By: Tommyhawk1
"Where the fuck were
you?" Gordon asked gruffly as I hurried into the warehouse at ten thirty
at night. He was a beefy, large man with a battered face and a ready vocabulary
of foul language. Just the sort you’d expect to find working in a warehouse - hard
work attracts hard people.
"I'm sorry," I responded
sincerely. "I missed my bus." I took my bag from "A Different
Light" and hurriedly stuffed it between two pallets of boxes in the
warehouse. It would be safe there until I had a chance to sneak them to a
better hiding spot, but I couldn't do that now. And showing them to Gordon was
out of the question. Half his curse words were "pansy" or worse when
he was searching for derogatory remarks to make about someone;
"faggot" to him was worse than calling someone a "motherfucker,"
so I stayed firmly in the closet while at work.
"What you got over
there?" he asked as I lifted my hand back. His huge biceps glinted with
white crescents from the sheen of his sweat and the glare of the overhead fluorescent
lights. His voice was like a god's, the heavy echoes of the cavernous warehouse
reverberated back every syllable a dozen-fold.
"Oh, nothing," I said.
"Then haul your pansy ass
over here and help me load this truck, motherfucker," he said.
He didn't know I was gay; he
talked like that to and about almost everybody. I didn't dare let him see the
"A Different Light" book bag, not as big and brawny as this guy was;
he could snap me in two without thinking about it.
Taking a gay book and magazines to
a job where you're closeted was stupid, I knew that, I knew I should have
waited, but the bookstore was right on my way to work. Passing by "A
Different Light" bookstore, I made the fatal mistake of peering inside to
see what was displayed in the window. A look at my watch to verify I had a
couple of spare minutes, and in I went, coming out much later than intended
with not only the book but with two porno magazines. And, with my stash now
tucked between a pallet of Tide and a pallet of Oxydol, it could wait until I
could take it home and give it proper attention.
"Come on, move it,
cocksucker," Gordon growled and I hastened over to him. He handed me half
of a stack of lists and said, "We got three trucks to do tonight,"
and I groaned.
Our warehouse takes in the
boxcars from individual factories, and from there we load the items ordered by
individual supermarkets. We don't handle any of the chain stores, but there are
a sizeable number of Mom-and-Pop places that need to furnish their customers with
Pop-Tarts and Cheetos; I had plenty of work. In fact, with three trucks needing
loading I had more work than I could handle.
Each store had a long page marked
with the items and quantities they wanted. We tried to keep the supplies organized
so we could go right down the list and grab in order, but in practice, it's
never quite that easy. So, you run around until you get all the stuff for one
store loaded, then you load that into a larger, plastic shipping box which is
then driven over by a forklift and placed into the truck. Gordon drove the
little forklift, which was about the size of a Volkswagen, but with only the
two of us, he had to jump down from the forklift and trundle a trolley like
mine, too.
Once we had the truck filled with
the boxes, which contained boxes that contained boxes that contained the
essential items for life, we'd move on to the next sheaf of orders. When we
finished a truck, we could take a short break, then move the loaded truck out
(Gordon did that as well. You have to have a special license and training to
drive an eighteen-wheeler) and back another one in and we'd do it all over
again. But a truck would take three to four hours to load. Three trucks meant
overtime whether I wanted it or not.
So, I worked away on my list,
fuming about the unfairness of it all. Damn it, I'd picked up a really butch
issue of "Stroke" and couldn't wait to get home and do just what the
magazine's title suggested. I had only glanced at the contents, seeing a
heavily built, gruff man dominating a younger, more slender man - "Stroke's"
favorite form of sex – and it caused my stomach to churn, imagining that big
man dominating me, forcing me to take his cock into my mouth... okay, three
boxes of salad dressing and I could take this trolley over to the shipping box.
Soon enough my mind was off of
sex and back onto my job, because with nothing but cardboard boxes to select
from you have to pay attention to what you're picking up. A store orders a box
of Ronzoni spaghetti and if you give them American Beauty instead, they don't
see it as being all right, you get a nasty restock order and three forms to
fill out and sign and initial. One of those goes into your personnel file and
they track your performance that way. Sucks. No wonder they had such a heavy
turnover of workers on this shitty job.
So, I loaded up that shipping box
and the next and the next, and time passed. Soon we'd be finished with the
shipping boxes; we could then load the truck with them according to the
driver's schedule, and then could take a half-hour break. Sitting and jawing
with Gordon wasn't that bad if you let him call you names without flinching. He
didn't really mean anything personal by it; it was just his way of talking.
