Date: Tue, 31 Jul 2012 11:57:22 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tony Williams <tonywill9999@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Bit of Rough

     I'd caught the last tube out of the West End and now I'm walking the
last half mile to my house in St. John's Wood.  I have a choice, I can take
the underpass to the other side of the fenced main street or I can walk a
quarter mile in each direction to cross at a traffic light.  The safe
option would be the long walk, but I decide to take a risk and do what's
not recommended, namely use the underpass late at night.  London is not
always a safe city.  I head into the trash strewn pedestrian tunnel.
Halfway along, it dog-legs, for no good reason, so part of its length is
not visible from either end.  This is where the danger lies, but I press on
into the dark.  Most of the fluorescent lights aren't working.  As I turn
into the dog-leg, I see two figures leaning against the concrete wall.  One
of them pushes off the wall and stands in my path.  I feel a shiver of fear
run down my spine.  Is this where I get mugged?
     "Got the time, mate?"  His cockney accent is rough.
     I peer at my watch.  "It's hard to see in this light.  It must be
close to midnight."  I look at him.  He's in his early twenties, wearing a
T shirt with the sleeves rolled right up to his shoulders showing his large
muscles and a number of cheap looking tatoos, mostly daggers and snakes.
Below, he wears soiled jeans and heavy work boots.  His ginger hair is
close cropped and his face betrays a cruel hardness.  His companion steps
away from the wall and I see he has a large scar down one cheek.  Similarly
dressed and inked, he looks, if anything, even more dangerous than his
friend. They're now standing right in my path and as I try to step to one
side, Ginger puts his hand on my chest.
     "Not so fast, Fuckface.  Wanna buy some weed?"
     As it happens, I am out of marijuana, and I'd like to smoke a joint
before I go to bed, so I hesitate.
     "I've got a regular supplier.  I'd rather deal with him, but thank
you, anyway."
     Ginger turns to his friend.  "Fuckin' posh bloke," he says with a
sneer.  "Too fuckin' stuck up to buy our shit."
     "Prolly a fuckin' poufter," says Scarface, "a fuckin' nonce, a
shirtlifter."
     "Just one joint," says Ginger, pulling a battered looking roll up from
his pocket.  "Cost ya a tenner, that's all."
     "Ten quid for that?" I say, derisively.  "How do I know it's not
cigarette tobacco?"
     "Smoke it right 'ere," says Scarface.  "Come on, we need the money.
It's wicked shit."
     They're clearly not going to let me pass so I decide the best thing to
do is go along with them.  They're a scary pair, but the danger has an edge
of excitement to it.
     "Okay," I say, pulling out my wallet and removing a couple of fivers.
"Here you go."  I hand him the money but before I can put my wallet back in
my pocket, Scarface snatches it out of my hand and peers into it.
     "Two fuckin' quid?" he exclaims, removing the last of my cash.  "Is
that the best you can do?  Rich bloke like you should be fuckin' loaded."
     "I don't like to carry a lot of cash.  You never know whom you might
meet."
     "Whom?" he snorts, derisively, "Whom?  What's wrong wiv 'oo'?  Fuckin'
posh cunt!"
     He hands my wallet back with a sneer and I put it in my pocket before
they get any ideas about taking my credit cards.  Ginger hands me the joint
and flicks his bic to light it.  I inhale deeply, holding the smoke down in
my lungs.  I can feel the buzz immediately.  Scarface was right, it is good
shit.
     "Where ya goin'?" asks Ginger.
     "Home."
     "Where ya bin?" asks Scarface.  His accent, if anything is even
coarser with a hint of threat in his voice.
     "The Royal Opera House, at the ballet," I say.
     They both chortle.  "Fuckin' ballet!  Told ya he was a fuckin'
poufter," says Scarface.  "Only fuckin' nonces go to the ballet."  His
voice drips with contempt.
     "Hetereosexuals go, too," I protest.
