scotty2

Thank you; you're very welcome xx

Guys who want to be rimmed and their arses stink of shit (seriously!) Dirty bottoms Little games of pretending not to be interested and then they come and join in when you get started with someone else See Tarzan hear Jane. Sling lizards

Right pal av got ma hand stuck up ma erse:*

The Hand That Fists The Piper At the corner of Buchanan Street and George Square, Cameron saw a cute piper and stopped. The sun was shining, and it was Friday afternoon. He was off work for three whole days and felt relaxed. The lad was a sweetie, noted Cameron with rising interest. He guessed him to be in his late teens with blond hair en brosse, a baby-face, and a pair of strong hairy legs. Cameron could tell because the lad was wearing a kilt. Nice, purred Cameron. Cameron was forty and very attractive in a clean and powerful way. Women adored him, other men feared him and lads spread their little boypussies for him. That's how it was with Cameron. Cameron stood and enjoyed the lad's playing, watching how he sucked hard on the pipe, his young face contorted with effort, a line of sweat on his forehead, his spiky hair damp. When he had finished, the crowd magically vanished before the boy had had a chance to hand around his cap for tips. Cameron laughed. "It's Glasgow, son, what do you expect," and with that he stuffed a Scottish hundred pound note into the cap. The bagpipe player looked up. His jaw dropped. "Have youz nae made a mistake, pal?" asked the piper. "No son, nae mistake," replied Cameron as cool as a cucumber, his enormous cock hard and dripping in his tight briefs. "That's tae much," said the lad. "No it not," replied Cameron fixing the lad with a smouldering look. "What dae yez want?" asked the lad, lowering his voice and looking around. "I wannae fuck you," said Cameron calmly. He smiled sweetly. Cameron was a confident bastard. And you know what, dear reader, nine times out of ten it got him what he wanted. "It's nae enough then," replied the boy. He was pretty, a real peach. His eyes were brown, his lips full and red. His eyelashes were almost feminine. Cameron looked down at the lad's thick green kilt. He could see the lad's cock poking outwards through the tartin. A big one, thought Cameron, his mouth watering, OK, thought Cameron, this was going to be an expensive treat so to hell with it, let it be a night to remember. He whispered something in the lad's ear whilst holding four other notes in his hand.The lad's eyes were wide, his pretty mouth open. He looked shifty. He scratched his head. Then he took the money and Cameron smiled. Cameron's hotel was just blocks away and he waited for the lad to pack up his pipes. They began to walk. "What's your name, son?" asked Cameron. "It's Ryan," said the boy. "How old are you, sonny,?" asked Cameron. "I'm twenty,"replied Ryan. Christ, thought Cameron, I am old enough to be your dad. Strangely the thought gave him an instant hard-on. It was becoming a habit. Cameron ordered a bottle of champagne and then they walked up the two flights to Cameron's room. "It's a nice room," said Ryan. He was used to a grotty bedsit in Tradeston. "We're no here to chat aboot the room, laddie," said Cameron. Cameron lay on the floor, glass of champagne in his hand. "Shut up and come and stand over me in that wee kilt of yours." Ryan blushed at the harsh tone. His cock responded with a leap. He complied, enjoying the weird sensation of a man peering up his kilt. "Ach, yer wearing boypanties, laddie," tutted Cameron peering up Ryan's strong hairy legs. He saw the bulge of the boy's blue briefs. "Spread your legs a wee bit further, son," he urged. Ryan complied. "Nice," purred Cameron. "Strong legs, son. Do yez work out?" "Na, I cycle a lot," replied Ryan. "Can I get ma cock oot, mister?" he asked. "No, I wannae have a wee sniff of yer panties first, sonnie," replied Cameron. "Fine," replied Ryan. "You're payin'." Cameron was up like a shot, his face in Ryan's, his handsome cheeks aflame. He spoke in a low growl which scared the shit out of Ryan. "Don't you ever, ever cheek me again, laddie," he warned. "Sorry mister," whispered Ryan. His cock was so stiff he was worried it might break. "Pull up your kilt, laddie," said Cameron kneeling. Ryan hoisted his kilt like a cheap whore at a Victorian brothel. Cameron rubbed his nose on the fragrant mound of boypanty. The dirty boy had not learned to shake properly, thought Cameron delighted. He inhaled his fill then yanked down Ryan's briefs. A beautiful seven-inch cock was there to greet him. Cameron paused to admire it. It was uncut, as were most Scottish laddies. It was engorged and a dark shade of pink, vascular, and dripping. He contemplated Ryan's thick bush of pubic hair. He picked up Ryan's briefs, stood, and rubbed the crotch on the lad's face. "You dirty wee laddie," he said sternly. "Sniff that! Go on, sniff it. Did nae-one teach you how to clean your cock?" "Sorry," muttered Ryan. "What?" shouted Cameron. "I said I am sorry," repeated Ryan whose face was now pink with shame. "Eat them," said Cameron. "Huh?" "Put them in your mouth. Taste them you filthy wee fecker. They stink of stale piss." Cameron sneered, his bestial cock as hard as wood. "Hurry up, shit face, I'm nae payin' ya to sit aroond lookin' bonny. Now eat them. Go on, chew your panties for me." Cameron shoved the offending briefs into Ryan's mouth. The lad struggled to take it all in. He was unable to speak. Cameron laughed. "Look at you, a grown man with a pair of pissy boypanties