I finished and looked over at
Gordon's last box; it was only half-loaded. Hell, he was usually waiting on me,
not the other way around. Maybe the guy was slowing down. I decided I could
give him a couple of comments while I helped him finish his loading. A few of
his choicer comments to me would work nicely, such as "They need to hire
some real men to do this work instead of you faggots." I'd like to see his
face when I used that one on him!
So, I went in search of him. The warehouse was big (it had to be) so it took some time for me to find him… right by the pallet of boxes of Tide! He had a big load of it on his trolley, and on top of the trolley was a big, white plastic bag… and my copy of "Stroke" was in his hands! And he was looking at the pictures!
I'm sure I blushed bright red; I
could feel the heat in my face. Jesus, he knew. I'd have to quit my job and
find another one. My only hope was that Gordon wouldn't mention it to the other
workers or the personnel manager. If he did, the other workers would tease him
about being alone all night for weeks with a homo. Yeah, sure, he had as much
to lose as I did… except I was losing my job, too.
Well, nothing to do but get it
over with. Gordon looked up and his face was red, too… with fury. "What
the hell is this shit?"
I couldn't cringe; he might start
hitting me. Better to brazen it out. "They're mine," I admitted.
"I hid the bag there, remember? Look, just give me the magazines and I'll
turn in my notice at the end of the shift. You tell anyone you know, and I'll
tell them you're one of us, too!" I said, getting angry myself.
"Hell, I already knew you
were queer," he sneered at me. "You think I call everybody
faggot?"
I had, actually. I didn't know
Gordon at all outside of work.
"Yeah, I spotted you as a pansy
the first goddamned night."
"And you didn't care?"
I asked, surprised. I already knew he was down on gay people. "Why didn't
you say anything to me about it?"
"Hell, you suck dick all you
want," Gordon said. "Long as you do your job, it's no never mind to
me, cocksucker."
"Oh," I said.
"Well... then why are you so mad right now?"
"It's this!" He shook
the magazine again.
"It's just a lot of dirty
pictures," I replied. "It's got two guys doing it, but you knew that
already, and didn’t need to look inside to find out. So, what's the problem?"
"This!" he said and threw
the magazine at me and I caught it by clutching it to my chest in a crackle of
bending, folding pages. Shit, color pictures get ruined by a crease. I lifted
it back and started pressing the pages out flat again.
"What?" I asked him as
I sorted out the pages. I really looked at the magazine a second time.
"Okay, so the two guys are in a warehouse," I conceded. "Lots of
porn stuff is shot in warehou..." Oh, hell, I saw what he meant!
The big, brawny guy in the pictures,
the one pressing the smaller guy in the photograph down to his crotch, he could
have been a double for Gordon! Lighter hair, different nose, but...
"Oh," I said. "I
didn't notice that when I bought it. This guy looks a bit like you, doesn't
he?"
"Damn straight!" Gordon
growled. "You been beating off to me, faggot?"
Okay, sure, Gordon had a lot of
the sheer animal qualities you crave in a man. He was ruggedly good-looking if
a little pulverized by life, his arms were huge mallets that he swung, and his rib
cage was sheathed in a huge layer of sculpted pecs. But there was also the raw
hostility. I had found myself thinking of him while masturbating once or twice,
and hating myself for it, but, still, actually doing it with him, for real?
Never!
"No," I said, way too
damned late to sound convincing.
"God, I can't believe
it!" he said. "You goddamned queer! You've been staring at me so much;
I should have realized you had the hots for me. Why else would you have stuck
around at a real man's job?"
He stalked over and snatched the
magazine out of my hands, turned the pages so hard that I half expected them to
rip from the violence of their turning, then found and shoved a page at my face.
"Is this what you want, faggot?! You want me to do this?!" he asked.
It was the picture of the big guy
shoving his cock into the younger guy's mouth, a hard snarl on his face, rough
brutality in every angle of his body.
"You want this?!" he
snarled at me, snatching the magazine down and away from my face, shoving his
face right into mine. "Well, do you?!"
"I... I..." I stammered;
my world filled with his angry face.
"Gah!" he grumbled and
that big hand came around at me from one side like a low-flying jet with a
contrail of hairy muscled arm. I couldn't move before it grabbed me at the base
of my neck, the fingers clamped mostly onto my shoulders, and he shoved down on
me, hard!
I was already weak in the knees
from the fear of being beaten to a pulp by this rough man, and so they couldn't
stand the additional strain of the pressure from his heavy arm and I buckled. And
then I my knees were hitting the hard concrete floor, and I was looking at his
belt buckle. I was left with no choice but to watch those massive paws as he
undid the clasp and yanked the metal buttons of the fly apart, silver discs
shining in the lighting as the cloth parted in a "V" to reveal a
heavy mat of dark pubic hair.
