I'd caught the last tube out of the West End and now I'm walking the last half mile to my house in St. John's Wood. I have a choice, I can take the underpass to the other side of the fenced main street or I can walk a quarter mile in each direction to cross at a traffic light. The safe option would be the long walk, but I decide to take a risk and do what's not recommended, namely use the underpass late at night. London is not always a safe city. I head into the trash strewn pedestrian tunnel. Halfway along, it dog-legs, for no good reason, so part of its length is not visible from either end. This is where the danger lies, but I press on into the dark. Most of the fluorescent lights aren't working. As I turn into the dog-leg, I see two figures leaning against the concrete wall. One of them pushes off the wall and stands in my path. I feel a shiver of fear run down my spine. Is this where I get mugged?
"Got the time, mate?" His cockney accent is rough.
I peer at my watch. "It's hard to see in this light. It must be close to midnight." I look at him. He's in his early twenties, wearing a T shirt with the sleeves rolled right up to his shoulders showing his large muscles and a number of cheap looking tatoos, mostly daggers and snakes. Below, he wears soiled jeans and heavy work boots. His ginger hair is close cropped and his face betrays a cruel hardness. His companion steps away from the wall and I see he has a large scar down one cheek. Similarly dressed and inked, he looks, if anything, even more dangerous than his friend. They're now standing right in my path and as I try to step to one side, Ginger puts his hand on my chest.
"Not so fast, Fuckface. Wanna buy some weed?"
As it happens, I am out of marijuana, and I'd like to smoke a joint before I go to bed, so I hesitate.
"I've got a regular supplier. I'd rather deal with him, but thank you, anyway."
Ginger turns to his friend. "Fuckin' posh bloke," he says with a sneer. "Too fuckin' stuck up to buy our shit."
"Prolly a fuckin' poufter," says Scarface, "a fuckin' nonce, a shirtlifter."
"Just one joint," says Ginger, pulling a battered looking roll up from his pocket. "Cost ya a tenner, that's all."
"Ten quid for that?" I say, derisively. "How do I know it's not cigarette tobacco?"
"Smoke it right 'ere," says Scarface. "Come on, we need the money. It's wicked shit."
They're clearly not going to let me pass so I decide the best thing to do is go along with them. They're a scary pair, but the danger has an edge of excitement to it.
"Okay," I say, pulling out my wallet and removing a couple of fivers. "Here you go." I hand him the money but before I can put my wallet back in my pocket, Scarface snatches it out of my hand and peers into it.
"Two fuckin' quid?" he exclaims, removing the last of my cash. "Is that the best you can do? Rich bloke like you should be fuckin' loaded."
"I don't like to carry a lot of cash. You never know whom you might meet."
"Whom?" he snorts, derisively, "Whom? What's wrong wiv 'oo'? Fuckin' posh cunt!"
He hands my wallet back with a sneer and I put it in my pocket before they get any ideas about taking my credit cards. Ginger hands me the joint and flicks his bic to light it. I inhale deeply, holding the smoke down in my lungs. I can feel the buzz immediately. Scarface was right, it is good shit.
"Where ya goin'?" asks Ginger.
"Home."
"Where ya bin?" asks Scarface. His accent, if anything is even coarser with a hint of threat in his voice.
"The Royal Opera House, at the ballet," I say.
They both chortle. "Fuckin' ballet! Told ya he was a fuckin' poufter," says Scarface. "Only fuckin' nonces go to the ballet." His voice drips with contempt.
"Hetereosexuals go, too," I protest.
"Yeah," sneers Ginger. "They go to see those poncey blokes with their cocks and balls in a bunch in their tights. That's wot you buggers like to look at."
"I have to confess I do find them attractive."
They both hoot. "That proves it," says Scarface, "you're a fucking queer, ain't ya? I bet you like to suck dick." He's hit the nail right on the head. I take a long pull on the joint and pass it to him. "Ta," he says, with unexpected politeness, takes a drag and hands it to Ginger. "'Ow may cocks you sucked, then?"
