Navigating the roads of Cheshire at rush-hour while naked was scary. Plenty of people saw me, although it looked like I was just shirtless in the early spring morning. I still attracted second glances, which Scott loved and I hated.
My companion worked as a senior machinist at a small factory, on the outskirts of the nearest town near the football stadium. The complex, spread over decades-old buildings, had over a hundred employees on site, and Scott directed me to drive to the edge of the furthest of the four car parks, next to a tiny brick shed. “That’s the coal store.”
“OK.”
“Get out.”
“I can’t.” He glared at me, and I sighed.
“Why?”
He reached across me and took the key from the ignition. “Scott, I need those. I have a conference call at eleven.”
“That’s in three-and-a-half hours,” he replied. “If you want them back, I have some tasks for you.” I shook my head in exasperation, and he seemed to enjoy the panicked expression on my face.
“What?”
“And you’re always moaning about how much extra time you put in, and your manager says you can have a few hours when you need it. Right now is when you need it. Take off your shoes and go into that coal shed. You can have your keys and phone back when you’ve done all your tasks.”
“What tasks?”
“You’ll find out. Get out before I drag you out. And cause a scene. You’ve got sixty seconds.”
“Scott,” I protested, and my friend opened the passenger door with my car keys and phone in his hand. “Scott!” I yelled. “This isn’t funny.” The nippy winger just waved at me as he crossed the empty gravel car park to the old building and entered through a side door in the factory. “Fuck!”
Without having much of an alternative, I kicked my shoes off and left my car, ducking behind the vehicle and running to the small six foot square windowless building. The wooden door was unlocked, and I turned on the switch which bathed the cold, brick room in pale light.
I shivered in the dirty, grubby space. On the floor was a plastic bag, and I opened it to find an envelope addressed to “Jon” and a black cotton hood.
I ripped open the envelope and unfurled the paper.
In this room you shall wait,
Give blowjobs to one and all.
We will send some lusty boys,
To empty their blue balls.
Put on the balaclava,
Wait patiently on your knees.
For a load of horny cocks,
You are going to receive.
When your task is complete,
And you have a tummy full of goo.
The final boy will give to you.
Another task for you to do.
“Fucking bastard,” I moaned and pulled the thin black balaclava over my head. The cotton hood covered my eyes but left my mouth open to receive. I felt a shiver as I knelt on my haunches.
I didn’t know how long I waited. It was a torment – it could have been five minutes or fifty, time had no meaning. I strained my ears to listen for any sound, but the hard, rough surface caused my knees to ache. I wished Scott had given me a cushion.
My heart pounded. This could have been an elaborate practical joke by my friend, and Security were about to come in and call the Police. He was only a senior machinist on the factory floor. The company had several dozen employees on the site, and any of them could stumble upon me in this compromising position.
Every sound startled and made strain my ears. The sounds of birds landing on the roof of the coal shed, or the creak of the door as the wind blew, excited me. My anticipation worked me into a frenzy, and when the pronounced noise of footsteps on the gravel grew louder, my heart fluttered.
The wooden door creaked open and a draught of cold air smashed through my body. Butterflies did cartwheels in my stomach and my mouth felt dry. This wasn’t like a gloryhole; I was in full view of an unknown person entering the room and he could see me naked.
I heard the comforting, arousing sound of a trouser zipper, and the cool breeze disappeared. My mouth agape, expectantly. Anticipating the dick to slide against my welcoming lips. Waiting for an anonymous man to use me for the first time.
I jerked in shock as the delicate, fleeting glance of a soft prick hit my cheeks and my hand gripped the base. Warm, flaccid and uncircumcised. He had unbuttoned his shorts or trousers and slid his underwear down his thigh, and I didn’t feel any pubic fuzz.
I mentally built a picture of the guy. I had to. I had to imagine that he was a muscle-ripped twenty-something hunk who took immaculate care of his body and his smooth skin. I dreamt he had a girlfriend, but the offer of a free blowjob from a cocksucking dirtbag was too good to pass up.
His cock swelled as my lips sucked on the head of his prick. My tongue flicked his frenulum, and I drew my head over his shaft to bob on his stiffening prick. He tasted slightly of pee where he hadn’t shaken his cock after pissing. There was an acidic, pungent foulness to his pre-cum soaked dick that sent my arousal haywire.
He was definitely a “grower” and my hand gently wanked his firm shaft as my tongue swirled against his head. The nameless man grunted, and I sucked on the odoriferous glans to draw groans and gasps from his body.
He panted, whimpered, and his cock tensed. Instinctively, I put my hands underneath his bare buttocks to hold his prick in place, and as his manhood spasmed, he tried to withdraw.
I wanted his cum. I needed it. I would not let him ejaculate over my body or balaclava when it could land on my tastebuds.
He squealed and then gave a guttural groan as the first splatter landed on the roof of my mouth. “Oh, God! Oh God! Oh God!”
His cock slipped through my lips as the last jet of his juices pooled on my tongue and I felt the cool draught once more. I was alone with my thoughts and my arousal. I replayed that blowjob in my mind until footsteps outside stopped, and the coal door creaked.
A shuffle of feet, the parting of a zip: the sound carried above the chirping birds. The second man possessed a prick that was long, thin and sweaty. His cock perched underneath a smattering of fuzz, and he rapidly thrusted his slick tool into the opening of my hood and slammed his dick down my throat. Almost grateful and relieved, when he shot his load into me.
The third man was overweight and climaxed with just a few licks of his tiny dick. The fourth and fifth men entered the shed together, and I alternated between giving a blowjob and a handjob. I moaned into their schlongs – one thick and meaty, and the other, long and veiny.
They laughed and giggled at first. I imagined their immature laughs came from two eighteen-year-old apprentices without the balls to come alone, but the joke quickly turned into a satisfying visit. My licks of their cocks, strong tongue massages of their shafts, and delicate strokes by my hand, soon had them both squirming, grunting, swearing and squirting.