in his mouth, Jesus!" Ryan's cock was dripping pearls of salty precum. His heart was racing and his balls taut. Cameron undid the ties of the lad's kilt and the young man stood naked but for his t-shirt. Cameron pulled it over the nineteen-year old's head. Pretty, thought Cameron looking at the lad's firm wee body. Cameron began to massage lubricant onto Ryan's cock and the barely-legal teen groaned and held onto the older man's shoulders. "Mmmmm," moaned Ryan, trying vainly to speak, mouth full of his own panties. "Let's have a look at that wee arse, shall we?" said Cameron, spinning the teenage bagpiper around and pushing him onto the bed on his knees. "Spread that wee pussy for me, son," he ordered. "Show Daddy that little pink slit, get him the mood." Ryan bent over and pulled apart his two plump white buns to show Cameron his hungry anus. Both men were naked, both shiny with sweat, an empty bottle of champange on the floor and a second half drunk on the table. Cameron's raw over-size cock was deep inside the teenager's colon. For over an hour and a half Cameron had been fucking him hard. Ryan was exhausted and horny, his rock hard uncut pecker dripping with the sticky discharge of his last hands-free orgasm. That had been half an hour earlier. Cameron was indefatigable. He fucked like a machine, his cock tingling and disciplined. He would cum when he was ready and he had more ordeals to inflict before that. Ryan was going to earn his money. Cameron pulled out of Ryan's anus, now so loose it was more cunt than anus. Cameron liberally covered his hand with lubricant and handed Ryan a bottle of poppers. He inserted four fingers inside the lad with ease, relishing the warm, tight pressure. Ryan murmured protestingly but Cameron began pushing his thumb onwards. A yelp of discontent from Ryan failed to dissuade Cameron. He withdrew his fist for a final assault. He lubricated his fist and lower arm and then began to push. Ryan snorted the poppers and hid his pretty head in the pillow. Cameron applied pressure. At first nothing happened but Cameron was an expert and Ryan a virgin. Cameron knew how it would end. Ryan was terrified. "Relax for Daddy," whispered Cameron. "I'm scared," confessed Ryan to the pillow. "Dinnae be, Daddy kens fair well what he's doing," replied Cameron. Ryan felt a terrifying and novel sensation as the fist began to beat his resistant sphincter. He began to open wider than he had ever opened before, a solid force of flesh pushing into him. "Oh God!" he cried into the pillow, his eyes clenched, his nasty wee cock dripping. "I dinnae ken if I can dae this mister! Please!" he wailed. But it was too late. Cameron's fist sank home, deep into the lad's pristine unused colon, filling it with manfist. Silence filled the room, broken only by the men's soft panting. "You OK, laddie?" asked Cameron. "Aye," muttered Ryan, shocked and horny. Cameron took his queue and pushed his fist further until Ryan's anal lips were sucking toothlessly on his wrist, each little spasm delighting the libidinous fister. "See, nae such a big deal, huh?" said Cameron. "Can you take it oot now, please," begged Ryan. "It's gettin' sare." "Aye, laddie, you've done awffy well. Daddy will take it oot." Gently Cameron pulled back and Ryan hissed in discomfort as his sphincter was pulled backwards. His anal lips were drawn across Cameron's forearm sweetly, like a snail being lifted from a wall. "Oh Christ," hissed Ryan as the fist popped out and left his anus gapping, a deep hollow, purple cavern. Cameron grinned as he watched the dilated boypussy gradually ease shut. Before Ryan had a chance to get too comfortable Cameron was inside him once more, this time punishing the lad with his orcine cock. "Fuck, fuck, it hurts," whispered the horny lad, his cock rock hard. Cameron fucked hard and deep. Cameron wanted to cum. "Shut up laddie, Daddy's concentrating," snapped Cameron, his climax building. He felt the telltale tingle, the contracting of his stomach muscles and finally the agonisingly sweet release. "Jesus Christ!" he roared, ejaculating a copious load of mancum deep inside the lad's hollow cavern, splashing his colon walls with his potent jizz. Cameron stayed inside the lad for a moment to catch his breath. What the hell, thought Cameron realising he needed to piss. He held Ryan's white, girlish buttocks and pushed on his bladder. A moment later he felt his piss churning inside Ryan's colon. At first Ryan was unaware what Cameron was doing. When he clicked the lad's cock began to spasm. "I'm gonna cum," whispered Ryan, shooting his second load. "Here's your money," said Cameron, buttoning his crisp £300 shirt and brushing his hair in the mirror. He nodded at the pile of notes, a couple more than agreed. "Now get dressed, leave your boypanties on the table and fuck off." Ryan stumbled, pulling on his kilt. He needed to get the piss and Cameron's nasty cum out his arse but he could do that in the lobby bathroom. He pulled on his trainers and took his cash. Without a second look he closed the door behind him. Cameron grinned, picked up the discarded briefs and gave them a deep, appreciative sniff. This extract of a story is planned for a second book in the Eurotwink series by Andy McGreggor (or possible a book of fisting stories). If you like the character of Cameron, he does appear in other of the McGreggor series of Kindle books, including the prequel to the whole series, Danny and the Fifty Load Bareback Fuck, which hopefully should be avaiable soon online) Enjoy! Andy