"You mean all of them? Since I was a boy?"
"Yeah, 'ow many?"
"Let's see. I started when I was eleven, so that's five or six years in school, and then two years in the army and two years since, at the rate of about two dicks a week, that's . . .somewhere near a thousand."
"It don't count if you suck the same dick twice."
"I'm not. I'm counting fresh dicks. If you count them all it must run to thousands."
They snigger. Ginger takes a pull on the joint and hands it back to me. It's nearly finished and I hold it with my finger tips and take the last drag from it.
"You're a fuckin' whore," says Ginger. My fear has diminished. If they were gloing to beat me up, they'd have started by now, so I relax, my excitement rising, wanting them to do whatever they like to me, to heap abuse and humilitation on me and, with luck, savagely rape me and force me to fellate them.
"A fuckin' slut," says Scarface. I love being verbally abused. I can feel my cock getting stiff. "How'd ya like to suck mine? I've got a big, stiff, smelly dick right 'ere, just for you, you fuckin' faggot." He unzips his jeans and lets them drop to his kness, revealing the fact that he's not wearing underwear, something that I would never do, but on this ruffian, is strangley attractive. Out pops a semi-rigid uncut cock of a quite appreciable size. Ginger stands behind me, puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me to my knees. I can smell the stale sweat on Scarface's body. My suit pants are going to get dirty, but I can always get them cleaned. My heart begins to pound, half fear, half joy as Scarface pushes his cock against my face and rolls back his foreskin. The sharp, heady aroma of unwashed cock makes my dick go instantly stiff. "Go on, bitch! Suck my fuckin' cock!" I open my mouth and he pushes it in to the back of my throat. I'm accustomed to having a cock right against my tonsils, so I don't gag. He starts to thrust it in and out. "You love this, don'tcha?" I nod my head. "See, Ginge, 'e likes it. 'E fuckin' likes it!"
"I bet 'e likes it up 'is fuckin' arse, too," says Ginger.
"Mmmm," I say, nodding my head again. My cock is rigid in my pants.
"Fuckin' wicked," says Scarface, pulling his dick out of my mouth. "You'll love it, won'tcha, you'll love my big dirty cock up your fuckin' cunt."
"I will," I say, trying to get my breath back. "Being fucked is a wonderful experience. You should try it."
"No fuckin' chance. Wotcha fink I am, a fuckin' queer? But if you wanna get fucked, you're gonna 'ave to beg for it."
"Yeah," says Ginger, his contempt clear in his voice. "Beg 'im for it, you fuckin' slut!"
I look up at Scarface, seeing the cruelty in his narrow eyes. "Fuck me!" I plead. "I need a big stiff dick up my arse. Ram it into me! Fuck my brians out, you fucking brute! Rape me! Molest me!"
"Molest?" queries Scarface. "Molest? That for little kids. I'm not into little kids. I bet you are though, fuckin' faggot!"
"A young boy is nice, but I prefer a big grown man like you, a man with a big, rock hard dick. Go ahead, shove it up my arse!"
"Say 'please'," he says, grinning.
"Oh please, please fuck me! I'm dying for it. I haven't been fucked in days and my arse is hungry for cock. Please! I'm begging you! Slam it into me now."
He moves behind me, reaches round, unzips my pants and pulls them down to my knees. "Oh, take a butchers at this, Ginge. Pink knickers!"
"They're not knickers," I protest, "they're silk boxers."
"Fuckin' silk," says Scarface, running his hand over my bum. "Nice feel. I'm about to fuck 'is fuckin' Lordship." He pulls my boxers down and I can feel the tip of his cock against my hole. I push back, but he's not ready yet. "Fuck 'is face, Ginge. Shove yer cock in 'is mouf." Ginger pulls his cock from his jeans.
