0 comments/ 75206 views/ 13 favorites Heavy Haulage Ch. 1 By: furryfrank Warning!The following is intended for adults over eighteen years of age only. Please note that the text contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts between males. If you find such matters distasteful, or if the perusal of such material is illegal in your circumstances, you must go no further. Brand names are used without implication or prejudice in regard to intellectual property rights. Names, places, persons and organisations herein are fictitious. Any similarities are purely coincidental. * * * * * Foreword Although the following is a work of fiction, some of the story is based closely on one of my own experiences. The rest is based on what I wish I had experienced! Chapter One "Concrete Cock Up" Steve woke up with a raging hard-on as usual. He rolled onto his side with a groan to ease the pressure on his straining cock. Then he slipped a hand out from under his duvet and tried to smash his buzzing alarm clock into oblivion. He didn't succeed, but at least it stopped its noisy reveille. Blinking open his eyes, he established that it was exactly five in the morning. He grinned to himself: He'd have plenty of time to get up for work, after he'd taken care of the more urgent need between his legs. He shuffled himself upright and leaned against the headboard, taking his time. Nothing could beat a long slow wank in the morning. Well, nothing except a fuck, but being single, it was time to say hello to Mister Palm and his five friends. Steve let the chilly air in his room raise a few goose bumps on his flesh, exposed from the bedclothes from his waist up, before wriggling his duvet over his thighs. His cock sprang up as the duvet slid down, long, hard and pointing at the ceiling, ringed by a bush of curly dark pubic hairs at the base. No need to rush Steve thought. He began with running his hands over his broad, muscular chest. He'd been to the gym four evenings a week since he was eighteen, so by his current twenty-four he'd developed a pretty stout physique. Standing a good six foot two, he was a big lad, thick with muscle. He could do with losing a stone to bring out the definition, but that could wait until summer. In his cold room in the middle of November, a slight layer of blubber from too many indulgences in truckers' cafes wasn't a disadvantage. He ran his fingers over the slabs of his pectorals, letting the covering of dark hairs tickle his palms, before wetting his finger with his tongue to smooth down the hair over his stomach. As the tips of his fingers began to tickle his pubic bush, his cock gave an eager twitch of anticipation. He wriggled his legs, kicking his duvet off completely and stretched out naked; quickly glancing over to the window to make sure the curtains were shut. He reached to his knees and brought his hands slowly up his hairy thighs. His cock was aching for attention now, his scrotum shrinking, tightening his balls up against his body. He reached between his legs and cupped the damp sacks in his palm, gently exploring the large globes. He stroked gently up the underside of his cock, from his balls to the thin fold of foreskin sheathing the tip. Gently, he began to peel back his foreskin, to expose the smooth pink glans, the piss hole oozing a few drops of clear pre-ejaculate fluid. Steve gave his thick shaft a gentle squeeze, and a few more drops accumulated at the tip. He pushed his foreskin back over the glans before tightly pulling it all the way back again to smear the fluid over the tip of his cock. His body was beginning to twitch with arousal, but he fought back the urge to grab a tight hold and pump away. Steve took a tight grasp on his prick sending a ripple of pleasure through himself. He felt the force of an orgasm building up behind his bollocks, so paused for a moment, to relish the sensation. When he'd calmed a little he started to rub, slipping his shaft slowly in and out of his fist. He started slow, and then stopped holding back and increased the pace, thrusting upwards with his hips. A couple of minutes of firm pounding, quietly groaning to himself was all he needed. He felt the rush of semen build up in his balls, and with a final groan, let himself come, his orgasm shuddering through his whole frame as several hot, wet spurts of semen shot from his cock, splashing down over his stomach, and dribbling over his fist. Steve moaned with release, and squeezed the last drops of spunk from his cock, onto his fingers, before wiping them onto his belly with the rest of his mess. He paused to catch his breath, satisfied that there were few better ways to start the day than emptying your nuts. Wide-awake at last, he had a quick rummage through his untidy pit of a room, and eventually found a reasonably clean towel hanging over the radiator. He wrapped it around his waist and headed off to the bathroom for a shower to clean the increasingly tacky spunk off his belly, while giving his bollocks a good morning scratch. The bathroom was one floor down from Steve's room. He was usually the first up, which proved to be a good thing, as none of his house mates were likely to bump into him in the morning, half naked and smelling sweaty and seminal. He'd shared the house in Birmingham with a couple of mates for the last two years. They'd all become bored with the inhibition of living with their parents, and had rented a small Victorian terrace in a street of the same. The state of the place was a testament to the fact that there were three typical scruffy blokes living there; the surface of the kitchen table was currently buried under various fast food cartons, brimming ashtrays and empty lager tins. Both Frank and Mike would still be fast asleep at this hour, each of them in boring nine to five office jobs. Steve was happy to leave them to it. He'd had a variety of jobs after he'd left school: He'd started out as an electrician's apprentice but didn't enjoy it much Eventually, he'd ended up with a multi-drop driving job for a furniture firm. It was hardly fascinating, lugging Transits all over the city, but he'd enjoyed the freedom of being out on the road. Eventually, after some good advice and a bit of financial backing from an uncle who'd been a lorry driver for years, he managed to scrape together a couple of grand. When he'd reached twenty-one, he put it to use paying for his HGV training and eventually acquired a Class One Artic license. Again with a good word from his uncle, a mildly respectable haulage firm with depots in the midlands and the north had set him on. Steve caught the bug from the very start. He'd never done any intercontinental driving, but he'd been to just about every destination in the UK, hauling everything from frozen food to toys. Truth be told, there was perhaps a touch of boys and their toys to it, but lorries turned him on. There was a sense of responsibility and indestructibility to piloting 38 tons worth of vehicle up and down the nation's highways, especially at his young age, and compared to Frank and Mike's boring office jobs, the brass wasn't bad. Steve shuffled down the cold corridor to the bathroom, locked the door and shrugged his towel off his hips. He had a good stretch and yawn and could help indulging in a bit of vanity, bollock naked, in front of the full length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door. He definitely had a good physique and enough between his legs to keep all but the most demanding of partners satisfied. He rubbed a hand through his short, dark brown hair, and looked into the reflection of his brown eyes. He was almost good-looking, if in a slightly rough, untrustworthy sort of way. Steve sighed, shaved