Belfast Delivery Guy

[rough-one]

I knew what I was getting into. I’d heard of Lawyer John’s notorious parties through the grapevine for years. My friend Con, who was a filthy gossip, pointed him out to me a few times in the nightclubs of Belfast. Lawyer John (our nickname for him) was pretty to miss though given his overall “too-hot-to-stay-in-Belfast” looks and physique. Lawyer John was a suave stunner in his mid-forties, with a gym fit body and expensive tousled “salt and pepper” haircut. He should have been modelling suits for Gucci or something, and not raising the bell-curve for us poor mortals who didn’t have any other option but to stay here in the North, drowning our sorrows as we were that night. Northern Ireland once again performed abysmally in rugby, getting trashed by the All Blacks earlier that day.

 

Con’s favourite pastime, after a few jars, was nodding his head over at some poor trick in the club and divulging all his nasty secrets. Usually they involved Con, a quirky fetish and/or an STI. Con was an old-school gossip and would always start off in his thickest working class Belfast accent with the line “Didja ya see that wee lad there righ? Well…” At this point our posse would be leaning forward wondering what new tale of desperation or filth we were in for. With Lawyer John, Con would always drink deep from his Guinness, nod over at him and then launch into the following tale.

 

“Did I tell ye lads about our friend Lawyer John over there. Mike (this was me) knows, but I’ll tell the rest of ye. Steer clear of that fucker. A right nasty piece of work they say lads. They say he hosts these parties y’see. Where all the A-gays of Belfast go and get gee-eyed out of it on G and E and coke and whatever else you’d be having. No condoms, no fucking sense, and a few prossies hired up from London or wherever. He works over in the courts too, so he should know better. Anyways, the parties always get really fuckin wild, and to hear tell of it, at one of the last ones there was a lad who overdosed. Some fucker up from Fermanagh, still wet behind the ears and looking for his bit of freedom from his mammy and the farm, thought he’d try his hand at hooking. Anyways as the story goes, the lad reacted badly with the cocktail of drugs he was on and it wasn’t till after the party that they realised he was unconscious and had been for about a day or two. It was then that they dropped him outside the Pipeworks sauna and called the police. Kid nearly died. Seemingly was left with some nasty nerve damage too. And that kid…” and Con leaned in here, building suspense, “is none other than Ugly Eoghan!”

 

I’d heard it before so chuckled to watch the looks of incomprehension on our mates as they tried to fit the pieces together. Lawyer John was some jet-setting executive who probably had a sea of hot accountants who wanted him to write off their “bad debts”. Meanwhile Ugly Eoghan was the odd drunk that’d turn up outside the Kremlin as the crowd turned out in the early morning, trying to chat up the very, very drunk twinks outside. He worked the “going-home” crowd, cause he’d been barred from every gay establishment between here and Dublin. He was only in his early thirties, but had such a way with him that he looked at least ten years older and while there was nothing necessarily disfigured about him, he had a constant stoop, squinted eyes and a perpetually sneering mouth, so you couldn’t help but be repulsed by him. To think that this gay “character” had been created by the beautiful and sophisticated Lawyer John was a good yarn, but none of us really believed it.

 

Sensing our disbelief, Con urged us “it’s true honest! Ugly Eoghan’s life wasn’t always the car-crash you see outside the chipper on a Saturday pawing at the twinks. But seemingly Lawyer John has high connections, and got the whole thing hushed up. The police, the other party-goers, even the sauna staff, everyone was hushed up”. We nodded as Con knocked back the rest of his Guinness and looked to see who was getting the next round in. He always got a bit conspiracy-ish after a few, talking one minute about chem-trails, and the next about how the fluoride pumped in Irish water was to keep people passive. A nudge knocked me out of my reverie. It was my round.

 

I waited at the bar for the hot new barman Sven to get my drinks. Seemingly he had to learn how to replace a keg or something, but you’d forgive a white blond Nordic god a lot for a flash of his dopey smile, so I pulled out my phone and checked my apps. Grindr and Scruff were disappointing as usual, though my profile didn’t invite a lot of comment – it was just a torso like all the rest of them – showing off my six-pack from two years ago, which had since gone into a small hibernation. Not that most tricks minded. None of them looked quite like their photos either, and as long as I wasn’t, well, ugly Eoghan, and I shoved all nine inches of my cock into them, I heard no complaints. The only messages I had was from this hot nurse Gavin who I always had a great back and forth with, but who always chickened out of all the dates I suggested, to the point where I gave up trying. Sometimes I was in the mood to flirt with him, knowing it’d have no effect, but not today.

 

Sensing someone pushing past me for a newly opened gap at the bar, I moved to let the guy settle in beside me. I did a very subtle double-take when I realised it was the devil himself – Lawyer John. He didn’t even notice me. He still had his head turned, taking drink orders off of some tall muscle-bound blond who’d be perfect as an extra in any World War 2 film, yellow blonde where Sven was white. I took the time to properly study the Lawyer-man up close. God, he was gorgeous. He’s one of those guys who looks so much better as a 40 year old than he ever would have as a 20 year old. His tailored shirt opening to show a defined lean body and sculpted lines across his collarbones, up his neck and in his deep dimples as he laughed at something the Aryan giant said.

 

I waited for the polite “eye-contact” nod that in Ireland passed for “thank you for giving me space at the bar”, but the lawyer studiously turned forward and blanked me. Pfft. Whatever. I guess if you don’t look like you breathe the same rarefied air as these little gods, you may as well be invisible. I then heard the distinctive message tones from Gay-Romeo beside me. I looked over, and sure enough, Lawyer John had his phone out too. I guess little gods need a bit of help looking for love too. I noticed he was mostly scanning an app with a black and orange design. I leaned over a little further. It was called “BBRT” or something like that. I then heard the Sven clear his throat “Ah Mike, jour drrinks” “oh right, cheers Sven!”

 

A few drinks more with the lads at the pub, then at Con’s house and eventually we’re all calling it a night. It’s proper late, by the time I’m back in my flat near the university, like 6am. I clumsily broke the laptop out and looked up this BBRT website. Bareback Real Time Sex, it said. I gulped a little. I’ve not usually been one for bareback – topping’s the same to me if I top protected or not, so I always chose the former. Up until this point I’d never successfully bottomed, with or without a condom, so I saw no attraction in barebacking. However, Lawyer John was on it, and who knew, maybe he was only a click or two away. I could beat off to some pics of him, no harm, no foul.

 

I read through the usual preamble with starting an account, and then once I’d verified my email and put up the bare skeleton of a profile (Newry9inch), I got to seeing who was online in Belfast. This was a very different pool to the Grindr/Scruff guys. There were a few kinky bastards who revelled in anything pain related, a few kids that had the title Bug-Chaser in their profile and then me by the looks of it. Noone else was online. I went back to filling out my profile, deciding to put up a cock pic as my main profile pic (it wasn’t as if I was looking for friends or gym buddies on this site). Then after a bit more thought I added a headless nude shot and an over-the-shoulder arse pic. “Fuck it!” I thought and headed to the bathroom.

 

When I got back, I was in luck. My inbox had three more messages from three different guys – not just the welcome bot. The first was a proper daddy type who wanted to spank my ass for being up so late. I chuckled, and politely declined. The next was from a blank profile online asking “u into scat?” I once again replied “cheers, but definitely not my thing. All the best”, cause I may be many things, but I always answer people, so there’s no ambiguity. I’m a motherfucking gentleman!

 

The last was interesting. It was another blank profile “northernlights”, this time asking “u into pnp?” Now I won’t lie. I love me a bit of rolling with molly or speed-pumped sex, so this had my slut-senses tingling – could this be Lawyer John? I answered “could be. Why?”

 

And waited…

 

About half a minute later I get a reply. “We’re looking to score” and a link to a webpage within BBRT.

 

I clicked through the link and it directed me to an expired party page from earlier that night– some sort of group page that BBRT did for people arranging group meets – wow BBRT really knew their audience! This page had the description “Party – Titanic Quarter for titanic men”. I snorted at that. The blurb below was written as if a size queen on meth – detailing all the types of men who could apply (a very select few) and all the guys who couldn’t. To be honest the description was a turn-off. One of those impossibly high standard parties that I wouldn’t dream of trying for after a few rejections earlier on in life. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I feel pretty hot – I rock the slightly rough/scruffy, three-day stubbled scally lad look, but I would never fit in with the built Abercrombie and Fitch crowd. My body was lean and I was an in-shape lad especially for my job (a journalist for a less than reputable paper… ok so, a tabloid journalist – it paid the bills) but I’d never have this party’s required “defined muscles” or “less than 5% body fat” (I kid you not – that’s what they wrote). The rest of post summed up that a group party had been organised (about 6 hours earlier) for the A-gays of Belfast. Good-fucking luck to ‘em I thought!

 

I saw my inbox had another message and clicked it. Northernlights again. “u know any dealers?”

 

I chuckled and then remembered something. Looking to my chest of drawers in the middle of the room, I pulled out my sock drawer and fumbled at the back. I pulled out my old metal tea-box that had my weed and the makings of my joints in, a few pills, and also… at the bottom…

 

…Eureka!..

 

I found the bag of MDMA that my mate’s sister’s boyfriend’s friend left behind at a houseparty a year back. The lad went mental looking for it afterwards, but cause he was a dick I didn’t call him up a week later when I found it behind the coal bucket. It was about 10-15g of product, but I’d tried it, and maybe cause it’d be been left out somewhere humid, or maybe cause it was it was just a shit supply, but it did nothing for me. But there was enough here for a trade. Maybe I’d get some money for it finally?

