Under The Roar Of Jets

[chunkychains]

A short one for today. Inspiration this time came in part from HungPig - search for “Breeding ass in the woods” on XVideos.

 

I knew I had found the right spot when I saw a few guys hanging around, furtively looking at one another while notionally checking their phones. A few of them glanced up at me as I approached, and then as I looked around I saw the logs that the guy had told me about. A jet thundered overhead, mere seconds from touchdown at Heathrow, whilst the M25 provided a constant background din that I realised must be helpful for keeping the activities here undetected. 

Looking around some more to make sure everyone was legit, I realised I could make out Terminal 5 through the trees. I felt a flutter of excitement in my stomach at what was about to happen, so close to a place where I was regularly suited, booted, sipping a glass of champagne in the lounge, and waiting to board a plane to wherever the job was taking me next.

But today I was in trainers, jogging bottoms, a hoodie and my glasses. There was no champagne, and no plane to board, but I was certainly hoping to set off on a journey. After months of disappointment, either being flaked out on by tops all around the world, or the few positive encounters I did have resulting in nothing, I was determined that this time I would get what I was seeking. My contact assured me he would turn up, but even if he did not he had said I would have no problem getting what I wanted. This spot was an unspoken place for gifted men to assemble, and any fresh meat that arrived here always got a lot of attention. I was that fresh meat today, and I just prayed I had not been led on again with false promises.

I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves, looking around a bit until I made eye contact twice in quick succession with one of the men already loitering. He was in jeans, a white vest, a leather cap and sported a big moustache, looking like a gay stereotype straight out of the early 80s, but it totally worked for me. He held my gaze the third time our eyes met, and then subtly nodded towards the log. I inhaled the last of my cigarette and then chucked it in my empty Coke can, before walking over to the pile of stumps. The vested man approached me, stopping when he was right next to me and placing his hand gently on one of my buttocks.

“You bottom?” he said.

I just nodded in response, before turning round to face the logs. I pulled down my jogging bottoms, my skin exposed given I was only wearing a thin white jock underneath. My hole was already loosened and lubed thanks to the plug I had worn on the drive over from Richmond, and the man realised this as he slid a finger in. This was quickly removed, and after the sounds of him undoing his belt and jeans, his cock was pressed against my hole and began its journey inside.

“You poz boy?” he asked, once buried inside.

“No sir” I replied.

“On prep?”

“No sir” I repeated.

“Chasing?”

“Yes sir” I said.

At that point another jet roared overhead, temporarily making it impossible to hear anything else.

“Then let’s give you what you came for” he loudly growled, once the plane had passed. He then started to thrust.

In normal life I am vers, possibly even more vers-top these days, and would never normally be into getting gangbanged. But on that day, surrounded by those bushes, jets roaring overhead on their way into Heathrow, and my nose being bombarded with competing aromas of aviation fuel, poppers, lube and cum, I took them all. I never changed position, never straightened up, and never asked for a break. I smoked the occasional cigarette, took a few sips of water from the small bottle in my hoodie front pocket, and regularly inhaled from any bottle of poppers I was offered, but I was there to finally get it done and I was not for wavering.

A few of the men were verbal about their status, and I encouraged all of them to breed me and pass on their gift. Maybe some of the others were also poz, maybe they weren’t, but I was not going to be picky while I was on my mission. I don’t even know if my contact ever did show up, but I didn’t care. Every load that went into me could be helping me towards my target, whether the man at its source knew it or not, and I wanted as many possible exposures as I could get. This needed to finally happen for me so that I could get on with being the man I already felt I was, and that meant being an unashamed, unfiltered, unconcerned cumdump for a day. Any extra riders that I picked up would be dealt with as needed, all in the name of the goal I had been striving to reach for so long. The men were tall, short, old, young, fat, thin, white, black, and everything else you could imagine. Some stuck around and used me more than once, others seemed to appear out of nowhere and then disappear without a trace. I just stayed where I was, doing what I had gone all that way to do.

I went home dripping, sore, tired, but excited. Over the next few days I tried in vain to find some other suitable candidates to add to what I had taken, but as usual all I encountered was a sea of flakes and undetectables. But I need not have worried, as five days after my day under the flightpath, I began to feel decidedly unwell.

The first glass of champagne in the lounge is now always subtly raised in the rough direction of that spot, a small but personal sign of thanks from me to the men who so graciously shared. I then raise the glass again a second time, thinking of the many men who have since received a gift from me, particularly any that have been added to my list since I last visited the airport. I then sit and drink the rest of that first glass in satisfied peace, gently rubbing my stomach through the fabric of the dark shirts I now wear, almost able to feel the outline of the special symbol inked into my skin and the virus coursing through my veins. Only once this ritual is over do I get out the laptop and begin to work, saving for the plane any further thoughts about the ongoing mission. But whether it be Bangkok, Boston, Buenos Aires or Brisbane, there’s a world of men out there looking for what I’ve got, and they’re all just the roar of a jet away…

Edited 5 hours ago by chunkychains

[sleazebugga]

Chunkychins you are on a fucking roll. Yet another piece of excellent hardon inducing poz writing. 😈😈😈☣️☣️😈😈😈.

Keep it cumming 😁

[kitpig]

Great short story, and it is something I would love to experience to charge me up!!

[onlyraw]

Another beautifully written fucking hot story …..

i love the dismissiveness and disdain of “as usual all I encountered was a sea of flakes and undetectables”

thank you!!!

[drscorpio]

Shorter is fine sometimes. 
Sometimes you want to be fucked until your hole is wrecked. 
Sometimes you just want the load.