The sixth bloke was already hard. He forced his dick into my mouth and face-fucked me, causing me to gag on his salty, bitter cock. And then he withdrew to jerk himself off over my naked body. As the cum landed on me, I felt even more of a whore.
My cock bobbed at the thought. I lost count after that. There were at least nine or ten men who had come through that door, but it could have been a dozen. My lips and hands worked every single one of them to a squirming, squealing, groaning, grunting climax of deliciousness. My mind was in its happy, uncomplicated place as the blindfold dulled my senses and I submitted to the unseen guys who sported enticing and luscious cocks.
“You’re done, cocksucker. Take your hood off!” I was still savouring the fruitiness of the last load when those words echoed around the shed.
My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the pale light in the coal store. The door was open ajar and the narrow chink of brightness from outside illuminated the inside of the brick built building.
I wiped my body free of cum with the balaclava and threw it to one side. An envelope lay on the floor in front of the open door, and behind that was another plastic bag. I unfurled the paper and read the poem within.
In this bag is your plug,
Slip it up your bum.
We know it’s rather large,
But big plugs are your fun.
We have given you some lube,
To help you get it in,
And a plan of the site,
For where you show some skin.
Go to each star on the map,
So we’ll see your toy,
Bend over, spread your cheeks,
Humiliation, dear boy!
You’ll count to thirty seconds,
That you must expose,
And in those places you may find,
Some treats, perhaps some clothes?
Flash your hole around the factory,
Expose at every star
Finishing on Number five
Gets you closer to your car.
The bag contained one of my buttplugs from the bathroom. The thick metal bulb had a pink crystal jewel on the handle of the plug. At around five inches long, and two inches wide, the chrome-plated toy didn’t slip in easily. Scott had picked up a half-empty bottle of lubricant from Martin’s wooden den of depravity, and I squirted these over the plug before I pressed it against my hole.
It slipped in my greased hands, but it on my second attempt I had the toy pressing against my insides
It didn’t fill me like my biggest toys, but it was a satisfying firmness inside of me. I moved, and I felt it shift, and it sent a shiver across my spine.
The map was of a site plan of the factory. Four main buildings of various sizes housed the assembly lines, and someone had helpfully added a red arrow to the edge of one of the car parks, which I guessed was the coal store.
The five stars were all over the map, with the final point near the entrance to the site. There was no way I could move about the complex without being seen, and I tentatively opened the wooden door to the shed.
The hum of the machinery and a few shouts in the distance was all I heard. Behind the car park, for about twenty metres was a line of thick trees until the boundary to the site. The nearest yellow star was about thirty metres away at the neck of the large gravel, which contained just a handful of other vehicles. I hesitated, and with nobody in sight, I ran barefoot down the length of the car park.
Seven or eight seconds was all it took, but it felt like a lifetime. The butt-plug slammed against my insides as I sprinted to the gap in the trees, which led to a small clearing on the edge of the site. On the tree trunk, someone had nailed a yellow wooden star to the bark. On the floor lay a pair of forest green Wellington Boots.
I looked behind me. Anyone driving into the car park would see me through the gap in the trees. Anyone on the second or third storey of the factory building could see a man in the clearing, if they stared out of the window. But the poem was clear, and I put my legs six inches apart, bent over and spread my buttocks.
I counted to thirty. It felt like an age, and I was certain I rushed it towards the end, but it was a level of exposure I had not done before. My heart pounded, my imagination flooded with fear and excitement. What if someone called the Police? How would I explain myself?
The Wellington Boots were old, and a size too big, but they were a godsend. I looked at the map and realised that the line of trees extended around most of the boundary. The next nearest star was also on the perimeter and was in the far top right of the site plan.
With the boots, I could walk within the vegetation without cutting my feet open. I trekked between the oaks, maples and limes. In places my route was overgrown with bushes, but I was able to traverse the western boundary fence before walking across the northern edge of the site. At one point I was really close to a factory building, but I heard nothing except the throbbing of the heavy machinery.
When I reached the second spot, I stayed in the sparse hedge. Directly opposite the wooden yellow star, and within twenty metres of the bushes, was the smoking shelter and two burly machinists were enjoying a cigarette chatting.
Timing was key. I waited for ten minutes. As one employee left, another replaced them. I quietly urinated in the plants as I patiently lingered in the undergrowth before the final smoker vacated the shelter and I leapt out from the bush and displayed my stuffed rosebud to the world.
I hoped that it would be no-one, but that was too much to hope for. I knew that these yellow stars fastened to the trees meant something, and that there would be no way that someone wasn’t watching somewhere. My loins tingled at the prospect.
I finished my task with moments to spare, as another smoker walked out of the side door and into the shelter. In my haste, I hadn’t noticed a black and white jockstrap hanging from a tree branch, and I slipped further into the woods to slip it over my legs and up my thighs.
The next star was further along the eastern boundary, and the trees thinned. The main road ran alongside the site, and the chain link fencing and sparse bushes were all that separated me from the footpath beside the arterial route.
I had long stopped feeling the chill. Adrenaline was rampant, and I had to weave and dive between the undergrowth and bushes, while keeping a respectful distance between the factory car parks and buildings, and the five foot high mesh fencing and the road.
The next star was in the middle of a small stream. A fence post in the brook protruded above the ankle deep water, and upon that was a black cap with pink writing. As there was nobody in sight, I spread my cheeks and counted to thirty, before grabbing the hat and splashing through the creek in my Wellingtons.
Icy cold water splattered onto me, but it was refreshing. My body ached and my mind was ablaze with dirtiness of it.
The fourth star was near the site entrance, and I slipped the cap on without reading the pink text on the front. The map suggested that the stream which ran between two of the factories, would take me directly to the star and I looked along the watercourse. It was at least three feet lower than the ground and the car park. A little bridge transported vehicles over the top of it, and unless someone was next to the brook, I could duck and run in the stream in the boots without being seen.
