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Like most truckers on the interstate, I had been stopping at the BEEHIVE restaurant for years. At first, owned and run by a pair of elderly sisters, the atmosphere was warm and cozy, like visiting your grandmother. You knew the food would be good, and the service excellent, the sisters mothering everyone who wandered the roads. But when one sister died, the other sold up, and the new owners couldn't compare to the old ladies, and the little cafe fell on rough times. It changed hands several more times, until it was known as a place to stop as a last resort. Early in the morning, before the sun was up, I had driven my rig into the parking lot of the BEEHIVE to find the place still closed up. I parked behind the building and decided to catch a few minutes of sleep while waiting for the cafe to open. About an hour later, a beatup old Chevy pickup pulled in and backed into the space next to me. A young guy in jeans, white tee-shirt, head wrap and sandles got out. Totally ignoring my big rig, he sauntered across to the backdoor of the restaurant, and went inside. A light came on in the back, but the dining room remained in darkness. I dropped off again, tired of waiting for a questionable meal. I was startled out of my dreams by the roar of many motorcycles turning into the cafe parking lot. There were at least twenty, some with two people on them. About two dozen young men in leather vests rushed into the cafe, and the next moment the young guy in the head wrap burst out the backdoor, and ran toward his truck. He lost a sandle and went headlong onto the gravel. The bikers immediately swarmed over him, and dragged him to the hood of his pickup, backing him against the grill. A guy with very short blond hair came to stand in front of him. He suddenly punched the guy in the stomach. He doubled over, and the head wrap fell off. Long black hair streamed down and flowed across the ground. The blond grabbed a handful of hair, and jerked to guy back up and over the hood of the truck. . Up in my cab, behind heavily tinted glass, and above the scene of drama, I could see, and hear, everything. The blond started yelling something about his sister, and about how this longhaired fellow had insulted and misused her. He and his friends were here to teach this guy a lesson on how to treat one of their women. From his pocket he pulled one of those little battery-operated mustache and beard trimmers. His men had the guy pulled on his back over the hood of his truck. I could look right down into his eyes, though he couldn't see me behind the tinted glass of my cab. The blond grabbed him by his chin, and ran the clippers right up the center of his head, from above the eyebrows to the crown of his head. He screamed and struggled as long locks of silky black hair fell to the ground. With such a small set of clippers, it took the blond guy some time to completely shave the guy's head. Long hair was blowing all over the parking lot, and the shorn guy began yelling and threatening what he would do to get back at these guys. There was a deadly silence. The other guys looked at the blond leader. He just nodded his head. Suddenly knives appeared in every hand, and I thought I was about to witness a murder. The bald guy was covered in bodies from among which I could see knives flashing and tearing. Instead of blood, though, tatters and shreds of clothing were flying and falling, and when the gang backed away, an incredible sight lay before my eyes. There was the guy, bald head shining through the sandpaper stubble of his hair, lying back across the hood of his truck in nothing but a jockstrap! His body was fantastic, broadchested, muscled shoulders, 6-pack abs, great arms and heavily muscled thighs. Bulging between his legs was the snowy white pouch of his jock. The blond again stood between the guys legs and began to rub and fondle the guys goods through the pouch of the jockstrap. The guy was going berserk, struggling even harder than when they had shaved his head. The blond kept stroking the guys package until I could see the guy's cock almost doubled up and straining to get out of the pouch. With a little more manipulation, his huge cock thrust itself out the side of the jock, and slapped up to quiver on his belly. The pouch was still strained to hold the rest of his equipment, so I knew this guy was hung. The blond proceeded to stroke the guy until he couldn't hold his cum any longer, but blew a huge wad that shot over his head to land on the windshield of his truck. It appeared that the blond wasn't through with him yet. Putting his knife inside the pouch of the jock, just under the waistband, he cut the pouch free. The load it was holding caused it to spring out and it fell to hang and swing by the leg straps between the guys thighs. The guys body, and head, was completely smooth and hairless except for the bush above his cock. It was so startling to see that patch of silky black hair on his naked body. His cock arched up out of it, and his enormous balls fell out of it. The blond now took up his little trimmers, and in three or four passes, completely shaved the guys manhood. He looked fantastic. His face was so handsome; his body so muscled and manly; his cock so huge; and his balls hanging low and swinging between his legs. The guy went nuts at this last humiliation, and when the gang members began to laugh at him, and freely handle his shorn cock and balls, he began screaming that he would fuck every one of their sisters, mothers and girlfriends. There was another moment of silence at the end of this tirade. The blond still held his knife in his hand. He came right up between the guys spread legs, and grabbed his ballsac. He leaned over the guys beautiful body and looked him right in the eyes, "You're not going to fuck with anyone anymore." He moved back to stand between the guys legs once more. He put the knife between his teeth and used both hands to grab the guys big balls. They were huge, hanging in the low slung, fleshy sac. I could see him twisting them and pulling them, getting them right down to the very bottom of the smooth sac. Trapped in the bottom, the scrotum stretched and thin skin shiny over them, his big balls looked like plums covered in a film of morning dew. When the blond had the balls stretched to their limit, he looked up at the guys face. "This is for my sister, my mother and my girlfriend." Pulling the nuts up and away from the guys crotch, he placed his blade up below the mans cock. The guy was lying there completely quiet. This just wasn't happening; it had to be a bad dream. With one quick stroke, the blond brought the razorsharp knife up and through the fine flesh of the stretched sac. The guys eyes bugged out of his head. He screamed,"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" The gang members that had been holding him down now released him. I expected him to grab his mutilated crotch, but he had passed out, and lay there srpead-eagled over the hood of the truck, his cock now soft and spent, fallen down over the wound between his legs. The gang, I think just as shocked as I was, for they meant only to cut his hair, now looked nervously at each other, then hurried to their bikes and left in a roar of noise and smoke. When they were gone, I climbed down out of my cab to see what I could do for the new eunuch still stretched over his truck's hood. His beautiful body was now coated in sweat and dust, his big dick looking ridiculous between his thighs with no balls to cover. I bent down to reach for them remnants of his teeshirt to put between his legs to stop the bleeding. Reaching for more. my hand encountered something warm and quivering. I looked down and saw my hand upon the severed nutsac and balls. In his panic to leave, the blond gang leader had left his trophy behind. I picked the prize up and examined it. The sac was so pink and smooth; so fine-skinned. And the balls were as big as eggs, firm and yet soft. I put the whole thing in my pocket. I called for help on my radio, and told the police that I found the guy like this when I drove in for breakfast. The castrated man had never seen me, and would have other things to think about anyway. I couldn't admit to the cops that I had sat by, four feet away, and watched as a young guy was beaten, stripped, shaved, and finally castrated, and didn't do anything. I don't stop at the BEEHIVE anymore. But now as I drive up and down the interstate, I roll the trophy nuts between my fingers like big worry beads. Besides, if I went back to the restaurant, I'm not likely to get a repeat of the same entertainment as before. , |