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It wasn't that Lee wasn't happy to have his brother back. Johnny was ace. He really was.
It wasn't that as Johnny had grown more comfortable with himself, he checked out blokes more. Lee didn't give a shit about that. He did the same himself - just more discreetly.
Even when Johnny "jokingly" ogled Lee's wet body in a towel in the morning, or stopped to eye Lee up and down when he walked in on him changing, or perved at their dad's big fat bulge and hairy, beefy arse in his briefs (especially the old, threadbare "look how macho I am 'cos I'm a geezer wearing pink" briefs) - and fine, Lee had checked his dad out a few times himself, because every man and woman on the planet wanted to shag Mick Carter, it was written in law - Lee didn't give a shit about that either.
No, it was the nights Johnny brought blokes home and Lee could hear them on the other side of the wall. The short intakes of breath, the grunts, the groans, the dirty talk - way more dirty talk than he should ever be hearing from his own brother. The slapping and spanking, the choking, the slurping, the cries of release. Hearing his brother beg to be fucked raw...
Not only did it go straight to his very thick dick, much to his embarrassment, but it also reminded him just how boring his sex life with his girlfriend Whitney was. He knew he wasn't good enough for her, and he just didn't want to admit it, but it was a little more obvious every day that she was only with him out of pity...or because she, too, wanted to shag his dad senseless.
To Lee, the army had been serious - in the end, too serious - but the times he hadn't been exhausted from training and the drudgery of daily life, it had also been a gateway for any cock or cunt he ever could have wanted. Knickers lowered with clumsy teenage fingers, or quick wanks with the best mate who always checked out your knob when you were pissing - this was fine for Lee before he'd been in service, but after he'd gotten serviced so much, fucking and being fucked and sucking and being sucked in ways he couldn't even remember anymore - civilian life was just so dull. He remembered his last birthday when he was in, and his best mates had just blindfolded him and tied him up and absolutely wrecked him, even fucking him with a (well-lubed and cleaned, obviously) baton stolen from their commanding officer...whose 18-year old twin sons, who both looked like Ronaldo, had also been convinced to join the "Lee doesn't have to walk for a week" celebrations as the final surprise.
So wiping counters in Walford wasn't exactly the way he wanted to spend his remaining days.
He'd gone a bit sex-mad when he'd first gotten out, but most of his conquests weren't around to tell the tale - Lucy Beale had been found murdered (with Lee as a prime suspect - not exactly the happiest moment of his life) and the blokes, most of 'em he was too drunk to remember, but a few were Peter, Fatboy, Dexter (yeah he'd had an angry mutual wank with his sister's boyfriend - Dexter was a tosser anyway, so it wasn't like he'd really ruined her relationship) had all drifted away.
There really wasn't anyone around now. He didn't want to cheat on Whitney, not again anyway (long story...) 'cos he loved Whitney, even if he knew she'd never love him. But the army had taught him blokes were easier to have meaningless sex with.
There were plenty of gorgeous straight (or 'straight') blokes, especially ginger gorgeousness Jay Brown, Jay with that cheeky grin and those perfect abs always on show when he wiped sweat from his eyes, Jay whose arse was poured into those coveralls like he was straight out of a porn flick where the mechanics have an orgy in the last 30 minutes. Tamwar had dick-sucking lips like few others. Masood had a beautiful smile and was a real DILF (a GILF, really) - in better shape than most men half his age. Vincent was fuckin' gorgeous with that dark chocolate skin and those big strong arms, bouncing pecs, obscene jeans, naughty smile and bright eyes with a dirty gleam. Lee wanted to try it on with him, but he was out of the country, and besides, he was straight, even if a few of his longer glances at Lee's backside mid-glass-collecting had made Lee wonder. Jack Branning was proper grizzled sex on legs, with a long dick swinging to and fro in his shiny trousers every time he strutted into the Vic. Kush was...phwoar. How could he even describe Kush? He had the body of a god, and was clearly a dirty bugger - the women who limped out of his flat every morning told the tale without sayin' a word. Martin had a bit of a tummy, like Lee, and Lee loved that in a bloke. He had an arse to make a meal of too, and great thighs, and a vitality about him - something dangerous and dark under the tense smile.