 

I messaged back. “None that are awake right now. My usual guy’s disappeared too. I’ve a bit of my own supply - MDMA here (10-15g), dunno how good it is, if you’re desperate? J”

 

(Was the smiley too much?)

 

Northernlights was quick to reply “Yeah would be up for that  - could buy it – where u? Could send taxi round? We’re in X”

 

Obviously I’m not gonna reveal where exactly the guy was – but it was a very swanky part of town.

 

Northernlights sent me on details of the place and then signed off – “…Thanks lad. See you soon”

 

No name. But honestly considering we’d just agreed to perform a crime online I could understand that. Nice one! I was gonna finally sell off my old stash and at least see what the inside of one of these exclusive parties looked like.

 

 

The taxi came round 15 minutes later. I was barely out of the shower and into my cleaner pair of going-out trackies when I heard my phone go off. I grabbed my whole stash box and all the way there I was full of nervous jitters. I kept thinking I was going to end up at some weird “eyes-wide-shut” masked party.

 

The apartment building was one of the very modern ones that went up as part of the Titanic quarter’s refurbishment after the peace agreement. I remember seeing it being built and even then thinking I’d never be able to afford living in a posh place like this. I rang the apartment bell. Elocution lessons answered; “Yars?” “Um, this is ahem, Newry….” “Oh roight! Yars yars, push the door when it buzzes”

 

I made my way up.

 

On the way up I kept formulating and reformulating the plan. See how much they were willing to pay to keep their party going. Get a good look around to see how to super-hot live and try to see a few fucking, to fill the wank-bank. Get them to order me another taxi. Would they stretch to a pizza too?

 

Oh, but how to make sure this wasn’t an elaborate police op? Wasn’t that entrapment? Did that law even apply in Belfast? Better make sure to get them to do a line for free first.

 

I got to the door. I rapped gently on it. No answer. I was about to ring the bell when the door opened and there in a red and grey silk dressing gown stood Lawyer John. A-Gay of Belfast numero uno!

 

“Newry9inches?” he said, smiling at me, showing those dimples. Those goddamn beautiful dimples!

 

I nodded mutely and he waved me in.

 

He muttered something about doing business upstairs in his room as I looked around the split-level apartment. There were bags and clothes on most of the chairs and couches in the main entrance hall-cum-living room. The floor plan was pretty open and segued from living room to foyer to kitchen (which was divided from the rest by an outjutting counter) all across the entire lower floor. There were some shadowy figures in the extremities of the kitchen and living room, but before I could better make them out, John beckoned me up his stairs (solid oak beams projecting from the wall, no banistair, very swanky!)

 

I clambered up behind him, getting glimpses of his very tan, very developed gym-toned legs, to come out on a long corridor landing. Everything was ivory tones and expensive looking. There were about four doors off the corridor – two guest bedrooms, the main bedroom and main bathroom. As we went into the main bedroom I saw the entire outer wall was one plate window giving a fantastic view back over Belfast City. The bed was massive and recently used and there was an en-suite bathroom to the left. John sat down on the bed and looked expectantly me… “The MDMA?” “Oh right, yeah let me just get that out” and I walked over to the desk. He followed behind me as I lay the bag of white powder on the table. I saw the remains of some other lines of powder there and a credit card. I turned to him. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but cause I’m not used to, um, normally, ever doing this, and how do I know this isn’t some police sting?” He laughed a rich baritone laugh at that and said something about the differences in UK and American law, and that he’d asked me to bring over with me to sell, which indeed would be a form of entrapment. He then smiled and said, “but if it makes you feel better, I can do a line in front of you now?” I nodded, and he took the bag from me and poured some out. Crushing it with his credit card he asked me to roll up a twenty-pound note as he scraped together four short lines. When he pulled back he waved me forward to do the first two lines – oh right – I weirdly hadn’t expected to be doing the MDMA in front of him, but fuck it. I ducked down, snorted them up and passed the twenty. Squeezing and pinching my nose I looked over as he rose from his lines.

 

“So do you wanna sit down for a bit, to see if it kicks in?” I asked.

 

He nodded toward the bed, snuffling back all the powder. I sat down on the edge, he sat beside me.

 

“I think I saw you out earlier” I mentioned. He nodded. “Mike here by the way” “Simon here” he replied, extending his hand for a handshake and smiling. I started to feel something in the back of my brain, but I was never great with MDMA. “I think I’m feeling it” I mentioned, “but it’s always a bit odd for me, how about you?” I asked. He was raising his half-shut eyes and muttering to himself… Yeah he was definitely feeling something. “Oh yars Mark” “uh it’s Mike” “Sorry Mike. Yah I’m feeling it – that is …some good stuff you have”. He looked at me. His eyes were massively dilated. We said in unison “wow your eyes…” and trailed off and chuckled.

 

I looked at this guy who only hours before had seemed a part of the frosty impenetrable A-gay elite rubbish of Belfast, and yet here we were now, bonding. It was beautiful. I felt Simon and I were having a special time outside of time and that I could suddenly confide totally in him.

 

“You should laugh more dude, your dimples are gorgeous”

He smiled at this, and replied, “you’re pretty cute yourself dealer-man”

I got a cheeky thought “what else can you do to prove you’re not a police officer?”

His deep chuckle was adorable. “Well what would you like me to…”

 

We got cut off by a knock on the door, the en-suite door.

“Hey Si, are you still with that dealer guy?”

 

The door opened and a tall pale guy with jet black hair stepped in. He was wearing a towel around his waist and had obviously come from the shower. His body definitely fit into the 5% body fat category. I think I could have seen him on a Men’s Health magazine or something – he had a familiar look about him. Every random Latin-named muscle was on display and some new ones too I think. “This him?” he asked Simon.

 

“Yeah, this mmmmm here is…. Mark..no Mike! This is Iain”

 

Iain smiled and extended his hand to me. “Not named after the Reverend I assure you.” I laughed and still felt very odd to be shaking everyone’s hand at a sex party. He then turned to look back at the desk. His back was just pure sculpture. I looked over to see Simon/Lawyer John smirking at me, catching me ogling the beefcake mere metres away from me.  I giggled and nudged him. Yeah ok maybe the MDMA was having an effect. I’d missed Iain’s request “What now?” Iain repeated himself “Is it ok if I sample a line or two” “Be my guest,” I sorta slurred out. Iain bent over the desk to crush out a line’s worth. I was looking at Simon. He had mischief in his eyes.

 

“Iain” Simon called, “I need to prove something to Mike here” and reached over to his towel-covered ass. Tugging on the towel as Iain crushed his line, Simon succeeded on pulling the towel off, revealing Iain’s pale magnificent ass. Iain barely reacted, engrossed in his task. The twin globes were just that right blend of smooth and bubble-butt, spreading down into two tree trunks of thighs. A real rugby player physique! Oh shit, now I knew where I’d seen Iain before. He’s Iain the rugby player! The gay rugby player Iain Hawkins! He was the prop-forward for the Northern Irish team who’d recently come out and had all his family support him in the papers, and his… boyfriend! I watched him earlier today get trounced by the fuckin Kiwis! My tabloid journalist was itching at the size of the scoop I had in front of me. Belfast A-Gay number 2, Iain Hawkins prop-forward for Northern Ireland, showing me his incredibly fuckable ass, while doing Class A drugs. Another part of me took over as I refocused on that ass.

 

“Mike” Simon called back to me, “I’m gonna do something I’m pretty sure no undercover cop would do” and with that licked a finger and started to pull Iain’s ass-cheeks apart.  Then exposing Iain’s pink rosy hole, he guided the lubed finger into Iain’s hole. Working it in quite quickly I figured Iain had already been fucked this night. Simon replaced his finger with his tongue as he got up properly to rim his friend. I heard Iain groan in appreciation and follow it with one quick snort.

I was rubbing my cock through my grey tracksuit bottoms. Simon winked at me and looked to my growing bulge. “Looks like your username wasn’t lying” I smirked and coyly asked “do you want to check for yourself?” as I stood up, raising my crotch to his head height. He used his free hand to snag my tracksuit bottoms down exposing my navy blue jockstrap and jutting nine-incher. Simon mouthed a “wow”, as most guys do. It’s not just nine or nine and a half inches, it’s also quite a thick girthy cock which often a lot of bottoms can’t work with – they think they can, but their eyes are too big for their asshole. Simon got to work, pushing the jockstrap pouch to the side and freeing my monster. As he started lapping on the underedge of my cock, I reached over and started rubbing Iain’s ass cheeks. Iain took another snort and wriggled his ass in appreciation, or at least that what I took his ass-wriggle for. Unopposed I moved both my hands to cup Iain’s ass, kneading and massaging, rearranging our trio so that I could bend over to rim Iain while still giving Simon clear access to my cock. Iain’s hole tasted beautiful. You could tell that the cunt has been used, I could even detect some cum that hadn’t been fully washed away. Damn right I’ll admit I look for a good sloppy-seconds ass when I’m whoring myself round. I steer the fuck away from virgins and twinks. Fucking a cum-dump’s ass where it’s cold and virginal on the outside, but hot and juicy at the core… mmm my version of heaven.

