The Devil Made Me Do It

Aaron reached for the door handle, ready to leap, speeding semi or no speeding semi. But the guy in the back was too fast for him. Aaron was wrapped in strong, beefy, hairy arms and pulled into the cubicle behind the seats. He could see little other than a pudgy, grinning face, but he could smell the man’s foul, tobacco-sour breath, and he could hear his heavy breathing. He felt helpless as he was manhandled and fondled and controlled. And he felt the pain and filling of the guy’s cock in his channel, after he’d been wedged into the back corner of the cubicle with the small of his back on a padded cushion, his pelvis rolled up, and his legs forcibly spread, with the heel of one shoe wedged against the back of the seat he’d been sitting in and the other dug into a hold bar at the back of the cubicle and near its ceiling.

The unseen assailant stroked him hard and fast and came quickly, Aaron thankful at least that he was wearing a condom.

“Finished,” a voice croaked between heavy breathing. “Pull over for a minute and we’ll change positions.”

Irv, the driver, was more practiced and proficient and took his own sweet time, as he needed time to reload from Aaron’s blow job earlier. He also was more insistent on Aaron pleasing him and taking several positions that taxed Aaron more than any of the other encounters he’d had that night.

Aaron was nearly comatose when the rig was pulled over to the side of the road again, and he was pushed out of the cab and landed hard in the scrub beside the road, his shorts in his mouth, where Irv had stuffed them when Aaron had become so vocal when Irv was at the height of what he had to give Aaron.