And then he ground his unzipped
crotch into my face, the zipper teeth scratching at my cheeks, indenting my
eyebrows, and I felt the heat, and the fetid sweaty smell filled my nostrils
and curled against the insides of my eyeballs.
"Goddamned queer, I'll give
it to you all right. I'll give it to you but good!" Gordon growled.
"Come on, get that dick out for me, come on!"
I was too terrified to do
anything other than what he said. He could mess me up real bad if I refused. I
should have quit the first time I heard him call me a faggot, instead of
convincing myself it was all harmless crudity on his part. I'd been playing
with dynamite and matches, and it had blown up on me.
I found his cock in his briefs, a
steamy, moist cylinder of velvety flesh, which moved inside my fingers like a
live thing. It was like pulling out a fish from the water, only a fish is as cold
as the water it inhabits, and this was hot, damned hot.
I got the head pried free and it
flapped against the top of my hand, and it was far from hard, but that didn't
prevent Gordon from shoving my face up against it. "Come on, you
motherfucking faggot, suck it, you know you want to," he rasped. The
warehouse's resonant quality made it sound like his voice was coming out of a
megaphone, or over loudspeakers.
His cock was a salty bulb in my
mouth, attached to limp flesh behind the sturdier glans, but I sucked on it
just the same - I had no choice, his hands wouldn't let me do anything else - and
it grew and swelled in my mouth, and he still wouldn't let me get totally away
from it. All I could do was moisten the growing mass as it surged to life
within me.
God, it kept growing and growing,
and still, my face was pushed down with my nose buried in his pubic hair, and
still, he was muttering his threats to my life and manhood above me, so that
bearing the furious flesh within me was the lesser threat, and I worked it as
well as I could, hoping only that, when his pleasure made itself known to him,
he might give me more freedom to move, to service him... to breathe!
With his tool bloated to full
size, and his cockhead firmly shoved down my throat, he relented at last, but
he did not release me, he grasped my head and began to hump at my face with total
disregard for my humanity. I was a hole he was fucking; I was a faggot to be
taught a lesson for daring to want him, and if I was good to him, he would let
me live.
I had never known just how readily
available all my talents were for giving a blowjob. When the lover is gentle,
you think about your moves and select among them and they are contrived and
artificial as a result. But when your life is hanging in the balance, the more
primitive part of your brain seizes upon your skills and uses them to save it.
I felt my every muscle striving to comply with the need to please Gordon, to
pleasure him, to impassion him.
Far from choking on his heavy
dong down my throat, my body settled for the brief measures of air I could
bring in while I was forcibly plying my skill, milking his fuck-tool with my
lips, clutching tight to it while straining my mouth to give the withdrawing
prick every ounce of suction I could bring to bear, then to let the totality of
it plow back into me, feeling it ramming down my throat once more.
I think Gordon could feel the way
my body accommodated him, for he let go of his former killer grip on me. Oh, he
didn't get gentler, but his hands weren't clenching so tightly, and his cock was
hitting me now with less force and more finesse. Now he was making long strokes
that brought his cockhead out to the edge of my lips and then plunging the
entire mass back down into me.
He was grunting now, at an end of
his words, and he was enjoying the feel of his cock inside my lips, and his
voice was only expressing that, not congratulating me on my talent, but only
his pleasure upon its execution.
I felt his cock twitch and throb in
my mouth and I expected to soon feel his jism burst out into me and I groaned
and felt my own cock surge into life at the prospect.
But Gordon heard me, and he felt
the change in my actions. "Getting into it, eh, cocksucker?" he
panted. "Well, let's give you some more of it. Get up and get those pants
down, going to make you my bitch!"
I was beyond pride or dignity,
and I hastily complied, standing up and fumbling at my belt, heaving my pants
down and when I did, Gordon grabbed me, spun me around, and dumped me onto the
mostly-used pallet of boxes of Tide detergent. I heard him spit numerous times,
greasing up his cock, and then I felt the head of his prick as it immediately
began to seek out the dark access that lay hidden between my ass cheeks.
He found it quickly, mostly, and
his cockhead did the rest of it, stretching my asshole out wide to let him cram
his cock into me from an awkward, painful angle, and I groaned, "Oh, ow,
uh!"
But Gordon only made an
inarticulate growl of impatience, and then he gave a rough, powerful thrust to
his hips and that cock nearly lifted me off my feet from its energy, and in
that way, he plunged that heavy, hard tool into me!
"Uh, oh, ouch!" I
protested.