The air underneath the little bridge was cold and dank. I had to squat to make it, and the pungent smell was disgusting. Walking between the two brick buildings, that were touching distance either side of me, scared me. I could hear the machines and machinists. The monotonous bark of the plant and the shouting of dedicated employees came through the open windows inches from me as I navigated the stream as quickly as I could. I reached the path at the front of the two largest factories and as I ducked underneath a second bridge; I heard voices.
Two women chatting as they walked from one building to another. I pressed my body against the brick underneath them as their heels clattered on the wooden bridge and took some deep breaths. I cursed Scott once more and waited for thirty seconds, before I continued past the second hall to a small green near the front of the site. On the tree, Scott (or his accomplice) had hung a white T-shirt that I grabbed and pulled over my torso.
The star was on a tree stump on the bank of the stream, in bright sunshine. As I stood next to it, directly facing me was the main entrance to the factory I had just walked alongside, and to my left was the security hut next to the gates on the road into the site.
I took a deep breath, climbed out of the stream, and crouched on my haunches. It wasn’t as explicit as my other yellow star tasks, but if anyone looked closely, they would see that I was proudly displaying my buttplug.
My heart rate didn’t drop. It was daring enough for me. The last star was near the security hut, and I walked along the stream a little further. I took a moment to glance at my T-shirt to read “I Suck Cock” in big pink writing.
“Tit!” I muttered, thinking of Scott, and saw a reference to the diminutive nature of the size of my endowment on the cap. I turned the T-shirt inside out, but could do nothing about the hat.
The stream ran underneath the fence on the southern boundary, and the company had installed a wooden barrier to prevent anyone from climbing under the perimeter fence. It meant I had to clamber into the grass verge alongside the largest car park.
I could see people in the distance, and the security hut was just twenty metres away. I got some cover from the trees and bushes, and edged my way to the main entrance. I spied the security guard in his shelter from the thick bushes, but he was reading his newspaper. They had pinned the yellow star on the tree above me.
I squatted once more to display my butt-plug to anyone watching from the factory, while watching the security guard chuckling at his tabloid. Thirty seconds felt like an eternity, before I slipped back in the bushes and noticed another envelope nailed to the tree.
Perhaps this is your final task?
Or perhaps we have some more.
Find on the site
A purple and orange door.
In this hut is a man,
Who hasn’t come for years.
So be a good Samaritan
And give him some cheers.
Leave the toy in your ass,
We know you like it really,
But hurry to the door.
You have some desperate willy.
The guy you want may require,
A blowjob or a screw.
Just give him what he needs
Or you’ll lose the next clue.
You’re getting pretty close,
To finishing our little game.
And we know you’ve had some fun
Because you feel no shame.
I could not remember a purple and orange door as I had navigated the complex, and looked around at the factory buildings and security hut from within the vegetation that hid me. I glanced at the map, and then at the vista once more. There were two corners of the site, I had not really seen anything of, and I kept to the southern perimeter and the bushes as I slogged my way around through the vegetation.
Tucked away in the far south-eastern corner was a large Portakabin and the purple door had an orange surround.
A laminated A4 paper, nailed to the hut, read “Groundskeeper.” Two women walked to their car, chatting, only a few feet away from me, and I waited until amongst the undergrowth was silence before I sprinted from the cover of the trees, along the muddy path and up the four steps.
The door squeaked as it opened. My heart pounded as I did not know who would expect me.
“Good God! Well, I’ve seen everything now.”
The voice came from a man in front of a row of tools, manipulating a brass valve on a small length of metal pipe. He was balding, overweight, easily in his late-fifties or early sixties and wore a gold chain around his neck.
“Sorry, I was told to come here.”
“Ahh, that girl. She’s funny.” I passed him the poem from the envelope in my hand and he guffawed as he finished it. He spoke with a Northern accent. “Virginia, I think. Her car wouldn’t start and I fixed it for her. She came with a few bottles of beer to say thank you the following day and we had a chat over a cuppa. Do you want a drink while you are here?”
I nodded, and he flicked the switch on his faded yellow kettle. “It said you hadn’t come for years.”
He gulped, hummed and sighed. “My wife died eight years ago from Cancer. I keep having these thoughts I want to explore, and that Internet which my grandchildren have installed in my house has all sorts of things on it. So she came by earlier and dropped off that bag. Said a man would come for it and only to give it to him when I was satisfied. I guess that’s you.”
“Yes.” He poured boiling water into two cups and without asking dropped a dollop of milk into each one. I blew on the top when he passed to me.
He nervously smiled and then glanced away, embarrassed. Inside, I cursed Virginia, as I didn’t know what to do or say. The guy had things he needed to discuss and resolve, but he acted anxious when he looked at me. I wasn’t a psychologist, and I sat, drinking my boiling drink in an anxious silence. Waiting for him to say something. “Are you a poof, then?”
I spluttered into my hot tea, scalding my fingers as drops of the burning liquid splashed onto them. “No. I’m bi. My fiancée sleeps with other men and women. I sleep with other men.” I know my tone was unintentionally abrupt and sharp as he visibly recoiled from my peppery response. “Are you?”
“I was married,” he countered a little too quickly. “To a woman,” he added, needlessly.
“And? There are many men who marry and who are not completely heterosexual. I get fucked by enough of them at the club and at the sauna, although they all swear that they are completely straight. Are you at least, curious?” He didn’t answer, but just stared at his cup. “Do you want me to blow you?”
He coughed and sputtered. “I haven’t had a blowjob for almost forty years. Frances was never fond of that sort of business.”
“I am keen on that sort of business. Are you keen to at least experiment with that? What did you tell Virginia?”
“I couldn’t. I could not do… that thing… to you afterwards. I just couldn’t.”
