Highway Hustle

by Roland Graeme

  Mirco had obviously showered just before he called me. He was nude except for a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair was still wet, and his skin had that ruddy flush which comes from being exposed to hot water and steam.

  “Let me put this on,” he said, reaching for the bathrobe.

  “Oh, don’t bother on my account,” I told him. “I like to cool off for a while after I come out of the shower, too, before I get dressed. Assuming I’m going to get dressed.”

  “Guess I sounded a bit confused and incoherent, over the phone just now,” he mumbled.

  “No, not at all,” I assured him—not altogether truthfully.

  Mirco seemed a bit flustered, nervous, but he let the bathrobe lie where it was. Instead, he turned toward one of the two nightstands which flanked the bed. On it, he’d set an unopened bottle of whiskey and the two plastic drinking glasses, wrapped in paper, which we provided.

  “Now I’m going to treat myself to the stiff drink I’ve been promising myself all day,” he said. “Join me? Or—aren’t you allowed to drink on duty?”

  “Well, it’s not as though I’m operating machinery,” I replied, with a laugh. “Sure, I’ll join you. I take mine neat, but I can go get you some ice from the machine, if you want.”

  “No, I take mine straight, too. It’s about the only thing I like to take straight,” he added, by way of a feeble joke.

  After twisting off the paper tape seal of the bottle and opening it, he unwrapped both glasses and poured the whiskey into them. He wasn’t stingy.

  We sat side by side on the bed, with our legs hanging over the edge of the mattress. His near nudity was having an effect on me, inspiring a stirring in my loins.

  “Cheers,” Mirco said. We clunked our glasses together. The plastic didn’t exactly make a ringing noise. Mirco sampled the whiskey without hesitation, and I followed his example. It was an expensive brand, smooth on the tongue, and really warming and soothing.

  “Now tell me about this roadhouse,” Mirco urged. “Do you go there a lot?”

  “Every chance I get. They’ve put up a plaque in my honor,” I joked. “In all seriousness, though—I usually score there, when I want to. I guess that makes me sound immodest.”

  “No. You must be just about the best-looking guy in this area.”

  “Well, I’m certainly among the horniest. And the roadhouse is a good place to arrange to meet the guys I talk to on the internet, and on phone apps. I’m not going to invite a total stranger to drive here and come right to my place. I want to see him in person and talk to him first.”

  “That’s smart.”

  “Let’s face it, cruising is cruising, and hooking up is hooking up, whether it’s in the big city or out here in the sticks,” I suggested. “And, just in case you haven’t guessed, this isn’t the first time I’m been in a guest’s room with him late at night.”

  “I hope I wasn’t too obvious—before—about my interest in you.”

  “No, you can pass for straight,” I said. I glanced at the wedding ring on his hand. “I assume you’re on the down low?”

  “Yeah. Back home, I have to be really careful. These road trips can be a pain in the ass, but they do make it easier for me to cheat on my wife. Uh—it doesn’t bother you that I’m married?”

  “It doesn’t bother me at all. The question is, how much does it bother you?”

  “Not much,” Mirco admitted. “And, in a situation like this, when I meet a hot guy like you—not at all. I guess that makes me a bad man.”

  “Bad can be good,” was my philosophical, if seemingly contradictory, reply. “Want to fool around?” I asked him, bluntly.

  He’d taken a sip of whiskey, which he almost choked on. Obviously, my question had taken him by surprise!

  “Yeah,” he gasped. “I wasn’t sure—that you were really interested.”

  “Oh, I’m interested, all right. So interested that I could just about bust from curiosity! But now that we’ve settled that, for God’s sake, let’s relax and enjoy this booze. I’ll have a refill, if I may.”

  “Coming right up.” He reached for the bottle. “Ah—I keep running the risk of offending you,” he said, hesitantly, as he refilled our glasses. “But—the truth is—when I’m on these trips—I don’t mind paying for things.”

  I smiled. “Well, I may not be the one who makes up the room and changes the sheets on the bed, tomorrow. But tipping is always appreciated. If a gentleman’s in the mood to be generous, then I’m not going to insult him by refusing his—gift.”

  Mirco nodded. He seemed relieved. “How about a hundred? Would that cover it?”

  I was flabbergasted. I was used to taking twenty or thirty dollars, in exchange for my sexual services. A man who’d hand over fifty in order to have his way with me—that was my idea of a big spender. A hundred bucks! That would elevate me, to my way of thinking, to the status of a big city man whore.

  “That’ll more than cover just about anything the two of us can think to do, by putting our heads together,” I assured Mirco. “And any extras that might come up after the fact!”

  By then, I’d consumed enough of that fine whiskey that I was feeling no pain, and I was sure that Mirco was in an equally mellow mood. You’d have thought that being buzzed like that would put a damper on a guy’s arousal, but the truth was the exact opposite. I was raring to go, and so was Mirco. It was just that, now that we’d committed ourselves to having sex together, neither of us was in any rush. We were willing to take our time, to pace ourselves, and enjoy the night.

  “It’s kind of warm in here,” I remarked.

  I kicked off my shoes. Then I emptied my glass, stood up, and stripped.

  “Damn,” Mirco exclaimed. “What a body you’ve got!”

  “Thanks. You’re no slouch, yourself. Let’s see the rest.”

  Mirco had risen, too. As I spoke, I went right up to him, pulled the damp towel away from his body, and pushed him back down on the bed. Anticipation had already given him a raging hard-on. His stiff prick, rivaling my own in its tumescence, stared me in the face when I got down on my knees on the floor beside the bed. I lifted his legs, resting them on my shoulders. Mirco lay there on the mattress passively, no doubt expecting me either to give him a hand job, or to start sucking his cock. And I was perfectly willing to give him a hundred dollars’ worth of both. But first, I had a little surprise in store for him.

  “I’m going to give you my farmer’s special,” I announced.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Oh, like they say, actions speak louder than words, and I have better things to do with my mouth right now than give you a detailed description,” I said, lewdly. “But all the farmers around here like it when I do it to them. I’m sure you’ll like it, too. Put your fucking legs up higher, buddy,” I told him, hoarsely. “Hang them over my shoulders and raise your ass off the bed. Scoot your butt toward me. I’m going to shove my face in between your cheeks.”

  “Oh, man,” he moaned, and just listening to the desire vibrating in his voice almost made me shoot. “What’re you going to do?”

  “I like to suck ass,” I informed him, which was quite an understatement, as he was soon to learn. “Yeah, I’m going to fuck you with my tongue—stick it as far up your butch asshole as I can, and rim the shit out of your ass!” I promised.

  He just groaned with helpless lust, and he let me do it to him. His legs were flung up round my neck and his ankles were crossed behind it, imprisoning me against his trembling body. His powerful calf and thigh muscles quivered in involuntary spasms of arousal and tension. His skin smelled of soap, fresh and inviting.

  I was too hungry for that sweet ass of his to fuck around any longer. I dug right in. I nuzzled my face into the furry crack between his ass cheeks, gripping and parting those lush butt mounds of his with my hands, while I probed the puckered pink hole between them with the tip of my tongue.

  Mirco moaned loudly and his body writhed in response when I shoved my
stiffened tongue right through the ring of taut muscle which protected the entrance to his ass, and I began to eat him out.

  “Uh! Fuck! You whore!” he gasped. “Goddamn, fucking interstate highway whore!”

  I couldn’t take offense at the label he’d put on me. Instead, I set out to earn it! To confirm that he’d been only too accurate when he branded me as such!

  Ass eating was the quickest, most sure way I could prove just what a whore I was.

  I drilled my tongue deep into the musky-flavored pit and I began to swipe it around in rapid, wide, scraping circles, washing the moist lining of his anal canal with my drooling spit. I yanked the cheeks of his grinding, humping ass cheeks even farther apart and I crushed my mouth between them, kissing his pucker, which flexed madly around my embedded tongue. I drove my tongue-tip deeper into him and I held it there, while I licked and sucked, like a man who was famished for the taste of another man’s ass flesh!