"Oh, yeah," I groan. Ginger drops to his knees in front of me, spreads his thighs and pulls my head down into his crotch. I feel as if I'm going to heaven, with two rough, dirty louts defiling me, a cock at each end. I want to plead to Scarface again to fuck me savagely, but my mouth is suddenly full of Ginger's cock. This one is circumcised, and has less of that delicious cock smell, but it still feels very satisfying in my mouth. I run my tongue over his glans and hear him groan. Then, oh what deep joy! Scarface pushes his cock into me, all the way in with a single thrust. I don't feel any pain, my sphincter having been well stretched over the years, and the feel of the whole length of his cock sliding up my arse is indescribably wonderful. I let out a big sigh through my nose. Scarface's hips slam against my buttocks as he thrusts himself into me, and I relax on the in stroke and grip him on the out stroke, milking his cock. It won't be long before he cums, which is what I want, then I'll ask, or better still beg, Ginger to fuck me. I need all the dick I can get. I stop licking his glans, simply masturbating him with my lips. I know that circumcised guys can last for much longer than uncut men, and I don't want him to cum just yet, though a mouthful of warm semen is one of the great joys of life. I can feel Scarface speeding up and I push back to meet his thrusts, then he lets out a long, loud groan, and I feel his cock pulse inside me as he shoots his load.
"Fuck, oh fuck, fuck!" he yells with his final lunges. "Shit, that was good, you little fuckin' whore! Even better than fuckin' a pussy." He pulls his cock out, leaving me feel empty and hungry for more.
I take my mouth off Ginger's cock. "Jesus, I needed that!" I croak. "You sure know how to fuck a guy." I look up at Ginger and say, "Your turn now. Finish me off. Bugger me, you fucking thug! Sodomise my hungry hole! Fuck me like your mate just did, only harder and deeper!" I hear Scarface laugh, and from the corner of my eye I can see he's wiping his dick on the lower edge of his T shirt.
"'E really wants it, Ginge," he says. "Can't keep the customer waiting. Come 'ere and fuck 'im. Slam your Johnson up 'is shit chute!" I shiver with delight at the thought as he kneels behind me, puts the tip of his cock to my hole and lunges in. His cock, if anything is bigger than his mate's and the sweat runs down my face as I let him violate and humiliate me. He's in no hurry and takes his time, giving me long, regular thrusts of his iron hard cock as deep as it will go, his hands on my hips pulling me on to him. He withdraws until it almost falls out, then rams it back in again. My head is spinning, my heart pounding. I'm in absolute heaven.
"Now there's a sight for sore eyes," says Scarface as he stands off to one side looking at us. ""Me old mate Ginger fuckin' a fuckin' posh poufter. I wish I 'ad a camera."
"There's my mobile phone in my pants pocket," I gasp. "Use that and take some pics."
"'E wants to be famous," says Scarface, bending down to fumble in the pants round my knees and finding my phone. He starts snapping pictures. "Blokes down the pub will like these." Being photographed in the act of being sodomised by two brutal thugs makes me even more excited. Who knows who will see the pictures? With luck, they'll end up on the internet for the whole world to see. I push back to meet Gingers thrusts. Minutes go by, and I'm lost in a fog of pure lust, blissfully happy in my abject humiliation, wishing it will never end. Ginger sure has stamina. Scarface is looking on, impressed by his mate's performance.
"Fuck me!" he says, "I'm actually gettin' 'ard again. Who'd a believed it, just minutes after I come up 'is fuckin' arse!"
"Shove it in 'is gob," says Ginger. "Give 'im a nice load of cum to swallow."
As Scarface kneels in front of me, I reach out, grip his cock and pull it towards me, my mouth gaping.
