Maxxed Out III: Axle, Alabama
By: GiantGuy
"Be twenty eight fifty. Oil change n' everything." Ralph wiped his
hands down his coveralls and held out one callused palm. "I said,
twenty eight fifty."
The customer turned to him, looking down at Ralph, standing to his
full six feet five inches, dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes, his
jaw etched square and wide. He wordlessly reached into his back
pocket, pulling out a fat wallet. He thumbed through a thick stack
of bills, pulling one out and thrusting it at Ralph, who squinted in
the light of the setting sun.
"Hunnert dollars? Nothin' smaller? Damn, these new bills look like
play money to me, look like somebody made up down in their basement
or somethin. There you go. Fifty makes twenty nine, thirty, fifty,
seventy, ninety, hunnert. Whereabouts you headed?"
The tall man said nothing, but abruptly opened his mouth and let out
a loud belch, which caught the attention of two bikers standing by
the side of the gas station chewing tobacco and sharing a beer.
"BurrrrraaaaAAAAAP" Ralph started at the suddenness and force of
the man's belch. He could see the man's substantial, round pot
belly deflating... flattening... his shirt hanging loose over a
tight midsection. Ralph chuckled.
"Woo wee, what'd you have for lunch there, worse case a' gas I ever
saw. So where you headed?"
He was answered by the sound of the van's engine starting, and the
tires squealing as he pulled away.
"Who was that sumbitch, Ralph?"
Ralph mopped his forehead with a greasy rag as he stumped back to
the shade of the gas station office. "Dunno, but he had a wallet
full of hunnert dollar bills and looks like he was kickin' to get
out of Monroesville fast."
The bikers, both powerfully built men with strong arms and bellies
beginning to bulge from beer, looked at each other. This could be
interesting.
Max threw the wrinkled map to one side. He didn't care where he was
headed, he just wanted to put miles behind him. He absently patted
his stomach. Flat again. The ability he had to regain his flat
stomach was impressive, considering the enormous widths it had
stretched to recently. He hadn't opened his mouth at all at the gas
station, feeling the intense buildup of gas, and enjoying the
sensation. Finally he had had to release it -- all that was left of
the wiry construction worker who he had swallowed only a day and a
half before. So far the hunger urge hadn't come back. So far.
He was continuing up Route 41. Damn, he should have taken a piss
back at the gas station. Didn't matter... plenty of places to pull
over.
He turned off the road in a small clearing, the twilight thickening,
the woods alive with sounds of crickets and frogs, the air palpably
wet and clammy. He left the van door open as he got out, one hand
moving to his zipper as he strode to the edge of the trees, each of
them choked with vines and clinging underbrush. As he sprayed down
the tree trunk, he heard a car pass on the road, swooshing by. He
heard the sound of motorcycles approaching. More traffic than he'd
expect out here. The rumbling of the engines was louder... then the
sound of idling... then they stopped. Max shook the last drops off
his cockhead, and turned around.
A fist connected with his midsection, and Max doubled over
instinctively, the breath knocked out of him. He had a quick
glimpse of two pairs of boots on bluejeaned legs, then he was
thumped squarely across the shoulders, throwing him to the ground.
He lay, just for a second, his mind racing.
"Went down like a house a' cards, Lee."
"Grab the goddamn wallet and stop talking, asshole."
Max felt a boot planted between his shoulder blades, weight pressing
down, pinning him, while a pair of hands ran down his back to his
jeans, pulling the wallet out. Max planted his arms straight down
and thrust himself upward, knocking both men over as he did. He
leapt to his feet, fists swinging wide, getting in a few solid
punches to both of his assailants. He concentrated on the one who
had his wallet, a bulky six-footer with coppery hair and mustache,
hair covering his powerful forearms. They traded blows until Max
found a thick belt slammed across his throat, choking him in a grip
he couldn't break. He clutched at it, falling forward, and blacking
out.
......
"Well, well. Look who's wakin' up."
Max opened his eyes, staring into the beetle-browed face of the man
who had choked him and wrestled him down. His swarthy, rounded face
broke into a grin, and he turned his head to the side and spat.