But they were straight - or they claimed to be, anyway - and Lee couldn't just accidentally fall on their cocks. Most of the closet dicksuckers and bumfuckers in Walford had cleared out, and they didn't exactly leave a list of other options. So he was left with the poofs who were proud, or semi-proud...and that wasn't a long list.
Self-hating poof supreme Ben Mitchell had a chunky arse to feast on and a smug face Lee wanted to coat with his fat cock, but Ben was a headcase, and Lee had already fucked Ben's girlfriend (long story...), so...he wasn't going to go there. Paul Coker was cute, with his big curly hair and sparkling eyes and teasing mouth, and Lee had had a private wank while taking out the bins one night as Paul had been out there sucking off a 50-year old tipsy tourist from Stockholm with hairy, tree trunk thighs, a cock as thick as his wrist, and low-hangers that nestled below Paul's spit-stained chin like cum-filled Christmas ornaments. But Paul was gaga over Ben, and Lee didn't want anywhere near that mess right now. And even as horny as he was, he wasn't going to risk going on fuck sites - with his luck, he'd end up meeting up with Johnny.
All he wanted was a good time with a fit fella, and he couldn't find one.
That made it some act of fate for him when he walked into the pub toilets on a quiet night and saw Martin Fowler, DILF of the year, with a wide-legged stance at a urinal.
He had no idea that Martin had stopped by to "see" Johnny (see Johnny's tight hole, more like), and was beating off in frustration after news of Johnny's shopping trip with their mum and Aunt Babe. All he knew, or cared about, was the girth wrapped tight in Martin's chubby fingers.
Of course he couldn't be that obvious - "straight" blokes couldn't be - so he hid his sly smile, letting Martin pretend he was just having a slash. He stood at the other urinal, dropping his jeans and baggy boxers to grip his own piece. Not as long as Martin's, but a bit thicker, although Martin's was a mouthful in its own right.
Martin was thrown when Lee began the slow strokes on his shaft, but he assumed the Carter lad was just in need of a bladder-emptying...that was the point of the toilets, after all. Martin willed his hardness down to finish the slash job, staring at his hands, the walls...anything but the stiffness of the man pissing beside him.
Lee was what some called "gormless" in that when he saw a prime piece, he rarely bothered to hide his interest. That Martin wasn't wearing any pants just made Lee want him even more, because it wasn't what you expected out of a bloke like Martin. It made him unpredictable...as wild as his bloodshot-tinted brown eyes and unwieldy pubes.
Martin wasn't wearing pants because he hadn't bothered to wash his clothes lately...he just wore the same blue jeans and white jumper until they were practically wearing him. His usual baggy blue boxers were in a pile somewhere. He'd almost worn Johnny's skintight lime green briefs, the ones Johnny had left in his bed a few nights earlier along with a few loads of cum and a few quid for the lamp he'd broken mid-pounding, but now he was very grateful he'd thought better.
Lee was wearing sky blue jockeys that emphasized his big balls and fat prick along with his meaty thighs, and a short-sleeved blue top cut tight around his biceps and gut. His tan slacks were around his ankles, along with the jockeys. He lifted his shirt a bit, ostensibly to not walk out wearing wee, but mostly so Martin could get a look at his trimmed pubes, big fleshy bum and well-fisted shaft...and he smirked as he was pretty sure Martin was taking a good look.
And Martin was. He knew it was an awful idea - Whitney was sorta family to Stacey, and Lee was definitely family to the man Martin had just sat on the face of not even a day earlier - but his cock, stiff again in his reddened palm, refused to listen. He played with his semi-retracted foreskin to try to distract himself, but that just shot a jolt of pleasure through him...especially when he looked over to see Lee toying with his own baggy foreskin mid-slash. Martin wanted to tug it with his teeth.
Lee kept pissing, but, wanting to get a reaction, he moved his hand away, taking the risk that some of the liquid would miss.
Soon it did, splashing the right leg of Martin's well-fit jeans.
"Oi!" Martin cried, bending over to wipe the denim and unwittingly give Lee a prime view of his hairy arsehole. "Are you stupid or somethin'?"