and brushed his teeth before stepping into the shower. The hot water felt great, as he soaped off the spunk matting down his body hair. He soaped himself all over, feeling the bulges of muscle at his shoulders and biceps, before rubbing the lather into his groin. The soapy warm feeling soon began to trigger another erection. He glanced at the clock on top of the cabinet. He'd time to squeeze in another tug. Eventually, 15 minutes late, he made it to the depot and clocked in at 6:15. He made an excuse about his bus being late and helped himself to a strong cup of coffee to wake him up, and had a moan with the other drivers about HGV excise duties and diesel taxes. There were only a few of the lads in that morning, along with Ruth, the telephonist, who also sorted out the despatching and administration. She'd been starting early to catch up with a recent backlog of work, but most of the drivers had been teasing him mercilessly, suggesting the real reason was to see Steve every morning. "Watch out Steve, she's after you. She's always on the look out for a bit on the side when her husband's at sea!" It might have been true, but Steve knew that she was barking up the wrong tree. What they didn't know was the fact women left him cold sexually. He could and had performed with women before, but a pair of bollocks did for him what a pair of breasts never could. Even as an innocent kid, before he'd learned that the thing between his legs was supposedly for sticking into girls as well as having a piss, he'd always had a stronger physical interest in other blokes. He didn't advertise his sexuality, and, if honest with himself, he wasn't particularly comfortable with it. In fact he sometimes found it a pain in the arse. Often literally. If pressed, he'd be honest about his occasional indulgences with other men, but he couldn't really accept himself as gay. He wasn't camp or anything, he just saw himself just a typical, ordinary, working class bloke, who didn't mind a bit of fun with another bloke. Besides, thinking of Ruth, he couldn't see what a woman would find attractive in him this particular morning. All he could see in the washroom mirror when he went for a piss was a scruffy, half asleep young lorry driver in a pair of battered steel toed boots, grubby, badly ironed checked shirt, reflective yellow waist coat and grease stained 501's. Nevertheless, he usually called round to Ruth's office to say good morning. Not only did she share his offbeat sense of humour, but she also kept a framed photo of her husband on her desk he could have a surreptitious drool over. Ruth's other half was a strapping Staff Sergeant in an Infantry regiment. The blurry snapshot showed him in his barracks, smartly dressed in his uniform with the three stripes at the biceps, taken at just the right angle to show off his stocky physique. His green trousers were slightly rucked up in the snap, nicely emphasising a mouth-watering bulge between his legs. Lucky cow, he thought. What he wouldn't give to have something like that thrusting between his legs each time he came home on leave. "Wake up Steve!" she called, pissed off that he hadn't noticed her expensive new hair cut. "You're a million miles away this morning!" "Sorry!" Steve replied, taking his eyes off the picture and trying to dismiss the erotic mental image he'd been forming. "I'd better get going." "So you should. Still, it's not a million miles away you need to be. In fact it's nearer two hundred and fifty. I've got an easy couple of days for you young man, but you'll be away for a couple of nights. Today you're taking a load of building materials up to Barnsley. You'll need to load up at the builder's merchants and get there for ten o' clock if you can. Then you're picking up about 10 tons of injection moulded plastic components from Newcastle to go back to Barnsley. Drop your trailer at the Barnsley depot. Next day you're back up to Newcastle to do some local runs. You'll need to hook up a refrigerated trailer at the Newcastle Depot as it looks you'll be hauling perishables that day. I'll let you know when I find out for sure. We need you to drop the refrigerated trailer at the Barnsley depot tomorrow and ferry the cab back here next morning. You'll have to stop over at Barnsley tonight and tomorrow. All on your own." Steve didn't comment on the latter. He just collected his driver's sheet and taco disks from her, admiring her flawless efficiency, and made for the door. "Just a minute Steve. I forgot to tell you something." "Yeah?" he grunted. "Your flies are undone." Steve hurried out to the lorry park, blushing, pulling his zip up. He could still hear the guffaws of the drivers who'd overheard Ruth as he banged the door behind him. It was true that the drivers were a rough lot, who gave her a fair bit of stick as a woman, but she'd quickly learned to give as good as she got. When he'd first started, the other drivers had told him it was Ruth's job to give each of them a blowjob on their birthdays as a wind up. When Ruth found out about this untruthful rumour, she promptly got her revenge by pouring liquid paraffin into the canteen's tea urn. Steve couldn't figure out why she was so pissed off. He'd have been happy to get down on his knees for at least half of them. Eventually, after he'd checked over his cab and trailer, and sorted out his tachometer he was on his way. With the 12-litre diesel rumbling contentedly, he slipped the 16-speed gearbox of his Scania sleeper cab into first Low and headed off to the builder's merchants. He'd never minded the merchants as they did most of the work. They had an incredibly efficient computerised system for collections, and a team of forklift drivers to load up the lorries as they came in. All Steve needed to do was fold back the curtain-side trailer and let them get on with it while he had smoke in the tradesman's waiting room. He flicked through his drivers sheet and road atlas, trying to work out where his load was going. From what he could gather, it was some major building project in the north; an enormous new complex of offices under construction, and the delivery was going straight to the site. One of the older drivers had sketched him a map on the back of a Marlboro packet to show the entrance he'd need for HGV deliveries. Before he'd got back to his cab, one of colleagues 'phoned him on his mobile to ask if he needed any help zipping his flies up. "Fuck off!" Steve snorted indignantly and hung up. Steve couldn't help thinking, given that the driver who'd rung wasn't that bad looking, he'd have accepted his offer if only he'd wanted to pull his flies down. Half an hour later, he was heading north on the A38, listening to his immense collection of cassettes and chucking tab ends out of the window every half hour. At least his employer wasn't fussy about the drivers smoking in the cab. He stopped for coffee and breakfast at a trucker's greasy spoon before continuing north. The drive was pretty boring apart from a stretch where he was stuck behind a slow moving police motorcyclist. It had given him a chance to run his eyes over the copper's meaty leather clad thighs, straddling the white yellow striped 'bike for a couple of miles. Steve couldn't help feeling a slight disappointment when he roared off at the next exit, giving him one last look at his backside, tightly sheathed in matt black hide. Steve understood Ruth's attraction to a man in uniform. He wouldn't have said no to him slapping on the cuffs and sticking his truncheon up his hole. He soon snapped out of his daydream when he realised he was about to smash his artic into a line of cars queuing at a roundabout. Soon enough, he got to Barnsley, avoided the town