I sighed. “Right, I am a bottom. If I give you a blowjob, there is no reciprocation required or wanted. I am going to blow you with nothing in return.” He looked a little shocked and confused. “It’s what we do.”
“OK.” He gulped and wiped his brow. “Just that when girls did… that… they…”
I put my drink on the table and felt that the only way I would get closer to my clothes was to complete the task Virginia had set for me. I fell from my chair, onto my knees in a smooth motion, and tugged at his greased and stained blue overalls.
They parted with a gentle tug, springing the poppers free with a row of pops. He had a sharp inhale of breath. “Shall we get out of these then?” I jerked his boiler suit, and he stood up to take his arms from the sleeves. I pulled the navy blue garment to his ankles.
He kept his white T-shirt on; I lowered his blue briefs. He oozed sweat and exertion. His virility was obvious; he was a powerful, physical man who toiled in a brutish, earthly manner.
The groundskeeper was a few stone overweight, and his greying, thinning hair across his body showed his age, but he exuded a potent authoritative aura. He sat back in the chair and my tongue swept along the slit of his erect cock.
He gasped. Perhaps out of shock or surprise, or perhaps of excitement. He tasted of piss and sweat. He reeked of masculinity; I looked at him in the eyes and smiled.
My hands rested on his chunky thighs and I slowly wrapped my lips around his blunt head and gripped his cock with my mouth. I slid down gently and ran my tongue along his sensitive underside, swishing across his glans and shaft.
It was not the biggest cock I had ever taken. It was not the widest. I didn’t care. My lust was in overdrive and my eyes lit up when I saw his prick. I deep throated him once, and when his glazed expression looked down at me, I did it again and again.
I suckled the head of his dick gently as I passionately kissed the sensitive glans with my tongue. His body tingled and his hips squirmed as my mouth made his flesh sparkle and dance delightfully. Then, I effortlessly and steadily slid down this shaft to his almost imperceptible nest of thin, grey pubic hair that buried my nose in.
All the time my cock cried tears of intense arousal. I was desperately horny, and I was expressing my lust through the passionate, intense blowjob. Every lick and suck on this cock was because I was on edge. And I wanted his cum.
He may have been old enough to be my grandfather, but I didn’t care. He was a man with a prick stuffed down my throat. He was a groaning, grunting, squealing, mewling bundle of horniness, who I was fellating and whose seed I was going to swallow, and enjoy.
The groaning on his cock was not just done to arouse him. I enjoyed giving head. I always loved being a cocksucker, but his dick was erotic. I squeezed the buttplug with my arse and felt it twitch against my prostate. My cock wept a little more, and I quickened my pace on the man’s member.
The groundsman squirmed and cried. He spluttered something, and his cock quivered. He tried to move his chair back, but my lips held onto his prick, sucking intensely as he swore loudly.
He hadn’t said a word while I blew him, but at the point of orgasm, he gibbered, screamed and cried. “Oh God, fuck, yes, wow, fuck, wow.”
His climax cascaded through his body, before his dick blasted wave after wave of warm, thick spunk into my mouth. He panted and gasped, and still his manhood convulsed and more cum came.
I swallowed and licked the sapid remnants from his cock. He smiled at me, and I smiled back. “Frances never let me do that,” he muttered.
“Do you want a bit of anal?” I asked, matter-of-factly. “I’m Jon, by the way.”
“Colin,” he said, introducing himself. “And I’m not getting another hard-on for hours. I’m fifty-nine, not twenty-nine!” He laughed as he spoke and took a few deep breaths. Colin pulled his boiler suit to his waist, got up from the chair and went to the toilet. On his return, he passed me a bag. “You’ve earned that!”
“Thanks,” I muttered and opened the envelope pinned to the top.
Your last task to get your keys
Is really very easy.
No need to do the nasty,
No blowjobs, nothing sleazy.
We have handed them into Reception,
We found ’em in grass.
So just go and ask the girls
Better not show your ass!
You better have some clothes on
You better be quite dressed
The ladies on Reception
Might not know of your quest.
If these tasks made you blush,
If they made you squeal.
Well apprentices who pass probation
All suffer a similar ordeal.
For you we added blowjobs,
And nasty, filthy ass play.
Because you’re a dirty slut
Who enjoys that every day?
But over Summer there’ll be plenty
Of guys you sucked today
Running naked across the factory floor
Humiliated in some way.
Perhaps they’ll show their starfish,
Perhaps they wear the skirt
The jockstrap’s always fun
And a nasty shirt.
We may add some other games
Like the blowjobs you did for us
How many of them are dirty fags?
And how many would make a fuss?
So get your keys and scarper,
Come back if you want some more.
We have loads of horny boys and girls,
Who always need a damn good whore.
I looked inside the bag and pulled out a short pink gingham miniskirt with a white lace hem decoration. Colin gave a chuckle. “What are they like?”
I grumbled and slipped the miniskirt over my ankles. “Any chance of borrowing something less… Julian Clary?” I asked, and the groundsman shook his head.
“Virginia said you would ask and not to give you anything.” He chuckled to himself as he got dressed and then took my half-drunk tea to the sink. I reached for his notepad and scribbled the address of the sauna underneath a headline “More free BJs” and a smily emoticon.
I felt less self-conscious as I walked across the factory car park towards the Site Reception. I looked ridiculous with my short tartan skirt, cap and T-shirt. I had hidden the slogan by wearing it inside out, but I still felt comically dressed.
I knew I would cause amusement and laughter the moment I left the site; two factory workers on a smoking break wolf-whistled me and then turned away when they realised my gender.
The small room at the front of the biggest hall had seen better days. The tired décor and peeling paint on the walls was not a great initial impression for the visitors to the factory.
Two women, who I guessed were in their late teens or early twenties, sniggered as I entered the empty reception. “Hello Miss!” The youngest said with an unsuppressed grin.