Oddly with younger guys, sometimes people don't come on to them because they think the younger guys might be stand offish. I generally feel more comfortable with guys who aren't that perfect cos I think they are more likely to be fun and adventurous and dirtier. I remember when I was 19 and looked quite sweet no one ever came onto me but now it is more likely.

Jorge awoke and instinctively looked at the men in the corridor. He knew. He sat up, nervous, shocked. Oh no, he thought. He had grown used to his cozy cell and his light-less life. He had begun to think this day would never come. But it had. "Follow me, Jorge," said the governor, his face hidden. "Can I take my things?" asked Jorge, trembling. "We'll get them for you. Just come with us." Bob, the youngest guard held his hand towards the cowering teenager. "Come on, son," he repeated. Jorge stood up. Arnold, whose cum Jorge had so recently imbibed, looked away. Jorge was led to the holding suite, a group of rooms near the pozzing table. "Undress son," said Bob firmly. Jorge stripped down to his tight red briefs. His eight-inch cock was hard, tenting the cotton material. "When?" asked Jorge. "When will it be?" "Soon," replied Bob, "in a few hours." "Take down your panties, son," said Arnold softly. Jorge peeled off the red underpants and handed them over. He was smooth, shaved, his fat teencock rockhard and dripping precum. Bob beckoned him over to the metal toilet, where he stood with the pointed metal shower attachment. Jorge sat miserably on the cold metal toilet as the water jetted out of him. Bob sat at the table reading the newspaper and Arnold made tea. They'd been at this for over an hour now. "I think I am finished," said Jorge. "Stand up and show me," said Bob. The guard looked over the rim of the toilet. He nodded. Jorge sat on the edge of the medic's bed, his mouth open as the doctor examined his throat with a torch. He winced as the man probed his throat with latex-covered fingers. Without a word of explanation the medic then pulled a a needle from his bad, and took a sample sample of blood from Jorge, afterwards placing a sticking plaster over the tiny wound. "You can go and have a shower now," said Bob. "When you are finished you can have your special dinner. Anything you like. Okay?" Jorge nodded.