centre and headed out again. The drop was just off a main road heading out the other side of the town. After 20 minutes, Steve turned off the main road and as he rumbled down a wide straight B road until he noticed the site along side him. The sheer scale of the operation he glimpsed through the wire mesh fencing encompassing the area impressed him. He spotted the main entrance to the site next to the firm's name plastered in foot high letters over a hoarding attached to the wire fencing. HGV deliveries were directed to a different entrance a little further down. Steve checked against his fag packet map. He found the sign for the lorry park and swung the artic in. As he drove in he saw the total area covered by the construction site must have been over two square miles. He drove in over the bumpy, dusty ground, feeling the axles bouncing and followed the signs to the delivery area. He pulled up near a couple of other trucks, alongside a huge "Good Inwards" warehouse, both being hurriedly unloaded of bags of cement. Steve checked his driver's sheet, which told him to ask for Mister W. Wilson as he glanced out across the site and glanced over the busy site. He'd delivered to dozens of sites but this was by far the biggest. He'd never seen so many JCB's in one place. The shells of the main offices and warehouses were complete and most of the building work was now limited to an assortment of secondary buildings. In addition to the builders, there was a range of tradesmen on site from glaziers and sparkies to tarmac gangs and plumbers. The place had a dusty, oily, woody smell and continually seemed to buzz with activity, the noise of vehicles, machines, pneumatic drill, electrical generators and shouting men. There had to be a hundred blokes in hard hats running around. Steve sighed. He knew this was going to be awkward for him. Building sites were always full of the type of men Steve couldn't help being attracted to, big rough types, with boots and hard hats, oozing sweat and testosterone. He noticed a couple of lads nearby treating him to frequent glimpses of arse cleavage showing at the tops of faded jeans and dusty combats as they bent over picking up bricks or whatever. He'd never found anything alluring about twinky types or anything too well groomed. Someone a bit earthy, rough around the edges and overtly masculine, from squaddies to scaffolders, firemen to farmers, even his fellow lorry drivers, made his prostate itch. Occasionally, he admitted to himself it was one of the reasons he'd wanted a trucking job in the first place. The thought of some hairy bit of rough barging up his hole was beginning to give him another hard on. The pressure in his jeans became uncomfortable as Steve's currently one-track mind began to wonder. "Oi! Get tha fucking hat on mate!" The shout snapped Steve back from his usual daydreaming. Ten yards off, a big, irritable builder was pointing a thick finger toward a sign on the outside of the warehouse announcing, "No Hard Hat no Job" with "Visitors Required to Comply" underneath. Steve nodded and reached into the cab to fish out his orange hard hat. He usually chucked it onto the dash to lean against the windscreen, but he eventually found it wedged under the seat among half a dozen empty fag packets. He knew he'd have to clear his cab out soon before his supervisor caught onto the state it was in and gave him a roasting. The firm had made the high-viz waistcoat he was already wearing compulsory for the drivers and issued hard hats as standard, given the number of contracts they had for hauling building materials to deliver direct to site. Quite rightly, most sites they delivered to insisted on appropriate head protection, but Steve usually forgot until reminded. Not that he minded at all. In truth, he loved wearing his mucky gear, as much as he liked other men wearing the same. It was a fetish he'd had for years, which his job luckily gave him opportunity to indulge. Something about a bloke in a pair of BTR steel-toed wellies gave him an instant erection; in fact, the Arco work wear catalogue was almost as good as pornography to Steve. "That's more like it mate." responded the hefty builder, in his broad, flat South Yorkshire accent, satisfied on seeing his hat in place as he emerged from the cab, arse end first. "We were expecting thee thirty minutes ago. Better get you unloaded." Steve loved that accent. He could listen to it all day, deep and earthy, yet honest sounding at the same time. The builder turned out to be one of the foremen, eagerly awaiting Steve's delivery to complete his schedule on time. The big, heavily built foreman introduced himself as "Billy", and seemed to be friendlier under the surface than his gruff manner first suggested. Heavy Haulage Ch. 1 In his late thirties, greying and in need of a shave, there was still a certain rugged attraction there for Steve. He was a lot squatter but shorter than Steve, about 5'10", marginally overweight, but still had a thickset body with plenty of muscle and stamina developed from years of physical work rather than in a gym for aesthetics. A few bristles of cropped greying hair showed from under a battered yellow hard hat, with "Bill" stencilled on the back. Steve was chuffed that he was even scruffier than he was, in a tatty blue rugger shirt with the building company's logo, covered by a reflective waistcoat, full of grime, holes and wet concrete. Steve noticed he was wearing Caterpillar boots similar to his own, before he unavoidably gave his groin a quick glance. Steve gulped involuntarily. The bulge between the foreman's legs was enormous. He could barely tear his eyes away. He must have been hung like a pit yard donkey underneath his heavy-duty royal blue Arco trousers. Steve shook himself back to reality, and suddenly needing another piss, asked Bill where to go. "Well tha'd better tie a knot in tha prick son, 'cos it's a long walk." Bill explained that the plumbers had recently encountered a few problems; hence the only toilet working was on the second floor of one of the new office buildings just behind the delivery warehouses. "If I were thee, I'd do what rest o' t' lads do and piss up against t' back wall o' t' warehouse." Steve thanked him, but headed off for the office anyway. He was far from shy, but he couldn't face standing in a line with a load of hulking young builders with their cocks in their hands pissing against a wall. He'd never be able to stop himself from looking and getting a very embarrassing and public hard-on. Steve found the offices' second floor bathroom and emptied his bladder. He had a look around while he was there. Most of the work seemed to have been done on the offices, which were clearly destined to be those large open planned Habitat furnished types, with a few smaller side rooms for photocopying or faxing or some such bollocks. Sort of place Steve's housemates were imprisoned from nine to five he thought. This block wasn't quite Habitat yet, though; the floors littered with surplus building materials and the walls nothing but bare wet plaster. Steve sat down on a crate, watching from a window where he could see them unloading his lorry and dug his 'phone from his back pocket. He called Ruth to see if she'd sorted out his deliveries in Newcastle. Ruth replied in the negative and told him to call back later. She told him to check his flies were still up. Steve found his way back and Bill showed him the catering Portakabin, where he could finish waiting for the unloading. He took of his yellow hard hat to scratch his cropped thinning hair and spent five minutes having a cup of tea and fag with him, and as a friendly joke, continually took the piss out of his Birmingham