     "Yeah," sneers Ginger.  "They go to see those poncey blokes with their
cocks and balls in a bunch in their tights.  That's wot you buggers like to
look at."
     "I have to confess I do find them attractive."
     They both hoot.  "That proves it," says Scarface, "you're a fucking
queer, ain't ya?  I bet you like to suck dick."  He's hit the nail right on
the head.  I take a long pull on the joint and pass it to him.  "Ta," he
says, with unexpected politeness, takes a drag and hands it to Ginger.
"'Ow may cocks you sucked, then?"
     "You mean all of them?  Since I was a boy?"
     "Yeah, 'ow many?"
     "Let's see.  I started when I was eleven, so that's five or six years
in school, and then two years in the army and two years since, at the rate
of about two dicks a week, that's . . .somewhere near a thousand."
     "It don't count if you suck the same dick twice."
     "I'm not.  I'm counting fresh dicks.  If you count them all it must
run to thousands."
     They snigger.  Ginger takes a pull on the joint and hands it back to
me.  It's nearly finished and I hold it with my finger tips and take the
last drag from it.
     "You're a fuckin' whore," says Ginger.  My fear has diminished.  If
they were gloing to beat me up, they'd have started by now, so I relax, my
excitement rising, wanting them to do whatever they like to me, to heap
abuse and humilitation on me and, with luck, savagely rape me and force me
to fellate them.
     "A fuckin' slut," says Scarface.  I love being verbally abused.  I can
feel my cock getting stiff.  "How'd ya like to suck mine?  I've got a big,
stiff, smelly dick right 'ere, just for you, you fuckin' faggot."  He
unzips his jeans and lets them drop to his kness, revealing the fact that
he's not wearing underwear, something that I would never do, but on this
ruffian, is strangley attractive.  Out pops a semi-rigid uncut cock of a
quite appreciable size.  Ginger stands behind me, puts his hands on my
shoulders and forces me to my knees.  I can smell the stale sweat on
Scarface's body.  My suit pants are going to get dirty, but I can always
get them cleaned.  My heart begins to pound, half fear, half joy as
Scarface pushes his cock against my face and rolls back his foreskin.  The
sharp, heady aroma of unwashed cock makes my dick go instantly stiff.  "Go
on, bitch!  Suck my fuckin' cock!"  I open my mouth and he pushes it in to
the back of my throat.  I'm accustomed to having a cock right against my
tonsils, so I don't gag.  He starts to thrust it in and out.  "You love
this, don'tcha?"  I nod my head.  "See, Ginge, 'e likes it.  'E fuckin'
likes it!"
     "I bet 'e likes it up 'is fuckin' arse, too," says Ginger.
     "Mmmm," I say, nodding my head again.  My cock is rigid in my pants.
     "Fuckin' wicked," says Scarface, pulling his dick out of my mouth.
"You'll love it, won'tcha, you'll love my big dirty cock up your fuckin'
cunt."
     "I will," I say, trying to get my breath back.  "Being fucked is a
wonderful experience.  You should try it."
     "No fuckin' chance.  Wotcha fink I am, a fuckin' queer?  But if you
wanna get fucked, you're gonna 'ave to beg for it."
     "Yeah," says Ginger, his contempt clear in his voice.  "Beg 'im for
it, you fuckin' slut!"
     I look up at Scarface, seeing the cruelty in his narrow eyes.  "Fuck
me!" I plead.  "I need a big stiff dick up my arse.  Ram it into me!  Fuck
my brians out, you fucking brute!  Rape me!  Molest me!"
     "Molest?" queries Scarface.  "Molest?  That for little kids.  I'm not
into little kids.  I bet you are though, fuckin' faggot!"
     "A young boy is nice, but I prefer a big grown man like you, a man
with a big, rock hard dick.  Go ahead, shove it up my arse!"
     "Say 'please'," he says, grinning.
     "Oh please, please fuck me!  I'm dying for it.  I haven't been fucked
in days and my arse is hungry for cock.  Please!  I'm begging you!  Slam it
into me now."
