Summer was coming to an end when I pulled into a parking area with no facilities that consisted only of a large asphalt parking area encased by a wooded area on I-64 in Indiana, about 50 miles from Louisville, Kentucky. Well-worn paths led back to private areas in the woods where sexual predators prowled looking for anonymous encounters with other men stimulated by the smells coming from the earth, which emanated scents of piss mixed among pine needles, weeds, and the occasional wafting of the scent where someone squatted to take a shit.

It was a still evening with a lot of moonlight, so I parked in my favorite spot, and rolled my windows down. Three or four 18-wheelers were scattered about the parking area, along with four passenger vehicles, all looking for sexual encounters. Some stood by their vehicles signaling with flashes of cigaretts while others would periodically tap their tail lights. A trucker who was hauling livestock opened his door and climbed down to stand with his cab door open and unzipped his fly. An older man immediately opened his door to walk toward the trucker, who stood with his cock shaft erect and waiting. After a brief exchange of words, they headed down one of the paths together.

A busy truck stop some-odd miles back had a rest room with four stalls. Earlier I had written a note and left it on the back of a toilet: W/S & KINK, Ch. 14, and waited for an hour in my car.

I watched a trucker looking at the CB's in the building heading for the men's room. He looked unkempt and unwashed, as though he had not bathed for a few days. His bushy black beard and moustache was very becoming, and he frequently groped himself.

When he left the rest room, I noticed the bulge in his jeans. He picked up some smokes and was paying the cashier when I hurried to my car, and switched from Channel 19 to Channel 14. The trucker got into a truck hauling appliances, looking around first. His dark-blue cab was super-sized. I began to click three times, and immediately a returned click caused my cock to stiffen.

'Anybody there?' he asked calmly. 'What's up?' I asked, hoping I had lucked out.

'That your note in the toilet?' he continued...sure hope so.' 'Yeah,' I responded, letting him know that I was serious about my desires for man piss and a ripe shit hole...'You interested.'

When I did not get an immediate response, I thought maybe the trucker could not make up his mind, but his cab door popped opened, and he stepped out of his truck stark naked, and stood there waiting.

I got out and hurried over to where he was standing on his bare feet against the warmed asphalt. I squatted in front of him and began to lick his balls, which smelled like dirty shorts.

As I lapped at his shaft and crotch, I heard him utter a sound of pleasure.

'You really like that dirty cock,don't you' he stammered, breathing heavily, and turned his butt to my face. I wasted no time lapping his butt crack while fondling his balls. I could feel the heat of his ass as I spread his ass cheeks, and pushed my raunch tongue as far as I could until it slid past the tender corrugation of his shit delivery chute. I loved the sensation of his man flavors entering my belly, and I massaged his butt cheeks desperately while his shit knob seemed to undulate and tug on my tongue.

He kept telling me how good I was doing, and saying things he knew all pigs love to hear. 'You're really good,' he grunted....'I gotta piss!' Immediately I turned him around and swallowed the above-average dick after licking the surface of his uncut cock. He pissed forcefully whle making comments about how much he knew I was enjoying what his body had processed.

The stinging piss stimulated me, and I was wanting it to fill my belly for the ride home. After he had emptied his gut and shot his hot cum into my throat, he stood there asking me when he could see me again.

I watched him put his clothes back on and wink at me as he started his engine back up.

It was a night to remember.




Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus