I lived alone then, back when it started. I had an okay job, a divorce, and other failed relationships behind me, part of a comparatively mundane tapestry woven over the 42 years of my life. I’d done nothing noteworthy but nothing terrible. I’m that kind of guy — a classic beta male I suppose.

I often went out for walks on my own around the outskirts of London to keep myself in reasonable shape. It’s a city with probably the best transport network in the western world, and I was rather nerdy about exploring it. I also liked industrial landscapes, especially ones which were fading, where nature was beginning to move back in. It was this interest that took me to the stretches of Tilbury on that morning, a morning that marked the end of my old life. I often wonder whether I would have still gone if I knew what was going to happen?

It was a warm early summer day, one of the first of the year that called for shorts and t-shirt. I got the off the train and went over the rail bridge, following the path to the river. I was feeling slightly restless and horny, even though there was no reason to — like that ever stopped a guy! I had images flicking through my mind in no coherent order; dripping pussies, throbbing cocks, gags and ties, slobber and piss… Just one thing linked these snapshots; I was being done to. In my fantasies I always was, and occasionally in real life, though I never had the balls to properly see it through. I shook my head quickly, wondering where these thoughts had come from, and concentrated on my surroundings to banish them.

The bleak landscape comprised dried brush and scrub, dotted with discarded clothing, random litter blown in, and shredded tyres from lorries that thundered down this lonely road on their way to the docks. It was deserted save for a lorry cab in a lay-by. The engine was off. It looked parked rather than abandoned. I paid it no mind and was walking by, when all of a sudden its window came down. An angular and rather handsome face looked in the wing mirror, nodded to himself and opened the door, swinging his legs out after he’d done so.

“You late!” he observed with a noticeable East European accent. I looked up at him, the puzzlement clear on my face. He continued: “We said midday and it is gone quarter past. I was only going to wait a few more minutes.” He fixed me with a stern gaze.

“Sorry, but what?” I enquired.

“Late. We said midday!”

“But I’m just out for a walk. Who are you expecting?”

“A walk?” He raised an eyebrow. “You are not sucklad86?”

“Who?”

“You fit the description. I am sorry.”

He looked disappointed and I suddenly realised he was expecting a hookup. I guess he’d arranged on some website or other to meet a guy and, by the sound of that guy’s moniker, get a blow job from him.

“Sorry, I’m not him.” I paused, wicked possibilities suddenly opening up before me. I was mainly straight, or so I thought, but I had fooled around with men before, and I knew I enjoyed sucking cock. The driver was a good-looking man, not huge but well-built and toned. I had nowhere I had to be. The snapshot from moments before of slobbering over a throbbing cock came barging back into my mind. I felt my own cock stirring at the thought. “But I could stand in as a sub…”

He looked at me sharply. I raised an eyebrow. He looked around. “You serious?” I just unhooked my knapsack and walked around the cab to the passenger door, climbed up and opened the door. I slid into the seat and looked at him as he swung his legs back in the cab. I simply said, “yes”. I took my t-shirt off. “I want to worship your cock.” The spontaneity was like a drug coursing through my veins. This wasn’t me — and it felt amazing.

“You’re not sucklad86”.

“Nope. Never heard of him.”

“Just some guy walking who suddenly want trucker cock?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And what do you want?”

“Er…”, I said, suddenly unsure. I thought then stated, “nothing.” I nodded. “I don’t want anything in return.” I paused. “Apart from a bellyful of your spunk.”

“You really are sub,” he grinned. I wondered what was talking about then realised what I had said earlier. I’d meant substitute. I paused, then said nothing. A Freudian slip all right…

“Lose the shorts,” he suddenly ordered. His voice was low and slightly rasping and carried the force of command with it. There was never a doubt that I would not obey. I took everything off, including my trainers and socks. I’d simply stopped thinking. I just knew I wanted to be naked for this man. He reached over and flicked my small, flaccid cock. “No wonder you want to serve real cocks.” I nodded meekly.

He slipped his tracksuit bottoms from one leg and motioned for me to kneel before him. I squeezed into the cab’s well and was face to face with this man’s cock. I suddenly stopped. I didn’t know what to call him. It didn’t matter. I looked into his eyes as I moved my mouth towards his stirring cock: “Thank you, Sir,” I breathed, then took his uncut cockhead into my mouth. I felt it start growing straight away, pushing against the side of my mouth and brushing over my teeth. My saliva quickly washed away the strong, acrid initial taste. I closed my eyes and set about my wonderful work. I worked that cock to its full growth, what, seven inches? About that I guessed. It felt much bigger and thicker than mine — not that that was difficult as I was never that well endowed.