At the centre of the cellblock stood the wooden pozzing table. Iconic, emotive, chilling, and ever present. It was there when they woke up and when they went to sleep, its presence never leaving them. There were ten cells in the block, each a cage with a bunk, a toilet, sink, and a small table. Here the men lived day in day out. They ate their meals in its shadow, shat and pissed in its presence and as evening drew in, unseen through concrete walls, they watched TV or played cards. This was no ordinary cellblock. It was built in the bowels of a secret Cold War bunker, deep in the countryside. Its inmates were no ordinary criminals. The men had volunteered to be incarcerated here. Each one, at different stages of their lives and from widely different circles had agreed to surrender his freedom. Each had different motives. One of them wanted to never see his bitch of a wife again, and was content to rest his weary soul in the strangely calming atmosphere. Another struggled with his own guilty secret, a crime long since committed and remembered only by him and his victim. Ten men, ten motives, one fate. The block was staffed by three men, all uniformed, and all of them tough. They were not cruel men, and not kind either. They did the job asked of them and got no trouble from the inmates, the men docile and defeated, resigned. The guards lived in the secret bunker too. There was Thomas, a fifty-year old man who wanted to escape from his rat-race existence. There was Bob, a thirty-year old former plumber who smiled and joked with the inmates, and there was Arnold, a forty-year old ex-marine who had drifted aimlessly through his miserable years post discharge. The guards reported to the governor of the bunker, a man none of the inmates had met other than by glimpsing him as he passed by their cells at night, his face hidden by a ski mask, his blue eyes evaluating each of them as he walked, secretly deciding their fates one by one. The guards knew him though, meeting him in his office daily, giving their reports, taking orders, and receiving their pay. Each guard had a small flat, but like the inmates their daily lives were lived out in the artificial halogen glare deep underground. Andy was the newest inmate, and almost the oldest at forty-five. He lay on his bunk quietly, enjoying the quiet and savouring his cigarette. It was the smell of the place that he had first noticed when they had brought him here, a kind of damp, entombed raw smell. He hadn't minded. He barely cared about anything anymore. The advert had intrigued him and excited him for that reason. He had been happy to disappear underground. His car was parked in the field half a mile away, near the secret concrete entrance, its battery long since flat, the tax expired. Through the bars, in the neighbouring cell was Jorge, a sweet lad from Spain. Jorge was an angel but one who suffered from huge doses of toxic shame and whose soft, brown eyes betrayed years of hurt. At just nineteen, Jorge was the youngest inhabitant of the bunker. He smiled at Andy through the bars. Andy returned the smile, and asked "Do you want some chocolate, son?" "Sure," Jorge replied with pleasure. They both stopped talking. It was Arnold, they could tell by his footsteps. Arnold was stood at the entrance to Jorge's door. "Hey, sonny," Arnold barked. Jorge knelt at the door. The guard pulled out his thick, ten-inch cock. Jorge's mouth was watering. He looked up at the handsome, well-built ex-marine whose fat uncut cock jutted so enticingly through his uniform. "You suck me nice and I'll bring you a box of goodies," promised Arnold. Jorge began to suck, his smooth cheeks dimpled, the head of Arnold's nasty cock jutting through the thin skin. Drool dripped over Jorge's chin onto his neck, soaking the light blue shirt, which all inmates wore. "How come you never want me to suck your cock then?" joked Andy, watching from his bunk. His cock was hard. "Can you suck like this lad can?" asked Arnold breathlessly. "Sure," replied Andy. He smiled. "Is it because I am too old for you? Just like the twinks, do you?" Arnold chuckled, his hands firmly on Jorge's curly locks. "No, I don't care. If you like, you can suck me tomorrow." "It's a deal," replied Andy. He stroked his erect cock longingly. He was not allowed to cum. None of them were. Only one a week were they taken one by one to the medic's office. The medic was an attractive Sikh man of thirty, bearded and handsome. He would take their cocks in his hands, stroking them, gently rubbing their glans, feeling their balls, sticking a latex-covered finger up their asses until they came. The medic collected their spent cum in a saucer, later pouring it into a mould and freezing it for later. Andy heard Jorge choke softly and then Arnold gasped and moaned. Thick jets of cum filled the teenager's aching mouth. Arnold's cum was clean. He'd been tested. They all had. The governor had insisted. Jorge swallowed obediently, the creamy, bitter liquid sliding down like medicine. Arnold zipped up his trousers and handed the young lad his box of gifts. Later Andy and Jorge discussed the contents. There was chocolate, cigarettes, some fresh fruit. Jorge shared a jar of peanut butter with Andy. "How's it going?" asked Ted, an attractive thirty-year old American boy from New York. Ted had been in the bunker over three months. He looked good in his light blue shirt, white t-shirt and grey jogging pants. "Good," replied Andy. "You?" "Yeah, good," replied Ted. "Listen, you guys finished eating yet, cos I kinda need to take a dump." "Yes," replied Jorge. Ted, still self-conscious after all those weeks, switched on the radio. He pulled down his jogging pants and his red briefs and sat on the metal toilet in his cell. Secretly Jorge watched him, intrigued by the American's dark beauty and his most intimate of acts. Ted looked at the floor. Andy read his book, diplomatically ignoring the tell-tale sounds. Soon it would be his turn and communal life demanded a degree of mutual consideration and discretion. The evening was going quietly. The inmates watched their small TVs, earphones on, the outside world ignored. No-one heard the footsteps. Four sets of feet walked along the corridor, until they came to the door of Jorge's cell. Jorge was dozing, his sweet, innocent face smiling in sleep. "Him," said the governor, his blue eyes filled with lust, his face hidden. "It's to be him." Arnold nodded, sadly. To be continued....... This is a work of fiction. It is not real, is not intended to be real, and is not an endorsement or promotion of deliberate risk-taking. It's a personal fantasy.