accent, before leaving him to get on his way. Steve didn't see him again until he left, at a distance, where he saw the big foreman angrily shouting, bawling and swearing at a sturdy young apprentice builder who had accidentally emptied out a few hundred weight of wet concrete over a an inspection cover. Bill's face had been red with fury, the veins in his thick neck standing out as the doleful and apologetic looking lad endured his embarrassing tirade with the whole site and all the delivery drivers watching him. Steve headed off, impatient to get back on the road, this time onward to the A1 and, up toward Newcastle. Apart from a coach load of respectable girls from a respectable school on a trip who made all manner of lewd gestures at him from the back seat, flashing bra's and knickers, the trip was dull. With a couple of dozen pallets of plastic trays loaded on at Newcastle, he headed back to the drop just on the outskirts of Barnsley. The foreman he encountered this time hadn't been so helpful as at the last drop. He was a mousy little bloke in a shirt and tie with gold-rimmed glasses by the name of Andrews. He was one of those self-superior types who treated lorry drivers like scum, Steve especially as he was young and scruffy. He might not have been the brain of Britain, but he wasn't as thick as this twat took him to be. He did nothing more than point to a forklift, patronisingly told him where he wanted the pallets and watched him every minute as he unloaded his lorry. He even checked to make sure he had a forklift licence and wouldn't let him smoke on the premises. Glad to leave Andrews far behind him, he finally pulled into his firm's depot in Barnsley around teatime, completely knackered with his eyes aching from a bad case of highway hypnosis. He was looking forward to a night's rest and another good wank in the morning. Steve got one of the other drivers to help him uncouple the trailer, which left him even more filthy, covered in grease to add to the rest of the mud and grime that had been drying onto his clothes over the course of the day, After scrubbing his hands clean with an industrial cleanser and tidying himself up as best he could, he had a cuppa and a chat with the other drivers in the canteen. Someone had recorded a rugby league match from the weekend and stuck the tape into the canteen TV. Steve wasn't much of a sportsman beyond his trips to the gym, which he'd miss over the next two days, but he did enjoy watching rugby league. Mainly for the occasional tantalising glimpses of the players' jockstraps, the leg tapes showing at the bottom of their shorts in a tackle, a thin white elastic line tracing the curves of their arses. Steve shook images of shiny satin clad muscular buttocks out of his mind and said good night to the other lads. His groin was more than a little unsettled and it would start to show if he stayed to watch the rugby much longer. He thought about finding a lay-by and sleeping in the cab to save his brass, but in his dishevelled state, he decided to treat himself to the usual truckers' motel most of the lads used in this neck of the wood. It wasn't spectacular, but then Steve wasn't too fussy and it was only thirty quid for an en-suite room plus overnight HGV parking. He walked back to his cab; looking forward to a shower, clean sheets and a bloody good tug. Once he'd climbed in he rummaged around for his 'phone to so he could make sure it was to hand to call Ruth and check on his schedule next morning. Except he couldn't find it. "Fucking Hell!" muttered Steve, clenching his teeth in anger. After 15 minutes of violent swearing and chucking all the crap in the cab from one side then back to the other, he sat down in the driver's seat trying to work out where he'd lost it. It came to him in an instant. It was when he'd gone for a piss at his first drop. He'd left it on the window ledge of the offices when he was watching his trailer being off loaded. It could have been worse. It wasn't that late in the day, and the building site was only twenty minutes off. He didn't fancy explaining to his boss that he'd lost the 'phone they'd issued him with and particularly didn't want to pay for it out of his wages. Cursing himself for being so utterly stupid, he set off to the other side of town, hoping he could find it before some builder nicked it. By the time he got back to the site where he'd made his first drop, it was dark and the gates for trade deliveries had been shut. Luckily, the main entrance was open, so he parked the lorry in the lay by almost opposite, hoping the vehicle would be all right for half an hour. He stuck the keys into his jeans pocket, at least remembering to put his hard hat on this time. There was a Portakabin by the main door that served as an office, so Steve explained his predicament and asked if it'd be OK to nip over to the block round the back of the goods in warehouse and see if his 'phone was there. They gave him a visitors badge and told him he'd forty minutes or so before they'd lock up. Steve stamped angrily over piles of sand and bags of cement, discarded spades, wheelbarrows and so on, heading for the block. Most of the builders and tradesmen had clocked off, leaving the building site almost eerie compared to the noise and bustle when he'd been there earlier in the day. Steve soon walked over to office he was after and made it to the second floor, heading through the fire door and quietly walking down the partly plastered corridor to the room at the far end where he reckoned he'd left his 'phone. Half way down he heard the distinct scrape of work boots on a dusty floor in one of small photocopying rooms. He paused by the door and heard a muffled voice followed by a loud grunt that was unmistakably sexual, sending a surprised tingle of excitement through Steve's loins. He glanced through the tiny wire-mesh reinforced glass window of the side room door and saw a big bloke in dirty blue work clothes and a yellow hard hat with his back partially toward him. Another builder in similar work clothes, a fresh-faced sturdy young lad around eighteen, was in his knees in front of him, enthusiastically rubbing the bigger bloke between his legs. He'd heard Steve walking outside the door, and the big bloke shouted for him to come in and make sure the door was shut behind him. Overcome by curiosity, Steve did as instructed and entered the room, dimly lit by a bare bulb. It was empty apart from a pile of crates and assorted building materials against one bare wall, the fresh plaster starting to dry out. The big bloke pushed the lads hand away and turned round. Steve found himself staring straight into the eyes of Bill, the foreman, with a sheepish grin on his face. The front of his grubby trousers were tented outwards, and Bill casually rubbed his stiff cock through the dense material. "You're t' lorry driver from this morning int thee?" Steve couldn't answer. He was transfixed by the foreman's bulging crotch and rigid with shock, wondering what the fuck was going on. "Steve innit? Thought tha'd be back. Left yer phone next door. I've made sure it still there for thee." Bill grinned broadly at Steve's dumbfounded expression in response to the scene he'd walked in on. With a guffaw, Bill decided to offer him something in the way of an explanation. "I'm conductin' a site initiation for t' new lad 'ere" he explained, casually. "Showin' him whose boss like! Ee's been lippy all day, so I've brought him up here t' keep his gob occupied with somat else for a change!" Bill scowled at the kneeling builder who was looking at back and forth from Steve to the foreman with a worried and uncertain expression creasing his forehead. Steve recognised him, as