"Ah, shut up, faggot! Take that
cock, take all of it! Shit, yeah!" he grumbled, and then he began to fuck
me. I mean hard, too! He wasn't just fucking me, he was punishing me, torturing
me for having dared to look at his body with desire. He was giving it to me in
a way that left no doubt as to his contempt for my longing, he'd give it to me
in a way I'd never forget.
Just like that guy in the
magazine. Just like the fantasies I'd had a hundred times before. Just to be
taken down and used by some big, rough man, God, yes! Take me, use me, I'm
yours!
"Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh!" I
moaned out staccato-fashion, my voice being jarred by the heavy, rapid ramming
of his cock into my ass.
"Like that, huh,
faggot?" he asked. "Like the feel of a real man's cock in your ass,
don't you, fairy?"
"Yeah!" I admitted.
"Oh, yeah!"
"Bastard! Queer! Faggot!
Bitch! Cunt!" he snarled. "God, you fucking perverts are all alike,
you all want a real man's dick in you so you can feel like a man. Well, you got
a real man's dick in your ass, and you're still not a man, you goddamn fucking
faggot! I'll fuck you any goddamned time I feel like it, you understand me? You
got that, faggot?"
"Yes Sir!" I moaned.
"I'll take you to a bar I
know and put you up on the bar and me and my friends will fuck you over and
over again. I'll sell pieces of your butt for a quarter a pop, ‘cause that's
all you're worth, you limp-wristed, lisping little pansy!"
"Oh, yeah!" I moaned
more huskily. "Yeah, fuck me, fuck me over and over, God, yeah, oh, uh,
uh!"
"Don't you dare cum you
fucking queer!" he snarled. "Don't you dare fucking cum!"
"Oh, oh, oh!"
"I'm warning you, you little
queer, don't you dare..."
"Oh, uh, UH-GUHH!!!!"
"Goddamn you, faggot!"
he cursed at me as my climax wracked my body, and I spurted my jizz all over
the Tide logo on the boxes, the shots of jism making a pattering like rain on a
rooftop with every blast, and my body was filled with orgasm at the same time
my ears were assaulted with filth from Gordon's mouth, he was furious with me
for having shot my wad.
"You fucking queer, you
goddamned fucking queer, uh, uh, guh-HUH-GUKKHHH!" Gordon grunted out,
sheer rage pouring out in the form of boiling hot cum that sprayed into my
bowels like a bombardment. He was squirting raw anger into me, anger that
seethed and boiled and stung within me.
Somehow Gordon kept control of
himself after his ejaculation, for no sooner had the last bit of sperm dribbled
into my body, than he was pulling his cock out of me, and as he began stuffing
it back in his pants and fastening his fly, he said, "Goddamned pansy,"
and I could tell from those two words that this moment was over. He wouldn't strike
me, he wouldn't apologize, and there was no fucking way I would get a single
word of praise or thanks from him! He was simply going to pretend nothing had
happened even with my violated butt still pointed at him. "Come on, let's
get these fucking trucks loaded up, you fucking fag."
"Okay," I said. What
else could I say? I pulled up my pants and fastened them. Then I turned around,
he handed me the last four sheets of his order forms for me to fill while he
went to get the forklift to start the loading.
I filled the last box and then
turned to my other duty, helping him spot the boxes to be loaded; they had to
go into the trucks just right, or the people at the stores would have to unload
other orders to get to theirs. Done, it was time for a break. We always ate a
meal at the first break; it was nearly midnight, after all. When you work
nights, you tend to turn your clock upside down, it was time for lunch.
"I'll move the trucks,"
Gordon stated. It was his first direct remark to me since our sexual fury, and while
looking at me rather than a general comment made into the air. "You go
fetch us some burgers." There was an all-night burger joint two blocks
down; it was a typical request for him to make.
I brought him back the meal - no
money traded hands with me and Gordon; we traded off buying the meals, it was
my turn to buy them both - and we ate. Done, I cleared my throat and said,
"You know, I'll miss this part of the job. Just sitting here, eating after
a job's all done."
"Why, you going to
quit?" Gordon asked me.
"Well... I just assumed..."
"Well, you're wrong, you
fucking queer," Gordon said. "So, forget it. You move on and another
fucking faggot will take the job. So, you may as well stay on."
"All right," I said.
"I'll stay."
"Damned right you will,"
Gordon said. "And get to work on time from now on. You got me, you fuckin’
pansy?"
"Yes Sir!" I replied.
We had another break coming up at
about four-thirty in the morning. All of a sudden, I knew how we'd be spending
our breaks from now on… somehow this shitty job just got a whole lot better!
There's not enough good stories like this posted. Great job!
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