanchez’s cock jumps in his shorts. His hand goes up the Trucker’s face, he snakes it along the man’s rigid square-jawed rough exterior, feeling the age and the maturity of a real man, who breathes so close to him.

Trucker’s right-hand rakes across Sanchez’s face, following a similar path that Sanchez did on his. Sanchez coos as the ecstasy mounts within him.

Two fingers reach, flickering over the top button, loosening it from its harness. Those same fingers work their magic, travelling downward to the next one freeing it from the eye-shaped confines of its prison. Trucker’s fingers move, dancing down to the next one. The shirt flaps open, Sanchez anticipatory movements whips the partially open shirt about. Trucker leans in and breathes a gust of air across the man’s exposed flesh. Sanchez’s nipples harden from the heated breath. The fourth, fifth and sixth buttons are undone in rapid succession as the tension builds between the two. All that is left is the last one, that one comes undone the quickest. Both sides of his shirt hang like a discarded drape before Trucker grabs it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap.

Freedom.

Sanchez is in all unadorned glory.

At his feet is the shirt.

“Thanks, “Sanchez says a sparkle in his eye to the person who freed him from his burden of the flimsy button-down shirt.

“Of course,” says Trucker, “Of course.”

Trucker looks the shirtless man over, from the top of his head to his flip-flop shoed feet.

“You don’t need these on, do you?” Trucker says as he unsnaps the button on Sanchez’s shorts.

Once undone, they fall to the floor, draping over the shirt that was already there.

“I didn’t expect those,” Trucker says.

“I like my jock,” Sanchez snickers with a smile.

“So, do I. So do I,” Trucker says with an equally impressive grin, “You like the thin-banded swimmer jock. Uh!”

Sanchez nods his head.

“Coach let me wear’em back in the day, when I played on the football team at my high school.” Sanchez explains, “While he let the other guys wear the wide-banded BIKE jocks. I wore these.”

Tufts of black coarse hair peak out from underneath the full pouch and along the top of the thin elastic waistband, and down his well-muscled legs.

Trucker tweaks the left nipple of this now-nearly naked deputy.

Sanchez sighs, loudly.

“It doesn’t even hold all your meat, deputy,” Mack says from his viewpoint on the bed.

Out of the pouch, the man’s meat dangles like an unfettered viper.

“And it is quite, mmm, uhhh,” Trucker says, “Impressive.”

“I’ve been told that,” Sanchez says, proudly.

“You don’t need these on, do you?” Trucker says as he grabs either side of the thin elastic waistband of the stretched, strained, and stained worn jock.

Trucker lifts the worn jock over the dangling meat, not without some help, Sanchez reaches in, positioning his meat, from the stretchy confines of his high school jockstrap.

“You’ve had this one for a while, uhhh?” Trucker says, as he brings the jock to his nose to sniff it once he has relieved Sanchez of it from his body.

Trucker lets out a loud sigh, once he brings the sweet aroma of the cock-jock to his nose.

“Yes, this is the jock Coach gave me back in the day when I was a senior in high school,” Sanchez says, “It was my gift, my prize for the size of my cock.”

“Your high school Coach gave you, this jock, this one, back when you played high school football?” Trucker says, with a puzzling tone.

“Yeah, once I got measured, and put into ‘the book,’ he gave it to me, as the prize,” Sanchez explains.

“What’s ‘the book?’” Mack says, propped up now on his elbow, still splayed out like a sacrifice on the bed.

“Tell’em,” Pete says, “Tell’em all ‘bout ‘the book,’ Randy.”

“’The Book’ is my high school coaches Coach Cock Book, a measurement of the senior’s cocks on my high school’s football team,” Sanchez explains.

“You serious?” Mack asks, “You are joking, right?”

“He’s serious,” Pete says, “It’s a tradition. I’m even in it.”

“Mmmm,” Trucker says.

“Y’all were eighteen when this was done, weren’t you?” Mack says.

Pete fondles his cock, its hardness bursting from forth from his hairy plume of his muscled thighs.

“Oh, yeah,” Pete says, “We were legally adults…and no doubt, we were men. Our cocks, more than proved it.”

Sanchez nods his head, ‘yes’ to his friend, Pete’s, added information.

“’The Book’ goes back to 1965, when they built the new high school, the football stadium and the field house,” Sanchez further explains, “If you played football, up to your senior year. Your measurements are all in that book, your width and girth, everything. Everything. The amount of pubes on the guy’s crotch, the football player’s overall body musculature. There are even some pictures.”

“There is a picture of yours in there, isn’t there?” Trucker says.

“Oh, yeah,” Sanchez says, “the year I graduated I had the biggest cock that was measured in a coupla decades. So, pictures were taken of my cock. I am legend.”

Sanchez snickers proudly.

“Y’all had a hard-on’s when this was done, didn’t you,” Mack says, “You are not even half-hard, now, and you are impressive.”

“Yeah,” Sanchez says, “We were all measured when we were soft and hard. It is a rite of passage if you played at my high school. The cross-town rivals would be shamed if they knew what the players were packin’ on our team in their gear when they met us out on the battle on the football field.”

All four of the naked men laugh. Sanchez’s cock is now reaching its mythic proportions.

“Enough about this,” Trucker says, “This needs some of my attention.”

“DAMN!” Mack blunts out, the shock and awe is apparent.

Trucker squats and takes the swelling meat into his slobbering mouth.

He can taste the sweet saltiness of the young deputy, who towers over the squatting nearly middle-aged truck driver. He sucks harder drawing ‘the cum’ deep from within the deputy’s balls.

“You and Sanchez, graduate from the same high school, together, Pete?” Mack asks.

“No!” Pete tells Mack, “I graduated, the year after he did but I saw his cock in the field house while we were in high school.”

“He had…all eyes were on him, weren’t they?” Mack asks.

“Yeah!” Pete says, “It was quite a sight a behold, when it leaked out, just how big he was…well, that changed everything.”

Trucker gargles down Sanchez’s cock, he cannot swallow it all, but he tries. He chokes and coughs as he takes more down his throat. Trucker’s face is red, the slobber spittle runs out of his mouth in torrents.

Sanchez’s hands are on his hips as he pumps his cock into Trucker’s mouth, face-fucking his flesh into the man’s mouth.

“The man is quite something, doncha agree?” Mack says.

“He is, “Pete says, “…but I want your cock in me.”

“You do?”

Pete nods his head.

“I think, I can manage that, Trucker is busy, and I am not.”

The room reeks of sex and the anticipated sex that they all know will happen.

“Who wants it?” Trucker says as he waves his cock once he stands from feasting on Sanchez’s cock. He licks his lips tasting some the deputy’s left-over excess.

“I do.” Sanchez says.

“Well, Deputy, I want yours.” Mack says.

“And I would not mind having yours, Mack.” Pete says.

Each man looks to the other. They know they can arrange this. And they do.

The End (for now)

(The prequel to this story. Coach Cock Book will further tell this tale that ties into the Benjie’s Stepdad World because of the Coach mentioned in that story.)