I am into used underwear, think it's really hot but wouldn't consider buying any I am afraid.

I had considered syringing it up my piss slit. Have previously had some rubbed in my eyes which was really hot. Smeared over my face. Used as lube.

I feel that is it considered generally acceptable, politically at least to be gay, but to not actually do anything like suck cock or fancy men, other than have a nice sexless husband.

I'll look up those books. I do need to be more selfish. I would also like to be more uninhibited. I'd like to be able to say to people, gay, straight, related or unrelated, "you see that guy there, I really fancy him." When I was 6 I used to copy my mum and sister saying it and my brother used pouting lips and a limp wrist to shame me. I used to gaze longingly into men's faces. Now I can't even start a conversation. I remember a Scottish friend of mine, a Christian but a High Church liberal one, and he used to say things like "I had the most GLORIOUS wank this afternoon." I am ashamed if my life partner catches me wanking. I am reading Coming Out of Shame at the moment, hence the motivation to start this thread.

I am not sure if this is the right place for this thread but I as I reach my mid forties I have become conscious of just how damaged by sexual shaming I have been. I am curious to discuss this with other guys. I express my desires most freely by writing fiction and my characters do what I am often inhibited to discuss. I remember as a child being told not to stare at men, and boy did I used to love doing that, but now I get really embarrassed if a guy catches me looking. I stay silent when my straight friends talk about big breasted women when I could easily say I like a big cock up my arse myself and it probably would not shock anyone but me. I cringe if I discuss sex with others, including my life partner. I have found it hard to discuss sex with other sexual partners to, usually just hoping guys will someone guess what I am into. I have a legacy of hating my body, feeling I am flabby and overweight even though I diet all the time and run everyday and am in my forties. How the hell did I get like this? I was at World Pride today and noticed how at ease guys were, dressed up in leather etc. I find it hard to express myself sexually. I am out to everyone but cannot say who I fancy to my friends or family. Does any of this strike a cord or is it just me?

Well that photo has just ruined WS for me!

I really respect this stance and think it is commendable. I think rawfucking should be a free choice and I am concerned that when people are not in open relationships and have not negociated risks and boundaries as most straight married people have not, then it is really unfair on his wife. It could be devastating for her.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bareback-Euro-Lads-Older-ebook/dp/B008CWNWEE

