Heavy Haulage Ch. 1

It rained for the whole morning after dawn, and by the time Steve had rushed through the day, sweating like a pig to get his trailer off loaded, he was even dirtier and scruffier than he'd been the day before. The rain had left a load of filth clinging to the cab, which somehow managed to get smeared all over him as he climbed in and out. Worse of all he, just couldn't concentrate on the job. His mind continually drifted to his hopes for the evening, and nearly caused a couple of accidents. To keep out the rain, he'd dug out his waterproof fluorescent orange drivers jacket out of the cab, and in a moment of absent-mindedness, he'd managed to tear it after getting the bottom corner caught up the door. Eventually, he managed to get done just before two o' clock, and headed back south to Barnsley, trying not to rush and drive safely. He was mildly disgusted with himself, acting like some sort of desperate teenager, but he just couldn't help himself, He'd been waiting for a fuck all day. He tried to keep his mind on the road, but the vibrations of the tractor unit's diesel engine seemed to seep into his groin giving resulting in an uncomfortable erection on every ten miles of motorway.

Of course, Steve got back too early, but not early enough to get a shower some place. Bill was going to have to take him as he found him, tired and dirty. He got parked up in the same lay-by he'd used the night before and smoked half a dozen cigarettes in the cab as the clock slowly moved forward. The rain had stopped, so he shrugged of his waterproof driver's coat and chucked it onto his sleeping bag in the rear section of the cab. He was tempted to climb into the back, pull the curtains and have a quick wank, but somehow felt that it'd be cheating if he did. As a lorry driver, he was responsible for making sure that his full load got delivered to the customer. He'd decided to apply the same logic, as it were, to the circumstances.

Eventually he decided to wait the time out in a non descript pub a short walk down the road from the site's main entrance. The interior was done out in a desperately dated 'Olde Worlde' theme, but it was warm and cosy. He got to the bar, only to receive a superior look from the barman who took one snooty glance at his dishevelled state and the hard hat under his arm before pointing to an officious sign informing him "Patrons in Industrial Attire are required to use the Tap Room". He did as instructed and saw a couple of lads from the site in there already, their having knocked off early. The place must have been a frequent haunt for the boys on the site. He bought a pint to settle the slight touch of nerves that always became before a well-anticipated fuck. The two builders already there recognised him vaguely from yesterday as one of the delivery drivers and pulled up a chair for Steve to join them. They were the same lads whose arses he'd admired while they were picking up bricks. They were both reasonable looking, around his own age, one blond and burly, the other slightly tubby, but he carried it off well. He noticed the blond bloke was still wearing olive green combats and remembered his firm backside and buttock cleavage hanging out of them yesterday morning. Thankfully he hadn't noticed, or just maybe he had and didn't mind. In other circumstances Steve might even have risked a few carefully guarded questions to see if either of them were prospects for a bit of action, but this time he didn't feel the need. The blond guy's hairy forearms reminded him of Bill's and every time he looked him in the face it brought up a mental image of his three inches of his arse crack. As usual, Steve felt the beginnings of an erection pushing against his flies, thankfully concealed by the table. After they'd had a good natured if banal conversation about the building and lorry driving trades, the lads finished their pints and said their goodbyes, off to their digs to change and hit the town, looking for girls to "empty their nuts into." He could imagine them both with their pastel Ben Sherman shirts and hair wax on, lagered up and on the pull. He didn't feel the twinge of disappointment he would normally when they left, and didn't even bother with a surreptitious glace at their backsides as they turned.

The brass clock above the bar showed five o' clock and he decided to sod the drink driving laws in the circumstances and downed another pint, idly reading the menu and smoking Marlboros until half past. He called in the gents to look himself over in the mirror. With his mucky jeans, check shirt and yellow high-viz waistcoat, he looked just like any other dirty lorry driver at the end of the day. He couldn't believe he was there preening like a Nancy. As if Bill would give a toss. It was just casual shag for fuck's sake! He cleared out of the pub, just as a large gang of lads who had finished for the day barged in noisily. He checked the artic was secure on the way back, slipped his hard hat on and walked cautiously through the site trying not to look suspicious. He snuck round the back of the goods inward warehouse to wait, but an acrid sell of stale piss put him off. Bill had been right about what the lads used that back wall for. Looking around shiftily, he walked over to the office block and waited for Bill by the door they'd left from last night. By twenty past six he'd smoked another couple of tabs, it was getting dark and cold and Bill was nowhere to be seen. This was probably the bastard's idea of a joke Steve thought. Teach the bent lorry driver a lesson. Once he felt a few spots of rain he decided to stick around another ten minutes then bugger off back to his cab for good hard wank to ease his mounting frustration.