The other girl giggled, and I know I must have blushed. “Oh Hello,” I replied in my poshest accent. “I appear to have misplaced my keys after a truly scrumptious night out. Lost my trousers, but found these. Apparently some filly says she found my keys and handed them in here.”
“Certainly, Sir. Can you describe your lost items?”
The pink keys to the summerhouse was unmistakable and unique. I had to brave them taking a photo on their smartphone of me before they would give me my possessions. Unlocking my car and leaving the site was a relief, and I made it to my conference call with minutes to spare.
After lunch, I drove to the local shop to pick up Martin’s order. The lightweight carbon-fibre frame was miles away from the rusting steel bike that Scott had. Martin had also ordered, and paid for, lights, pump, cycling lycra and a helmet. He thought of everything, and I had trouble loading the brand new road bicycle with all the accessories in the compact car, even with the quick release wheels.
I reassembled the bike in the summerhouse, awaiting Scott’s return, and threw a blanket over his new vehicle. If I wasn’t miles ahead of my to-do list for the week, the amount of work I had done would have worried me, but my manager was gleefully happy about my productivity, I reasoned I could have a day or two without doing my full contingent of hours without attracting a comment. I sat down with a fresh coffee at my desk when my mobile phone rang from an unknown number.
“Is that Jon?”
“Speaking,” I replied to the hesitant female voice.
“It’s Virginia.”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Oh, Colin was very grateful. He says it was a top class piece of cocksucking!” I smiled, almost proud of the sordid compliment. “Look, I can’t find my phone. I think I probably left it at your place. I thought I must have left it in the office, but it’s not here. Or in my car. Or in our Stockport office, where I travelled to yesterday. I think it must have fallen out when I removed…” Her voice trailed off.
“Your clothes to get roundly fucked by Scott?” I finished for her and heard a giggle at the end of the phone.
“Yes. He threw… those items… underneath a table near the… um…”
“I’ll look for you!” It only took thirty seconds to find a smartphone at the back of the summerhouse with a dozen missed calls on it. I rang Scott, and he said she would come and collect later.
Virginia arrived shortly after I finished work for the day and strode into the summerhouse without knocking. “Hiya Jon.” She ran her tongue over her teeth with a wicked smile. “I think I preferred you in your wellies, miniskirt and T-shirt.”
“Here’s your phone. I plugged it in to charge because it was on 10%.” I passed her a carrier bag of the clothes I wore. “I washed them when I got home, but they might be a little damp.”
“I like the service, here. I hope Scott is as well trained as you!”
“Where’s Scott?”
“He’s riding here on his bike. He didn’t want a lift. It’s up to him.” She turned her phone over in her hand and took a deep breath. “I better get going.”
“You know Scott thinks you’re very special. He thinks the world of you. And he’s really excited about moving in with you.”
Virginia pressed her lips together and nodded. “He’s sort of told me. In not so many words. He doesn’t talk about his emotions much.”
“Shame. Because he was in a state a few nights ago, and it wasn’t the cider. Worried about not measuring up and scared that he would disappoint someone very special.” She snorted. “Don’t tell him I told you, but he is over the moon you’ll be living together.”
“Thanks. I’m excited too. Be nice to live with someone I care for and love. My ex will make things difficult. He’s been spying on me, I know, and he wants to go through my phone but it’s well passworded. But it’ll be OK, I’m sure.”
“Do you want me to check your device for spyware?” I offered, and she giggled.
“I have way too many incriminating photos for you to see my smartphone. I’m probably just paranoid, and I keep him away from it now. He’s not bright enough to bug it.” She smirked at me, looking me up and down. “Oh, we all loved your little show earlier.”
“Oh, great! I take it the poems were from you. I don’t have Scott down as much of a poet.”
“Olivia, in the office. She reads all the dirty books. She did it on her lunch yesterday.” Virginia smiled. “She’s going to write some more as we always set up some naughtiness for the guys when they finish their probation. Mostly nudity, drinking and covering them in mess. The boys love to humiliate their apprentices. But I thought you would want to see these pictures from a few years ago. I spoke to Brenda and asked for what they did to Scott when he completed his probation.” She held out a memory stick, and I took it from her.
“Wow!”
“Don’t let it leave these four walls. He’s already going to give me a spanking when he finds out. They had a camera there when they stripped him and covered him in gunk.” Her eyes glistened, and she took her phone and the bag of the clothes. “Thanks, Jon. I’ll see ya around. I need to get home ’cause Derek’ll be expecting me.”
“Sure.”
Scott arrived less than ten minutes after Virginia left and wheeled his bike in to the summerhouse. “Sorry, who are you?” He asked. “Ahh, yes! I dain’t recognise ya without a cock in your mouth and a plug in your booty!” He chuckled, and I took his bike from him and wheeled it into the dark English evening. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of it.”
“Jon, that’s mine. Give it back, this isn’t funny.”
I ignored him. “And this can go in the bin.”
“Jon!” Scott cried. “What are you doing? It was just a joke and…” Scott visibly shook when his bike landed with a thud next to the rubbish, and his scowl deepened. “Jon, that’s not funny. I need that to get to work.”
“Now, look under the blanket.”
“What?”
“Look under that blanket, Scott.”
“Oh, you fucking bastard,” Scott yelled at me into the twilight. “If you and Martin have…” His hands gripped the white sheet, and he revealed the carbon-fibre road bike with the accessories and powerful lights.
He sighed and shook his head. “When does Martin get back?”
“Tomorrow. Early afternoon.”
He nodded. “Because you two twats are in for a damn good hiding.” He snorted, held out his hands and embraced me, patting me on the back. “Thanks man, serious wowzers. But I am still going to thrash you.”
“In the meantime, do you want some dinner and a blowjob?”
