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He was only interested in getting a big piece of me for himself, for his own needs from days on the road without it. "I'm going to come," I called out, as if he was interested. I moved a hand to my cock and stroked myself. Yes, I really want it or I wouldn't be here went screaming through my brain. He was laughing, clutching my hips, pulling me hard into him as he thrust forward. Vince was giving me what I'd come here for. It was what I'd come to Hal's Tavern to get. He was between my knees, in deep, pistoning me hard. So was my head, my eyes focused on the brass headboard. Fuck me! Pull the cum out of me!" My back was arched.
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I was leveraging off my feet to meet the rhythm of his thrusts. My pelvis was lifted on pillows, my legs were spread and bent. I was on my back, my hands reaching over my head to grip the brass rungs of the headboard.
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He reached down and fisted my cock and we moved full throttle into the pre-fuck jacking. I'd been nervous the first time and hadn't tried to take it all in my throat. Yes, he was longer than I originally thought. Getting the hint, I turned onto my side and took his cock into my mouth again. He strode over to the bed and stood next to it. He was in erection and thick, if not abnormally long, or maybe it just appeared that he wasn't long because his bush was so thick. He dropped the towel at the bathroom door. When he went to the shower, he said the blow job was fine and if I didn't want to get the stuffing fucked out of me I should go before he got out of the bathroom. I had chosen him because I wanted to be bossed.
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He wanted to show me from the get go who was going to be boss.
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I hadn't had or opportunity to see much of anything but his cock and balls as he showed me what he wanted me to do with them. He'd slapped me around a bit, forcing me to my knees to suck him off, him creaming my face with his cum, before he went to take a shower. He'd already made me feel it and he hadn't been inside me yet. He looked mean, which had been what had drawn me to him in Hal's bar. Other than that he was rangy and wiry, tattoos up his arm and down his chest. He had the biceps of a bodybuilder and thighs of a rugby player. He was tall, broad in the shoulders and across the muscular chest, slimmer in the hips. He was dark, maybe some Hispanic in him, with black hair-thick here and there-around his pecs and down into the rim of the towel at his waist. He looked like what he'd said he was-a long-distance semitrailer driver-one who hit the gym wherever he stopped for the night. He might have asked me what the titles were of my books, and I couldn't have given those to him without revealing my real name. A successful one too, but I hadn't bothered to tell him that I could tell that he was only interested in whether I'd take his cock. I suppose the arousal for him was that I wasn't-that I was younger than he was and clean cut, a novelist, although I don't think he believed me when I told him that. The bathroom door opened and he was standing there, a towel around his waist. All I knew is that I wanted him to fuck me good, to manhandle me. Although I suppose it didn't matter what his name was for why we were here. I tried to remember what his name was-Ralph or Randy, or something like that. I was looking forward to it he'd looked mean and lean at the bar. He was going to fuck me when he came out of the bathroom. I had showered first, after I'd given him a blow job, and come to the bed and stretched out, naked, while he took his.
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I lay on the bed in the cabin behind Hal's Tavern ten miles out of town and listened to the truck driver moving around in the bathroom.