Date: Mon, 29 Feb 2016 20:35:24 +0100
From: Robert Rickman <BrSpPrn@gmx.com>
Subject: Gay Celebrity Eastenders Sex 1

Eastenders is the property of the BBC. I own neither the property nor the
characters and am making no profit. This story says nothing about the
actors involved, and has nothing to do with real life whatsoever. Only read
if you're 18 or older.

I'm happy to hear your ideas or thoughts.

Please donate to Nifty and its incredible archive.

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Kush was like something out of the movies, as far as Martin was concerned.

Unfortunately, they'd turned out to be horror movies.

He'd thought Kush was his best mate. They'd had their bustups, but Kush had
really been there for him with the worst of Stacey's sectioning. He'd come
to lean on Kush. Kush was strong, in body and mind - he'd overcome so much
Martin couldn't imagine. Martin wanted to be comforted by him...wanted to
spend time with him. He used to think he wanted to be Kush, but lately he'd
started to have dreams...hands and mouths and rock hard, dueling
cocks. He'd studied the way Kush bulged in his trousers and wanted to touch
him...suck his first cock (well his first since his partying and
drug-taking days back when he'd run over pouty-mouthed teen idol Jamie
Mitchell). Kush's cock.

Martin didn't like to remember those thoughts, especially not after the bad
time he'd given his ex-wife Sonia for being with women, but a few times,
when he'd been drunk enough...like a few nights earlier, when they'd gone
out for some beers and pub crawls...he even would have settled for kissing
Kush. Just wanted to see what his lips tasted like.

Now he knew why Kush had been around. Not because he cared about Martin, or
even about Stacey, but because he was the dad of Martin's son with
Stacey. Or he used to be Martin's son, anyway.

He still loved little Arthur, but right now it hurt looking at him. He left
the baby with Sonia and her annoying girlfriend, not telling them when he'd
be back, knowing he might never be.

Kush wasn't around - probably for the best because Martin wanted to either
beat or shag him senseless, and he knew neither was a good idea right now.

He couldn't face the Vic either - with Walford the way it had always been,
most of them probably knew the truth and would either laugh at him or pour
booze down his neck out of pity. Well, he could pour his own booze.

He was sitting on the curb outside the car lot, drinking from a cheap
bottle of plonk, when a familiar-but-unfamiliar young man smiled down at
him.

"Want some company?"

Martin waved a sozzled hand.

"Ain't got no money...and with a mouth like that, betcha charge plenty."

The lad's smile faded, and Martin felt sad about that. He had such a lovely
smile - such nice lips. Bow, Martin thought they were called. And dark
blonde, wavy hair that looked darker in the street lamps.

"Sorry...sorry...sorry..." Martin said, stumbling as he tried to stand
up. He cringed as the bottle smashed to the ground - the loudest smash in
the world.

The lad kept him from falling over, the smile back now, a little more
hesitant. He had a big nose, like everyone always told Martin he had, and
hazel-brown eyes. They were so close now, not helped by the lad continuing
to hold onto his slight stomach even after he'd regained his balance. He'd
never had a 6-pack, aside from the one in the back of the fridge, and he'd
often stared at Kush's killer abs, wondering how to get them...or what
they'd taste like against his tongue.

"Don't mind me bein' a fattie?" he slurred.

The lad stared at him like he had three heads.

"You're gorgeous," he purred, or it sounded like that to Martin in his
current state of booze bliss.

And then the lad leaned forward, so close they shared one breath, and
Martin knew he was supposed to push the other man away, or punch him, but
no one had let him this close in months, and even then Stacey had cringed
every time he'd gone near. He hadn't felt wanted in years. He just couldn't
fight this. Not when it made him feel even warmer than the crap wine.

Martin kissed first - knowing how needy he was, and not caring. He'd
thought it would be different with a bloke, but if it was, he couldn't
notice a difference. Not with such a baby face. All he knew was he felt
good, pushing the bow lips open with his tongue, the whimper from the other
man at the feel of Martin's light stubble going right to his cock.