the same lad Bill had been bollocking in front of everyone earlier. He was young, well built, and good looking with shaved dark blond hair. Like his foreman, the crotch of his orange trousers was bulging with an erection. The burly foreman glared down at him. "S' about fucking time he were taught a bit o'discipline! Besides, I've to punish him for that cock up with spilling concrete all over t' fucking place. Set us all back half a day." The foreman was still openly stroking his erection through his trousers, and careful watching Steve, gauging his response. Steve couldn't say a word; his heart was pounding and his mouth dry with this unexpected turn of events. His couldn't help but stare with lust at the bulging front of the foreman's trousers. Bill broke into another knowing grin, still rubbing himself. He seemed to have found the response he'd expected from Steve. He gestured toward the young builder. "Tha can stick around and help us out if tha wants. It'll be a change driving around in that fucking lorry all day." Steve was genuinely surprised: He had never thought for a second that the foreman was anything other than a typically straight chauvinist builder. He'd wanted at closer look at that enormous bulge in his pants from the moment they'd met, but never imagined he'd get the chance. Either Bill was taking one hell of a chance about him or he'd sussed him out all along. He'd probably noticed him staring at his groin earlier, sniffing around him like a bull in heat. Steve's own cock was rapidly stiffening, and lust soon got in the way of common sense. Thinking as he always did, with his bollocks instead of his brains, he decided it was too good an opportunity to miss. What the fuck, he thought; no one was likely to find out and it was better than a wank in the back of the cab. He signalled he was up for it by unzipping his flies, his power of speech at last returning to him. "Sounds fine by me." He stammered. "Good lad!" responded Bill without fuss. "Young 'uns name's Pete." "'Evening'" responded the lad cheerfully, looking greedily at Steve's groin. "This un's Steve," continued Bill, "'Looks like he's gonna check tha over t' make sure tha's not HGV positive or owt!" Bill unbuckled his belt, snorting at his own bad joke and dropped his blue trousers down to his filthy size twelve steel-toed boots. Pete didn't waste any time, reached for the front of the foreman's stripy briefs and started rubbing his bulging crotch again enthusiastically. There was little that Steve could do other than watch, fascinated, as Pete firmly rubbed the foreman's balls with one hand and squeezed the straining bulge of his stiffening cock through the thin cotton of his underpants. Pete took his hard hat off then spread open ends of Bill's torn yellow high-vis waistcoat, carefully reaching under his shirt and pulling down the foreman's underpants to join his trousers 'round his ankles, releasing his hard cock. Steve had been right about the bulge between his legs he'd admired earlier. With his tackle out, he proved to be a big bloke in every way. The foreman's large, erect cock sprang up from beneath his dirty concrete spattered rugby shirt, long and thick, his foreskin slightly retracted. Pete ran his hands up Bills stocky, hairy thighs, before grabbing his big hairy balls with one hand and gently stoking the rigid shaft with the other. Bill grunted as the lad firmly pulled back his foreskin to reveal his shiny pink glans, the slot at the tip already oozing with pre-ejaculate. The lad leaned forward to gingerly lick the tip of the foreman's cock with his young pink tongue, gently probing the oozing piss hole. Bill grunted louder and thrust his cock toward the lads wet waiting mouth, but Pete held back slightly, his mouth still open, before slipping his tongue beneath Bill's foreskin and slowly running his it around the tip, his cock, licking beneath the fleshy rim. Bill groaned, his cock rock hard and his fists tightly clenched by his sides. "Stop fucking teasin' and get on with it!" growled Bill, angrily, his cock twitching. Both of them ignored the fact Steve was there, watching and on with it. Pete shuffled forward between Bill's knees and lapped his tongue over his balls then wet his lips with his tongue and started to lick to full length of the foreman's shaft, slicking it with spit from its purple tip to the coarse dark bush of pubes around the base. As Steve watched, with his own cock quickly stiffening, Pete opened wide and closed his mouth tightly over the tip of Bill's prick, sucking enthusiastically. "Fucking Hell!" Bill moaned, thrusting his hips forward, his slick cock sliding deeply into Pete's tight mouth. Pete grabbed the foreman's broad hairy arse with both hands, his fingers digging into his crack, pulling him into until he hit the back of his throat with almost two thirds of his dick inside him. He gagged slightly, but held him there before he began rocking on his knees sliding Bill's meat rapidly in and out of his mouth, sucking furiously as he rolled his tongue over the large cock. Steve was watching intently, rubbing his own cock as his strong erection pressed against the inside of his jeans. Pete got stuck in to sucking Bill and continued for a couple of minutes, slipping his tight lips up and down Bill's big cock, his rhythm increasing, until the grunting foreman finally started coming, moaning with pleasure and thrusting into the lad's mouth, "Fuck!" he swore through gritted teeth, his breathing heavy and laboured, beads of perspiration across his brow beneath the peak of his yellow hard hat. Bill held his body rigid before giving a loud animal bellow, his knees buckling slightly as he ejaculated into Pete's warm mouth, his thick seminal globs spurting copiously against the back of his throat. He shuddered as a couple of additional spasms sent a few more spurts dribbling out. Bill relaxed, gasping as Pete let go of his arse and slid his sticky cock from his mouth. The softening tip eased out with a slurp and Steve caught a faint trace of the arousing smell of fresh semen. Pete swilled the gob-full of spunk around his mouth swallowed the lot conspicuously as Bill wiped his cock on Pete's shirt and pulled up his underpants and trousers. Pete stayed on his knees as Bill bent down to give the lad's bulging crotch a rough tweak through his grimy orange trousers as Steve noticed the tip of his erect cock just poking up past the waistband. Steve would have described the lad's technique as unrefined, but he clearly knew how to give a quick suck and he hoped he was next in line for the same treatment Bill had just received. Steve had pulled his cock out by now, sticking rigid out of his flies, and he'd been slowly wanking as he watched the two men. They both looked over at Steve. He could feel himself begin to blush, as he noticed them looking at his dick, grinning at him standing there with his cock out, wanking like some sort of moron. "Well don't just stand tha daft fuckwit, get over here" chuckled Bill, fastening his belt over his belly, leering at Steve while digging out a cigarette and lighting up. Pete remained on his knees as Steve anxiously took up position in front of him. "Come on tha dozy cunt, get that gob workin'," Bill grunted, cuffing Pete roughly around the ear. Pete paused to wipe a smear of the foreman's spunk from the corner of his mouth and winked at Steve. "Come on then mate, let' s be having you," he suggested, greedily eyeing up Steve's dick. Steve stood still, waiting for Pete to start while Bill leaned against the wall to finish his Regal and watch. Steve finished unfastening his flies and let his trousers fall. Pete slowly slid down his boxers pulling the waistband