Skull-Screwed in the Back of a 'Lac

When I worked for the railroad, my job was to off-load vehicles from the auto racks (railcars filled with new automobiles) brought into our fenced yard (the ramp). That was my day job. On weekend nights, I would patrol the ramp to watch all the automobiles parked there in waiting for distribution by trucks to all parts of the immediate area. Mine was a security function, paid for by the automobile companies to the railroad so that at least one human being would be on that lot 24 hours a day to guard their property. My weapon? A wireless radio. With this I communicated to the nearest dispatch tower any unusual activity or breach of the fence surrounding our ramp.

I was there 11pm to 7am Friday through Monday, at which time I'd begin my new week for the full-time day job. During this security watch I usually had little to do. The exception was when the railroad guys would bring the 'spot', which was a string of auto racks filled with brand new automobiles. Most nights, this would be done before I arrived, but sometimes they were late and I would help them set the racks up at the proper spacing, so the day guys like me could connect them with heavy steel plates to drive the cars off the racks, down the ramp and onto the lot.

A yard engine was used to bring the racks in to the ramp and set them up, then the crew chief would join me on the ground to communicate by radio to the engineer in the cab of the locomotive, telling him to shove or pull the racks, based on what I said, based on my measuring stick. It was wood, about four feet long, and because I carried it with me when setting the spot, I was called the stick man.

But not George. He called me Kenny. George was the crew chief on the late shift always assigned to bring in the spot if the previous crew hadn't gotten around to it. He was a thick, burly man with meaty and hairy forearms. Laid back and easy-going, George always took time to talk to me about the happenings in the main yard and the company itself. For whatever reason, he always seemed to be down in the dumps and I never could figure out why. Whether he was unhappy with the job or something else I never knew, but I would always try to lighten his spirits best I could.

'What's going on tonight, George?'

'Same ol', same ol', Kenny. Looks like the Frisco will soon be history.'

'So the merger was approved?'

'Yeah, right. Merger.'

Those were the days when bigger railroads were starting to take over the smaller ones. Although they were called mergers, they really were buyouts. The end result is what you see today - only four major railroads remain in the United States, not counting the few regionals that have sprung up.

We were fortunate to work for one of the big ones, but every time a merger took place, all the guys would get bumped down the seniority ladder from new guys coming in from the defunct railroad. Union rules dictated this.

'So how far is that gonna set you back this time, George?'

'Don't know for sure, but probably about 20 men.'

'Well, at least you know your pension is intact.'

He smiled a bit. 'Yeah, that's true, but it sure gets frustrating. Pisses my wife off every time this happens. She was expecting me to get a raise in two months, but I doubt if she'll get it now.'

'Is she givin' you hell about it?'

'24 hours a day. Work my ass off and she's never satisfied. Never enough.'

Poor guy. Domestic strife really turns me on, so I queried a little further. 'Don't you get any thank you's or displays of affection?' I tapped him on the bicep with a fist, flashing a mischievous grin.

'Few and far between these days, Kenny.'

We were setting the last auto rack in place and I told him what we needed. 'Give me about five here, George.'

He clicked his radio button. 'Pull it five inches, Paddy.'

The locomotive engineer delicately pulled back, until George told him, 'Good.'

That was it, the final rack was properly spaced.

'Thanks, George. Guess I'll see you boys some other...'

A voice on George's radio interrupted me. It was the dispatcher from the tower in the main yard. 'Engine 327.'

'Come in.'

'You fellas are gonna have to sit there for awhile. Two coal trains comin' in are gonna block you.'

'10-4.'

It really broke my heart that they couldn't leave the ramp. 'So, now what do you guys do?'

'Guess I'll sit in the cab with Paddy and stare into space. He ain't much of a talker.'

'Ah, hell. Stay here, George. I'll talk to you.'

He got on the radio. 'I'm stayin' on the ground for awhile, Paddy. It's nice out here.'

George's tragic situation had my blood pumping hard. Here was another married fella who seemed a bit neglected at home, an apple ripe for plucking.

I had him softened up mentally, now I had to fix the logistical problem. 'Hey, lookee here. Did you see what's in this rack?'

George put his forehead to the side panel and peeked in. 'Looks like Caddy's.'

'Yep. Brand spankin' new Cadillacs. Wanna check 'em out?'

'Sure.'