At six thirty five, even colder and miserable, he heard the clumping of a pair of heavy work boots nearby. Bill swaggered round the corner looking big, mean and horny and Steve inwardly sighed with relief and excitement. "You twat!" moaned Steve "I've been here for fucking ages. Thought you said six." Bill just laughed his dirty laugh and eyed him up. "I've 'ad stuff to sort. Thick Brummy lorry drivers with hard-ons aint top on me list lad. I've a fucking schedule to keep. Any road, I'm 'ere now. Tha's like a fucking bitch in heat thee, pacing thesen up and down 'ere. All t' same young 'uns; cant wait two bleedin' minutes to get thesens fucked." He was wearing the same scuffed hardhat and dirty clothes as yesterday but by now looking even grubbier. One look at his strapping frame and the thick mat of chest hair curling over the neck of his blue rugby shirt and showing through a handful of small rips in the battered fabric turned his anger back to lust. He hoped he meant what he said about getting fucked. He wouldn't say no, especially with his currently itchy prostate in need of a little attention. The big foreman told Steve to follow him round the corner. Walking behind him gave him a great view of the muscles of his broad backside shifting under the close fitting cotton of his blue trousers. He couldn't resist grabbing a cheek and giving the warm firm mound a squeeze. Bill shot him a vicious look. For a moment, Steve thought he was going to thump him. "Keep yer fucking 'ands to yersen 'till we're inside" he growled, indignant. He wondered where Bill was taking him as they walked past heaps of sand and bags of cement and other construction debris in the evening half-light. They weren't going where he'd found him with Pete the last night.

They passed the first block and were heading down the side of a different office block, with the smell of fresh linseed oil from the glaziers putty round the new windows wafting through the air. He then noticed an Iveco seven-and-a-half ton truck, badly in need of washing, just inside one of the newest warehouse buildings a couple of hundred yards ahead. Steve had started out driving one of those Ford Iveco's. Nasty gearbox, but generally they were decent. The Iveco was inside what was destined to become a series of loading bays at the back of the warehouse. They were just big enough for a couple of vans, or a rigid HGV at a push. The concrete floor of the bay, like everywhere else, was piled up with a variety of building materials and scrap that would need clearing into a skip later on. Spare electrical cable, off-cuts of timber and empty paint tins were in no short supply, and the whole dirty lot was finished off with a defunct cement mixer next to the wall by the Iveco, waiting for the hire company to send a repairman. Bill, as if they were talking purely about work, and not about to fuck each other, asked about his day. Steve stumbled through a resume of the day's drops and driving, desperate to get the small talk out of the way and get on with the sex. Bill listened, grunting his acknowledgements at appropriate intervals and interrupting with numerous piss takes about his Birmingham accent. Steve glanced at Bill's crotch. Despite his nonchalant attitude, the tasty bulge showed the beginnings of a hard on behind it. They walked into the loading area and Bill used a thick forefinger to stab the rubber button to close the wide doors. With plenty of mechanical groaning the metal slatted doors rolled downward horizontally slowly clattering shut. Bill ceremoniously switched the operating key into the 'off' position.

Steve leaned against the Iveco with butterflies in his stomach, waiting patiently. He was aching for Bill to start manhandling him as he had Pete, running his big dirty mitts all over him. For Steve, nothing could quite beat a bit of rough treatment dished out by a burly older bloke. Subconsciously, it was probably the exact sort of thing fifty percent of squaddies joined the army for. The frosted Perspex skylights gave enough illumination without need to switch on the overhead fluorescents that would have advertised they were there. Both of stared at each other for a minute, Bills grey eyes twinkling back at his, silently waiting to see who would commit them to some fun by making the first move.

