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.