“Fuck, yeah!” Scott replied as his hands caressed the smooth frame, and he sat down to look through his accessories. “Man, there’s everything here,” he said as he picked up the lock in his hands. “What are you cucks like! If I get knocked down, there’s still lots of men who’ll fuck ya, y’know. I’m not the only guy who’ll tap a couple of greedy fags!”
“I know, but we like you and your testicles, Scott,” I replied with a grin. “Now is a burger and chips OK?”
The Geordie hummed as he stripped naked to try on the lycra and I took a moment to admire his lean physique and impressive package. I could enjoy that cock all evening. Scott looked across at me, standing by the kitchenette ogling him, and beamed. He knew exactly what I was thinking.
* * * * *
Scott woke me on Saturday with a gentle shove. “Martin’s back today, isn’t he?”
“Late afternoon. I’m picking him up from the airport.”
“Could you… err… do me a favour?” The cheeky Geordie beamed as he wrapped his fist around my hairless prick. “Someone’s very horny this morning.”
I smiled as the hand gripping my dick, gently stroked it. “Do you want to do something about it?”
“Not in the way you were thinking of!” He released his fingers from my member and giggled at my disappointment. “Iain…”
“Your ex?”
“Yeah, I’m moving back to our house today. Virginia’s coming on Monday. Iain’s got some stuff that needs shiftin’ to Manchester ’cause he’s got a room in Hulme. Can you help me move his crap up there? I’ve been texting him and he says he’d come next week to get it, but I’d rather not have him come when Virginia is there. It’ll be awkward.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks.” He bit his lip.
“When do you want to leave?”
“After you have made me some breakfast, a coffee and got on your knees!”
“I thought we established I was the horny one.”
“No, we are both horny. Only one of us gets it dealt with, though. The other one has to live with a teeny stiffy and tiny blue balls!”
I fried some bacon in the pan, buttered the last two rolls and made a fresh pot of coffee. Scott muttered appreciation as he sat on the leather armchair, and I slid Scott’s pyjama shorts to his ankles.
He groaned as I took his morning erection between my lips and swirled my tongue underneath his sensitive glans. Scott tasted strong and musky, and he oozed power and masculinity. He pushed his hips from the seat and my mouth smoothly swept along his prick to bury his cock.
My hand gripped the base of his cock, my vocal cords groaned into his shaft as I bobbed across the head of his prick. Quick, frenetic movements. Passionate, lustful, desperate motions to excite and arouse. I wanted to feel his cum.
He snorted and bucked his hips; his butt rose from the chair as he fucked his prick deep into my mouth. I knew I was being used, but that just caused my dick to leak more. My erection unsated and untouched.
I service Scott and attended to his arousal; it was his privilege and a mark of how our relationship worked. I was his friend, and his slut. I was there to slake his lust.
My hand pumped his prick furiously as my lips massaged and sucked his glans. He grunted and held the back of my head when his cock spasmed.
I wanted his cum. I needed to feel it and taste it. I longed for the musky, salty, aromatic goo to fly across my tongue and ooze down my throat.
He cried out as he deposited my reward into my mouth and sighed loudly. “OK, cocksucker. Want my breakfast now!” He said, dismissing me with an airy wave of the hand and a pat on the head.
Dirty, degrading and delicious.
We drove to Scott’s two-bedroom terraced house in the neighbouring town. He hadn’t been since he had scrapped and fought with his ex-boyfriend on the lawn of the 1960s property in the middle of an overflow council estate. Scott was silent, and he looked around the living room as he took in the memories.
“He said his stuff is in his bedroom.”
“You had different bedrooms?”
“Yeah. We could bring back different guys if we wanted,” he replied and then shrugged. “OK, we sometimes did that. But Iain often worked shifts and he would come home late. He wouldn’t wake me if we had separate rooms. When we went to bed together, we slept in mine.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and pointed directly above him. “He was in the front bedroom.” On the floor, in front of the bed, were two suitcases and four taped cardboard boxes. “He had quite a bit of stuff,” Scott said from behind me. His voice was calm and emotionless.
He was quiet as we loaded the neon pink car and drove across the Cheshire countryside and then through the Mancunian suburbs. Scott tensed, and his concentration wandered. Four times he forgot to give me directions as we navigated the streets of South Manchester.
“Wake up!” I snapped after doing another three-point turn.
“Sorry. Mind’s elsewhere.” He looked out of the window and shook his head. “This wasn’t how I expected it to end. I’m really fond of him, but I couldn’t be what he wanted or needed. And vice versa.” He gulped. “I would like to part on good terms rather than hating him.”
Scott tapped his phone once more and directed me into another side street. The three-storey terraced townhouse, at the end of the cul-de-sac, was a smart, newly built property. It had a trendy, desirable freshness that Scott’s property lacked.
Iain opened the door wearing just a pair of black sports shorts. There was a clear tension as two ex-lovers came face-to-face for the first time in a week, and Scott held his hand out. “Sorry, mate.” my friend said, with his voice breaking with emotion. “Go on, put the kettle on. I’m not coming all this way to dump your stuff without a chat. And a cuddle.”
Iain sighed. “Come in then.”
“Oi,” Scott called. “You can help us grab your shit from the car first!” When his ex hesitated, Scott pulled at his arm. “You’ve been in public wearing less than that! Hell, I’ve fucked you in public wearing less than that!” He waited for Iain to take two steps outside of his home and then added. “That’s still a fuckable ass!”
Iain’s bedroom in the four-bed townhouse was on the first floor, opposite the living room; it was small, but contained a double bed, desk and a full-size oak wardrobe. I didn’t believe it was big enough to fit all of his possessions in it, and he laughed when Scott made that point.
He looked across at me. “Give us ten, will ya?”
I quietly pulled the door behind me and walked into the lounge opposite with my phone. “Are you Iain’s ex?” A short, black-haired girl asked. I guessed she was about twenty, with black-rimmed glasses as a slight frame. “He said that you had a fight because you started screwing a girl from your work.”