Lee said nothing - his smirk was all he needed.
"Guess you better let 'em dry," Lee grinned as he resumed stroking himself.
Martin shook his head in disbelief, but couldn't hide his dirty, knowing grin. You could never accuse the Carter brothers of being bashful.
"You're payin' for the clean."
Lee shrugged, mid-tug.
"Fine by me."
Martin reached over to give Lee a friendly wank, pleased at the sight of Lee's knees buckling with another man's rough touch.
"And the next round's on you, mate."
Lee shrugged again, but surprised Martin by dropping to the floor.
"What about this round?" he teased as he began slowly crawling toward the Fowler fucktoy.
Martin's dimmed eyes shone with unholy glee at the realization of what they were about to do in a public toilet. This was the type of stuff he heard other blokes talk about on stag nights, but now he was living it. Another bloke was on a nasty tile floor, mouth open, letting Martin's length rest on his large, eager tongue,and staring up at Martin with wanton, shameless need.
Martin was gonna cum right then if he didn't stop himself.
He slapped his plump piece against Lee's cheeks, one then the other, before stepping away, laughing at the disappointment on the older Carter brother's face.
"You'll get your reward."
Unable to stop himself from his dirtiest impulses, he turned around, shoving his jeans all the way down to his ankles and pushing his chubby cheeks close to Lee's nose and lips.
"Haven't had a proper wash in a few days," he warned and taunted.
Lee groaned, but Martin wasn't sure whether it was from disgust or desire. Maybe it was both.
Wanting to know, Martin spread his cheeks, waiting to see what the reaction would be.
The sound and feel of spit and the touch of a tentative tongue at his opening was any answer he ever needed.
"Fuck yeah mate - eat that shithole," Martin moaned as curiosity slowly became hunger for Lee.
Martin yanked his jumper over his head before Lee positioned him against the wall. As Lee pushed the lightly fur-coated mounds apart to dive further into his anus, Martin gripped an overhead pipe, grinning as his own flesh pipe slapped against his hairy stomach. It felt so good - he'd never had his arse eaten out until Johnny and now he couldn't imagine sex without it. At least with dirty dick pigs like the Carters. He imagined Johnny sucking him off, Lee eating him out, and their fighting over who would go when.
He was about to blow his load in the urinal, panting, lost, wanking away, his sweaty forehead stuck to his hairy forearm, when both sex-crazed men were startled by pounding on the door...a door Lee hadn't bothered to lock.
"Be out in a minute!" Lee said in a panicked yelp, scrambling up to a standing position.
Martin turned pure white as they heard Mick's voice on the other end.
"You cleanin' the bogs?" he said, clearly not happy with the idea of having to do it himself.
"Yeah!" Lee shouted, quickly adding, unable to resist, "Givin' 'em a good spit-shine an'all!"
He winked at a disbelieving Martin, who was currently burying his head in his arm to drown out his excessive snickering.
"Gotta go talk to your mum for a bit - Tracey's on deck, alright?"
"Got it!" Lee shouted, slapping a mortified Martin's bum, watching it jiggle from the contact with the meaty hand, grinning in triumph over some victory for Carter cottaging.
"You're an idiot," Martin groused as he was about to leave...before Lee pulled him backward into a bruising kiss.
'I don't taste half-bad,' Martin thought to himself as he opened his mouth, not taking long to give in to the crude thrill of arse-to-mouth contact.
Lee pulled him closer, his blue shirt sticking to Martin's sweaty, bare back...with another bareback in mind as his fat todger nestled between Martin's matted cheeks.
"I gotta fuck you," Lee breathed into his ear.
"Don't think so, mate," he chuckled, trying to ignore how good the flesh felt against his hole. The first and last time he'd taken dick was when he'd coaxed Jamie Mitchell into getting high on something beyond his hairspray...he'd enjoyed it, but he couldn't even remember the pain. He knew he would this time.
"Maybe next time," Lee said, confidently, wrapping his bicep around Martin's throat and chest, kissing him deep again as he tweaked his nipples and pulled at his treasure trail.
"Smell so good," he praised as he lifted Martin's arm, feasting on his rank, hairy pit.
Martin groaned, eyes rolling back in his head. He knew Lee would give him a proper workover if they had time, but as good as this was, he knew they didn't have time. He really didn't want to face a full Carter inquisition over corrupting their boy - both their boys.
Still feeling Lee's hard cock wedged between his cheeks, he impulsively squeezed left and right together, the guttural groan from the stud behind him sending him into a tremor.
"Prick tease," Lee spat, literally, in Martin's mouth, before shoving his tongue down his throat.
Martin whimpered, wanking himself off even as his hands were held behind his back, his hot, hard cock sliding back and forth against the cold, hard urinal.
"C'mon bitch...come for me..." Lee growled, sinking his teeth into Martin's exposed neck.
Martin clamped down one last time, a vise grip as he blew his load into the urinal. He felt close to blacking out as the rapid release of his sputtering prick, spraying wide against his naked legs, the floor, his shoes, the urinal, contrasted with Lee's teeth on the other side of his neck now, tasting his flesh at the same time as his big dick violently coated the inside of Martin's cheeks and trickled down the backs of his thighs.
He could feel Lee propping him up, keeping him from keeling over from exhaustion at lack of sleep and overwork and days on end of the best sex of his life.
"You alright, mate?" Lee said, sweetly kissing the bite marks he'd left on both sides of Martin's neck.
"Yeah. Just need to crash," Martin said, yawning.
"Maybe ya need some protein," Lee teased, scooping some of his soppy cum from Martin's arse and feeding it to the man he planned to fuck very soon.
Martin wanted to pretend he was disgusted, but eagerly suckling Lee's fat fingers gave the game away.
Lee smacked his bottom one last time before throwing him his clothes.
"You get on and I'll clean up, alright?"
Martin managed a nod in-between more yawns.
"Cheers."
He wiggled his bottom for Lee as he put his jeans on.
Lee winked at him one last time as he left, the hunger in his eyes doing little to hide that they'd be seeing each other again very soon.
Just as Martin made a quick exit, Mick bounded downstairs, searching for a bottle of the good stuff. He surprised Lee, who'd barely managed to freshen up and get his clothes back on.
"Gotta drain the brain," Mick joked in his Mick way, pulling his shaft from his fly. Lee was surprised to see he wasn't wearing any underpants under his usual tight jeans.
"Boys wanted to breathe today," Mick continued as he pulled them out, along with his shaft. They looked almost obscene, like one of those dirty stage shows, hanging outside the denim prison.
Mick made his long shaft dance a bit, a few drops of piss flying here and there, before he got down to business. He always liked to show off. Lee couldn't say he blamed him, with a piece like that.
"Had yer fun?" Mick asked, casually, as he continued his flow, making sure nothing got on his expensive boots.
Lee noticed Mick was staring straight at his package as he said the words. It took everything he had not to get hard again at the perverse gaze of his father.
"Just keep it in yer memory bank that the M in Martin stands for married...or close enough," he said.
Lee tried to deny what they'd done, but he knew that wouldn't go far with Mick.
"Not sayin' you can't have fun," Mick continued, washing his hands, "but this ain't no true love always. Keep it focused on Lil' Lee and not hearts an' flowers. Alright?"
Lee nodded, disbelievingly.
"I-I-"
Mick ignored his attempt at a protest, pulling him close. Lee forgot to breathe as his father moved in, intense brown eyes. For a moment Lee thought they were going to kiss, before he felt his father's hot breath in his ear.
"PS...he's fuckin' your brother too. So don't throw any punches. Keep it where we fellas do best...right between oour legs."
He abruptly pulled away, leaving Lee breathless, and gave his son a wink not far off from the one Lee had given Martin not so long ago.
"Ten minutes to dinner."
Lee barely heard him, but nodded. He left, knowing Mick's eyes were on his backside...leering...licking his lips.
Lee raced upstairs, glad Whitney was away for the night so she wouldn't ask why he was tearing off his clothes and spreading his legs out on the bed to finger himself and wank his begging tumescence.
Images of his dad, and his dad's dick, and Johnny begging Martin for raw loads...he was almost all the way when he heard a crash outside.