I got the bolt cutters from my nearby company Jeep and broke the seal on the doors, which was part of my job anyway. Now I'm sure you've seen auto racks in trains when you've been waiting at a crossing. They're completely enclosed by steel plates so tight that sometimes you can't even tell whether there's automobiles inside or not. Once I had the door open, I coaxed George to follow me. 'C'mon. Let's inspect the ones on the top level. There's more room up there.'

This was true. Head space was limited on the bottom two floors, but on top you could almost stand upright. George followed me up the ladder, mimicking me when I reached the rung even with the third floor and swung my body inside the rack.

'Look at those beauties, George. Fleetwoods.'

Even though Cadillac had trimmed the body sizes a bit in response to the onslaught of economical foreign cars, the Fleetwood was still a monster, four door luxury car. I walked down to the middle of the rack and picked out a pretty one. (They were all gorgeous - even in the dim light from the ramp streaking through narrow cracks of the railcar).

Opening the driver's door, I prodded him to partake. 'Try this one out. See what it feels like to sit in the driver's seat of a mansion on wheels.'

George jumped in with the enthusiasm of a teenager, acting like he was up to some no good prank. As he settled into his seat, I slipped around the front bumper and took my place on the passenger's side.

The smell of brand new leather permeated my nostrils, stirring my blood up even more. 'Take a deep breath, George. It's like heaven in here.'

He leaned back in the cushy seat and filled his lungs. That bulky chest puffed up so thick, I could see the tips of his nipples pushing out on the shirt fabric. 'Man, that is one sweet smell.'

'Kinda turns me on, George. Maybe if you bought your wife one of these, she'd be a little nicer to you.'

He sarcastically laughed. 'Yeah. Maybe I'd just throw her in the back seat and fuck her brains out.'

I wasted no time. 'Too bad your wife's like that. It ain't right that a fella can't get his dick taken care of when he needs it.'

'I just gotta jack it 'til she's ready.'

'The smell of this car makes me wanna jack mine right now.'

'Well, shit. I got nothing else to do. I'll just join you.'

Gee, that was easy. Within seconds, our jeans were unsnapped and unzipped with two puds wild and free. He didn't seem overly curious as to why mine was already hard as could be, but kept his eye on me as he worked on his. He struggled to get started and I kind of felt sorry for him.

'Need some help?' There it was - I said it. He could either thump me on the head with whatever weapons were handy, bolt from the car in disgust, or be sensible and let me take over for him. He chose number three.

'Sure. Have at it.' He removed his hand and left its lifeless mass exposed.

I reached over with my right hand and grasped his meat. As I began to pump his cock in my fist, I strategically rubbed underneath the spongy mushroom head with my fingers. Then, I gave him instructions. 'This car is all electric. Start up the motor.'

He turned the key and that 350 roared to life.

'Now reach down to your left and lift the front button.'

He did as told and the seat back moved towards the back, taking his upper torso with it and giving me room to operate. I lowered my head and took him. Burying his fat meat into my warm, stimulating mouth, I worked my tongue onto the entire surface to get him revved up. He swelled, and within seconds that balloon of his was fully inflated. Like his torso, George's cock was thick, bulky and strong. The length wasn't anything to brag about, but the diameter more than made up for it.

His mighty sausage split my jaw open wide, as I made a gallant attempt to keep my teeth off of him. Being born to worship the male penis - any length, width, shape or whatever, I professionally managed to get my mouth positioned properly to lick, squeeze and slavishly praise this man's tool.

George silently told me I was doing my job well, because he reached up to unbutton his shirt - ok, I'll confess that I gave him the idea by unbuttoning the lower ones myself. Once he had all fasteners undone, he peeled both sides back and exposed his glorious chest and belly to me. Then he folded up his arms and placed them between the back of his head and the Fleetwood's headrest.

Covered with medium thick brown fur, his pectoral muscles bulged with masculine strength, and parked in the middle of each, his glorious nipples were perfectly round and dark brown with tips rising majestically into the air. A wide, singular line of hair was the centerpiece of his stomach. This growth lightened as it approached his navel, while below the oval his manly fur spread in all directions, covering his belly and melding into his heavy brown sprouts of pubic hair.

