Red Pickup Truck

By Ike Rose / Oldtimer25

Published on Aug 14, 2010

Gay

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The Red Pickup Truck by "Ike"

One afternoon, as I took my dog out for a walk, a beat up old red pickup truck was in front of my apartment building. You don't see many pickup trucks in Brooklyn, New York, and the ones you do see are either high price, stylish, modified ones, kept immaculately shiny, or have the name of a local business on it. This one looked like the ones I knew from many trips to the south. Bolted in the back of the bed is a locked steel box where the "good old boys" would keep tools and booze. I wondered if there was a rifle rack in the truck, so I walked around the front to look though the windshield. Sure enough, an empty rifle rack was on the back wall of the cab, with a Yankee's baseball cap hanging on one end and a Met's cap on the other. There were no license plates on the truck, but I noticed a paper temporary New York license "plate" taped to the back window of the cab.

As the dog fertilized the park, I fantasized about the kind of man who would drive a truck like this. I had family throughout the South and had visited all over Dixie throughout my life. I could just picture the man who owned the red pickup. He was a redneck "good old boy", dressed in overalls and a tight t-shirt which showed off his muscular body. Or better yet, the overalls and no shirt, hopefully displaying a hairy body made brawny by hard work. He'd have a deep tan, and a mustache or a beard. He'd probably be a hard drinking man who smoked cigars. He'd be wearing a John Deere cap, and have a nice bulge in his crotch.

To my pleased surprise, someone was in the bed of the truck when we came back towards the house, bent over, digging through the tool box. I could see a pair of tight jeans framing a muscular ass. He stood up, and he was wearing a beat up leather jacket. A cigar peaked out from the side of his mouth. He turned and waved to me. He was wearing a John Deere cap, alright. But he wasn't a red neck. He was a handsome black man named Tyrone Jackson who I had met a few times in the laundry room. The first time I saw him, he got my attention by dumping his laundry on the floor and sorting it. He had an impressive collection of worn old jock straps to wash. We chatted, and I discovered that he was 35 years old, from outside of St. Petersburg, Florida, where my late parents had lived for a long time. Most northerners think of all of Florida as a mass of displaced New Yorkers, like Miami. But St. Pete was definitely a small southern city. He had been born in a small, rural town north of St. Pete, where he was brought up by his grandfather, who had taught him to be an automobile mechanic. He had lived in New York for a little over five years.

Every time I saw him in the laundry room, he was wearing a baggy jogging outfit, so I only had a hint of what his body was like. He gave the impression of being muscular, and moved with easy grace. He was 6'3" tall, and appeared well proportioned. One time, he had the zipper on the top opened quite a bit, so I saw that he was very hairy. Not "very hairy for an African American" but fucking hot furry BEAR type hairy. I assumed he was married, since he wore a gold band on his left hand, lived in a two bedroom apartment on an upper floor, and I never got a "blip" on my "gaydar" from him. Not being more than casual acquaintances, we never discussed our sex lives. Until now, I hadn't realized he smoked cigars. I don't smoke anymore, but a masculine stud who smoked a cigar in a blue collar way turns me on immensely. Not like a Donald Trump sitting in his office, effetely savoring it, but the way I had seen Tyrone in the truck, clenched in his teeth, a part of his masculine aura.

The second time we ended up in the laundry room together, he had asked about my cane, so he learned that I am 53 years old and that 5 years earlier, I had been run over by a drunk driver in a stolen car. Tyrone asked questions, seeking to hear the whole story. "I was in a coma for a week and had to have both hips replaced. I had broken bones in both legs and arms. I spent over 2 month in the hospital, and then four months in a physical rehab center, learning to walk again. As you've noticed, I still use a cane outside of my apartment. A fracture to my skull left me with mild brain damage, so they took away my driver's license and I had to retire from my job on disability."

"I remember hearing about your accident about a month after we moved in. What did they do to that drunken asshole? Knowing the bleeding heart judges here in New York, I bet he got sentenced to a rehab and probation."

"Not really. A few seconds after hitting me, the fucking drunk smashed the car into a brick wall, and since he wasn't wearing a seatbelt, went flying through the windshield, killing himself. You know, my lover had always been nervous about my riding my motorcycle. Ironically, I was pushing a shopping cart home from the supermarket when I got hit." Tyrone just shook his head, and we changed the topic.

Climbing down from his truck, Tyrone greeted me and I complimented him on his "new" truck. He told me that he had inherited it from his grandfather, who had died the year before. He had finally had the time to go to Florida to drive it back to New York. We went into the building together and went our separate ways.