     He moves behind me, reaches round, unzips my pants and pulls them down
to my knees.  "Oh, take a butchers at this, Ginge.  Pink knickers!"
     "They're not knickers," I protest, "they're silk boxers."
     "Fuckin' silk," says Scarface, running his hand over my bum.  "Nice
feel.  I'm about to fuck 'is fuckin' Lordship."  He pulls my boxers down
and I can feel the tip of his cock against my hole.  I push back, but he's
not ready yet.  "Fuck 'is face, Ginge.  Shove yer cock in 'is mouf."
Ginger pulls his cock from his jeans.
     "Oh, yeah," I groan.  Ginger drops to his knees in front of me,
spreads his thighs and pulls my head down into his crotch.  I feel as if
I'm going to heaven, with two rough, dirty louts defiling me, a cock at
each end.  I want to plead to Scarface again to fuck me savagely, but my
mouth is suddenly full of Ginger's cock.  This one is circumcised, and has
less of that delicious cock smell, but it still feels very satisfying in my
mouth.  I run my tongue over his glans and hear him groan.  Then, oh what
deep joy!  Scarface pushes his cock into me, all the way in with a single
thrust.  I don't feel any pain, my sphincter having been well stretched
over the years, and the feel of the whole length of his cock sliding up my
arse is indescribably wonderful.  I let out a big sigh through my nose.
Scarface's hips slam against my buttocks as he thrusts himself into me, and
I relax on the in stroke and grip him on the out stroke, milking his cock.
It won't be long before he cums, which is what I want, then I'll ask, or
better still beg, Ginger to fuck me.  I need all the dick I can get.  I
stop licking his glans, simply masturbating him with my lips.  I know that
circumcised guys can last for much longer than uncut men, and I don't want
him to cum just yet, though a mouthful of warm semen is one of the great
joys of life.  I can feel Scarface speeding up and I push back to meet his
thrusts, then he lets out a long, loud groan, and I feel his cock pulse
inside me as he shoots his load.
     "Fuck, oh fuck, fuck!" he yells with his final lunges.  "Shit, that
was good, you little fuckin' whore!  Even better than fuckin' a pussy."  He
pulls his cock out, leaving me feel empty and hungry for more.
     I take my mouth off Ginger's cock.  "Jesus, I needed that!" I croak.
"You sure know how to fuck a guy."  I look up at Ginger and say, "Your turn
now.  Finish me off.  Bugger me, you fucking thug!  Sodomise my hungry
hole!  Fuck me like your mate just did, only harder and deeper!"  I hear
Scarface laugh, and from the corner of my eye I can see he's wiping his
dick on the lower edge of his T shirt.
     "'E really wants it, Ginge," he says.  "Can't keep the customer
waiting.  Come 'ere and fuck 'im.  Slam your Johnson up 'is shit chute!"  I
shiver with delight at the thought as he kneels behind me, puts the tip of
his cock to my hole and lunges in.  His cock, if anything is bigger than
his mate's and the sweat runs down my face as I let him violate and
humiliate me.  He's in no hurry and takes his time, giving me long, regular
thrusts of his iron hard cock as deep as it will go, his hands on my hips
pulling me on to him.  He withdraws until it almost falls out, then rams it
back in again.  My head is spinning, my heart pounding.  I'm in absolute
heaven.
     "Now there's a sight for sore eyes," says Scarface as he stands off to
one side looking at us.  ""Me old mate Ginger fuckin' a fuckin' posh
poufter.  I wish I 'ad a camera."
     "There's my mobile phone in my pants pocket," I gasp.  "Use that and
take some pics."
     "'E wants to be famous," says Scarface, bending down to fumble in the
pants round my knees and finding my phone.  He starts snapping pictures.