out to ease his underpants past his eager cock. Steve looked down to see Pete grinning up at him then felt a creamy wave of pleasure as Pete began to touch his prick, rubbing his hot rigid shaft in his hand, his fingers exciting him further as they slowly felt his balls. He stroked Steve firmly but gently as he simply stood there enjoying his attentions. He become highly aroused more quickly than he had expected and he could feel his climax wasn't far away. He concentrated on holding back, not wanting to show himself up with a premature sexual performance in front of a couple of strangers. Luckily, the lad sensed how excited he was, and waited a moment watching a little trickle of precum drip from Steve's cock before starting on his blowjob. As with the foreman he began by exploring around Steve's foreskin with his tongue, Steve feeling the membrane stretch and the sensations rippling through him. It felt bloody good. He still had to concentrate to stop himself coming before he began to suck. He understood how the foreman must have felt, as he too was aching for Pete to take him into that wet gaping mouth. Pete slipped him in and started bobbing at his crotch, his mouth working up and down his cock fast and relentless as Steve gasped at the warm slick pleasure roaming up and down his shaft. "Go on lad," Bill interrupted, "Get that length of trucker's cock down tha! Suck him harder! Tha should have got him off by now!" Pete did as he was told and sucked on Steve's cock harder and quicker. The increased suction made Steve feel even stiffer, and the tongue flickering against his shaft and cockhead sent him off the edge. He felt Pete's hand grasp his taut scrotum, squeezing his balls as they throbbed and a shudder rolled through his body. Heavy Haulage Ch. 1 A choked grunt escaped Steve as he felt the point of no return pass and a moment later he couldn't stop himself and came, feeling himself spill his load into that slick sucking mouth. He felt his spurts quickly subsiding, and he stepped back panting, Pete still sucking out the last drops as his cock slipped from his mouth with one last tickle of pleasure. He watched Pete, still on his knees between his legs as he tasted then swallowed his spunk. Steve shuffled back, his trousers still around his ankles, catching his breath. The foreman handed Steve a Regal from behind his ear with a particularly satisfied grin, glancing at his softening cock. He turned to Pete, scowled and barked "Right then tha little cock sucking bastard, lets get thee sorted!" Steve was going to suggest returning the favour, but sensed that Bill had other ideas for his 'initiation' "Come on you stupid little wanker, get stripped down yer fucking bollocks!" he ordered. Pete got up and did as instructed without hesitation, tugging off his work clothes and boots. Steve enjoyed watching him strip as he tucked his spent cock back into his shorts and jeans. Pete soon had his kit off, leaving Steve to admire him naked especially his hard cock, sticking out in front of him as rigid as a fireplace poker. He was slim but fit, with a strong young body and a long circumcised cock, impressive for a lad of eighteen, surrounded by a curly halo of gingery blond hairs. He was breathing deeply; his cheerful young faced flushed with sexual excitement, bollock naked but for an earring in his left lobe "Start wanking yersen off then, tha dozy arsehole!" Bill shouted. Pete unselfconsciously took hold of his cock and started to wank quickly, beating his meat and moaning, rushing to bring his climax as ordered. The foreman and Steve watched the lad taking his pleasure for an enjoyable couple of minutes standing just in front of him, before Bill cuffed Pete sharply around the ears again, knocking him off his stroke. "For fuck's sake, do it properly lad!" he barked, roughly pushing him back. "Sorry mate..." Pete began, but Bill quickly cut him off. "Turn thesen 'round tha stupid cunt." Bill nodded at Steve and nodded to the pile of stuff in the corner. "Fetch us that length o' rope mate" he grunted. Steve, curious as to what he was up to, found it and passed it to the foreman, watching him as he tied Pete's hands firmly behind his back with the short length of thick, greasy rope, eagerly waiting for whatever he was going to do next. He yanked the end of the rope to make sure it was firm, and pushed Pete back round to face him, a nervous expression crossing the lad's face. The foreman kicked his legs wider apart with his boots and spat a big gob into the palm of his hand. He carefully spat out another gob to dribble down onto the tip of Pete's twitching cock and gripped him tightly in his lubricated fist. He started to wank him off, slipping him in out of his fist, with rapid, brutal upstrokes slapping his hand against Pete's balls, with slower down strokes. "That' s how tha should do it!" Bill advised, still rubbing. Pete was moaning softly, his hips thrusting forward against the foreman's tight rubbing fist, desperate to come, his cock steadily oozing precum to add to the spit. Steve watched, listening to the squelches as Bill rubbed. Just before he made him come, Bill stopped, letting his hand go. "Oh, God..." Pete gasped, looking into Bill's eyes, silently pleading. Bill just grinned back at him with an evil leer. "Your go Steve." he offered, "Don't let 'im empty his balls though. He aint earned it just yet." Steve was really getting into this, fucking about with a couple of builders. For no reason he could explain, he felt a slight sense of guilt, and a nagging fear they'd get caught but the situation was such a turn on he just couldn't help himself. They'd got this young builder naked, hard and under control. They could do what they liked with him. Steve's prick was pushing against his jeans again as he took Bill's pace in front of Pete and enthusiastically got started on the lad. He'd wanked men off before, but never like this, in complete control of the situation, with someone else watching, able to take his time. Steve slowly began stroking Pete's smooth, hot cock, still wet with Bill's spit, slowing down when appeared near to coming, using his hand to tease, trying to keep him moaning and twitching. He was still tempted to get down his knees and use his mouth as Pete had done for him, wanting to taste that eager young cock, but kept to Bill's instructions. Pete was groaning steadily, as Steve continued to slowly wank him, getting him progressively more aroused, his cock still oozing precum. Steve left his cock alone for a moment ran his hand over his flat stomach; ruffled his gingery pubes then stroked up the insides of his thighs. Steve began to gently prod and tease his tight balls, with his fingers, rolling his bollocks in his palm before squeezing them firmly, enjoying the damp feeling of his scrotum. "Shit!" Pete moaned, closing his eyes as Steve's hand returned to his rigid cock. Steve could feel Pete's heavy breaths against him, standing just in front of him as he continued to stimulate him. Pete let out a particularly long moan and a few shudders started to rock his body, his arse cheeks tensing up as an orgasm began. "Don't you fucking dare come yet!" Bill shouted at him angrily, "Or I'll take thee outside and kick the fucking shit out of thee before sticking tha P45 right up tha useless fucking arse!" Pete swallowed with genuine fear at the threat, gritting his teeth to painfully hold back the building surge between his legs. Panting with frustration, he managed, though a few pearly beads of semen formed at the tip of his twitching cock. Bill took over, shouldering Steve aside, stepping into place and used his thick fingers to teasingly smear the drops down Pete's prick, slowly running