  His hole had tightened up in automatic resistance when I’d first violated it. but now it relaxed, and his anal muscles began to work along with my steady tonging, instead of fighting it. Mirco was loving every bit of the rimming, all right. I knew I was good at rimming, and he was on the receiving end of one of the hottest, most enthusiastic ass-licking jobs I’d ever given another guy. All the munching I’d done on those brawny farmer’s butts was paying off now.

  My tongue slammed in and out of his twitching asshole, literally fucking him. if only it was my hard, throbbing cock up that tight, hot hole instead! But maybe some anal intercourse would come later, I told myself—after I’d gotten the sexy bastard so hot for me, so worked up, that he wouldn’t be able to deny him anything I asked of him, no matter how lewd.

  “Oh, man—oh, fuck—oh, you fucking bastard!” he was yelling, in hysterical reaction to my rimming of his lush ass. “What a—what a goddamn feeling! My wife won’t do this to me, no matter how much I beg her. Aw, shit! Ah, fuck! I can’t take much more of this. It’s just too damn much, too wild! I’m too fucking turned on. Let me jack off while you do it. Or—you can suck my cock for me. I like that, too, and my wife’s lousy at it, she can’t take it all inside her mouth, and she won’t let me come in her mouth. She won’t swallow my jizz. Frigid bitch! You do it for me, please, take it in your hot fucking mouth and suck it, before the goddamn thing explodes. Oh, please! Suck me, please!”

  I let him suffer and beg for a few more delightful minutes, until I finally pulled my tongue out of his asshole and I let him have what he wanted. Savagely, I attacked his prick with my lips and tongue. I went down on his shaft completely, in a single daring lunge, and I began to deep-throat him immediately.

  So, his wife wasn’t any good at sucking cock, huh? Well, this was the dude’s lucky night. He’d met a country boy who prided himself on being the best cocksucker in the county!

  I set out to demonstrate my skill at performing oral sex, with fierce determination.

  My tongue coiled around his pulsating cockshaft like a wet, slippery whip, as I applied my best, steady suction to the head of his penis with my throat muscles and I caressed the base of his erection with my warm, wet lips.

  Mirco squirmed and howled, and for good reason, because I’m such a good cocksucker and what I was doing to him felt so good. He’d never had a blow job that came anywhere near to what he was getting from this little old country boy—of that much, I was damn sure!

  I settled in comfortably and I really enjoyed fellating him. Damn, that city dude had a nice big piece of meat! Just when I could sense his ejaculation beginning to build up, deep down in his prick and balls, I delivered the coup de grâce. I tore my mouth away his cock—a real sacrifice, because I was really getting off on sucking that big, meaty, mouth-filling thing. Instead, I plunged my face lower down, between his legs, between his butt cheeks, and I went back to work, once again sucking his ass.

  He let out the loudest, wildest shriek of frustrated lust I’ve ever heard from a dude. I stuck my tongue as deeply as I could into his unprepared asshole, and then I began to rim him again, lustily, despite his hoarse protests. “No, my cock—please, keep sucking my cock, I really want to come!” he pleaded. Ignoring his desperate request, I thrust my tongue in and out of his silken manhole, tasting the salty, slightly tart flavor of the interior of his ass each time my tongue dug into the feast of flesh.

  I lapped and licked until his anus felt like warm, quivering jelly around my fucking tongue. When Mirco tried to reach down, grab his neglected, all-but-exploding prick, and stroke it to relieve himself, I seized both his wrists and held on to them to stop him. Helpless, he just had to lie back and take it! For all practical purposes, I was raping the sexy married dude—raping his ass with my tongue!

  But soon, inevitably, he resigned himself. He stopped complaining, and he started enjoying having his ass eaten. My face ground into the valley between his sweating, squirming buttocks. I could feel his big, hot, spicy Swedish meatballs banging against my forehead, rising and falling along with the steady jerking throb of his overexcited cock. His penis waved about frantically in the empty air, and my tormenting tongue only increased its arousal when I slammed it deep into his asshole, again and again.

  I licked that delicious, responsive anus until I was afraid Mirco would shoot his cum without even having his dick touched. Then, again without giving him any warning, I dropped his legs back to the floor and I took his cock into my mouth and down into my throat again.