When they kissed, he even managed to forget they were in public and that
Dot Cotton could clutch her cardie at any moment. Those lips were even
softer than he'd imagined. He wanted to lick them, bite them...and he did,
allowing the plonk to break against the pavement as he pulled the young man
close, trouser crotch to denim bulge. He cupped the shapely rear in his
large hands. Firmer than the lasses he'd groped, but just as full.

He was sobering up enough to be embarrassed at his loud groan when the lad
pulled away.

"Where can we go?" he said to Martin, lips spit-shined and red.

"C-Car lot..." Martin managed, stealing another kiss. The lad looked so
young now, fresh-faced and breathless. "How old are ya..."

He rolled his eyes, like he'd heard that more than a few times before.

"Here."

Martin couldn't make out much of the information he yanked from his wallet,
but he remembered enough basic math to go for a 19 or 20.

"Car lot," Martin forced out, the tent in the lad's trousers at his raspy
voice making it easier to take him by the hand and drunkenly drag him along
to the abandoned lot.

"It's locked! FUCK!"

Before Martin's shouting brought out half the street, the younger man
kissed him into silence, then bent over to a hiding place, giving Martin a
good view of his sweet cheeks pushed against the tight fabric.

"You been here before?" Martin asked, adjusting his bulge.

He got a shrug in response as February-bitten fingers trembled against the
doorknob.

"Used to know the owner - well, my tongue knew his arse pretty well. Never
gave a damn about the rest. Did have a nice cock though. Bet it isn't as
nice as yours though."

The wink made Martin blush as they made their way inside the office, the
lad quickly rummaging to find some candles and lube.

"Max always came prepared..." he said, impishly grinning at his own joke.

Martin was too busy shivering at the tin can of an office to notice. He
thought there was a space heater around, but this place had already burnt
down enough times without his help.

"Wimp," the other man whispered in his ear. Martin leaned in for another
kiss, only to realize he was the only one wearing a coat and a
jumper...although his coat soon met the floor.

"Cold," he said, running his thumbs over the other man's erect nipples,
pinching them hard to get a satisfactory gasp. They were larger than he'd
expected - pink/peach and easy to squeeze.

His arms were raised above his head as his red jumper disappeared, his
undershirt soon following.

He had no time to freeze before he was wrapped into a tight hug, and a
passionate kiss. The candlelight danced in the other man's eyes and made
them sparkle.

"Need to see ya..." he rasped as he felt his jeans being lowered, meaty
thighs still warmed by baggy white boxers.

"You first," the lad teased, not giving Martin a chance to respond before
yanking his boxers down. Even with the cold, he was hard and leaking, a
slick thud heard throughout the office as his girth slapped against his
belly.

"You really ARE a fattie," the lad teased, licking his lips as he wrapped a
slender hand around the juicy piece.

Martin, desperately needy to see that young flesh now, roughly tore at his
trousers, belt loops whizzing from the fast emptying of leather, slacks
shoved to the ground along with tight lime green briefs. He could make out
a surprisingly long, thick dick, a real handful...a two-hander, probably.

"Runs in the family," he winked at Martin, who couldn't resist wrapping his
beefy fingers around the rapidly hardening flesh. The first time since his
perpetually drunk teen years that he'd put his hands on another man's
cock. This was better, somehow - because he knew he really wanted it.

"Greedy," the lad jeered, smacking Martin's fat knob with one hand,
squeezing his gut with the other. The mix of pain and pleasure and the
alcohol left in his system made Martin's knees weak.

Good thing he had a more sober companion to keep him steady...now kneeling
on the floor, looking up at him with lust and wonder as he pulled back
Martin's baggy foreskin, lolling his tongue around the pink crown.

Martin grunted, fingers tight in the dark curls as half of his throbbing
cock was swallowed up in one go.

Two hands reached around to grope his fleshy bottom, squeezing the chunky
arse, kneading it, using it as motivation as the lad contorted his head to
take in more of Martin's cock.

"I-I-I..." Martin barely managed as he looked down to see a hungry throat
gobbling him to his bushy pubes, then, with a devilish grin, oh-so-slowly
sliding down until nothing but the tip was left on his tongue.