He stood up, buck naked, and opened the blinds enough to see Martin squirming against the bins (one of which he'd just knocked over), jeans against his ankles, one set of cheeks against the brick wall as the other set were being spread wide open, licked clean by...
Oh fuck.
Lee groaned as he recognized Johnny.
His baby brother was licking out the load he'd blown in Martin's hole.
And Martin was staring right at Lee from below...unholy gleam in his eye at being serviced by both brothers, one now watching the other feast on what his big brother had left behind.
As Lee threw back his head, surrendering to filth as he stroked out a painful load, he thought about how good it was to be a Carter.
Fatboy, AKA Arthur Chubb, woke up in a cozy hotel room by the beach. His home for a few months now.
Better than waking up in a locked car boot. Or not waking up at all.
He almost thought he'd been living a dream - or a nightmare - these last few months.
He remembered being caught in the war with the Hubbards, Ronnie and Phil Mitchell, then getting knocked out, having panic attacks like poor Mrs. B did every time they didn't show Bargain Hunt, thinking he was going to die, then getting freed literally at the last minute, before he became Tiny-Little-Pieces-Boy. That really wasn't as funny as he wished it was.
"Artha, Artha, Artha," a voice suddenly taunted as he began to sit up.
"Ain't got no clothes on!" he shouted, glaring as he pulled the bedsheets over himself.
"I do not mind," Vincent said, walking in wearing nothing but tiny red trunks, a large, colorful collection of tattoos on his chest and arms, and a big grin.
"Fine," he replied, past caring. If somebody wanted to perv on him, he could think of worse things. A lot worse.
Vincent casually stroked his clearly massive dick through his trunks as Fatboy let the sheet fall, exposing his chubby-but-fit, smooth caramel chest, and the base of his bushy dark pubes.
"I saved your life, ya know. Owed a proper thanks. Propah propah. Propah."
Fatboy didn't have to guess to know what that meant, and had to guess even less after Vincent stripped off his shorts, letting a thick 10-inch slab of horse meat smack into his perfect abs like a fist.
"C'mon, man - least let me scrub or brush up."
Vincent laughed.
"We can shower later. Now we Hoover."
He had a feeling Vincent, judging by his sexy smirk, assumed he was a complete novice to cocksucking, but his years as mates with the Moon brothers (who shared everything and everyone, twice) and Joey Branning (bubble arsed donkey dick supreme and a huge manwhore to boot - thankfully not car boot) had trained his jaw well and truly. Still, it had been a few years since regular oral exercise. His last time with a man had been a blind drunk 69 with Lee Carter, who'd stripped for him, shown his hole like it was ready for museum display, made Fatboy come all over his smooth tits, and hadn't even remembered it the next day...or pretended not to, anyway.
Fatboy knew he wasn't going to be performing any porn star fellatio on this mamba, but he'd do his best.
"Get going, biiatch," Vincent laughed as he yanked Fatboy by the gold chain around his neck.
Fatboy rolled his eyes before he kissed the tight foreskin, slowly unwrapping it, letting his tongue circle the sensitive pink-brown head.
"Fuck," Vincent breathed as Fatboy put the first few inches in his warm mouth, grinning obediently all the way.
As Fatboy slobbered further and further down the aching snake, only stopping a few times to get his bearings, Vincent thought of the amazing fuck he'd had with the other bloke he'd saved from psycho Ronnie's wrath - her ex, Charlie Cotton, who'd had quite a nice cock and chunky arse for a white boy. He still remembered blowing his load all over that hairy chest and smearing it in the broody stubble Cotton always kept just the right length.
"Stick your tongue out, Arf Arf," Vincent commanded, groaning when Fatboy did as told, meaning Vincent could drink in the sight of Arthur on his knees, mouth open, pre-cum leaking from the mushroom head onto his lips, teeth and tongue.
"Good boy. Now stand up," he said, grinning when Fatboy reluctantly let the flesh gun go.
"Oh fuck YES!" Vincent half-squealed at the sight of Fatboy's bubbly backside, fleshy cheeks that jiggled as he smacked each of them hard.
"You're enjoying this, aren't ya?" Fatboy grimaced as his arse stung.