Thanks Pozpig46 xx

Adapted from Bareback Euro Lads & Older Men by Andy McGreggor (This scene takes place after arresting a twinky looter and chaining him to the ceiling of the police van.) Jean-Claude was kneeling, his mouth filled with tangy cock, sucking Yakub's eighteen-year old dick aggressively, coating the teencock with his spit. Jean-Clause savoured the taste of a teenage smoker; nicotine and cheap aftershave, the hint of piss, the warm waft of a manboy's groin. Yakub was writhing but then Jean-Claude paused from his sucking. He began rubbing his finger and thumb over the lad's mushroom-shaped glans, edging him, driving him crazy. Yakub pulled impatiently at the cuffs, sweat gathering in his acrid armpits, its scent mixing with his cheap deodorant. Pascale was stood behind, his wedding ring finger sunk deep into Yakub's tight, barely-legal boypussy, tickling his colon walls, inadvertently scratching the tender lining. Pascale pushed his finger in deep, forcing Yakub onto tiptoe. The beur felt good up there, thought the married cop. Yakub's velvet sugar-walls were sticky, moist, hot. Soon Pascale would be pushing those soft guts to hell and back with his cruelly proportioned cock. Pascale's cock was twelve-inches and uncut. It jutted out of his blue canvas trousers like a weapon. The fat glans, stewing and nasty, was covered in foreskin. Pascale drew out his finger and sniffed it appreciatively. He sucked his digit, moistening it, before re-inserting it, stretching Yakub's anus, preparing the silky hole for its upcoming ordeal. It was time. Jean-Claude was standing now, cupping Yakub's gently boiled ball sack, softly stroking the lad's slimy cock head, as Pascale began to violate Yakub's tight anal passage. At first, Yakub accepted the cock stoically, but as the man's huge glans tore its way inside his sphincter, Yakub was no longer able to stifle his pain. He groaned pathetically, whimpering like an unwanted puppy impaled on the vet's needle. "Oh please, it hurts," he groaned, eyes clenched, teencock jutting out stiffly. "Shut the fuck up and take it like a man," replied Jean-Claude. "If you want me to stop, just fucking say so, you cum hungry whore." He held Yakub's smooth chin and kissed him. Yakub kissed back, greedily. The beur was hungry. Jean-Claude felt Yakub tense as Pascale began to sink his gargantuan cock deep inside the resistant and stubborn colon. Jean-Claude savoured the muffled, hot gasps as Yakub struggled to accommodate the over-sized mancock in his tight teenage pussy. Jean-Claude stroked Yakub's damp, curly hair, caressing the willing captive's perspiring body, squeezing his engorged penis until Yakub squirmed in urgent protest. Jean-Claude tapped his watch. "Time's getting on," he said. "I know," sighed Pascale. His cock was being squeezed like a rabbit in the grasp of python. Yakub was panting with each painful, searing thrust, his own firm teencock bouncing obscenely, spraying threads of mucus. "I'll drive us back towards the commissariat," said Jean-Claude, pushing his erect cock back into his trousers with difficulty. He'd cum later. Yakub yelped as the van pulled off, his wrists bitten by the sharp metal cuffs still attached to the ceiling. He tried to stand steady, his feet tiptoeing to and forth like a ballerina. "Fuck!" hissed Pascale, entranced by the new motion and friction on his throbbing cock. Jean-Claude slammed on the breaks, impaling the teenage beur agonisingly onto the riot policeman's huge prick. "Aye!" yelled Yakub, not knowing what hurt more, his wrists, his anus, or his pride. "Shut up," hissed Pascale. He was close to cuming. He felt his balls tingling. The lad's raw and bruised cunt was sucking and squeezing like a clenched fist. Pascale bit the young man's hot neck. He nibbled Yakub's ears urgently. "I'm gonna cum, fiston," he hissed. "I'm gonna give you all my nasty spunk," he promised. Yakub's eyes were closed, his mouth open like a hot dog's, panting and swallowing. Yakub's eyes opened wide in surprise and delight, as he felt wave after wave of hot, potent spunk coat his velvety guts, soaking them, basting them, seeding them. Pascale pulled out with a fart and a plop, Yakub's dilated anus emitting a warm, fragrant breeze in its wake. Jean-Claude pulled up outside the commissariat. He got out and opened the backdoors of the van, exposing Yakub's shame to a small crowd of riot police. The teenage man flinched in the cold draught, squirming under the scrutiny of the sneering men. "Allez," boomed Jean-Claude jovially. "Some friends for you Yakub, son," he mocked. Yakub's eyes widened in horrified lust. Pascale was zipping up. He paused to shake hands with a colleague who was boarding the van. "That you done for the night, Pascale?" asked Pierre, a twenty-five year old blond cutey with a ten-inch cock and a sadistic temperament. Pascale nodded, rolling his eyes. "What a night huh? Time for some sleep." Pascale looked over to Jean-Pierre. "You coming mate?" he asked. Jean-Claude hesitated. "Can you give us a moment, bro?" said the policeman, unzipping his flies and yanking out his brutal, almost purple cock. Pascale looked at his watch, irritated. Yakub moaned in bliss as Jean-Claude's massive cock slipped inside him, all the way, jabbing his stomach, rubbing his prostate. "You like that, huh?" whispered Jean-Claude in Yakub's reddened ear. Yakub nodded, his face distant, trance-like. Yakub liked it very much. Jean-Claude felt his mate's hot cum coat his cock, warm, wet, dirty, seeping into his piss slit, dripping onto his pubic hair. Jean-Claude thrust his cock deep, and hard, brutally spearing the willing teenage prisoner. The men of the next shift smiled and exchanged looks. Soon it would be their turns. Soon, but not quite yet. Jean-Claude was close. He tingled. He shook. He gasped. His cum erupted deep inside his prey, his seed mingling with Pascale's. "Thanks, son," he said breathlessly, patting Yakub's plump ass with affection, before wiping his softening cock on the manboy's discarded t-shirt. Yakub's auntie had brought that for him, as an eighteenth birthday present. Jean-Claude zipped up his flies as Dominic, a fifty-year old father of two was pulling down his trousers, revealing thick, hairy legs and a cock that would shame a donkey. Young Pierre was busy removing his police number from his coat. Things might get tasty out there later, on the streets. A further riot had been reported and the cops were taking a beating. Paul, a thirty-year old amateur boxer, was applying a tube of lube to his wooden, regulation truncheon. "Sorry, son," whispered Jean-Claude, kissing the bound lad on the cheek and buttoning his canvas coat. He took one last look at the young man's pleading, anxious, and lustfully horny baby-face before stepping out into the drizzle of the Parisian night. He closed the van door behind him.