Bill simply cupped his groin with his hand and began rubbing himself slowly, with his usual dirty, stupid looking grin on his unshaven face. "Don't just fucking stand there lad..." he grunted, "...Strip." He hadn't meant that as an optional request, and Steve willingly followed his orders. He pulled off his boots, hardhat, shirt, and waistcoat, rolled his socks off and stepped out of his trousers piling them by the Iveco, gingerly padding on the cold concrete floor, feeling the chill on his bare skin. Bill stood back, watching Steve stripping off with quiet enjoyment. Steve could feel the foreman's eyes roaming appreciatively over his strong muscled body, and the realisation sent the blood rushing to his groin. Steve could never remember getting a hard on so quickly in his life. He could feel his cock lengthening and stiffening, raising up like a drawbridge, tenting his plain white boxers, then pressing the fabric straining outwards against the restriction. Steve couldn't give a damn; he was pleased it would show how much he wanted whatever he'd planned for him. He stood in front of him, in his boxers, his cock starting to poke out of the fly. Bill snarled at him. "Tha might thinks tha's a tough lorry driver, but you're on my site now son. So when I say strip I mean it to the buff. So get them fucking shorts off now!" he shouted. Steve swallowed nervously, but strangely aroused. He'd never had another bloke order him about sexually this way before, like some dumb animal, but he found it a turn on. Usually he found himself taking charge, but occasionally enjoyed the reversal of roles. He decided to go with the flow, and do exactly as he was told. He slipped his fingers under the waistband and, for Bill's benefit, slowly eased his boxers down his thighs, and stepped free. His erect cock sprang up, standing out parallel to the floor from between his legs. He got one hell of a feeling standing there, bollock naked and physically aroused in front of a fully clothed builder. The sensation of blatant exhibitionism and powerlessness was exhilarating and heightened by the unusual context. Standing in an empty garage with an Iveco truck and a horny building site foreman wasn't exactly your usual shag.

He could hear Bills heavy breathing and he watched him stroke himself. The foreman's cock was hard too; it's long outline clearly visible above his left trouser leg, his hand lovingly stroking its thick outline. "Get yer arse over 'ere" he barked at Steve, hanging his hard hat over the edge of the railings leading up a half a dozen concrete steps to an exit into the warehouse behind him. "S' okay, no one knows were 'ere and all t' doors are locked" and emphasised with a jerk of his thumb his shoulder to the door. Looking at the expression of unadulterated lust in Bill's eyes, he wasn't sure whether he'd meant the last part as a reassurance or a threat. Bill slipped off his yellow safety waistcoat and pulled his company logo blue rugby shirt over his head as Steve approached. The foreman had a thick, barrel-chested body, stocky and muscular through years of work on sites. The lesser demands of his position as foreman in recent years had seen a slight layer of fat develop over his gut, but it gave him a physical maturity Steve liked. He was hairy, with a thick curly mat over his broad chest thinning to a wide dark line running over his belly, spreading as it neared his groin with after a larger patch circling his umbilicus. Despite the smattering of grey on his head, his body hair remained dark brown all over. His broad powerful shoulders were hairy to match, as were his Popeye forearms and the backs of his shovel-sized hands. Both of his thick arms were tattooed. An assortment of panthers and leopards climbed from just above his wrists and up over the sides of his biceps to his shoulders. The artistry and detail of the animals was astounding. He hadn't had those done locally that were for sure. Bill noticed his interest. "Well, I was in the Navy as a lad. We all 'ad 'em done like." he explained with a faintly self-conscious shrug. Steve loved them. They certainly suited his character and his Navy experiences could explain why he was a good fuck with blokes. "Stop fucking gawpin' at 'em. Start taking me kit off for us." he ordered, letting go of his crotch and gesturing for Steve to approach. Steve was more than happy to obey.

He got on his knees in front of the foreman, standing in his blue work trousers with his legs slightly apart. Steve's face was inches from the twitching bulge in his pants. He wanted to rub his face against it, be he kept to his instructions. He started with his boots. The steel-toed canal boats were scuffed with use and caked with pale sandy mud and grime from the site. He brushed the mud from the laces of Bill's left boot and untied the knot, then loosened the bootlaces on the other foot. He held each one firm as Bill obligingly stepped out of them to stand in his damp, sweaty woollen socks. Steve reached up his trouser leg until his fingers found a hairy calf, hooked his finger into the top of his sock. Bill lifted his feet in turn as he rolled off each sock. Barefoot, even the tops of his massive feet and toes showed a thick covering of dark hairs. He moved on to the metal buckle of the thick brown leather belt at his waist. He managed to keep his hands from steady as they found the buckle, although his cock was twitching between his legs with eager need. He unfastened the buckle and eased the rough leather strap free. Bill didn't give any hint that he wanted him to rush. "Pull us belt out of the loops lad. Tha'll see why soon enough." Steve glanced up to see Bill looking down at him with an expression of malevolent desire creasing his face looking down greedily at Steve's body and erect cock. Steve did as he was told, dropped the heavy belt and then unfastened his waistband, and slowly pulled down his flies, the cock behind brushing against the back of his hand. He gave a gentle tug at the ankles to pull his trousers down past his groin. They fell the rest of the way under their own weight. Bill stepped out and kicked them aside with a sweep of his large foot, his sweat leaving a dark imprint on the cool dusty concrete. Only his underpants to go now thought Steve. He was wearing another pair of striped briefs, pushed out by the strength of his large erection, dark tufts of pubic hair bristling around the top and edges of the bulging pouch. At least they were fresh on from last night. Steve pulled the waistband out to loosen their hold on his mighty cock, and pulled them down, letting his hands brush firmly down the furry insides of his tree trunk thighs.