 

After a few minute of rimming and sucking – Simon sure loved sucking my cock and I was feeling a little more adventurous. I was alternating my tongue and my two left fingers, playing Iain’s ass like a fiddle. Iain pushed his juicy orbs again back at us, Simon pulled off of me to come beside me and watch as Iain started twitching his ass. I kept a grip on his ass shoving my left thumb inside him. Simon grabbed and turned my cheek and we stared intensely into eachother’s eyes.

 

Simon took a step closer and asked, “would a policeman do this?” and grabbed the back of my head pulling me in to a full-on kiss. Our tongues were running against eachother, his spit, my spit. As I kissed him passionately back I felt his robe fall open and felt my cock bounce and joust with his thick 7 incher. Every bit of his body was tan, including his cock. I ran my right hand up and down his defined body, running over each muscular ridge – I kept asking myself, was this really happening? I looked down to pinch myself and could see a pearl of precum had started to drip off of his hooded shaft. I started to bend my knees to lick up every drop from his precum-dripping cock – I love a dripper! However Simon held me back and wiped his steady precum flow onto my own spit slicked member.

 

After milking himself this way for a bit, he grunted up at Iain, “look back for a second Iain” Iain, minor sports celebrity, minor gay celebrity for the UK had recently done a fashion-spread for GQ magazine with his boyfriend. Yet right then he was currently sporting just a white powder moustache and a smile. He looked back over his shoulder at my proud nine-incher slick with Simon’s juices, as Simon tapped my cock against his twitching hole. “Oh yeah Mikey, shove that gorgeous stick into me” All thoughts of his boyfriend evaporated, all my thoughts of safety evaporated, I needed those ass-pussy lips on my poor naked cock and I needed it now! Ok yeah, the MDMA was definitely working at this point. I didn’t wait for a second request and shoved my tool deep in that slut’s hole.

 

And what a fucking hole, it was a prime hole – medium rare/pink on the outside, juicy yet well done on the inside. I was a bit worried Simon’s precum wasn’t enough lube, but Iain already had a least two loads in him giving my cock the lovely cream covering as I churned that gut-butter up. I gave that rugby player a fucking penalty, conversion and a try. In fact I lost myself so much in pounding that perfect white arse's hole I didn’t notice Simon was gone. He had gone around to salvage the MDMA. It seemed I ploughed Iain a bit too heavily and now the prop forward had it all over him looking like some Japanese Geisha or some shit. “Oh shit dude, you’re gonna get so fucking high” I laughed, but I didn’t stop pounding him.

[billy88666]

Great start. Love all the local references mate! Can't wait to read more..

[r1ver]

Welcome back lad. Top class.

[streetmonkey]

Awesome. And set in Belfast too. You've made my night, fella. Can't wait to see where it goes...

[rawbearfun]

So fucking thrilled for the new hot as fuck fiction.. WOOF!!!!

[Docebrown]

Excellent start. Hope the next part cums soon and is just as hot.

[ChemFistNI]

<p>Love your stories man, and this one's set close to home which is even better! Can't wait to see where this goes </p>

[rough-one]

Previously…
And what a fucking hole, it was a prime hole – medium rare/pink on the outside, juicy yet well done on the inside – bare fucking was amazing. I was a bit worried Simon’s precum wasn’t enough lube, but Iain already had a least two loads in him giving my cock the lovely cream covering as I churned that gut-butter up. I gave that rugby player a fucking penalty, conversion and a try. In fact I lost myself so much in pounding that perfect white arse’s hole I didn’t notice Simon was gone. He had gone around to salvage the MDMA. It seemed I ploughed Iain a bit too heavily and now the prop forward had it all over him looking like some Japanese Geisha or some shit. “Oh shit dude, you’re gonna get so fucking high” I laughed, but I didn’t stop pounding him.

Right so…

Now I should clarify what I meant previously about liking a previously tapped hole. I was a bit of an expert on tag-teaming. In fact you could say that in college I majored in fourways with a minor in journalism. All through my journalism degree in Queen’s Uni I was involved long-term open slutty four-way. My group – Joe, Andrew, Kevin and I were the hotter and more sexually ambitious college kids, so we enjoyed what we had, moving into two two-person campus apartments together on the Malone road and using one of them for studying and the other for fucking. Sunday mornings were great! We spent most of our semester weekends getting through all the gay kama sutra positions, while the more nerdier, more homely gays were all up for running the LGB society. We thought our fourway was discreet enough, we’d always rearrange things when parents came visiting, but of course, all the scene knew! Even my mate Con told me that there was a name for us doing the rounds– the four queens in Queens. Very droll. Sadly this gossip reached the ears of all of our families – someone actually maliciously sent a poison pen letter to them – some fuckin old-school begrudger. Cause of that experience I sure-as-shit now knew that in Belfast you can’t do anything without everyone knowing about it the next day! It’s the reason my ex’s are ex’s and now living in a hippy commune in Tennessee, above a gay bar in Provincetown and the outback mining town Broken Hill in Australia. ABFB – Anywhere but fucking Belfast!

Thinking this as I pulled my cock out of Northern Ireland’s gay national treasure, who reassuringly farted as some air escaped him (it made the whole thing a bit more real), I decided I should get my bearings a little, and while doing so, figure out what I wanted. I was high but not stupid. Even my trash-rag career could be endangered if it got out that I was partying and playing. I looked over and jokingly tagged Simon in. The salt and pepper stunner had shucked his robe off somewhere and I could see he had kept his chest well man-scaped, with the level of body hair that said hairy, but also showed off his defined muscles. Under that he had a deep and complete all-over tan, no weird tanlines, which meant he definitely travelled a lot. We get about one week of sunny days where it’s over 30 degrees in August and you’d never get such a deep tan from that, and I didn’t see Simon going to the sunning beds somehow. I guess you could say we have two seasons in Ireland  – rainy season and that one week where you see that yellow thing in the sky… what’s it called? So if you want to escape our national seasonal affective disorder you’ve to pay up. Bastard didn’t even have the decency to have a little potbelly for his age. As he walked over I just took it all in – the muscles (on both of them), the tan (on Simon) and the spontaneity of it all. One moment I’m looking up BBRT in the hope of jacking off to some pictures of the dimpled lawyer and the next minute I’m spitroasting a local celebrity with him.

Simon walked over to my place and lowered his 7 incher to Iain’s sloppy fuckhole. He’d found some lube and made a show of squirting some on Iain’s pink pucker and wiping the lube round with his straining cock. Iain wasn’t up for being teased and reached back and took control quickly. With proper bottoming skill he skewered himself with a grunt on Simon’s cock, his massive blocky thighs shuddering in pleasure.

 

Going around to Iain’s head, I saw that the majority of the MDMA was salvaged and piled a bit away from Iain - who right now was surprising me by taking my ass-stained cock in his mouth, lapping all the old cum and ass juice off it – this was going to be a night of firsts! Close up I saw that professional rugby had not been too kind to the prop forward. He had the classic cauliflower ears and mangled nose that anyone who spends a large amount of their time in a scrum shoving and straining against fifteen other men, tends to pick up after a while. Looking down I caught Iain staring straight back up at me, I was a tiny bit shocked at first and worried he might have copped that I knew who he was, or worse that he might know who I was, but then I realised he was just totally zoned out and staring into the middle distance. The MDMA was doing its trick alright.

Smiling down at Iain, I grabbed his hair and really started to fuck his throat. With my other hand I gathered the last few errant MDMA crumbs into a decent bump and snorted them, squeezing my nose after to stop any fallout. Iain’s pale muscled back was bunching as he took the pounding from both ends. I leant back and let the MDMA bliss flow down from my crown to the rest of my body. I looked up to smile at Simon and saw that he too was blissing out. He’d built up a powerful thumping rhythm, and my senses went into overdrive. Below I could hear a heavy bass-line from the main party room and I felt the build-up of anticipation – would I get to be one of the lucky invitees? I could feel the back of Iain’s throat mash against my cock head in time with Simon’s thrusts. The beat we were all experiencing, through the floor, in our fucking, it was the beat of life. This moment was hardcore, yet tender, dirty as fuck and yet sacred.

Ah fuck yeah – shoving my dick into the rugby player’s willing throat, staring over at Lawyer John, I mean, Simon, looking actually kinda skinny by comparison between Iain’s massive thighs. The steady flow of MDMA goodness just upped a notch as the extra bump hit home. I felt like my skull got extra loose on my body, hearing the music from downstairs, hearing gags and wheezes from Iain, just letting the sounds and images and feelings just wash all over me like a tide. The MDMA never had this effect on me before but then again I’d never taken it pure – only with Ecstasy and weed, which might have counteracted the effects. And then, like a wave, I could almost feel the memory slip over me. Simon was Joe, Iain was Andrew, Kevin was rimming me from behind…
 

I was back in college, spitroasting Andrew with Joe (who was and still is a committed top), and Kevin rimming me. We fucking loved that position. Kevin could happily rim me for days. Joe loved making the Eifel tower on Andrew (or me or Kevin occasionally) and then power-topping the lucky bottom. We were definitely not your typical Belfast students. We’d all met at the QUB LGB soc where in Fresher’s week we all played a “purity test” drinking game - where you had to drink for every impure thing you did. Us four hit it off immediately and soon enough we were rolling out the door and into one of our bedrooms. I even remember the disapproving glare of the LGB soc president at the time, who was still very sober - this total prick Orson Adams. Since that night he was always putting long rants on the soc’s webpages about not needing to conform to societal stereotypes of promiscuity and that kinda shit. Fucking holier-than-thou acne-covered prat! The type who gets on every uni committee possible so they can use it in their political career a few years later.