“I’m not his ex. I’m a friend of his ex.” She held a large biochemistry textbook in one hand with a backpack in the other. “I know Iain, but I really know Scott.”
“Is that from the summerhouse?” She looked directly at me as she stuffed the epic tome in the purple bag. “He told us some stuff, but it seemed… weird. It’s not true, is it? He was just winding us up?”
“No, it’s true. My fiancée is friends with the Coach. So him and his team come after most games to screw my girl and fuck a handful of men. And Iain was one of those guys.” She recoiled at the bluntness of what I had broadcast and then broke into a confused expression.
“So are you gay or not?”
“Not. Bisexual. As is Scott. Iain is…”
“Oh, he said he is 100% gay slut last night but had been drinking way too much Prosecco. Pierre liked the sound of that. He’s the guy on the bottom floor. Do you know him? He’s very big on the Manchester gay scene.” I shook my head and the young woman continued wittering. “Iain seems nice, though. My boyfriend and him went to the bar a couple of nights ago, and they got very drunk together. Came in with pizzas and tried to share. They were up until four in the morning chatting and watching telly! They got on really well.” I raised my eyebrows, and she noticed. “I gotta go, help yourself to tea from the kitchen downstairs.”
I thanked her and played on my phone. Even by Iain’s admission, he never kept it in his pants, and he was fond of hitting on straight guys in the sauna. I seriously wondered if the horny gay bottom had already ensnared the girl’s boyfriend. Or at least tried.
Clare didn’t answer her text, as she was probably driving, and so I replied to Bobby. We had been texting each other almost daily since we had met, as I kept him abreast of all our shenanigans. I hoped it would reignite his lust and he would want to join us at the summerhouse on Saturday.
When I heard the familiar sound of bouncing bed springs. I got up and looked through the crack in the open doorway to see Iain lay face down, spread on the mattress, and Scott gently and lovingly working his prick into his ex.
It was typical Scott. He had visited to say goodbye to his former boyfriend, and within less than fifteen minutes had charmed the shorts off of the sauna attendant and had buried his manhood into him. I watched, transfixed.
Everything my friend did was affectionate. His body pressed against Iain’s back. His mouth nibbled at his earlobes and nape of his neck and the rocking of his hips was loving and tender.
It was a romantic, warm screw. Scott held his left hand into the air, made a thumb’s up sign and then gestured to the lounge. Above the bed was a small mirror and Scott had seen me voyeuristically spying on him. I quietly crept back to the living room and waited.
Half-an-hour it took for Scott and Iain to leave their bedroom to go to the bathroom. “Shall we hit Manchester for some lunch?” Scott asked me and then turned to face Iain. “Look after yourself, mate. Ring me if you ever need to. I’ll be there for you, I promise.” They embraced and before either of them could cry, we returned to the pink glittery car.
“I know what you are going to say,” Scott said the moment I started the engine. “That I complicated things between us.”
“You always complicate things! But your relationships are your business, not mine.”
“I still really like him. He was never ‘the one’ I fell in love with, or someone I could spend my entire life with, but he was special to me. I don’t want to lose his friendship. We spoke about that, I kissed him. He touched me and it was a slippery slope from that to being balls deep in his butt. These things happen. You know that. It’s really easy to just happen without meaning to!”
“Only with you, Scott. You’re unique.”
He smiled at my feint praise. I drove and parked the car near Manchester Piccadilly and we walked into the city centre to eat lunch, before we visited a very expensive lingerie shop. I wanted to treat Clare, and Scott scanned the sale items for Virginia. He only had a rough idea of her size until I suggested logging into her camgirl profile to see if she had listed her “vital statistics” there.
“These porno sites are popular,” he announced. “Ahh yes, it’s says she’s a 34D,” he disclosed to the store, and then muttered to himself. “Is that right?”
“I don’t know Scott, it might be. You’re the one screwing her, you should know.” He shrugged. “Banging porn stars is a minefield, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “There are plenty of earth-shattering explosions, yes.” He chuckled at his lewd joke. Taking Scott to the upmarket store was as amusing as it was embarrassing. He hollered about the extravagant prices, the luscious fabric and delicate designs. “Hey, Jon. Reckon this one would look good on her. It’s fifty quid, but it’s crotchless so she can still play with her keks on! And it’s silk. Feel that. Quality, that is. Utter class, too. Imagine being able to fuck with your French knick-knacks on!” He laughed, and I saw the uniformed sales girl shudder at the vulgarity of my friend.
I bought Clare a lingerie set and nightie from their new range and paid for Scott’s favourite set from the sale rail that was “utter class.” I think the sales staff were glad when we left.
Scott bought a few bits from a cheaper clothing store, and we had Gelato at a wonderful Italian ice-cream place opposite the shopping centre.
With a couple of hours until I had to meet Victoria and Martin, we watched a film at the cinema. Scott selected the seats at the back of the auditorium and whispered to me as the trailers started. “I might want to borrow your mouth!”
“Again,” I whispered. “That’ll be three loads dropped today.”
“I’m very horny at the moment. It’s excitement. My ‘ormones are on overdrive.”
“Don’t I know it,” I grumbled.
He glared at me. “You better stop your bitchin’ or I will tell Clare you need an attitude adjustment! She’ll sort you out.”
“Yeah, I think she would.” He settled back in his seat when I added. “OK, I am sorry for offending the alpha male in this friendship, and I will, of course, love to fellate you if you desire.”
He sniggered at my patronising tone and shook his head. “Your woman is going to fuck you up so bad!” He paused and then grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me from my seat.
The act of gently lowering Scott’s shorts in his lap and bringing my mouth to the bulbous tip of his dick, at the rear of the cinema, was a charged, erotic encounter. Every moment was a tightrope of adrenaline, as my heart thundered expecting cinema security would catch us.