Will do Jonny3000! Just proof reading now! Probably be about a month but I'll send you a preview.

Thanks guys xx

Thanks Knaldich xx

Hi Tailgunner! I sometimes do get my young men to do that, yum.

After the last two books I might leave McGreggor was a while and I am trying to develop a new main character for a series of books but haven't gelled with any yet. I am working on a trilogy of books set in a French castle with three sadistic libertines. I think they are hot personally but I don't self-identify with them and cannot emotionally get a fourth book out of them. I am also writing a book of five daddy-son stories.

This is the order of the McGreggor books which are available at Amazon. They follow a narrative and if you would like to follow the whole series and find out what eventually happens to him you can. The first one is Danny and the Fifty load Bareback Fuck (not published yet, as it has been written as a prequel) McGreggor and the Castle of Bareback Virgins McGreggor, the Virgin & the 100 Load Bareback Fuck McGreggor and the Bareback Virgin Fugitives McGreggor, The Penitent Bareback Postboy and the Virgin Priest There are two or three more books which I am planning on publishing in the series after which the books will be also made into an anthology. McGreggor and Sammy The Teenage Bareback Fireman.

As agreed Sammy held McGreggor's fat horse-cock, now softened to the shape, and size, of a large pepper grinder. McGreggor held the pint glass, enjoying the novel sensation of a boy directing the flow of his piss. It was strangely disempowering and very sexy. When McGreggor was finished and the stolen glass was almost full, Sammy skilfully squeezed clean the older man's cock like a maiden milking a cow. Sammy leant forward and sucked the piss-soaked head of McGreggor's cock, savouring the acrid taste. McGreggor was instantly hard, his ten-inch cock unfurling in Sammy's mouth as though someone had pulled a ripcord. Sammy deep-throated the middle-aged Scot once more. He was pushing himself to the limit, gagging, coughing and spluttering. McGreggor was keen to make Sammy retch again. He'd enjoyed the sight of the tender, young-looking fireman lose control and cough up a glob of phlegm. McGreggor grabbed Sammy's damp hair and thrust his massive cock deep down the teen's throat. Ah that did the trick, thought McGreggor as Sammy's eyes bulged, his cheeks turned puce and McGreggor was rewarded with a thick coating of throat juice. Before Sammy could recover, McGreggor pushed in a second time, then a third, each time driving Sammy to the point of retching up phlegm. McGreggor looked down. Sammy's cock was purple, his dickhead slick with slimy mucus. He didn't want the boy to cum just yet. He had things still to inflict on the willing angel. McGreggor pulled Sammy to his feet. He kissed Sammy's gob-covered lips tenderly, then passed him the warm, steaming glass. Sammy, still breathless and panting, took the golden drink in one hand, while with the other he undid the bottle of poppers. Sammy sniffed deeply. The lad swigged a generous mouthful of the golden man-juice, looked directly at McGreggor and swallowed it. McGreggor's cock bounced at the sight. "You're quite the wee piglet, aren't you?" joked McGreggor. Sammy responded by tilting the glass and taking a series of deep glugs, all the time fixing McGreggor with a defiant, arrogant stare. He was going to down it in one. McGreggor couldn't even do that with beer never mind piss! McGreggor was impressed. What else could, or would, the boy do? One thing McGreggor wanted to do though, as a matter of urgency, was to get his nose up the boy's fragrant, seductive arse. "Get on the bed and bend over Sammy," urged McGreggor, wanking his own throbbing, vascular