his rough digit down the thick vein on the underside of his prick. They locked eyes with each other, Pete trying to hold back and Bill using his fingers to force his orgasm with his probing digit. Still staring angrily into Pete's eyes to gauge if he was going to come, the foreman licked his big index finger and reached between Pete's legs, slipping his digit past his balls and crouching a little to reach further forward. Bill then abruptly pushed his way upwards into the crack between Pete's spread legs and shoved his thick wet finger straight up his tight young arse. He winced slightly with the painful intrusion before Bill prodded his finger deeper into his arsehole, banging into his prostate. "Aghh! Fuck!" whimpered Pete as the sensation triggered a response from deep inside him, rippling all the way through his loins. His legs buckled slightly and a few more drops of his semen escaped his cock as he concentrated with every ounce of will power he had to stem the urge to let himself go. "Not yet! Not tell I bloody well say!" Bill shouted angrily as Pete shuddered again. Bill waited for a moment until he was sure Pete had got himself under control, then stepped out of the way, and grunted at Steve. "Come on then Steve lad, see if tha can keep this little bugger going a bit longer." Steve stepped back up to Pete looking him in the eye. Pete nodded he was ready for more, and then Steve reached for his cock again. The drops of semen dripped down his shaft, trickled over his balls and left a series of wet splashes on the dirty floor between his feet. Steve licked his fingers, tightly circled a thumb and forefinger round the lad's prick and began slipping the tight fleshy hole up and down his shaft. After a minute or two, at Bill's suggestion Steve took off his orange hard hat to use on Pete's throbbing cock. Steve began rubbing the smooth shiny dome of plastic on the underside of his prick, watching him flinch slightly at its cold feel. He rapidly guided his hard hat back and forth against his erection until Pete started to shudder and buckle at the knees again, moaning with torturous pleasure, semen oozing. Pete's cock was now as hard as any Steve had seen, inflated even larger, the skin tight and shiny, the ridge of the head with its circumcision scar like rock against his fingers. One slight touch was all he would need to bring him off. "Oh, please fellas, that's enough, let me cum" he begged, his whole body twitching with excitement and frustration, his wrists straining in the rope behind his back, sweat running from his armpits. "Tha's not had enough yet!" scoffed Bill "What you fink Steve?" "Dunno" Steve shrugged, breaking into a broad smile, enjoying himself too much to want to stop. The lad was just managing to stop himself ejaculating where he stood, his eyes glazed and his cock pointing at the ceiling. "Come on," Bill prompted, "Tha'd better start beggin' fer It.," he growled with relish. Pete didn't hesitate, his pride swallowed by the burning need of his cock. "Please Billy, sorry, I mean Mister Wilson, please bring us off. Come on mate, lerrus shoot me load, me balls are killing me, I need to cum…" "Shut the fuck up!" Bill interrupted, giving him another crack around the ears, eyeing him contemptuously before brushing his hand over the tip of Pete's prick, the feathery touch bringing another small dribble and a tortured gasp of excitement from Pete. "Right then, tha useless little cunt, I reckon tha's' had enough. But the next time tha tips cement all over the bloody site I'll fucking bury thee in it!" he shouted. Bill suddenly grabbed Pete by his swollen bollocks, and gave him a good painful squeeze while he spat into his hand again. He took hold of Pete, gripping him by the left shoulder to hold him steady while grasping his prick in his slimy right hand. The foreman brutally wanked him like before, slipping his tight wet fist quickly up and down the lads' throbbing cock. Half a dozen rough wanking strokes was all it took until Pete finally climaxed, crying out loudly, a series of final shudders rocking his stout young frame. His hips pushed powerfully forward into Bill's fist, as copious spurts of thick white spunk began to spurt from his dick, bulging in the foreman's grasp. Moaning noisily, Pete was still ejaculating in Bills hand, wet silvery ropes spurting out, before subsiding to a few last dribbles. Steve was impressed. He'd rarely seen so much spunk from one orgasm before, never expecting so much from a young lad like Pete. Pete finally groaned deeply with satisfaction, still sweating, but his tense body slowly relaxed, his cock deflating. "Thanks" he gasped with heartfelt relief as Bill relaxed his hold on his deflating cock and released his grip on his shoulder. Bill wiped his hand over Pete's chest, grimacing with disgust, cleaning the lad's spunk off his hand. Bill had shifted his stout body sideways to avoid Pete's spurts, but glancing down to stamp the wet evidence into dirt, he noticed a thick glob dribbling down the steel toecap of his right boot. With an angry snarl he pushed Pete, his hands still tied, down on his knees again. "Tha's made this fucking mess so tha can fucking clean up after thesen" he commanded. Pete looked confused. "Use yer fucking tongue dickhead!" Bill clarified. With slight reluctance, Pete crouched down, stuck out his tongue and began licking the foreman's boots. He earnestly cleaned off the spunk, and lapped the grimy toecap until the leather began to shine through and swallowed a mouthful of spunk and mud with a repellent expression for the taste. "While you're at it Steve here could do with a bit of spit and polish son" he ordered and gave Steve another crafty wink. He let Pete shuffle over on his knees and repeat the degrading task on Steve's boots. Steve enjoyed watching him down by his feet, tied up and bollock naked and licking, feeling a charge from the power they had over him, understanding exactly what it was about this that Bill liked. Pete leaned back, from Steve finished, with muddy streaks around his mouth. Bill churned his mouth and spat a large gob of spit into Pete's face. With his hands tied he could do nothing but let the foul glob drip down his cheeks. Steve casually pushed his boot between the kneeling lads legs and rubbed his toecap into his groin, wiping off any remaining spit and mud. Pete knelt there uncomfortable and humiliated, but making no protest about what they were doing. "Tha's gorra dirty face lad. Steve and me 'ere best wash it off for thee." Bill announced, unzipping his fly again and puling his now soft cock through the slit. With a quiet grunt, he aimed his prick at Pete and abruptly began to piss, a pungent yellow stream of urine rushing out of his fat dick, splashing against Pete's face. Pete gave a quick yelp of surprise as the warm, smelly piss started to splash over him. The foreman's stream continued as he directed the flow of piss over Pete's body. Pete knelt still, steeling himself to take another humiliation. Bill hosed his shoulders and pissed against the lad's chest, belly and thighs and between his legs. He gruffly ordered Pete to open his mouth wide. Pete complied as Bill then started to piss straight into the lads open mouth, the stream arcing straight from his cock into Pete's waiting gob. Bill shouted at Pete to start swallowing. With a grimace he swallowed the mouth full of concentrated piss and opened up to let him fill up again. Steve was surprised at the size of Bill's bladder. The flow showed no sign of stopping yet. Watching another man pissing made Steve feel he could use a piss himself, so stood by Bills side, and fetched out his own prick, pointing it in Pete's direction before