Friday night, I took the dog for her walk at about eleven PM. Tyrone got off the elevator on the opposite side of the lobby. He was dressed in tight jeans that showed he was indeed well endowed; an open leather vest with no shirt, which showed his hairy body was indeed muscular: and that hot fucking worn leather jacket. He was wearing keys on his left hip, and when he opened the door for me, I notice a black hankie in his back left pocket. He had a pair of handcuffs hanging from his belt. I grinned, and pointing to the cuffs, said "Looks like you're out to have a hot fucking time tonight, pal. Good hunting, and fuck him once extra for me!"

He grinned at me. "How about if I shove my fist up his ass for you?"

"Even better. I love fisting a stud." Tyrone looked a little confused. When I had been sexually active, I had also worn my keys on my left hip. But now that I walk with a cane in my left hand, I wear my keys on my right for practicality. Tyrone stopped when we got to his truck to light a cigar, and I grinned as my eyes lit up. "A cigar chomping stud is a real turn on for me." Grinning at me, he got into his truck and drove off.

The next afternoon, he rang my doorbell. He was dressed the same way and had the smell of sex on his body. My lover was at work. I invited him in, offering him some coffee I had just made. "I'm sorry there's no booze in the house, but I can't drink because of my medications, and Jeff doesn't drink at all."

"Coffee is fine. Who's Jeff?."

"Jeff is my lover."

"Oh, I was hoping you might be single."

"Well, two years ago, Jeff suggested that we "open" our relationship to other men. I knew that Jeff had been faithful the entire time after the accident when I couldn't possibly have sex. He had some fantasies he wanted to try, so I agreed. I've only taken advantage of the situation once - well, twice with the same guy. And to be honest, I knew that the best way to keep a man is to let him feel free. He rarely spends the night with guys he tricks with, and never sees them more then four times - not my rules, his. So, I'm not single, but I AM available." My eyes raked over Tyrone's body, "And also interested."

Tyrone grinned. I sent him into the living room to sit, and went to get the coffee. While I was gone, Tyrone had taken off his jacket, so he was dressed in just the vest. He has magnificent arms and muscled hands from his physical labor. He was standing when I came in and took the tray from me, putting it on the coffee table. Then he grabbed me in a bear hug, sticking his tongue in my throat. I moaned. He began to play with my ass, and I ran my hands over his back and along his muscular arms. We broke the kiss, and he forced my head towards one of his big, erect nipples. I sucked it willingly, and began to chew it hard. "Yeah, boy, chew that tit hard. I love that pain." I worked one nipple, and then moved to the other. The whole time, Tyrone was pinching and slapping my ass.

Finally, my legs got tired, and I suggested we sit and have our coffee. "I think you are real fucking hot, man, but I have to explain to you that before I met Jeff, I was a rough BDSM top like you. My keys moved to the right because it's easier to access when I'm using the cane. Although we met in a leather bar, Jeff was never really into rough sex, and is basically a bottom. It has been years since there has been anything but my doctor's finger in my ass."

Tyrone put my hand on his big hard cock in his jeans, and purred, "But you want it, boy, don't you?"

"I... I think I do, sir. But a lot of sexual positions are difficult for me because of my injuries."

"I have the perfect solution. Let's go up to my place." He put on his jacket and I put on shoes, and followed him to his apartment. It was tastefully decorated, and I commented on it. "My late lover was an interior decorated. He got shot by a mugger in midtown Manhattan 5 years ago."

"That's why you wear a wedding ring?"

"Yes. I can't ever take it off: Tim gave it to me two days before he was shot." Tears flowed freely down his handsome face, and I hugged the big man. After the hug ended, he pointed to a large photo portrait of himself with an equally handsome but taller and darker black man.

He lead me down the hall to the smaller bedroom. It was set up as a dungeon. "Can you take it rough, boy? Can you take what you dealt out to slaves?"

"I think so, sir." We agreed an a safety word for when my limit was reached. "The entire room is soundproofed, so you can scream all you want, slave." In a lower, more threatening voice, he continued: "..and I love to hear my men scream." In the center was an elaborate wooden structure, with iron plates and bolts and steel chains. On the wall next to it was a portrait of Tim and Tyrone in front of the contraption, both the men in full leather, their cocks and balls hanging soft through the openings in their chaps. They both had their keys on their left. Tyrone explained, "Tim designed this rig to serve as a variety of racks for different scenes. One of the options is a leather sling with padded cuffs. If you lay on your back on the sling with your leg supported by the cuffs, we should do fine. Or you can lay on your belly, legs dangling. I'll make sure your legs don't get hurt, boy, I take care of my slaves."

I grinned. "Sounds good, sir."

He slapped my face "That's Master, boy!"

"Yes, Master. Sorry Master."

"Strip, scumbag! Put your clothes in that closet." I undressed quickly. When I turned, Tyrone had changed his jeans for a pair of leather chaps, which showed his hard, fat 10 inch cock.

I gulped, "Master, I've never been fucked by such a big cock!"

