At this point I was face first in the dirt so all I could do was let out a few mumbles.
He slapped my ass. It stung and the pain mixed with the pleasure was one of the strangest, yet best feelings I had ever felt. “Speak!” he ordered.
I raised my head off the ground a little. “No, sir.”
He chuckled. “Well then you’re going to get a little more than you bargained for today. He picked me up with one hand and slung me over his shoulder. From under his armpit I could see where he was carrying me and was surprised to find it was not towards the break area, but to the road we were working on—a busy highway that was currently packed with traffic now that four lanes had been reduced to two.
“Sit.” He ordered, setting me down on a piece of heavy machinery in full view of the highway. I sat and he hurried away, warning that he would be back in a second. I wondered if I could touch my cock yet.
When we reached the temporary cement barrier that separated our work space from the highway, he bent down and laid me across it so that I was facing into traffic. At this point the cars that drifted by were mere feet from where Mr. Svendsen was binding me in place with a length of cord.
“This is so you won’t be able to escape,” He explained. “Not that you would want to,” he added, patting my ass. “I know you will enjoy this.” He also tied my legs so that they were spread wide “for easy access” and my hands behind my back, presumably so I couldn’t get myself off and finish the job.
Then he directed me to observe the people passing in the cars. “Look at them,” he said. “Watch their faces—they can’t keep their eyes off you—and their expressions. Each one of these people is a witness to how much of a faggot you really are. And each one of them is going to enjoy it. Furthermore, not one of them is going to help you, you know why? Because each one of them knows how much you like this—even if you don’t admit it.”
“I do like it, sir,” I insisted. “More than anything—just, please, won’t you let me cum, sir? My penis—I don’t know if I can take much more.”
He laughed and smacked my ass. “Oh you’ll cum all right, just at the right moment.”
With that he spread apart my butt cheeks again and spat directly into my asshole. A thin trail dripped down my left leg. He then shoved a gloved finger into my asshole. “Damn, you’re tight,” He said. “Too much so—we’re going to have to work on that.”
He removed his finger and after a moment something else penetrated my hole—something wet and squishy—his tongue. I gasped as he worked his way around the opening, his stubble brushing against my cheeks.
“You don’t need much down time,” he observed. “This is perfect.”
And with that they all lined up behind me, ready to penetrate and tame my ass. I lost track of how many times I came and how many men came inside me. Some, growing impatient, even hopped the fence and took me from the front. At any moment I had a cock in my mouth and up to two in my ass and I loved every second of it. I loved how they abused me, how they hit me, pinched my nipples, called me names. I loved it even more when the occasional passerby would join in the fun—if just to roll down their windows to call me a faggot or to stop their car completely to hop in line.
When everyone had finished, Mr. Svendsen took a knife and cut me free. I lay on the ground dizzy with ecstasy, but the Scandinavian tossed me a vest and hard hat and growled, “lunch break is over—get back to work.
We never really got much done as far as the roadwork we were supposed to be doing, but from that point on, I knew that was the best summer I would ever have.