 

Speaking of Orson, now the acne’s cleared up, the ego’s bigger and for the last five years he’s been getting groomed by the SDLP to run in the next election for Stormont. I had to do a big piece on him “spearheading” the SDLP and Alliance Party’s Marriage-equality campaign up here a little while ago at a press conference. I still remember him calling up his Irish trophy “husband” Tadhg to the stage. I’d been only half listening though, cause most of my attention was spent trying to charm my way into the pants of this fresh college grad taking notes beside me. I’d zoomed in on the fresh meat as soon I arrived. He was a tall, dark-brown haired guy wearing a very fashionable boat-necked chunky woollen top that perfectly accentuated his collarbones. In fairness, you could hang a paper bag off those collarbones and it’d look high-fashion. And it just so happens that pronounced collarbones and sparkly blue eyes are two secret faves of mine! He was also writing notes in one of those Ernest Hemingway jotters that all idealistic young journos get – Damn – this boy was ticking all my boxes! I was already making my excuses to my photographer Joanne (the meanest Dyke paparazzo I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a few!) who rolled her eyes and looked for the bar.

“And wipe the drool off your mug before you head over, ya haven’t got his cock yet…” Joanne stopped as she realised I’d already gone.

Fast forward about fifteen minutes. I’ve been laying it on real-thick with this tall sparkly eyed beauty. We’ve been talking German Expressionism and the archetype of the tortured artist. We’ve been scoffing at how terrible American chocolate is, while grudgingly admitting that Irish chocolate might not quite be up to Belgium’s standards. Fuck it, but I was really thinking I was getting somewhere when there’s a lull in background noise and all eyes turn towards us. Cute Journalism Student turns around to me and says “Sorry Mike, that’s my cue” and heads up to the podium to be introduced. Fucking gutted! He was Orson’s Tadhg! I should have possibly guessed it from his name. I mean there’s not that many people with those crazy unspellable Irish names here up North - it’s a classic tell of a Southerner, but well, he just seemed way too nice to be caught up in Orson’s web of bullshit. He seemed so charming, sharp and well-read (we were both eagerly awaiting the new Orhan Pamuk book), and watching him leave had some serious benefits too (very snug fitting and perky!). But now he was up on stage talking about how he and his husband couldn’t wait to tie the knot up here like down South at their “starter-wedding” – pass me a fuckin bucket!

Y’see the thing is, dickheads like Orson really pissed me off. They want so much to be accepted by the society that rejects them, to have their slice of the “white picket fence dream” too, that they lose track of the gift they’ve been given. We don’t have to play by the rules, settle down two by two, safe and declawed for the straight world to accept us. We can be polyamorous, make our own families, create new codes to live by and then break em down again. We can arrange orgies at the drop of a hat and drunkenly ring up the Guinness World Record office asking for the number of men daisy-chaining record! Straight people are terrified of us because somewhere deep down in their mostly-switched off brains they realise what we represent, that it’s all a fucking charade. We’re part of the select few who’ve had the scales lifted off of our eyes and see the whole shitshow for the sham it is – religion, economics, from marriage vows to the…  uh …the fucking Bologna Process of degrees and Masters and Doctorates, all that shite. As if there’s some external force that makes one person more intelligent than the other, more valid than the other. We’re given a gift of getting booted out of normal society and for some reason then you get pricks like Orson begging to get back in.

 

Of course the self-satisfied prat was all fawning over me the last time I met him, cause he wanted a good article on his campaign. I remember later at the press conference him leaning in beside me, resting his clammy hand on mine and gushing “you’ll have to make this front page Michael! I still remember our days at Queen’s fondly!” I’m pretty sure I managed to keep my internal wretching to the minimum. I guess it was kismet or something when later that day the SDLP split over the vote. The party whip couldn’t control their back-benchers I guess. I had a gut feeling that there’d be trouble like that ahead and had Joanne tail the lovebirds. Sure enough she came back with a shot of the happy couple looking like they were arguing behind the hotel. Bingo! – that photo made the front page (like he asked) the next day. Headline “Not all sunshine and rainbows; Gay split in party vote!” What a fuckin triumph!

Though I did feel a bit shitty for dragging Cutey McHowdafuckdyespellyername into it. That was pretty cold blooded of me.

Speaking of cold. What…? Cold? My dick is cold?

At this point Iain jolted me out of my reverie as he pushed me out of him. My cock wasn’t nice and snug and warm anymore! I looked down to see that the rugby player was totally blitzed out at this point and was having a hard time just trying to even focus on my bobbing cock. I wasn’t sure what other drugs Iain had done, but he was in classic overstimmed mode. Simon pulled out of him too and it was like the strings on a puppet were cut. Iain just flopped over onto his back on the ground and started making hrunghing noises to himself and giggling. Slut down, I guess… At least he didn’t OD. That’d be a fucking Pulitzer inside scoop if he did though. I could lie and pretend I’d gone deep undercover. Oh wow. I am cold blooded.

Simon was smirking at Iain’s wipe-out and reached across to me, saying “I think that proves that we’re not police”.
 

“Well I’d have to, um, agree” I answered, giving him my hand. I was still a bit dazed, still half-in my reverie – this MDMA was doing strange things to my memories. I kept falling into stream-of-conscious memories from like ten years ago. Simon pulled me up into another kiss. He tasted of Iain’s ass and something sweet - maybe liquorice? As we kissed I realised the mischievous mood had slowed down a little. Was Simon going to finish things up with me now? I kept kissing him, rubbing my tongue against his, reaching into his salt and pepper hair and pulling him deeper to make the kiss more passionate but he pulled back. Was I going to be asked to put back on my clothes? I was way too high to head on right now! It’d be better to distract him…“What do you taste of?” I asked. Simon raised his eyebrow and then, remembering, said “Oh that’s Salmiakki – the Finnish Liquor”.

“Could I try some?”

“Oh, yeah, sure I guess. It’s in the bar downstairs”
 

“Are you inviting me to your party Simon?”

“Well that depends Mike. This invite is for Newry9inches. But it definitely doesn’t extend to Mike McAllister, Irish Sun journalist. What do you think?”

 

[rough-one]

Previously…

“Are you inviting me to your party Simon?”

“Well that depends Mike. This invite is for Newry9inches. But it definitely doesn’t extend to Mike McAllister, Irish Sun journalist. What do you think?”
 

Right so…
Fuck me! My mouth was gaping open as Simon stared at me waiting for a response. He chuckled and helped Iain up off the floor. Iain picked himself up and shuffled off the en-suite again. It was just me and Simon now. I still hadn’t said a word. I was in shock. Simon obviously was very good at doing his homework, and my journalist mind was immediately trying to make the connections. How had he figured out who I was? He could barely remember my name a minute ago! I don’t have my photo in the paper (it’s bad business for most tabloid journos) and I had just made up the name “Newry9Inches”. Simon walked over to the pile of MDMA and started carding up more lines. As I took in his very economical way of crushing the powder and splitting up the lines – 3 motions per line, I mumbled, “I’m happy to be anonymous”. Simon looked up at that and smiled. God, those dimples! He beckoned me over to the table with the rolled up twenty pound note…

 

…while with his other hand he pulled out a massive black dildo from under the table.

“Right Newry, here’s the thing – I don’t want you to be anonymous, cause the people downstairs won’t anonymous to you. I need you to tip the scales here a bit. I’m gonna ask you to do two lines of MDMA here in front of me, fully naked and take some punishment from Hugo here (he nodded at the dildo), and I’m gonna film it. And then I’ll hold on to it for insurance and that way we can be sure you won’t make another hack-piece on either me or any of my guests.”

All my wonderful fantasies had suddenly evaporated. Suddenly I didn’t care about the house-party below anymore. The idea of someone holding blackmail footage of me wasn’t an instant boner-killer. I mean, it would be nice to fuck all the wonderful studs I’d spent my gay life getting rejections from online. If only just cause I didn’t fit their strict criteria of being wealthy enough to have a private trainer and was still able to fuck with the best of them… Anyways what the fuck was Simon saying about a hack-piece? Who did he know?

“What’re are ya on about Si? What’s this about hack-pieces?”

 

Simon chuckled his deep baritone and replied “you’ll have to give me some quid pro quo before I answer that Newry” and proffered the rolled up twenty. He continued, “aren’t you curious to find out what goes on here? To get an all-access pass? You don’t think I don’t know that there’re rumours out there about me. It’s fuckin Belfast! Don’t you want to see which ones are true?”

I squeezed my gritty nose and tried to focus on what he was telling me, however the amount of MDMA that was in my system was making it difficult. All it wanted to tell me was how life can be a torrent of ease and agreeability and to lean back and stroke the soft bed spread… Not the best drug to be high on right now. I thought to myself, “I shouldn’t be making these decisions” and then countered with “but wouldn’t it be lovely to see how this “half” lives and who knows, maybe they’ll accept me?”.

 

Back and forth my inner voice went….
 

“Fucking get a hold of yourself Mike, you’re high as a fucking kite right now”. I pulled up my jockstrap over my cock again and looked for my tracksuit bottoms.

“Simon wouldn’t do anything with the tape, we’re fuck buddies now…” I absentmindedly stroked my swollen cock trapped again by the jockstrap pouch.