Max lunged forward, but found his hands bound with the leather
strap, and tied above his head to the doorhandle of the van, leaving
him sitting on the ground, powerless.
"Aw, leave him be, Dean, let's get the hell outta here," the red
bearded man said, scratching his belly through his worn t-shirt,
recounting the money in Max's wallet.
"Not yet. Need a little payback first."
Lee stopped counting the money, pricking up his ears. "Like what?"
Dean grinned, stepping back from the van, regarding the musclebound
man in front of him. "Could use a little suckjob fore we get back
on the road, whattya say? Ridin' the Harley gets me needing some
suction on this hog here," he chuckled, unbuckling his jeans and
letting them fall open, his stubby cock beginning to push out hard
from his crotch.
Max looked away in disgust, anger seething inside him. The blood
pounded in his head -- he was too furious to speak.
Dean wrapped his fist around his sausage-like cock, jacking it a few
times. "Aw, looks like our buddy don't wanna suck dick today." He
stepped closer, leaning down to blow stale tobacco breath in Max's
face. "Guy who tried to bite me got his brains bashed in good with
a crowbar. So be good and open wide," he snarled. He put his
hands on the top of Max's head and guided his reddening cock to
Max's lips. He looked over his shoulder at Lee.
"What're you, a goddamn faggot, don't be watchin me, you'll get your
turn in a minute. Get the fuck back and watch for cops."
Lee did as he was told, pocketing the wallet and loping to the side
of the road, looking for headlights.
"Mmmm... aww yeah, that's nice. Your mouth feels like it was made
for sucking cock, boy," Dean grunted, running his hands through the
man's bristly, coarse hair. The suction was incredible. This guy
had to be a world-class cocksucker, he was deepthroating him with no
problem. FUCK, he could feel the guy's tongue brushing his balls...
DAMN ... he was sucking in his nutsack as well as his cock. The wet
lips seemed to be slurping onto his hairy thighs. How the hell...?
Dean bent down, bringing his hands across Max's face, feeling in the
darkness. "What the hell are you -- "
No cars to be seen in either direction. Lee rubbed his own prick
through his jeans, thinking about the last time he and Dean had
gotten a little action this way. That time they had pinned down a
college boy with a flat tire, and Dean hadn't been content with just
getting a blowjob from the terrified kid, but had tied him
spreadeagle across the hood of his own car, and had cornholed him
raw, leaving him to be found by the cops the next morning,
shivering, humiliated and unwilling to talk about it.
What was taking Dean so long? Lee never knew him to last more than
five minutes tops. Maybe he was making the guy suck him twice in a
row. He had thought they were taking a chance going after a guy
this big, but Dean was convinced he was a gym faggot who wouldn't
really know how to fight. Looked like he was right.
"Dean? Dean, you almost done? What's the damn holdup, I want some
'a that too," Lee said as he turned and jogged back to the car. He
heard some thick, wet, slurping sounds as he came closer. That guy
must give one hell of a blow job. He pulled the flashlight he kept
on a chain out of his pocket and clicked it on.
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"
The man still sat, hands above his head, strapped to his own van
door. His jaw was grossly distended, reaching down almost to his
chest, the muscles flexing and working. His lips were wrapped
tightly around a pair of boots -- Dean's boots. Lee could see the
man's belly bloated out gigantically, moving as though something
were... were squirming inside. For a moment Lee thought he could
make out the outline of something, something being pressed against
the flesh from the inside.
Dean's face.
The boots slipped between the man's stretched lips, and he gulped, a
bulge traveling down his stretched throat. Lee froze -- in all his
years he'd seen some freaky shit, but nothing like this.
The man thrust his head forward, working his jaw, barking in a
ragged, guttural voice.
"Uuuuuh... uuuuuuuuntie me .... and I'll let him out....."
Lee stared into Max's eyes. If he freed his hands, there was no
telling what he might do. But it might be Dean's only chance. How
long could he survive in there?
Lee hesitated, taking a long breath. What the hell was he going to
do?