"Please..." Martin heard himself whining, unprepared when he was spun
around, so fast that his engorgement slapped the lad on the cheek.

Next thing he heard and felt was his cheeks being spread open, and a loud,
dirty spitting sound.

"I ain't...ain't showered..." he said, ashamed, because why would someone
so bloody gorgeous want someone so filthy?

He got his answer with the sudden feeling of warmth burrowing against his
hairy crack, a long tongue slowly exploring his insides...cleaning him.

"Nasty...dirty boy...fuckin' slag..." he moaned, not sure if he was talking
about the lad or himself.

He bent over, elbows on the nearby chair, giving more access as the tongue
scaled down his taint, dared to wrap itself around one, then the other of
his saggy, hairy balls.

The tongue vanished. He was about to humiliate himself by begging for it
back when he felt a long, thick shaft of flesh gliding inside his wet
arsehole.

His eyes widened.

"Don't worry," the lad taunted with a rough squeeze of his jiggly
backside. "I want you to fuck me."

Martin squinted.

"Got no condom..."

The other man shrugged as he not-so-gently shoved Martin into the chair,
coating Martin's turgid shaft with one lubed grip while the other steadily
finger-fucked himself.

"I don't care."

Martin wanted to object, but when the lad spread his cheeks to give Martin
a perfect view of his smooth, winking hole, he somehow lost the words.

Martin spread his legs wide, tugging at his low-hangers and stroking
himself.

"You look like a whore," the lad said, his own voice husky now as he
cautiously began to straddle Martin's thick waist, taking in his rigid
shaft inch by inch.

Martin gritted his teeth at the merciless absorption of his throbbing
penis, unable to stop himself from thrusting upward when he knew he was
nearly balls deep. The whimper and ropey shot of pre-cum told him he'd hit
the other man's prostate.

No one, nothing had ever felt this tight or this good around his cock. Yet
the other man looked so sure of himself. It made Martin want to rattle him.

He leaned over, while he was drunk and horny enough to have less doubt, and
took the unsheathed bell end of the pulsating, obscenely long erection into
his mouth.

"Sorry...sorry..." the lad whispered, not able to stop himself as he began
shooting volley after volley, creamy white cum coating Martin's neck and
tits and chin and lips.

His shapely and powerful arse cheeks clenched tight onto Martin's
fit-to-burst shaft. Martin hoped for soundproof walls as he shouted, a
louder shout for each fresh load of sperm he dumped into the warm,
constrictive hole.

He slumped his head down onto the younger man's neck, upset when his new
lover began to pull away, pull out. He was too tired to argue, too tired to
do anything but return the lazy, sleepy kiss the lad gave him. Probably out
of pity, but he hoped, out of desire.

"After you sleep it off, join me at the Vic for a drink," he said, throwing
his briefs over Martin's head as a thank you pressie.

Martin did doze for an hour or two, but the cold spoiled his exhaustion. He
managed to find some of those mini towel things and cleaned himself up,
sucked on an old breath mint to get rid of the cum taste. A taste he knew
he wanted more of.

When he finally got to the pub, it was near closing, but he saw his
lad. Standing behind the counter, pulling pints, oddly enough.

"This one's for you. On me," he said, smiling serenely, angelically.

Martin, even more confused, took the pint, quickly downing it.

"Think this boy here fancies ya," Mick Carter, daddy bear proprietor of the
Queen Vic, growled, tossing an arm around the lad's shoulder.

Martin gulped.

"C'mon, dad...he's like...ancient. Almost as old as you."

Dad? Dad?

Mick gently slapped his son on the side of the head.

"Oi, Martin. Never did get to do the meet and greets, did ya? This is me
boy...Johnny Carter."

Martin's eyes widened. The Johnny Carter. Baby of the Carter family. Their
most precious possession. And Martin had just given him enough raw loads to
fill up a porn flick.

"Nice to meet ya," Johnny said, extending his hand, smiling that
oh-so-innocent smile.

Martin managed to put out his own hand, shaking in return.

Mick didn't notice just how long it took both of them to let go.