I expected for someone to see us and to call the police. My imagination believed that I would end up with a criminal record for sating Scott’s arousal. I felt like we must have an audience, and a hundred people were scowling in disapproval.
I felt degraded and humiliated. I felt exposed, ashamed, disgraced and utterly horny. It had been days since I had released, and without Martin or Clare, I had no outlet. And sucking Scott in a cinema, in the middle of Manchester, during the trailers of an adult action film, only increased that.
Relieved and disappointed when he unloaded into my mouth, and I sat on my chair. No-one had seen us. We were not sharing a row with anyone and we were seated at the back of the cinema. Every other person was staring straight ahead at the big screen.
People came to watch the 18-rated gory action film, not to spy on what two men were doing on the last row of seats. I took a sip of my drink and washed Scott’s cum from my mouth. He patted me on the thigh. “That was good. I needed that.” He felt my erection and sniggered. “I reckon you could do with that too!”
“You gonna do it?”
“Fuck no,” Scott replied. “I don’t put dicks in my mouth, y’know that.”
We arrived with an hour to spare at Manchester Airport and waited for our friends in the arrivals lounge. Scott moaned at the price of the drinks in the small cafe and then idly whispered if I could escort him to the toilet.
“There are cameras everywhere to look for furtive terrorists. You have no chance.”
“But we got to wait,” he wailed and paced the airport. It felt like he was a toddler that needed to be entertained, and I was a little glad that Martin and Victoria’s plane landed twenty minutes early.
Our two slightly tanned hosts were delighted to see us. Victoria threw her arms around Scott and then me, and I carried her duty free and bags to the car.
“Handbag suits you,” Scott joked as we reached my vehicle. I glared at him and held the door open for Victoria and the alpha male footballer.
“How was your holiday?”
“Great fun!” Victoria roared, and Martin blushed. “We had eight couples and there is so much local talent. We had the boys waiting and cooking and cleaning, while we had some serious screwing. Clare and you would have loved it. We had one guy who was just a freak of nature. I mean, if Linford had a lunchbox then this guy had a toolbox! And Lindsay is only 5ft, so he was rearranging her insides.” She chuckled and patted Scott on the knee. “Hey, I hear you are moving in with a new girl. Excellent.”
Scott nodded. “Yeah, Virginia. She’s lovely.”
“But when are you going to screw me and Clare? There’s a threesome waiting for you.” Scott shuddered and Victoria squeezed his thigh. “All this time and you never, ever come to us. Why, Scott? Aren’t we sexy?”
“Yeah, but… Jon and Martin. Mates. I couldn’t.”
“Oh yes, you fucking can!” Victoria squealed. “I have screwed every one of Martin’s friends. Except the subby cucks like Jon, but I’ve done them up the chuff, so that sort of counts. I had the Best Man at our wedding, and both the ushers nailed me. Before the Evening Reception. At some point, you will get your cock out and come see us.”
“But…”
“That’s an order. I am not having my husband get the benefit and me deprived.” She gave him a little pat on the thigh. “I am sure we can persuade this Virginia to make it a foursome. How does that sound?” I watched Scott blush in the mirror. I liked to see him squirm. “Hey, I have an idea. Now Martin is back, why don’t you share my bed in the house with me.”
“I’ll ride home, thanks,” Scott hurriedly replied. “One day, maybe.”
When we arrived at the house, Clare came out to greet us. She kissed me on the lips and gave Martin and I three suitcases to unload. The sex toys, whips and other paraphernalia had to be cleaned and then put away in the dungeon. The clothing had to be washed carefully. Scott relaxed in the hot tub with our partners, necking cocktails and laughing loudly.
In Clare’s case, I noted plenty of cum stains on two of her cocktail dresses. I knew she hadn’t visited Bristol to be a saint, and that her working trip away was with predominantly male colleagues, but the blatant sight of her aversion to monogamy was unexpected.
“She sure had a great time,” Martin remarked as I stared at them. “So good to see, right?”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“Hey man, it’s the relationships we have. We have to accept, love and enjoy that our loved ones express themselves sexually. Look how much of a good time your woman had.” He held up a similar outfit from his holiday. “This is Victoria’s dress at a local party. She was naked shortly afterwards, but look there and there.” He highlighted stains on the green summer dress and smiled. “She really had fun. It was so sexy.”
“Yeah, I know. Sometimes, it’s just hard when we’ve been apart for a few days. She promised me tomorrow is a couple day, so I am going to take her out, then for lunch, and then I thought we’d walk around Shakerley Mere and feed the ducks. Maybe the evening together too, if she’s up for it.”
He patted me on the back. “To put you on the level?”
“Something like that.” We shared takeaway from the local pizzeria, and the five of us relaxed in the garden, drinking cocktails. Scott admonished Martin for his gift and promised that there would a “thorough thrashing” when he was ready.
Scott was the first to leave us, followed by Clare; she had been up late the night before and had been driving all day, and went to bed at eight. After her friend retired to her bedroom, Victoria followed, and the two cucks walked to our shared lodge. The moment we reached the summerhouse I looked across at Martin, who stretched and yawned. “If you’re not tired, I have a favour,” Martin asked.
“Yeah, me too.” He grinned and exhaled deeply.
“I was in chastity all week and so the cucks didn’t get any…”
“Head or Tail?”
“Yeah. And I’m quite horny.”
“Me too. Scott was here, and he is 100% top, 0% bottom. And it always felt good, but I need some pressure releasing.”
Martin smiled, and we slipped into our bedroom to engage in some mutual-69.
For the first time since he left, I blew my load into another person. It felt, incredible.
Improved only by the several spurts of cum which hit the back of my throat. And the text from my fiancée who had witnessed it on the CCTV camera from her own bedroom. Cuckolds do not get privacy, Victoria had often reminded me. They do not deserve it.