beginning to empty his own bladder over Pete. He listened to the steady patter of their streams of urine over him, enjoying the strong smell of ammonia from there mixing piss. He pissed all over Pete, watching it shoot from the end of his cock. When he felt his flow start to finish, he directed the last of it into his mouth as Pete struggled to gulp down the nauseating liquid. Bill's flow started to subside at last and the two men finished, almost together, shaking the last drops off their cocks onto Pete's bare flesh before they zipped up. Pete knelt still, dripping and wet, shaking their piss out of eyes and trying not to retch at the unpleasant taste left in his mouth. The foreman looked down at Pete with a sneer and spat one last gob into his face. Steve hocked up a gob of spit and did the same, watching Pete flinch as it hit him in the eye. "Right then lad, you're done," announced Bill "I hope tha's learned tha fucking lesson. Tha'll not be spillin' concrete again; will you, you little bastard? " "Er, no Mister Wilson, sorry about that." responded Pete, somewhat sheepishly, still on his knees and dripping with their spit and piss. Bill scowled at him. "Tha'd better had, 'cos if tha does owt so fucking stupid again I'll have thee up 'ere once more, except next time you'll be sucking every fucking cock on the whole fucking site!" Pete swallowed nervously at the threat. The foreman ordered him to get on his feet, and roughly pushed him round and untied his wrists. Pete rubbed his circulation back into his hands, waiting anxiously for the next order from his foreman. Bill chucked him a grubby rag from one of the crates to dry off with and at last told him he could get dressed. Five minutes later he was still filthy with his work gear back on and strongly smelling of their piss. Bill poked about the room to make sure there was no evidence of their activities left behind. The puddle of cold piss on the floor would be dry by morning. "Right lad, tha can fuck off. Get yersen 'ome for a shower, I can smell this 'ere lorry driver's piss on thee from a mile off." he told Pete. Bill fixed him with a final glare as Pete was edging towards the door. "Make sure tha keeps this to yersen and don't be late in t' fucking morning!" he cautioned, grinning malevolently at him. He opened the door to get off and clean himself up properly as advised. "Yeah, Mister Wilson, err, thanks for that. See you isn't mornin'." he gave Steve a respectful nod. "See you around then!" With that he turned and stomped off to find the stairs. Steve had a last look at his arse as he turned, round and firm beneath his trousers and half hoped that he would see him again. He could think of better things than a P45 to stick up that particular builder's arse. Steve followed Bill out of the offices, his head buzzing with the charge he'd got out of the unexpected session. Nonetheless, the experience had left him feeling slightly uncomfortable, and he was looking nervously around to make sure no one had seen. Despite a faint pang of guilt, he wanted more. He definitely wanted to do this again sometime. The foreman explained he occasionally gave some of the new lads this sort of 'initiation' after they'd started "to show them who was boss." He obviously had a pretty enviable ability to suss out which lads would be up for it and keep quiet about what was going on. After all, Steve supposed, he'd sussed himself out from the start, despite his macho lorry driver image. They walked out the building, Bill locking the doors behind him, toward the car park opposite, empty but for a dirty white Transit van, earnestly puffing on a tab. He got to the van and ground out his dog end with his boot. Steve suddenly found he didn't want to let him go. He wanted to get his hands on Bill's cock and found he was mildly envious of Pete. He wouldn't mind Bill giving him that sort of treatment himself, on his knees in front of the big, hairy attractive brute, doing every humiliating thing he was ordered. Macho lorry driver or not, he thought about suggesting a night back at the truckers' rest together, but could just see Bill scoffing the suggestion aside straight off. But he wasn't going to let him go without trying his luck. He was coming back to Barnsley the following evening, so how could he say no to a quick fuck, no strings attached? "You got anyone in need of sorting out tomorrow night?" he chanced. Bill grinned wickedly: He'd been waiting for the question. Christ, the bastard had certainly got Steve sussed out! "Thought Tha'd be asking' that." he chuckled, "but tha's out o' luck mate. Pete's on an early shift. So's rest o' lads likely t' be interested." Steve couldn't make out whether he was telling the truth or not, or whether he was deliberately pushing him into a corner. If he wanted him, he was going to make him ask for it. It would have to be at his suggestion, and Bill would make him beg for it if he could. That's what turned him on. Professionally and sexually, he was a man used to being in charge. Bill gave him an evil leer as he waited for him to respond. "Well I'll be back down this way after I've been to Newcastle tomorrow, and I don't mind someone showing me whose boss once in a while if there's no one else who needs a seeing to." Steve waited for his response, his heart pounding, like some schoolboy with a crush. The foreman stuck his hands on his hips and let out a loud dirty laugh. "I fucking knew it mate. Tha can't wait to get thesen a taste of cock can tha?" He already knew the answer to that one as much as Steve did. "I'll see thee 'ere t' morrow neet, then 'bout six. There's security guards patrolling at night, but they dunt show 'till eight" Without another word he climbed into the Trannie and drove off. Steve found his way back to the lorry, tingling with excitement, and threw his hard hat on the passenger seat. It wasn't until he climbed back into the cab that he realised he'd completely forgotten about his sodding mobile 'phone he'd gone back for in the first place. Part Two "Builders Bum" Steve finally got his 'phone back after a second trip to the offices, got parked up and checked into the hotel. He sank a couple of pints in the pub over the road, eagerly anticipating the coming evening with Bill. He got turned in almost immediately afterward, save for a quick shower. Rubbing soap all over his hairy body made him hope it would soon be Bill's hands rather than his own doing the same, exploring his skin and every crevice of his muscular anatomy. It'd probably turn out to be nothing more than another quick wank or a blowjob, but Steve wasn't fussed. He just wanted to get his hands, or preferably, his mouth on the stocky builder, even if it was only for five minutes. Next morning, after a restless night's sleep and a good breakfast he checked out of the hotel long before dawn and got the diesel tanks topped up and headed for Newcastle. He'd skipped his usual morning wank in anticipation of his session with Bill that night. Ruth 'phoned at 8am complaining that she couldn't get hold of him the former afternoon. "Yeah, I was, erm, busy with something" Steve tried to explain. Ruth knew automatically he'd been up to something he didn't want her knowing about. "Oh yes, what sort of something? Probably a young attractive hitchhiker knowing you. Hope you didn't catch your dick in your flies." Steve could feel himself blushing already, even the tips of ears turning red. Ruth explained his run for the morning had been sorted out. He could get his drivers' sheet printed off at the Newcastle depot. He loaded up in Newcastle and spent a long dragging day lugging a refrigerated trailer of frozen packet food on a multi-drop route around Tyneside.