His belly was a little rounded, probably from drinking beer to forget about his unfortunate home life. That's not a put down. I thought it was adorable, so I pretended that I needed him for leverage and placed my left hand directly over his navel. Although it was rounded, the firm muscle underneath was evident against my palm, so I slowly moved my hand back and forth to cop a better feel and massage that beautiful beach-ball belly of his.

While my right hand slowly worked on me, my mouth savagely worked on him. I took his fat helmet to the back of my throat and held it there, ruthlessly crushing out his blood out while using the back of my tongue to scrape his corona.

The poor man moaned with ecstatic pleasure, then broke the silence some more. 'Oh, man. That feels great. Yeah, suck on that big cock, faggot. Suck it good.'

Oops. That was something I didn't want to hear. Now, I know beggars can't be choosers, but I have never begged. Besides, I have a real problem with guys calling me names when I'm trying to make them feel good. I realize that sometimes it is merely a means for them to motivate themselves and I shouldn't take it personally, but to me, if your cock is in my mouth, I'm the one in control and you should just shut the fuck up and enjoy it. If you wanna talk, then you should be the dominant partner of the action.

So, not wanting to hear this shit in this situation, I schemed for a scenario whereby he could be just that - the dominator. I drew back my lips and licked the head of his unit, then released it. 'You aren't close, are you?'

He was a little miffed. 'Hell, no. You just started.'

'You like to fuck, don't you?'

'Yeah.'

'Leave it to me. I'm gonna take good care of you.'

All of a sudden, he was like a little kid once more. George enthusiastically followed my lead, as we exited the car and stripped down to our socks. After raising the driver's seat back to an upright position, powering down the four windows and turning off the engine, I soon was sitting slouched down in the middle of the cushy and cavernous back seat, while George stood on the floor in front of me, bent at a 90 degree angle and steadying himself with both hands clamped into the leather seat back by the rear window.

Pointing to my mouth, I leaned forward and turned the festivities over to him. 'Here you go, George. Fuck this.'

I took his excited penis inside me, moved my lips midway onto his pulsating shaft and waited. George brought his hips forward and rammed that meat into my throat. I opened up wide and let him in, holding my head steady and allowing him to be the aggressor.

Soon, his instincts took over and he fucked my mouth with gusto. Digging his fingers into the curve of the leather seat back, George ruthlessly drove his powerful pecker into the depths of my warm saliva pit, dominating me like the man he was meant to be. Now he could talk all he friggin' wanted to.

'God damn, you're hot. Eat this, cock sucker. Ooh... mmmph. Feels so fuckin' good.'

George was a pro, just like I figured he'd be. At first, I let him get his rhythm going, as he ruthlessly poked and swivelled his hips, ramming that thick cock into me from every angle, but once his groove was on, I put my talents to good use. I chomped down on his big strong cock. Bad ass George had the guts to drive his dick to the back of my throat with no problem, so I clamped shut my jaw when he got there, just to see if he had the guts to pull himself out of my trap. He did, but was tortured in doing so. My tongue and roof of mouth locked him in their vise, causing him to shudder, nearly causing him to collapse upon retraction.

That's right, George. No more freebies, George, you half-man half-gorilla. I'm gonna torture you good from now on, because once I clamp onto a man's cock there's no escape until you give me what I want. Doesn't matter if you're coming or going, my mouth's locked onto you for good. If you wanna shoot in my mouth, you're gonna have to suffer for it, you fucking Neanderthal you.

My motivational was with thought, because I had a dick in my mouth. George said his aloud, once he knew what was happening to him. 'Aw, Jesus... oh, god damn, that is tight...' as he gallantly drove his plow through my defenses, all the way to the depths of my throat.

That's right, George talked up a storm, but from then on most of his talking was done with animal sounds, grunts, groans, undefinable noises of pain and pleasure. Best of all, our battle made him sweat. Beads surfaced to glimmer in the shards of light poking through our metal-plated auto rack. Beads multiplied to layers of sweat, a slick lathering that matted the hairs of his chest, belly and arms. George worked his ass off, because I made him. I made him be what I wanted him to be, my dominating ape-man, my skull-fucking cave man, and once I had him worked up into a sweat-drenched frenzy, I got a feel of what I'd created. I reached up and put my hands to his chest. With George violently thrusting his torso to and fro, his slick-wet chest raced along the palms of my hands, saturating me with manly sweat.