"Think you are too, mothafucka," Vincent taunted as he reached around to stroke Fatboy's fat length, showing just how much Fatboy wanted the rough touch. "No wonder my sistah was so HUNG up on ya. Get it? Well...you're gonna get it."
Before Fatboy could respond, Vincent dropped to his knees, sliding his tongue in the warm, smooth hole, lapping up the man-juices, just to his liking. And Fatboy's liking too, judging by his short breaths and gasps...especially when Vincent began adding fingers.
Vincent gave another sharp spank as he stood up, yanking Fatboy backward by his gold chain for a rough kiss, all the better for his bottom-bitch-to-be to taste himself.
Fatboy was surprised when Vincent fell to the ground, arms and legs spread wide, long and loose, in contrast to the rock hard python reaching for the ceiling.
"Sit on my fat one, Fats," he hissed through bright teeth.
Fatboy wasn't sure. He hadn't taken a dick this big since Tyler...and he'd been high more often than not back then. The perils of becoming responsible...
"I guess I'm gonna feel it," Fatboy smiled, nervously.
"I fill. You feel," Vincent boasted, giving himself one last, long tug.
Fatboy swallowed, slowly squatting down, spreading his cheeks, closing his eyes to preserve some dignity, and to avoid that smug grin.
Vincent gritted his teeth, neck rolling against the plush carpet as the other man's tight hole took one inch, then another, another followed by another. Vincent couldn't let himself pay attention, could barely breathe, because if he did he'd start thrusting, start bucking his hips before he'd filled his new fucktoy. He had to do this on Fatboy's time, just like he had with that Charlie, who'd turned into a proper dickpig by their last encounter, sprawled on all fours, hairy arse wiggling, begging for Vincent's horsemeat. His big black dick in that white hole he'd stretched out just for him...
Fatboy moaned as the memories made Vincent's shaft, now halfway in, pulsate. The precum made the trip smoother, slid him a few inches further down the flesh pole.
"Good boy, Fatboy," he whispered, eyes wide as he tweaked and poked the succulent tits on display.
The nipple action helped distract Fatboy from the feeling that his arse was on fire, but as he slowly grew used to the unwrapped gift inside him, the pain ebbed away on its own. He'd forgotten how good it felt getting fucked this way, and Vincent was good - let him set the pace, get comfortable.
He opened his eyes again as he managed to eat the last few inches, surprising himself - and a pop-eyed Vincent - as his thick thighs nestled against Vincent's, as nothing separated them but the base of Hubbard's hose.
"Wow," Vincent mouthed, unable to remember the last filly or fella who'd taken him to the root.
He knew he wasn't going to last long, especially when he was letting someone else do all the work. He tried to close his eyes, tune out, think of the beach, but when he saw Fatboy bouncing up and down on his lap, mocha skin glistening in the early morning sun, head thrown back and lip chewed, fully consumed by the pleasures of the dick making a new home in him.
Fatboy trembled at the instinctual thrust from Vincent, and the tremor went straight to Vincent's shaft.
"I'm - I'm - GET OFF unless you want me to shoot ya through the ceilin'!"
Fatboy shook his head. He wanted this. He needed it.
"Your funeral, fucker!" Vincent roared as he could feel the pent-up loads coursing through his cum-heavy balls.
Fatboy clutched his necklace, tearing the gold band to pieces as he clung for dear life while Vincent's violent ejaculations threatened to buck him off, as he could feel the oceans of man-seed flooding into him. He felt roughed up, dirty, used - and he loved every second of it, being a whore, proving his worth to the point where he knew he would barely walk for days.
Vincent, screaming inside and flaring his nostrils, was just pleased to find such an eager cum dumpster. Even Charlie hadn't done him this good. He'd have to give Charlie a few tips. Or maybe Fatboy would.
He yanked at the fat boy bobbing between Fatboy's meaty thighs, grinning as one touch made it boil over, the sputtering volleys leading to a tougher clampdown on his own sputtering pole, choking out one last, loud, delicious load into Fatboy's gutters. Fatboy just grinned, like he'd checked out mentally, his dark hair curling into his eyes.