monster cock. Christ, he was wet down there, dripping precum like a tap. McGreggor knelt at the altar of Sammy's proffered buttocks. What beauties, thought McGreggor in awe, admiring the two downy, plump mounds, a sexy dimple in each cheek. They were boyish, sinfully so. Reverently McGreggor pulled the two ass cheeks apart, parting the curtains to the Holy Ark. There it was; Sammy's rose-grey boy cunt. It was perfect; hairless, puckered, a thin dark slit inviting him inside. McGreggor sniffed it, heady boy-smells drawing him like a bee to pollen. "Oh Sammy, son, your wee cunt's so nice," purred the Scotsman, rubbing the tip of his nose into the damp, velvet muscle. Sammy grunted his thanks. McGreggor licked Sammy's anal lips, relishing the rich tang of teenage arse. McGreggor loved the texture of boy-cunt, its velvet feel, its roughness, its taut but yielding tension. Sammy's arse was ready. McGreggor eased in his finger. Oh Sammy, thought McGreggor, you sweet, young lad. I could really fall for you. I really could. McGreggor held his counsel however. McGreggor probed deeper into Sammy's colon. It was yielding, welcoming his finger, drawing it in. It was hot in there, moist, sticky, hollow. McGreggor inserted a second then a third finger. The boy took them all without a murmur of complaint. McGreggor raised himself up, standing now, his loaded horse-cock pointing at Sammy's peach bottom. He leant forward, the foreskin-covered head of McGreggor's cock embracing the teenage fireman's moist anus. McGreggor pushed in the first few inches of his penis, using only spit as lube. Sammy breathed deeply and slowly. God, it was good thought McGreggor. Sammy's arse was sucking him, the tissue-thin walls of his teenage colon caressing McGreggor's brutal, obscene cock. McGreggor cried out softly. It was too good! Sammy wriggled his hips, grinding himself further down onto Daddy's horse-cock. Sammy's body was damp, emitting the evocative smell of a gym locker room, warm deodorant, stale shower gel, sweat. McGreggor lived now only for his cock. His cock was the centre of the universe. He could die happily as long as his cock was buried deep inside this precious boy's arse. Sammy was in heaven. The middle-aged Daddy was probing him deeply, massaging his boy-clitoris with his big, brutal cock, splitting open his tight anus. It had been weeks since Sammy was last fucked. He needed this. It was good. His mouth was rich with the bitter aftertaste of urine, his pierced tits stinging with the salty sweat. His arse was on fire, his arse lips a pulsating ring of pure pleasure. Sammy's nine-inch cock was volatile now, threatening to erupt at any moment, a genital rod of nitro-glycerine. It wasn't only Sammy who was in danger of shooting his load. "I'm close," panted McGreggor, dripping sweat from his receding hairline. He was panting. McGreggor reached over for Sammy's bottle of poppers and inhaled. As the rush hit him, he ploughed deeply into Sammy's cock. McGreggor's head was swimming. The fuck was so intense that the Scotsman felt he was in a trance. He wanted to punch Sammy's guts, deep, as deep as he could. He wanted to drive his cruel cock far inside. Sammy was trembling, panting. Then Sammy's arse bit down on McGreggor's cock as the youngster ejaculated. McGreggor felt his own load propelled up his cock, shooting deep into the boy beneath him, coating the teen-angel's raw, bruised colon with his seed. (Andy McGreggor; from McGreggor and Sammy the Teenage Bareback Fireman)

Taking up self-defence is one of the best things I ever did. I know how to look after myself more and feel more confident and don't cringe when an aggressive straight bloke looks at me the wrong way. I took up karate too. Wish my dad had shown me this stuff.