 

“Con warned you about him, remember ugly Eoghan”. I found my trackie bottoms, and was trying to slip them up…

“…aw but I haven’t even cum yet” I looked over longing at the bathroom door where a solid rugby player I’d been fucking was currently soaping himself up again.

…till eventually…

 

“Simon, I’ll let you film me snorting the MDMA…”

 

…deep breath…

 

 

“…but with some provisos”. I reached out and started stroking his cock. “No dildo. We’ll use your cock instead. And you’re in the shot. And I get a copy”

Simon laughed and retorted. “I don’t think you understand who has the upper hand here Mike” I glanced down at his hardening cock in my hand and laughed back at him. “I know perfectly well Simon. After all I’ve a time-honoured way of adding a little journalistic precaution. When I got to your address, I put in a phone message for my office number, detailing where I was going, and my ideas of who was gonna be there. If anything “untoward” should happen me Simon, that’s the first place my colleagues will look.”

 

I stared him down while continuing to jack him harder. His stare was intense and calculating – no dimples now. I could almost see the grudging admiration build in him, and it wasn’t the only thing that was building.  His cock was rigid in my hand now. I continued to jack him, faster, his soft tanned foreskin moving smooth over his glistening cockhead. Was that more precum oozing out now?

“Ungh… oh fuck it… alright. We’ll both film this on our phones. Send it to whatever storage you have. But it’s fucking game-over for both of us if either of these leak. And if you even think about editing the footage to doctor yourself out, I know a tonne of people who can reverse it, so don’t even think of double crossing me ya lil spide.”

“As do I” I countered, jacking him harder. I noticed the angrier he got, the harder he got and the less his elocution showed. There was a steely Belfast accent under all the softer tones. He was showing his roots.

 

His cock was pulsing in my hand now. I used his flowing precum to gently start massaging his cockhead directly.
 

He held out his hand to stop me, biting his lip. Too sensitive or too close I guess. Then taking my hand away from his cock, he shook it, glaring at me with a weird mix of respect and loathing.

“To mutually assured destruction?”

 

I grinned as I took my hand back and keeping eye contact with him, I licked a drop of precum from my thumb. “To mutually assured destruction!”

 

Just a short update this time. Will post more soon

[mike43]

Very hot can't wait for more

[rough-one]

Previously...
“Ungh… oh fuck it… alright. We’ll both film this on our phones. Send it to whatever storage you have. But it’s fucking game-over for both of us if either of these leak. And if you even think about editing the footage to doctor yourself out, I know a tonne of people who can reverse it, so don’t even think of double crossing me ya lil spide.”

“As do I” I countered, jacking him harder. I noticed the angrier he got, the harder he got and the less his elocution showed. There was a steely Belfast accent under all the softer tones. He was showing his roots.

 

His cock was pulsing in my hand now. I used his flowing precum to gently start massaging his cockhead directly.

He held out his hand to stop me, biting his lip. Too sensitive or too close I guess. Then taking my hand away from his cock, he shook it, glaring at me with a weird mix of respect and loathing.

“To mutually assured destruction?”

 

I grinned as I took my hand back and keeping eye contact with him, I licked a drop of precum from my thumb. “To mutually assured destruction!”

Right so...
 

 

Breaking eye contact I went and set up my phone. Simon got me to angle it away from the bathroom door, should Iain stumble back through. Once recording, Simon brought me over to lean over the lines of MDMA in doggy style. My bent-over arse was in the foreground of both phones. He faced the cameras and said “lets put on a show”. Looking at the footage later it was clear Simon had a lot of experience in making home videos. He knew the best positions and angles and even played to the audience a bit.

In describing what followed I’m remembering more from watching the film clip than from memory (also later I smoked a fuck-tonne of weed so that department got a bit hazy). The video begins with a close-up shot of my half-on trackies and navy jock-strap’s waistband, with a bit of builder’s cleavage in between and Simon’s beautiful face on the same level. He looked back into the cameras and licked his lips and started massaging my covered arse. Then gathering some material in each hand and slowly tugging it, inching it down, he exposed my pale ass cheeks. He pulled them apart to show my shaved pink hole for a second and then, turning to speak into my camera, he said “nice arse Mike” and then brought his hand down for a violent ringing slap.

“What the fuck?” I shouted.

“What you can’t handle a little punishment? You sure seem to be able to dish it but not take it.”

He laughed and started to massage my ass in circular motions, working both hands out and stretching my cheeks so my “rosebud” was visible, and then squeezing them back together again and kissing my bulging cheeks. Massage out, stretch, massage in, kiss, or lick, or nibble, or once even motorboat. I relaxed into the massage and started moving in-sync with his motions. This massaging motion grew slowly more forceful, his strong hands grabbing my ass-cheeks and squashing them back together. Then he changed it up to the order of “massage out, spit on my hole, massage in, spank”. Not as painful as the first spank but slightly tingly and building in intensity. On camera he’d turn with an eyebrow raised before turning back to spit on me. While this was taking place I remember drifting off by trying to remember if I ate anything since the chilli-fries at the rugby match. Would I be clean enough to get fucked? Would he want to fuck me bare? I hadn’t said I wanted condoms either.
 

Simon whacked me out of this reverie though with a well-timed smack to my right cheek. Then my left. Then straight across my asshole. What the fuck? He slapped my fuckin hole! You don’t slap someone there, not if you want it to open up? It stung like a motherfucker!

“Simon seriously lay off the spanking!”

“Get into it Mike. You asked for me and I play rough. Was that too much for you? How about this?”
 

Simon then massaged outwards and ran an extended finger to make a circle around my newly tingling spit-drenched hole. I was tense and worried that he’d immediately try and finger-fuck me, and yet all the sensation from my prostate and sphincter and everywhere between was pushing toward his hands, almost willing him to make them his. But he kept on with that wonderful circular motion he was making with the pads of his fingers. I gripped the table edge and imagined the MDMA in my blood coursing up towards Simon’s manual attentions. All my awareness was through my ass now. I could almost feel his thumb’s fingerprint ridges and whorls as he worked his spit-slime over my pucker’s pink entrance. It was a salve against the soreness and I felt my knees buckle as he added his tongue.

On camera Simon held me at just the right angle to show as much rimming as possible, but the parts that made me moan like a little bitch was when he abandoned his careful licking to dive deep into my gash and fuck his tongue and jaw into me. On camera all you saw was the back of his head and neck tensing as he let my hole have it. First the tip of his tongue, then the main part of the tongue pushing in and down to the root of it, then lapping all the way back up to the tip, and repeating. This was working wonders against my tight knot of muscle, which increasingly was loosening and letting him up inside. As his tongue worked me open I was worried for a second that I may have some… residue – fuck it – call it like it is – shit, but if there was anything up there Si never stopped or broke his pace for a moment. He fucking loved my hole. Just lapping away like a dog for ages.

Looking back at the recording of us, of him grabbing my ass cheeks in both hands, making circular motions and exposing my pink hole, I noticed how much in the beginning it looked like a bad porn, where the actors are too conscious of the camera and constantly sneaking little glances back at it. It was weird to see how much how I played to my camera – checking my position, arching my back here, double-checking with the image on the phone. I guess porn directors edit out this kind of behaviour all the time. Simon was the same early on, as he was massaging and spitting on me, he pulled back for a sec, winked at the phones, then spanked me hard and so on.

 

However this awareness of the cameras changed the more he rimmed me. We both stopped checking to see what we looked like and just went for it. His tongue on my hole. His breath on my skin. His manicured lawyer hands grabbing a fistful of each ass-cheek and leaving red finger-trails. Spit dripping down my crack in little rivulets to the front pouch of my jockstrap. Simon once more smacking down painfully.

This smack signalled the replacement of his tongue with two fingers. Simon started to work his circular motion deeper now, while conversely giving lighter gentler spankings on my rosy backside.

“Oh yeah that type of spanking is perfect, yeah, spank me again Si”. He obliged.

His spanking became more frequent, never hitting the same place twice. He deftly fit his two fingers now two knuckles deep…

“Oh fuck yeah. Make my arse red Si. This is the way I like it”

 

On the video Simon went all out, smacking my arse, watching my ass get redder and redder from overlapping handprints. Meanwhile the unspanking hand fingerfucked my hole, stretching and widening my pink pucker. After I was a glowing red all over, he went back to gently massaging me. The feeling of sensation from his hand rubbing over my tender cheeks was exquisite. Pure pleasure tinged with sharp needle pricks of pain.

I felt an emptiness as Simon pulled his digits out of me, then hearing him ask the cameras (not me?), “do you like this?”, he started rubbing his cock against my back entrance. The hooded 7” was teasing me, pushing against to almost the point of slipping in, and then rubbing up or down my crack. Simon dripped lube all over his cock and my hole and teased me. Moving up, almost in, and over. Each time he almost pushed in, I wanted to shout out “stop!” - I wasn’t ready to bareback. But the cock felt so good, there, lubed up, making a slick cunty channel in my ass-cheeks. Up, almost in, and over…Yet I was surprised I hadn’t said anything. As I purred with pleasure as his cock made another pass at my “hole-in-one”, it started to dawn on me that I didn’t actually want him to put a condom on. Somewhere deep inside me I was thrilled by the thought of bareback sex with this high-flying lawyer. Up, almost in, and over… As if when he shoved it in, he would rub off some of his success on me. Claim me. Turn me to gold with his Midas cock. The motion stuttered for a moment and I looked back to see Simon leaning back to angle the phones a little toward my head. Catching my eye coldly, he grunted “Mike now’s the time to choose whether to fuck off back to your mundane little life or not. You’ll of course leave the stash here for free and I’ll keep close tabs on ya, or …,” and with this he thrust against me, his cockhead starting to edge ever further into my hole… his steely expression not betraying a hint of pleasure from him… his pre-cummy head start to push past my hole bare…

“Or you do those two lines for the camera”. He held up his phone, “say cheese, big boy!”