It should have been enough for me. It would have been enough with most men who've fallen into my clutches, but something about George said, 'punish me.' His powerful fuck, his masculine muscle and fur, his dripping onto me sweat all combined to demand I heighten his pleasurable pain, and so I grabbed each of his tits between fingers and thumbs and held on for the ride. My arms were free to move in unison with his to and fro chest, while I lightly pinched and twisted those gorilla-like nipples, and George grunted just like a silverback with short, deep, guttural tones each time he drove his cock towards me.

'Uh... ah... mmph... argh.'

As his thrusts and grunts increased pace and intensity, I let go his tits and slid off the seat. Kneeling on the floor between his massive thighs, I forced George to poke a hole through the back of my neck. No room for him to retract now, his thrusts were short, deep and quick, and they came from every angle. His sweat-soaked belly slammed against my forehead. His dangling, sperm-filled nuts bounced against my chin, until I grabbed hold of them. That's right. I twisted his monkey nuts while he fired his load directly down my hatch.

George didn't make any more animal sounds. He cried out like a man who'd lost everything dear to him. He drove that fat cock completely through my skull, but this time did not resist my clamping vise. He stayed right there and I held him tight, as his tasty sperm rocketed into me like bullets, and once I knew I had him, I took over.

My lips mercilessly pressed into his wet pubes, and then withdrew. My tongue scraped the shit out of his pecker's underside all the way to his pulsating mushroom head. I crushed his contracting peter between my roof of mouth and wet-sandpapered tongue, violently fucking myself with the same dominating power he had used to do it himself. And in my fingers, his tortured nuts were twisted and pinched, as they desperately released their bounty. George twitched. He spasmed. He nearly collapsed atop me, but I gave him no mercy. I sucked on him like I was scraping dry paint. I crushed his fat cock until it was nothing more than a toothpick.

Skull-fuck me, will ya? Fine, mister, but I ain't letting you go until I'm finished. I don't care if you friggin' pass out on me... I'm taking it all. You hear me? Give me everything you got, you fucking super-charged he-man fuck machine.

That's what I told myself. That's what I did. George held on, his grunts downgraded to whimpers, and I do believe that if not for the Fleetwood's seat back holding him up, he may very well have collapsed to crush me beneath his massive, rock solid body. My finishing of him came about with no forethought, just a natural reaction to a natural male animal, my railroadin' man, George.

So, his healthy tool was orally squeezed, licked dry, and mercifully released. In his taxing performance, poor George had created a bit of a problem for both of us. His sweat, streaming from his pores like an untamed river, had and still were dotting the brand new leather of a rather expensive car for which we both were responsible. Funny that this struck fear into me more than if we'd been caught with George's dick fucking my mouth. 'C'mon, George. Let's get out of here.'

We piled out of the back seat and quickly dressed. 'What are we gonna do about that mess?' he wanted to know.

'Don't worry. I got something that'll clean it, but I better hurry before it dries up on me.' This was said to alleviate him from guilt. After all, I was the one who'd chosen this wheeled castle for our scene of activity.

With that said, George seemed pretty well satisfied with what had just happened to him. 'God damn, that was good stuff.'

'Just think, George, now you can say you've fucked someone in the back of a Cadillac.'

'Yeah. That was tighter than any pussy I can remember.' He looked at the car, still concerned. 'You think anyone'll find out?'

I knew what he was getting at. He wanted to know that if the damage was unfixable and if someone asked the night watchman about it, how many out of two men were planning to take the heat.

'Everything will be fine, George. I'll inspect it and fix 'er up. I got nothing else to do all night. And if I can't. I'm the only one who has access to these auto racks. Right?'

'Thanks Kenny.' The good-natured fist I'd given to him earlier was now given by him to me. 'I better get back to the cab. Paddy's probably jackin' his meat by now.'

We both headed down the ladder and I bid him farewell, 'See ya next time, George.'

While engine 327 sat on the ramp at the far end of my auto racks, I spent the next hour or so getting the Fleetwood back to new, using leather treatment I kept in my car, which just happened to be an older Cadillac, a two door coupe with the 425 engine from the late 1970's.

I never did anything overly exciting in the back of my Caddy, but I sure have a nostalgic fondness for big ol' Fleetwoods. That leather treatment worked like a charm. Not a trace of George's manly sweat remained in the Fleetwood, but it permeated my nostrils for many hours to come.

end