Vincent's tongue lolled around his thick lips as he yanked Fatboy forward for a rough kiss, Fatboy moaning as the copious amounts of semen began to leak from his battered hole.
"Don't think I'm gonna be movin' for a while, yeah?" he panted.
Vincent nodded, understanding. He dipped a few fingers into Fatboy's well-used chute, putting them to his lips, then his lover's.
"Taste good, don't I?"
Fatboy was too tired to argue. Instead he just dozed on Vincent's broad, sweaty chest.
Vincent stifled a yawn of his own, leaning over to check his phone. As good as this had been, he had plans to keep an eye on back in Walford...
Jack hadn't been back in Walford for long before he'd started to wonder why he'd come back in the first place. He loved Ronnie, but she was such a fucking drain, always playing head games. His idea of head games was a good blow job, but he knew she wasn't interested in anything like that these days. She barely even kissed him.
He was out for a stroll to clear his head, and to gulp down a few of the generous helpings of scotch at R&R, when he heard strange noises in the alley. His copper instincts never leaving him, he hid, wishing he still had his gun.
The noises soon revealed themselves to be sloppy kisses, grunting, whispered declarations of "love it" and "suck my dick" and "yeah that's it you slag," and moonlight beaming on a chubby, very pale arse.
As Jack began to grope his length through his tight blue jeans, he moved his stare away from the pistoning, fleshy backside, moving up to focus on the baggy white shirt, short brown hair, and...a small hearing aid.
There was only one bloke in Walford who wore a hearing aid and let men suck his dick - had sucked more than a few himself.
"I"m not a slag," the fella on his knees stopped long enough to say. He had a big grin and a mop of curly dark hair. "'less you ask nice."
He stood up, and Ben, still with his surprisingly beautiful arse on show, pulled him in for a deep kiss, holding his hand tight in his Mitchell fists.
It was sweet, but it made Jack a little sick. He wanted porn, not pretty pecks.
He realized he'd have to do it himself.
"Good night, lads?" he asked, strolling out of the shadows and right near the two startled young men.
"W-we were just..." Ben stammered, before Jack the excuse died in his throat at Jack's thick, rough fingers wrapped around his rapidly reviving erection.
"Figure I know what you're doin', Benny boy," he grinned, lewdly. "And he," Jack pointed a long finger into Paul's chest, tugging at the red Paul was wearing over a white shirt. Even with the layers, Jack was pleased at what a broad chest the Coker boy had. He'd need to see more.
"Strip him," Jack ordered Ben, the husky command going straight to Ben's dick.
Ben fumbled at a bewildered Paul's clothes, shoving his tan coat with the white collar to the ground and raising his arms over his head to promptly render him topless.
"Like to take orders, eh? Good boy," he grinned, like the proud father figure Ben so eagerly needed...a father figure who was retracting his foreskin and running a thumbnail around his glans until he moaned incoherently.
"And you," he rasped, yanking Paul forward by the curls for a bruising kiss, parting all too-soon with a loud smack. "You are just gorgeous. Gonna have to take you home with me."
He chuckled at Ben's fuming pout.
"You too, Mitchell," squeezing hard on his tight ballsac.
Ben was bottomless, Paul topless...Jack was fully clothed.
He knew one way to solve that.
"Get on your knees," he said, looking from one lad to the other, reminded of his copper days when he'd make the fitter suspects into his personal fuck toys.
After looking at each other, they did.
He thrust his denim-clad hips forward ever-so-slightly, briefly patting the bulge currently leaking pre-cum against the material.
"You're both gonna take it out...and then you're gonna both fight over it. Best gets to make the other their sex slave for the night. My sex slave too...of course."
Paul looked taken aback, but Ben's eyes gleamed with unholy glee.
Jack's smirk grew all the wider on his handsomely lined face, as he knew he'd soon have the Mitchell blow-up doll right where he'd want him, and have just a tiny bit of the payback the family deserved.
Meanwhile, as four tentative hands made slow work of Jack's zip, a mysterious man who'd been following Jack much of the night groped the massive crotch throbbing in his track bottoms, hoping his crude arousal wouldn't make him drop the small but very powerful camera in his hands. He was going to get far more tonight than he'd bargained for...