“Cheese”

I snorted the two lines, and his cock slammed into me.


 

 

[rough-one]

Previously...

 

“Or you do those two lines for the camera”. He held up his phone, “say cheese, big boy!”

“Cheese”

I snorted the two lines, and his cock slammed into me.

Right so...
 

 

Now I don’t know if I mentioned, but though I love a bit of assplay, I’m pretty much as top as they come. I mean I’ve tried bottoming a whole rake of times, but it never usually gets much past the “Pull it out! Pull it out!” stage. Even Joe, the other top in my old foursome, only managed to properly fuck me a handful of times – and considering the glut of sex I had in college – that was a mere drop in the ocean. So perhaps this will tell you just how fucking high I was when I made those videos, when I suggested Simon use his cock instead of Hugo, the big black dildo, and when I let Si shove all that cock into me…

 

Still. I was a top first and foremost, and the reason for it started flooding back up my body as soon as Simon penetrated me. Try as I might, my body just doesn’t take kindly to my out-hole being used as an in-hole. My entire system just focuses on making me, through any way possible, pull the invading object out of me – It’s almost animalistic the mode I go into… Joe often ended up with a black eye or bruises elsewhere… Then there was the time I was drunk with this Spanish DJ in the Majorca nightclub who was also after a few too many cervezas. He thought he’d try his luck on me in the DJ booth. It took some inspired help from his cronies to get the music playing again after I broke the deck. Talk about a walk of shame…

Right now though I almost broke Simon’s cock twisting myself off it.

 

“What the fuck?” he asked, clearly revved up to pound my hole.

“I’m a top dude. You have your video, but I can’t take anymore of your cock – it’s too big”

 

(Classic “play for time” move – tell the top his cock is too big. They love it!)

Simon chuckled, and said “sounds like you once again can dish it, but ya can’t take it”. He looked down at my semi-hard nine and half inches. “You expect people to take your cock, but you won’t give up your ass? That doesn’t seem fair Mike” He leaned over me – I could smell the liquorice from his breath. “Then what am I gonna do with you?” I lay back on to ground and pulled me toward him, running my hands down his sweaty muscular back. I reached up and stroked his dimples…

“I can share, other guys like Iain”

Simon raised his eyebrow, and leaned in and mock-snapped at me. “I want your ass Mike”

“You can rim me for hours…”

“Shut up…” and leaned in a kissed me, pretty effectively shutting me up. His mouth was wonderful and I lost myself in his kiss as we rolled around on the floor. I still didn’t know if he was pissed off with me, or what he felt about me, but right now I was craving his touch. His fingers pinched my nipples as I clawed down his flexing back. We flipped and I hooked his knees behind my shoulders. While I worked his hole with my fingers, I looked down at his concertina-d abs and his still hard cock and managed to fish it back to my mouth with no hands. I could taste myself on him, mixed up in his pre-cum, and I knew why Iain did it to me earlier. There’s something fantastically hot about sucking your own juices off someone else’s cock. From his tensed position and the pre-cum pouring out of him again, I could tell he was loving my cock-sucking skills. He mock-snapped at me, a few times, like a trapped puppy. I started feeling even sluttier than I was before, like really slutty.. I think the last line of MDMA was kicking in. I pulled off his cock and gathered all that juicy pre-cum in my mouth, hocking up more phlegm as well and looked down at Simon. He could hear me work up my spit and in that instant eye-contact he saw what I wanted and opened his mouth wide. I spat straight down and scored. Twice in quick succession, he got a full wad of spit. Now he could taste himself too and was loving it. I leaned in over him to get up close and spat at him again – this time all over his face, then started licking it off.
 

He spat back at me. “I’ll fucking have your hole yet lad”

 

I tongued across his mouth pouring my spit into his, pulling back and still connected by a string of liquid. “Not if I have yours first!”

 

I leaned back. My thumbs hadn’t been idle. The entire time they’d be working his fuckhole with little massages and using his sweat to lube and slowly open it bit by bit. To this I added his spit, spitting down on his upturned ass. Watching that twitching hole glisten with spit and wink at me, I couldn’t resist anymore. Shuffling my legs back I dove down to eat that tasty tan pucker (How he got his hole tanned is beyond me – that must have been some funky sun-bathing). As I reached back to pull myself hard, I heard groaning from below. Simon was obviously enjoying himself. I shuffled back up again and positioned my cock at his cunt. Spitting down on his ass for lube, I looked back at Simon.

“This is for smacking me” and shoved in.

[rough-one]

Previously...
I leaned back. My thumbs hadn’t been idle. The entire time they’d be working his fuckhole with little massages and using his sweat to lube and slowly open it bit by bit. To this I added his spit, spitting down on his upturned ass. Watching that twitching hole glisten with spit and wink at me, I couldn’t resist anymore. Shuffling my legs back I dove down to eat that tasty tan pucker (How he got his hole tanned is beyond me – that must have been some funky sun-bathing). As I reached back to pull myself hard, I heard groaning from below. Simon was obviously enjoying himself. I shuffled back up again and positioned my cock at his cunt. Spitting down on his ass for lube, I looked back at Simon.

“This is for smacking me” and shoved in.

 

Right so...

I don’t which was hotter. Watching my cock bottom out in Lawyer John’s tanned hole… I mean Simon’s tanned hole, or watching his pained expression, his mouth open and grimacing, showing his perfect white teeth.

 

“Ah fuck ya wee bastard! Use a bit more lube”

 

I pulled back a good bit, giving him time to adjust. “Wait a sec” I said, and with that I picked him up (uppers always give me crazy strength) and pinned him against the wall next to the bathroom and the table with the MDMA on it. He was sandwiched with his knees in front of his shoulders and I miraculously still had my cockhead inside him. I had both hands now holding him under his ass. I looked around behind me to see my camera still pointing and showing a red-light. No lube on the floor though. Deftly I released one hand and massaging along his smooth hamstring, I brought it up to his lips and opened it to him.

“You want lube, gimme some!” He duly spat all our shared juices into it. I spat some more into it too, but the MDMA was quickly making me dry out the way ecstacy does. Locking eyes with Simon I reapplied the lube and pushed back in.

The extra lines of MDMA were definitely kicking in at this point as I started to plunge into that silver fox’s cunt. The last few minutes of his phone footage showed me leaning my forehead against Simon’s and making a hrunnghing noise as my bubble butt worked up a sweat pumping in and out of that tight gym toned hole. At some point when Simon reached up with one hand to steady my fucking and stroke my cheek I heard some beeps from his phone, which meant it had stopped recording. I was getting close. Pumping faster and faster.
 

I leaned in to kiss that beautiful bastard. Both of us were dry from the MDMA as we explored eachother’s mouths
“I may still have battery in my own phone, if you want to record me cumming in you?” I asked, breathing raggedly...

He looked at me, ineffectually trying to stroke his own cock while being sandwiched. “Just cum in me ya bastard”

 

I didn’t need any more encouragement. I let loose, slamming my pelvis into his ass. The slaps rang out between us as our sweaty bodies collided with ever building force. The bathroom door opened with the force I was pounding against its wall.

I was sucking in air faster and faster… “Oh fuck yeah. That’s it”

 

Simon look directly into my eyes “Cum in me ya little shit. Seed my hole.”

I closed my eyes with pleasure. The moment was coming. I felt a little shock as Simon spit across my face. “Look at me while you cum ya bastard”

 

I obeyed the bossy bottom, slamming his back against the wall with renewed energy. I leaned in and covered his mouth with mine, as much to shut him up as to kiss him. He resisted and twisted under me. I just pressed on.

 

Then lightning struck. The combination of MDMA and cumming electrified and shuddered through my system – I could literally feel each drop build in my ball and push out through my urethra and spray his ass walls in rhythmic spurts, till I was dry.…  Simon and I were both groaning as we mashed our smiling teeth together, feeling each spurt together, every sensation entwined… For a few seconds we were locked together in this glorious chemmed and cummed up universe, propped up beside the open bathroom door.

Then the spell broke. Iain, popped his head around, still high as kite. “That was some show lads!” he said, as he stood over the toilet, working Hugo further into his own hole. With the giant black dildo standing up from the toilet lid, positioned right between his muscular cheeks, Iain lifted himself off and reapplied even more lube from the bottle – ah there it fucking was!

I pulled out of Simon with a sigh of relief and he shakily found his feet. The MDMA was still buzzing in my system, there was no way I wanted to leave this horny set-up yet, just cause I came.