"Fuckin' cunt can't wait for it," he grunts as my lips close round his cock. Although minutes earlier, it was right up my arse, there's no bitter taste on his cock. Prior to leaving home, I'd given myself a deep triple enema. One never knows whom one may encounter, and it's best to be prepared as most men like me to be clean. If there are any pathogens on his cock, they'll be my pathogens, so I'm not likely to get hepatitis. In any case, I'm too far gone to worry about such trivialities, as I swim in an ocean of utter pleasure. "Fuckin' bitch-slut-cunt-faggotty cocksucker," he sneers, "can't get enough, can ya? Betchya sucked your Daddy's dick, dintcha?" As it happens I did. It was he who taught me to love cock. I nod my head and reach one hand up to fondle his balls. Ginger is still pounding away at my arse which eagerly accepts its glorious violation. "You fink 'e drinks piss, Ginge?"
"Prolly. All faggots like piss, they say." Once again, I nod my head.
"'Ere goes, you fuckin' cunt. Take this!" My mouth fills with hot piss and I swallow frantically to keep up with his vigorous flow. He must have been drinking beer all night because the flavour is quite mild, very tasty in fact and I'm able to get a dozen or more mouthfuls before his bladder empties. "Yer right, Ginge, 'e does like it. Jesus, wotcha doin' with your tongue, you sexy fucker? Oh, fuck! Jesus! E's makin' me cum! Shit, 'ere it cums, Fuckface! Yeeeaaaah! Oh, sweet Christ, I've cum again, twice in ten fuckin' minutes!" Although he shoots only a small load, it has a lovely strong flavour and I roll it round my mouth, then look up at Scarface, my lips apart so he can see his cum in there. "Swallow, you whore!" I oblige, then lick my lips. He wipes his dick again on his T shirt. Ginger speeds up and I know he's right on the edge.
"Cum for me, you fucking savage!" I croak, my voice hoarse with lust. "Fill me up with cum. Rape my hungry arse! Make me your bitch." Then a dozen vicious lunges of his hips tell me that he's cumming, pumping his hot cream right up my love hole, and the thrill is so overwhelming that my own orgasm hits like a breaking wave, even though I haven't even touched my cock. My semen shoots out on to the cement floor, some of it dripping on to my underpants bunched round my knees.
"Jesus, I've cum, too!" I gasp. "Your magnificent dick has made me cum, you gorgeous boy!" I wipe tears of joy from my face.
Ginger pulls his cock from my hole and stands up. "Fuckin' queer," he sneers. "Can't stand fuckin' faggots!" I'll never fathom how a man can fuck me and hate me at the same time, but his contempt has added an extra thrill to the encounter. "Come on, mate, let's fuck orf." They zip up their jeans, and Scarface puts my mobile in his pocket. A phone is a small price to pay for the intense thrill I've just experienced.
"You come this way often?" asks Scarface.
"Most nights," I lie. "Around midnight or so."
"See yer, then." He and Ginger head off without so much as a thank you, though I feel as though it should be me thanking them. Their voices echo off the grimy cement walls. "Wait 'til the boys down the pub 'ear about this. That big nigga fucker, wot's 'is face, Jacko, wudda liked it."
"And your mate, Butch, the one with the ten inch cock. 'E said 'e fucked a lot of blokes in the nick."
"It ain't ten inches, I've seen it. Can't be more than eight. Bigger'n mine, though." They're voices are growing fainter and I strain to hear them.
"I bet Lord Silky Knickers could 'andle four blokes, dontcha think? One up 'is arse, one in 'is mouf and one in each 'and?"
"No problem, fuckin' slutty whore like 'im."
They're briefly visible in the street light at the end of the tunnel and then they turn left and disappear. "Thank you," I call, but they don't hear me. I stand, pull my cum stained boxers up over my cock. I can feel cum dripping from my arse as I pull my pants up and zip them. I dust off my bruised knees and start walking home, my arse aching, but feeling beautifully satisfied. This is going to be my regular route home from now on.
What a perfect evening! The ballet was so moving it nearly made me weep. Two bits of rough DID make me weep.
The End.
To find my other stories, email me at tonywill9999@yahoo.com. All emails will be answered.