"I'll make you so hot your ass will swallow it, boy! Your fucking ass will crave it when I`m done, boy."

"Yes, Master." Obviously remembering my comment about cigar smoking men, he lit a cigar and left it in his face.

Master had me sit in a solid kitchen chair, and put a slave collar on my neck. He put on a rubber. then had me lick his balls. As I was doing it, he put some tit clamps on me. I groaned, unused to the pain, but turned on by the situation. After awhile, he ordered me to suck his cock. I went to town, getting half of the giant dong down my throat in a few seconds. Master grabbed my head and began to fuck my face, ignoring my gagging. "Pull and punch my fucking balls, asswipe!" I obeyed, and he loved the rough treatment. He pulled out, and left me sitting there while he arranged the sling. "Get over here and lay on your belly, slave."

"Yes, Master!" When I was on the sling, he cuffed my hands to the chains that supported it. "You need to learn discipline, punk!" He began to spank me.

At first, I gasped out "Thank you, Master." at each blow, but after awhile, I was in such pain I could just grunt at each blow. Master offered me some poppers, which I sniffed. He then took a paddle down from the wall. "No, Master, not that, please!"

He slapped my face and snarled "You'll take what I give you, slave. And you will learn to love it, won't you, you fucking worthless asswipe slave?"

"Yes Master," I sobbed. He began to paddle my ass, telling me the whole time what a unworthy piece of shit I was. I was surprised to discover that the beating and the verbal abuse turned me on. I was hard as a rock again, and dripping pre-cum. Every once in a while, I would apologize for my failings, and beg for more poppers.

Master stopped, stood back and said. "I do love to fuck a well whipped red ass, slave."

"Yes, Master."

"Now let's get you ready." I watched. puzzled, as he opened the package of an unlubricated condom. He took a small pair of scissors from a shelf on the rack and snipped off the end, then cut through one side of the latex tube he had created. He unrolled it, and it was a thin dental dam, which would give me more feeling from his tongue than a regular one while providing him with the same protection. He brought over the chair and began to eat my ass through the latex. He tongue fucked me for a long time, driving me up the fucking wall. Then he stopped, and gently pushed in one greased finger. He finger fucked me until he heard me sigh in pleasure, then he added a second finger. I hissed a the new pain, and he took a long time making my ass relax. When I felt a warm glow in my guts from the finger fucking, I asked him to give me some poppers and add a third finger. He did this. The pain was dulled by the poppers, and after a while I was enjoying myself, pushing my ass back to get his fingers in deep. He began to finger fuck me more vigorously, putting all he massive strength into it. The sling rocked from the force of his thrusts.

I yelled in passion "Oh, Master, yes, do that to you unworthy slave!" I moaned in disappointment when he pulled his finger from my ass. My Master showed me a dildo smaller than his cock. He greased it, and slowly inserted it. It hurt at first, but I quickly adjusted to it. I nodded, and he began to fuck my ass hard with the dildo. I started yelling, "Oh, yes, Master. That feels good. Thank you, Master."

My master slowly pulled the dildo from my ass. He stood so I could watch him put on a fresh, lubed condom. He greased it generously. "Before you fuck me, Master, please, some more poppers." He shoved the sniffer in my nostril. He moved behind me, and slowly inserted is cock in my ass. When he broke through the ring of my sphincter, I screamed in pain. He stopped to let me adjust, and when the pain was gone, I squeezed his cock head with my ass muscles. He pushed more in, with some pain, for which I rewarded him with more screams. He rammed and I screamed until I felt his curly pubic hairs hit my ass, and his big, hairy balls smack against mine. Now he waited until I adjusted. He flexed his cock in my ass, and after awhile, it felt great. He lay on my back. and I loved the feel of the leather vest and chaps against my skin. I milked his giant cock with my stretched ass muscles, and my Master began to slowly fuck my ass. At first it was vaguely uncomfortable, but after a few long strokes, a fire began to glow in my guts. "Yes, Master, breed my cock-hungry fucking ass. Make me your fucking bitch!" He began to fuck me harder, pulling out so that only the head of his cock was inside me, and then ramming into me hard. I grunted at each in stroke as it drove the breath out of my lungs. Soon, I was loving that fat giant in my ass.

"Master, may I make a request?"

"What, bitch?"

"I really want to watch your handsome face and hot body while you fuck the shit out of my worthless pussy, Master. Please turn me on my back. And can you smoke the cigar while you fuck the living shit out of my ass?" I felt a sense of loss as he slowly withdrew his cock. He uncuffed me and gently helped me turn over. He cuffed my ankles with thick, padded leather cuffs. He cuffed one wrist the same way, pulling my arm up.