 

I looked past Simon to his bathroom sink, noticing the glasses filled with toothbrushes under the cabinet. “Glass of water?” He nodded silently, reaching around to investigate his battered hole.  I rmoved in past Iain, (once more grunting as he strove to conquer mount Hugo) and was surprised once again to feel his warm mouth envelope my cummy cock. I was pretty sensitive so I had to pull back. “Easy Iain, I’m a bit tender down there. Let me get this water and you can finish the job” I filled and passed a glass to Simon and gulped mine myself, mentally willing myself to focus a bit more. Iain took the opportunity to once again lap at my salty cock and this time I let him, the water triggering a wave of slutty sensations flowing through my drugged-fucked brain…

 

Iain’s tongue was slurping all around my cockhead past my foreskin. Looking back, I could see Simon sniffing his cum-covered fingers and he reached over to give me a whiff too. He lowered his fingers to my hole and pushed my cum into my hole. I pushed back on him, two fingers, two knuckles deep. Oh Fuck! I was being assaulted at both ends and was loving it. All our combined smells were intoxicating. The smell of Iain’s ass juice and lube as he continued to mount the dildo was getting me horny again, and though I didn’t think I’d be able to get hard so soon Iain’s (now full-on) blow-job was helping inordinately.

In a moment of lucidity, I spoke up,  “Iain, Simon, that feels amazing, but I’ve just cum. Gimme an hour or so”

Simon smiled and said “I can help you there Mike. Iain, pass me the Caverjects” Oh fuck! I heard about these – instant boner injections.

 

Iain reached behind himself, showing some serious muscle-pit, and opened the bathroom cabinet above the sink. Pulling out some boxes he passed a bag full of goodies to Simon, but not before I saw a baggy full of what I hoped were ecstacy pills in it.

 
Behind me I looked to see my phone’s red light was off too. Good. I didn’t want this act recorded.

Simon was prepping the injection and swabbed my cock with some alcohol. Looking back it’s a good thing I was high too as I would never, in the sober light of day, let another man, especially a high one, go near my cock with a needle.

A short jab and a wipe and a press-down of cotton on the injection site, and I watched in awe as I could feel the rush of blood redirect itself to my cock. Simon told me “Count down from a hundred and watch your cock”. Time measurement isn’t great when you’re fucked up, but it seemed to me I could almost see my cock growing. Within less than, I guessed, two minutes, it was rockhard and edging on ten inches. Iain’s eyes lit up at my cock. Simon quipped “down boy, let wee Mike here have a moment to heal up”. He turned to me “should I be calling you Newry10?” and we laughed and headed back over to the table.

 

Simon had prepared six lines and as Iain gave up on Hugo’s last 4 inches and came in and joined us, we spent the next ten minutes snorting lines and reviewing our fuck-videos. Iain agreed with us, that Simon’s was the hotter angle, but mine was the longer clip. On mine, there was even a clip of Iain’s lower half trying to take Hugo as the bathroom door banged open near the end, but he assured me it wasn’t incriminating.

I heard a beep and saw a characteristic mask symbol on the top of my phone – who was messaging me this late? I opened Grindr in full view of Simon and Iain and there was another message from Gavin “Why you up sexy?”

Simon reached over and nabbed my phone before I could reply. He quickly scrolled through the flirty banter we’d posted in the last few days. Looking at Gavin’s private pics in the conversation, he asked, “the lad’s pretty hot, do you want him to come over?” Gavin was a pretty hot half-Pakistani nurse with curly brown hair and over the last few months we’d been slowly sending eachother more revealing pics. Gavin’s last one was a pic of him in one of those Andrew Christian neon-green jockstraps, which framed his caramel brown ass perfectly and brought our his green-hazel eyes. This pic in particular was the one which inspired one of my BBRT profile pics. I started to stammer a reply – that we’d never properly followed through on our dates, that these pics were just constant teasing and it was slowly becoming one of those odd grindr friendships but Simon cut me off. “If you want him, tell him to come over. None of this bullshit time-wasting nonsense. Hang on…”

With that Simon quickly typed some sort of reply and then got me and Iain to stand up beside him. With all our dicks pointing outward over the MDMA table, Simon took a photo of them from the abs down. Two (and a half) six-packs and 22/23 inches of cock, and a fuck load of drugs. Before I could protest, he sent it with a message “all teasing aside, get over here if you want the night of your life” and his address. And we waited…

 

Bing. A simple reply. A smiley face with the big O, and the words “nice one. On my way”
 

As Simon put our phones away, he turned and said “now that that wee bit of insurance is covered, will ya say after me: “Whatever happens in this apartment doesn’t leave this apartment” Gay slag’s honour” I repeated what Simon said, then giggled thinking about the kid’s game “Simon Says” and told the others. Iain laughed too, but Simon didn’t. I guess he heard it a few times by then. He was busy rooting through the bottom of his wardrobe. Iain pulled me in for a passionate and bone-crushing snog – the MDMA was kicking in again, and when I surfaced for air I looked back to see Simon holding a tray and a pile of leather. A leather dog mask, a harness, chaps and a jock strap specifically.

“Wear this”

“Seriously? I’m not really into pup-play?”

 

“Wear it Mike, and from now on we call you Dealer Dog y’hear? You too Iain” Iain looked up and nodded and went back to his new favourite game – pushing my cock down to its limit and then letting it spring back to my belly again. I tried to protest again, but Simon was having none of it. Iain started sucking on me again while I was distracted.

“Fuck Mike” Iain said, to be immediately corrected by Simon, “I mean Dealer Dog” he hurriedly added and continued, “you’re gonna be pretty popular downstairs.”

Realising I must have let myself into a proper leather party, I resigned myself to wearing the outfit. In fact a part of me was kinda turned on by the whole set-up. I buckled on the mask and jockstrap, with Iain helping me with the chaps. Meanwhile Simon busied himself preparing lines of MDMA all over the tray. It seemed weird to stare out of the leather eyeholes and bite inside the leather jaw. Weird but not off-putting.

Simon thrust the tray into my hand and went to the door. He pushed a switch beside the light-switch with a speaker and spoke into it.

“Attention my bulls, in a minute I’ll be releasing a terrier into the bullpen. Treat him nicely and he might give you a sniff of his wonderful supply. Don’t overwhelm him though, and just call him “Dealer-Dog” and he might even let you rub his belly, or if you’re really sweet, give you a taste of his ten-inch cock. I heard a roar of approval downstairs.

Simon opened the door and picking up Hugo, he pointed me out. He turned to Iain, who was sprawled on the bed, and said…

“Simon says ‘let’s get this thing all the way inside you’”

…and shut the door.

So there I was bearing a tray of MDMA and trussed up better than a leather-freak at Folsom. I looked down at the jutting oak-beam staircase, hearing the throbbing house beats coming from below and thought “better begin my descent…”

[rough-one]

Previously...
So there I was bearing a tray of MDMA and trussed up better than a leather-freak at Folsom. I looked down at the jutting oak-beam staircase, hearing the throbbing house beats coming from below and thought “better begin my descent…”

Right so...
Taking it easy, I descended down the steps. Someone was playing some slick R&B and it took me a while to figure out the song just before the chorus struck – “No Diggity!” Ah of course! I was a little annoyed with myself that I didn’t get it quicker, but I was mostly concentrating on getting down the precarious stairs without falling flat on my face… or worse, spilling the drugs.

First thing I thought, heading down, was “fuck it’s hot with all this gear on”. The room temperature didn’t help and I guess having a lot of guys fucking in a confined space for the last six hours will heat things up literally. The lighting was also really dim and I could barely see out of the mask. On the last step I tripped and almost dropped all the drugs when I was suddenly grabbed by two stunning black guys. Both were wearing just jockstraps and had dark black skin. The slightly shorter and more muscular one greeted me with a camp raspy cockney accent.

“Alright mate, or should I say mister Dealer Dog, I’m Jay, and that’s Karl”.

 

He pointed at the somewhat stoic taller guy. Jay had that classic cockney accent like a black Del-Boy from Only Fools and Horses.

 

“Good thing we caught you innit? Don’t want you messing up all that sweet powder”

 

He rattled on, “anyways we thought we’d come here and see what her Majesty has brought us. After all, we tradesfolk have got to stick together eh?” and with that ran a finger down my chest to my belly-button. Pulling his finger back, he licked it teasingly and asked, “may I?” I nodded and he deftly bent over and snorted a line of MDMA off the tray. He passed the rolled twenty-pound note to Karl who looked back at him for reassurance and then hesitantly ducked down. He raised a manicured eye-brow, both of the guys had artfully maintained facial hair, with Jay sporting a little soulpatch and Karl with a goatee. “Our Karl here, is a bit new to the scene” he said apologetically, “but we’re both not here for our conversation abilities…” at this point he grabbed my hand and slipped it down his own jockstrap.

 

Wow.

 

That was a lot of cock.