A separate part of my brain screamed at me. ‘What the hell are you doing? You’re naked, on your knees in the footwell of a truck sucking a complete stranger’s cock! What’s wrong with you?’ I just sucked and slobbered harder. Nothing! Nothing was wrong with me. This was amazing! I felt like a slut, I felt naughty and fulfilled and like a cock-drunk faggot. I gave all the attention I had to my stranger’s wonderful cock. I wanted him to shoot spunk in my mouth, to fill it so I could swallow it and slurp it like the whore I felt like.

Sir moaned and grasped my head and started shoving my head down. I gagged as the cock went down my throat but then found that if I swallowed the cock then I could breathe around it. I stopped gagging as he fucked my throat. He withdrew it back into my mouth and I greedily sucked and swirled my tongue around its head, the bulbous head. I was cupping his balls, pulling them gently, and I suddenly felt them tighten and the cock shaft grow stiffer still, like an iron rod in my mouth. He grasped my head and bucked his hips. I so wanted this, to be filled and used, to be a cum-dump. And then I had my wish as his hot, salty seed flooded my mouth. Some spilled before I could swallow, and I felt it dribble down my chin. I loved the taste of spunk. I realised it all of a sudden. I had always eaten my own, right from when I first started wanking as it seemed the easiest way to get rid of it. But there, in the footwell of the cab, I realised I adored the taste of spunk. This was like nectar.

Sir slipped his cock from my mouth and grinned at me. I stirred but he motioned for me to stay with a simple sideways movement of an outstretched forefinger. There was simply no question of my not obeying so I stayed on my knees while he put his head back and exhaled loudly. “Good. Very good. You a good cocksucker.” He pulled some cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. He didn’t offer me one, which felt right. I don’t smoke anyway but all the same, I was naked at his knees with a bellyful of his spunk — I didn’t exactly feel on equal terms with Sir. There was silence for a few minutes.

He put a hand down to my head to move me. “Come, I need to piss”, he said. I went to move but then, revelling in my position, moved back to where I had been. I wanted more.

“Move! I need to piss.”

“I know,” I said, and stayed where I was.

“Then why you stay there? Move!”

“Why move?” I said. I then opened my mouth and just waited. Sir grinned.

“Oh good, very good.” He shifted forward so his cock flopped towards my mouth. I took it in my mouth and rested it on my tongue, mouth still wide open. “Piss boy too.” He gave a short, derisive laugh that sent a buzz to my little cock.

And then his piss flowed, stuttering at first but then in a stream. It was tricky to swallow it all and some spilled down my body but I drank most of it and revelled in the taste and sensation. I had drunk my own piss before but never someone else’s. What a fool I’d been! I loved the sensation as I moved from this man’s cum dump to urinal. And he’d not forced me at all. I’d offered. Nothing was happening here that I didn’t want, hadn’t made happen. The stream subsided and I sucked the last drops dry, cleaning the cock thoroughly and surprised to find it was a growing in my mouth again.

He drew his cock from my mouth and carried on smoking his cigarette. I stayed where I was, savouring the taste of his piss. I loved the sensation but, actually, I liked the taste too, Weird. But true. What was happening to me? I closed my eyes and felt Sir’s hand across my head, caressing me. It was nice, tender. I heard him rummaging in a compartment and the hand leave my head. And then I felt something around my neck being pulled tight. I started to panic and a soothing hand came on to my head again. The thing loosened slightly and then was fastened. By the time I realised it was a dog collar I heard another click and realised a padlock had been put on it. This was worrying but Sir’s hand soothed again.

“Don’t worry,” he purred. “This is nothing you not like.” He stroked my head again and I started to relax. I felt my cock stir and reached for it. “No,” Sir ordered. “Leave that pathetic thing alone”. I withdrew my hand and he grabbed it, raising it up. He quickly grabbed the other one too. He was stronger than me and in a flash I heard another click as cold handcuffs went around my wrists. Somehow, he had got my arms so my hands were locked behind my back. He’d done this before. I looked up, somewhat panic stricken.

“Be still,” he said. ‘I’m not going to harm you or kidnap you. Just games. And a way of making you leave your tiny cock alone. It deserve no attention.” He grinned and offered me some water from a bottle. I drank deeply and thanked him. Thanked him? Why? What was wrong with me? Apart from the fact that I was loving every minute of this…

“Come up”, he ordered. I started to get up but it was difficult. My knees were stiff from kneeling and my hands cuffed behind my back was awkward. He grabbed my shoulders and hauled me up. He then reached behind and drew back a curtain, revealing a small bed behind. “In”, he commanded, jerking his head towards the bed.

I was nervous but in no position to argue, so I did as I was told. Besides, I was too excited to want it to stop, even though I knew it probably should…