The other hand he left free so I could use the poppers, "But don't play with your pathetic little cock, slave." I had never thought of 7.5 fat inches as "pathetic", but coming from this man, it was appropriate, He relit the cigar, chomped on the end with his teeth, and started to teased my ass hole lips with his cock head.

I begged him, "Please, Master, use my slave man-pussy! Fill me with your manhood until I shoot my load. Please, Master??" He grabbed the chain on my tit clamps and gave them a hard tug as he rammed himself balls deep into my guts. I screamed from the pain in my nipples, but it had distracted me from the pain in my ass. A new hit of poppers relaxed my ass as he began to fuck the shit out of me and pull the tit clamp chain at the same rhythm. I had never been so roughly fucked before, and I found I loved it! Each time he rammed all the way into me, my balls got smashed into my body. I began to milk his cock with my ass muscles. I used my free hand to fondle Master's big muscles and handsome face, grinning at him.

I began to pinch his nipples. "Yeah, fucking slave, work my tits hard."

"Yes, Master. Anything you say, you magnificent stud! ARRGH! OOHH! Fuck my ass harder, Master!" He grinned back at that, and I worked his nipples as best I could. He reached over to a shelf built in the rack, and pulled out a set of tit clamps, and put them on himself. As he power drove his mighty cock into my hot ass, we pulled on each other's chain, groaning at the erotic pain. We shared the poppers. I began to use my ass muscles to milk his pounding cock. Every once and a while, the warm ash from his cigar would fall on my body, adding to the excitement.

Soon, I felt the familiar rumble in my balls. "Master, you're making me cum! Oh, Master, I never came from being fucked before! Oh, shit, I can't hold it back!" He grabbed my cock and aimed my load all over my chest. It was the largest load I had shot in a long time.

"I feel your man-pussy spasms on my cock, shit face. I'm going to loose my load, too! FUCK!!!" He pulled his cock out of my spasming ass, pulled off the rubber and with two pulls of his fist, shot an impressive load on my chest. I used my free hand to pull his head down and kiss him. We kissed passionately until the pain in my legs became too bad.

Releasing me from the restraints, he off took the slave collar, then helped me to his bedroom so I could rest on his bed for awhile. After wiping off the cum with a wet, soapy towel and drying me, he lay next to me, kissing my body all over. He began to lick my balls, and I got hard again. I asked him to finger fuck my ass while he was doing that, and I finally had to ask for three fingers to be satisfied. He grabbed a condom and put it on my cock, and deep throated me for 20 minutes before I filled the rubber in his mouth with a shout of passion. He took it off, and had me lick my cum out of the used rubber. I was now rested. I rolled him on his back and began to worship his magnificent body with my fingers and my tongue. I licked his ears, his face and lips, his neck. His sweaty pits got a thorough tongue bath, which had him groaning, pulling on his cock I licked the muscles on his arms and his chest, working his nipples hard with my teeth. I grabbed a rubber and encased his massive cock. I lay on my belly and said, "Fuck me again, Tyrone, but slow and tender." He made love to my ass for close to half an hour until I started to cum on the sheets.

He began to cry out, "Oh, Ike, your ass is so fucking tight and hot. Those spasms are fantastic! I'm ready to shoot!" He pulled out and used his hand for a few strokes to cum. Jokingly, I ordered him to lick his cum out of his condom. "Yes, Master!" he replied with a grin, and he did.

We got dressed and went back to my place. He wore his sweat suit this time. I heated up the coffee in the microwave, and we were chatting about jazz when my lover came home. I introduced them, but since Jeff and I had agreed not to discuss our sexual adventures, I didn't even mention Tyrone was gay. He went upstairs, telling us he had a hot date that night. I wondered if he had any more cum for the poor slave for the evening.

We had a sort of affair for over a year. Some days I was the slave, some days Tyrone was the slave. Other days, we gently made love to each other as equals. About a month after our first sexual encounter, I had some more surgery on my legs, which eventually gave me more flexibility and less pain. After I recovered, I had two fantasies. One was to fuck Tyrone doggy style. The other was for me to sit on his giant dong and ride it for hours, controlling him so he couldn't cum, until he finally begged me to let him shoot his load. And we did it that way. Tyrone was happy that he could make me crawl during slave scenes, if he didn't do it for too long.

The affair ended when Tyrone met and fell in love with a very bossy slave. When John moved in, he made Tyrone promise to be faithful to him. Since they had both recently tested HIV-, the plan was to wait two years. If at the end of that time, they were still monogamous and still negative, they would stop using condoms. Tyrone and I remained friends, and he told me the excitement they felt the night they made love without condoms, taking many loads in each other's ass and mouth for hours. I miss Tyrone's giant cock pounding in my ass, but I'm glad that my friend is in love and happy.

Copyright 2004 "Ike"

This story may not be sold, nor made part of any collection, without prior consent from the author.

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