 

Still not breaking rhythm, Jay had continued, “…two twelve inch West Indian tops and now with the Cialis from earlier kickin’ in, we’ll be the bulls of the party, so ya better hide your kids and hide your wife…” I chuckled at his joke and was about to ask him about the whole “bull” theme, but Jay had once again picked up his patter. “…Maybe after that we’ll have to have a look at what’s hiding under all that leather darling” He ran his fingers up and down my stomach. I quivered, partly from the attention and partly cause I love a good cockney accent, like how his “darling” sounded to me like “darlink”. He reminded me of this rough east-end couple I spent a weekend with in London somewhere in Brixton. I never knew where exactly – they had a taxi pick me up from London Bridge and drop me off there in a drug haze three days later. They lived in a rough neighbourhood but they were minted. They just were both whorish bottoms who loved their cocaine, and my dick up their ass while they topped eachother. Remembering that sweaty coke-fuelled scene, I made a low throaty growl. He smiled and continued “Well it seems this pup likes his tummy rubbed, but that’s for later. Right now, follow me”

 

Jay quickly linked my arm and motioned me over to the kitchen counter. I could see shapes at the other end of the kitchen – seeing through the mask and the dim lighting was tough, but I thought I could make out two couples fucking. Jay set the tray down on the counter and began nonchalantly scraping an MDMA pile with a butterknife. I looked past him to see that Karl was effectively blocking anyone’s view of Jay’s pilfering, as he scraped up 6 lines worth of powder into a little plastic baggy. He continued,  “…y’see, Yours truly has a good relationship with her Highness up there” he nodded back up the staircase, “and while I always have a wonderful time pounding all the ass she offers, it can get a little wearying and I need to stash away all the chemical help I can get.” He nodded toward to the humping shapes in the corner. “Especially when this greedy bunch are done with it…”

 

Opening another baggy (I don’t know to this day where he kept them!), Jay scooped out a bump and snorted it, adding afterward “just a little coke for the road, cause I can bet you, now that she’s sent you down here to the herd”, again he nodded toward the staircase, “she’ll want someone to help her open up that pale-assed rugby player.” I laughed and said my first word to Jay since I met him, which was some achievement as that lad was in full coked-up babble-mode.

“Hugo?”

Jay turned to me and laughed, “sweetheart, when your host has a fetish, no, no, a life-calling, to see Big…(he took a breath for effect – Jay was nothing if not dramatic), Black…. (another dramatic pause) Cock… disappear into pale Irish-boys’ asses, all while she’s spun high on all the letters of the alphabet. Well lets just say, I don’t have to worry about competition from some dildo! I mean why else would he fly us over here for every party.” I nodded, it was pretty much the only reaction I could give in the dog mask. “…although I may need to worry about competition from you”, he continued, stepping close to rub my leather encased cock.

 

With Jay’s attention, and also with the healthy dose of Caverject, my meat sprang to life and strained against the jock. I groaned as Jay’s quick hands unbuttoned the leather jock-covering and let me free. Jay motioned Karl to stand in from of both of us and then whispered in Karl’s ear. He duly got to his knees and fished out Jay’s cock to position it semi-hard beside mine. Wordlessly he started jacking us both. I looked down at my pale pink-headed glistening cock with Karl’s mahogany fingers working me up and down, and I started to see the appeal of Simon’s fetish. From a pure aesthetic point of view, the contrast of pale white (and they don’t get much paler than Northern Irish lads) and the deep black of these two lads, was something elegant and yet lustful. The kinda thing you’d see for sale as a coffee-table book in the gay section in Waterstones bookshop with some poncy title like “Ebony and Ivory by Richard Mapplethorpe” – C’mon lads, we all know it’s fucking porn, don’t pretend it’s art!

The contrast between Jay’s and my cock grew (literally as well as figuratively) as Karl jacked us to hardness. Now I could see he wasn’t exaggerating and had at least two inches on me. Pushing us both together with our backs against the kitchen counter, Karl struggled to fit us both into his mouth. Now that was fucking hot. I looked down at my white cock by Jay’s thick black meat –his was hardening up to be also about an inch wider in girth – and as I’ve mentioned before, I’m very girthy. Poor Karl only managed to fit about the top third of our cocks into his mouth. I ran my finger down along his goatee and tried to stick my thumb in beside my cock – I couldn’t – his lips were stretched completely taut around the both of us. I turned to face Jay.

 

“Well Jay?”

 

“I think that’s at least ten inches, and I think we’re going to have to teach Karl a lesson in deep throating. Wanna go first Mister Dog Man?”

 

As he said that the MDMA was enhancing every movement Karl made with my cock. I couldn’t remember it ever being so sensitive. Jay was following an easy cock-pumping rhythm with Karl’s mouth, in counterpoint to my own. The tightness, and Karl’s tongue trying to rub under first my cockhead and then Jay’s. It was all a stimulus overload.

Jay asked again “do you want to go first?” I replied, “kiss me and I’ll do whatever you say…” and with that I pulled the dog mask up till the snout was covering my eyes and freeing up my mouth. Jay smiled and leaned into me…

 

Total stimulus overload… Oh fuck!

 

Jay’s pillowy black lips and tongue began invading my mouth. I was sweating profusely under the chaps and mask, and it felt like the sweat was joining the MDMA and I was awash with some sort of joy liquid that was seeping out of my every pore. Running his fingers across my chest, running the sweat droplets on my chest into little rivulets, it felt like Jay was tracing some pleasure tattoo on my skin, and everywhere he touched, shone. Running his fingers up over the harness and down my back, he worked his way down to the small of my back. There I had laces that Iain had secured to keep my chaps on. Running his index finger across each taut lace like a slow guitar player, Jay teased me with his tongue, swooping in and then feather light. Meanwhile I felt the muffled slurping from Karl below. Fucking heaven!

 

Jays fingers eventually past all the laces and down to my sweaty exposed ass. He pulled back his fingers for a second and then sought out my hole, so I moved my legs further apart to give him access. Oddly his fingers felt already lubed up as he started to work my ring – I guessed it was my sweat. Shortly after that I relaxed and gave him some more access and felt a gritty burning sensation as his fingers worked themselves, one, then two inside.

“Hmm…” I pulled back from the kiss and the fingerfuck more than a bit quizzical. I wasn’t a fool and knew a booty bump when I felt it. Which admittedly was only the second times I’d done one.

 

“What the fuck was on your fingers Jay?”

He chuckled and raised his eyebrows.
 

“How about you guess Dog Boy?”
 

“Well I’m not here to be fucked” I remonstrated gently but firmly, “so let’s give Karl more attention here” and with that I pulled the dog mask back down. Turning back to the younger of the two, I pushed my cock forcefully to the back of his mouth, dislodging Jay. It was more than a little bit on-purpose, cause while I was all for chemmed-up fun, it needed to be on my terms. I needed to know what I was putting in my body, and I needed to make that informed choice. Below Karl gagged but then managed to keep me in. I smiled at him encouragingly. I was getting a bit more of my cock into his throat with each thrust. Karl definitely knew what he was putting in his body, which I hoped would progress to being all ten inches of me, very soon.

 

As I refocussed on Karl, Jay whispered into my ear “sorry Dog Man, I didn’t mean to be rude, let me repair the situation” and with that he ducked down to the floor.

 

Next thing I know, while I’m really properly starting to test Karl’s gag reflexes (short answer – pretty decent control for a kid his age – I later found out he was just 19 and straight seemingly???), I feel a rasping tongue at my crack. Jay was down there to eat out all of what he bumped into me. Fucking awesome sauce!! With the MDMA I could already feel every lap of Jay’s tongue as he pulled my ass-cheeks apart and dove deep. Legs splayed and propped between two hot black guys licking and sucking from both ends, I was in heaven. My ass was starting to feel tingly and warm from Jay and whatever he was now trying to lap out of it. I could do this all night…

 

Beep beep.

Next thing we all heard, was a beeping intercom noise and Simon’s disembodied voice requesting “Jay and Karl, please report to the master bedroom”

 

The boys disengaged.

Jay looks up at me with a wet smile, “Tubi Kunhinew Igess?”

 

I looked at him quizzically, “what?”

 

He swallowed and tried to be clearer, “tu be conthinued, I guess. Thuck! That cuk’s making ny tung numg”

 

I laughed at him and helped him and Karl stand up. I said “I should probably deliver this MDMA anyways” as I waved them off and turned back to the tray. Looking at the forms at the end of the kitchen I could make out two couples both in end-game fucking. They seemed fairly preoccupied, so I decided to turn toward the living room area instead and see who I could meet.  Holding the tray in front of me  (almost like a shield between me and the room) I saw four guys on a couch and two others were further over behind the bookcase. 
 

Oh nice one!

I immediately noticed some familiar faces from the bar. On the couch looking from left to right, it was none other than Sven the Nordic barman was being blown by the hot Germanic lad from the bar, who was on all fours stretched across a guy I couldn’t see but who had a beautiful 8 inch cock with blond pubes, and to his right was a fourth young looking brunette guy who was rimming the German. Blond pubes was hidden cause he was on the other side of the Teutonic stallion giving him head and so his lower half was scooted out more on the ground, long legs splayed, cock on display. Did I mentions that his cock was beautiful. It was so reassuringly heavy looking, semi-hard and shiny, and reminded me of Jeff Palmer’s monster-cock. It also looked recently sucked by the way it glistened. I licked my lips under my mask. I was gonna enjoy getting to know everyone here. Then I looked back over to the fourth guy. He looked pretty familiar too. Was he also with Simon in the bar earlier?

 

I stopped walking. Fuck!

 

Fuuuuuck!

 

That was Kurk McCaimble! Fucking KURK MCCAIMBLE!!!!

 

The young lad who had been the centre of a media storm surrounding religious bigot politicians and a real-life Mrs Robinson! Licking some hot smooth skinned German’s ass. Fuck fuck fuck!!

 

No wonder Simon was wondering about my loyalty. That guy was a prize scoop for any journo to do a feature on. I’d already written a few. Oh… Maybe that’s what Simon was referring to when he talked about my hack-pieces.

 

I realised the guys were all looking at me, and cleared my throat.

 

“Hi guys - anyone interested in a line or two of MDMA?”

Sven looked over at me and said “Hey lads, the dealer dog is here! Here boy! C’mere boy!” and patted his knee.

Oh boy. This was gonna be a tough night.

[roguematrix]

fucking loing this story , shot a couple of loads to it already. keep up the great work.