  His penis was so hot and hard and pulsing so strongly with pent-up fuck lust that I didn’t even have to suck it. Mirco’s frantic hip movements drove that huge thing of his in and out of my mouth with the speed and force of a piston. All I had to do was keep my mouth open, my lips closed firmly around the circumference of his shaft, and my throat relaxed, with my gag reflex suppressed. Passively, I let him fuck my face.

  He was raping my goddamn mouth and throat, and I loved it! He grabbed two fistfuls of my hair to hold my head down between his thrashing legs. I’d pushed him too far. He wasn’t going to let me pricktease him any longer by interrupting the blow job. The guy had to either come or die, he was so fucking horny by then. And I gloated over the fact, proud that I’d driven him insane with sex and forced him to become so aggressive.

  “Suck it!” he was yelling, his voice high-pitched and unsteady from the strain of the effort it took him to speak at all. “Suck it, you good-looking young stud bastard! Suck that cock!”

  His hands thrust my head up and down, his cockhead pounding down into my desperately cleared throat with each ferocious, demanding downstroke. He made me accept every inch of his big prick.

  His hard-on was so big by then, so swollen and throbbing with sexual urgency, with his need to blast his nuts down my cocksucker’s throat, that I couldn’t breathe comfortably. I could actually feel my fucked face turning dark purple as I began to suffocate!

  I could see the headline now. Fatal fellatio! Young man found dead in motel room as a result of gay sex act gone wrong. Married man charged with involuntary manslaughter. “It was consensual sex,” suspect in custody claims. “He asked for it!”

  “Jason was such a nice boy,” I could imagine our neighbors lamenting, when they were interviewed by the reporters from out of town who’d swarm to our isolated community in search of all the prurient details. “We never suspected he could be such a dirty pig of a cocksucker!”

  I was concerned about my posthumous reputation, and I was anxious to avoid such a scandal, if I could. But I was also getting off on sucking Mirco’s cock, which I continued to do, with a reckless, death-defying oral abandon.

  And so, stoically, optimistically, I held on. I continued to suck! I was going to take this stud’s hot load even if it did fucking kill me! All I could do was snatch whatever quick, shallow breaths I could, and hold my breath in between them, until my lungs threatened to burst, while I let Mirco pump my head up and down, faster and faster. He drove that huge hard cock mercilessly, with mounting brutality and ever deeper
lunges, in and out of my mouth and throat.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, sounding sick and faint with passion. “I’m almost there! I’m so fucking close. Oh, yeah! I’m—shit!—I’m going to shoot!”

  His hands tightened their grip in my hair. My fingers dug deeper into his thighs. My bruised mouth pumped back and forth around that solid prickshaft which was being driven so violently between my lips. I could feel the building pressure of his cum, the hot, fast-rippling flow of seed within his shaft. His thighs crushed my head between them as his muscular legs tightened, too.

  “Suck it!” he wailed. “I’m there, boy! You’re about to get it! My hot cum! Down your fucking throat! A whole mouthful! It’s yours, you cocksucker. Any second now! Any second—now, stud, now! For Christ’s sake, now! Take it, suck it, take my hot fucking load of cum, I’m coming! Ah, shit—yeah, oh, yeah!” In his raw, extreme excitement, the poor guy then started yelling in Swedish. “Aw, skit! Jaq ska skjuta! Jaq kommen att komma! Nu, just nu! Gud!” [“Aw, shit! I’m going to shoot! I’m going to come! Now, right now! God!”]

  I didn’t need a translation. I got the gist of what he was saying!

  And then his passionate moans of orgasmic ecstasy dissolved into one long cry of blissful relief, as he shot into me. He came hard! Harder than any stud I’d ever sucked off up to then!

  His cock thrust itself faster and faster into my mouth and throat, which were wide open for it, not resisting, totally receptive, taking him completely with each lunge he made. I grasped his balls in my hand and I squeezed them to milk him dry when I felt the first unbelievably hot, thick, and creamy burst of his sperm slamming into my throat. His ejaculation was so forceful I thought it would blow my head off! Or that I’d drown trying to swallow his load, there was so much semen hurtling into me, as he shot and shot.