Bill kicked them off and stood there quietly, breathing heavily, as butt naked and excited as Steve. The foreman's cock was magnificent. Unlike the former evening Steve had the time admire it properly, just in front of his face. The foreman's prick was standing at forty-five degrees, ruler straight and at least eight inches long with a good fat even thickness the full length. Several bulging veins ran down the length of the shaft. The thick foreskin was still covering his helmet. His bollocks were equally heavy-duty, big, round hairy, and perfectly formed, drawn against his smelly crotch by the taut wrinkled skin of his scrotum. The thin line of hair over his belly joined with a thick, curly bush of pubic hair above his cock. From beneath him, Steve could smell him strongly now and he took a deep sniff into his nostrils taking in his sweaty odour, sharpened with the subtle musky smell of his arousal. He looked up at the foreman's hairy, sweaty armpits, wishing he could bury his face in them for a good sniff. Instead, he pushed his mighty cock toward Steve's mouth. "Go on then lad, lick it for us" he ordered. Steve eagerly licked the enclosed helmet, tasting its unwashed saltiness, before probing his foreskin and rubbing his tongue underneath it, feeling the heat of him and enjoying his taste. He pushed back his thick rubbery foreskin with his lips forcing a soft moan from Bill. The head of his cock was pink smooth and hard, a perfect strawberry shape. Steve flickered his tongue against the head and poked into the wide slot at the tip. Bills legs trembled slightly, and he groaned loudly, "Another fucking tease" he moaned. "Come on son, get that trucker's mouth workin." Steve kept rubbing his tongue over his cock head as he reached between his legs and rubbed his large hairy balls enthusiastically, feeling their weight, grasping them for an occasional squeeze. Bill spread his legs slightly to give him better access. He started to slip his length into his mouth, sucking and licking to lubricate him with spit. With half his thick, tasty length in him, he felt the tip hit the back of his throat. "Take it all in tha little bugger" Bill ordered. Steve had only deep throated once before and hadn't relished the experience, but would happily oblige for Bill.

He relaxed his throat, bent his head back to straighten the passage, held his breath and started to ease him down his gullet. "Get it down tha!" said Bill with relish and grabbed Steve's ears and started pushing himself in, enjoying the pleasure of Steve's mouth. Steve gagged but kept cool as the thick cock rasped into his throat. Bill used his ears to pull him down until his face was pressed firmly against his crotch, his nose into his coarse thick pubes, the hairs tickling his face and his bollocks pressing against his chin. Steve enjoyed the taste and smell of him so close, his vision obscured by a dark mat of pubic hair. The foreman drew his hips back and began to take a few shallow thrusts, grunting, and ramming himself into the tight wet sucking mouth at his groin. Steve began to asphyxiate, as the choking length slid repeatedly down his oesophagus, but held steady. Bill held him there for a few more seconds to maximise his discomfort before abruptly pulling his full length out. He pushed Steve back leering down at him with an evil satisfaction in his expression. Steve was gently stroking his own cock, coughing a little and sucking the air back into his lungs. Bill roughly kicked his hand away. "Stop fucking wanking. Tha's not gettin' owt tell I let thee" Steve did so. He was enjoying Bill's ordering him around, the uncertainty of what he was going to do next getting him even more turned on. "Open yer gob again" he barked. He grabbed his cock, now wet with spit, holding it up to expose his large sweaty balls. He spread his legs wider apart and shuffled closer, pressing his huge testicles to Steve's mouth. "You can give these bollocks a good suck, lad" he barked. Steve opened his mouth and sucked in one salty plum, slipped it out, then sucked the other. He opened wide, and using his tongue to guide them, sucked both of his smelly bollocks in, filling his mouth, his hot cock pressing across his face. He sucked as hard as he could, rolling his hairy balls around his mouth with his tongue. Bill moaned with pleasure, and let him continue a moment longer before pushing his face away again, releasing his knackers from his sucking grip. Steve could felt their weight bounce over his bottom lip as Bill withdrew.