"Blokes down the pub will like these."  Being photographed in the act of
being sodomised by two brutal thugs makes me even more excited.  Who knows
who will see the pictures?  With luck, they'll end up on the internet for
the whole world to see.  I push back to meet Gingers thrusts.  Minutes go
by, and I'm lost in a fog of pure lust, blissfully happy in my abject
humiliation, wishing it will never end.  Ginger sure has stamina.  Scarface
is looking on, impressed by his mate's performance.
     "Fuck me!" he says, "I'm actually gettin' 'ard again.  Who'd a
believed it, just minutes after I come up 'is fuckin' arse!"
     "Shove it in 'is gob," says Ginger.  "Give 'im a nice load of cum to
swallow."
     As Scarface kneels in front of me, I reach out, grip his cock and pull
it towards me, my mouth gaping.
     "Fuckin' cunt can't wait for it," he grunts as my lips close round his
cock.  Although minutes earlier, it was right up my arse, there's no bitter
taste on his cock.  Prior to leaving home, I'd given myself a deep triple
enema.  One never knows whom one may encounter, and it's best to be
prepared as most men like me to be clean.  If there are any pathogens on
his cock, they'll be my pathogens, so I'm not likely to get hepatitis.  In
any case, I'm too far gone to worry about such trivialities, as I swim in
an ocean of utter pleasure.  "Fuckin' bitch-slut-cunt-faggotty cocksucker,"
he sneers, "can't get enough, can ya?  Betchya sucked your Daddy's dick,
dintcha?"  As it happens I did.  It was he who taught me to love cock.  I
nod my head and reach one hand up to fondle his balls.  Ginger is still
pounding away at my arse which eagerly accepts its glorious violation.
"You fink 'e drinks piss, Ginge?"
     "Prolly.  All faggots like piss, they say."  Once again, I nod my
head.
     "'Ere goes, you fuckin' cunt.  Take this!"  My mouth fills with hot
piss and I swallow frantically to keep up with his vigorous flow.  He must
have been drinking beer all night because the flavour is quite mild, very
tasty in fact and I'm able to get a dozen or more mouthfuls before his
bladder empties.  "Yer right, Ginge, 'e does like it.  Jesus, wotcha doin'
with your tongue, you sexy fucker?  Oh, fuck!  Jesus!  E's makin' me cum!
Shit, 'ere it cums, Fuckface!  Yeeeaaaah!  Oh, sweet Christ, I've cum
again, twice in ten fuckin' minutes!"  Although he shoots only a small
load, it has a lovely strong flavour and I roll it round my mouth, then
look up at Scarface, my lips apart so he can see his cum in there.
"Swallow, you whore!"  I oblige, then lick my lips.  He wipes his dick
again on his T shirt.  Ginger speeds up and I know he's right on the edge.
     "Cum for me, you fucking savage!" I croak, my voice hoarse with lust.
"Fill me up with cum.  Rape my hungry arse!  Make me your bitch."  Then a
dozen vicious lunges of his hips tell me that he's cumming, pumping his hot
cream right up my love hole, and the thrill is so overwhelming that my own
orgasm hits like a breaking wave, even though I haven't even touched my
cock.  My semen shoots out on to the cement floor, some of it dripping on
to my underpants bunched round my knees.
     "Jesus, I've cum, too!" I gasp.  "Your magnificent dick has made me
cum, you gorgeous boy!"  I wipe tears of joy from my face.
     Ginger pulls his cock from my hole and stands up.  "Fuckin' queer," he
sneers.  "Can't stand fuckin' faggots!"  I'll never fathom how a man can
fuck me and hate me at the same time, but his contempt has added an extra
thrill to the encounter.  "Come on, mate, let's fuck orf."  They zip up
their jeans, and Scarface puts my mobile in his pocket.  A phone is a small
price to pay for the intense thrill I've just experienced.
     "You come this way often?" asks Scarface.
     "Most nights," I lie.  "Around midnight or so."
     "See yer, then."  He and Ginger head off without so much as a thank
you, though I feel as though it should be me thanking them.  Their voices
echo off the grimy cement walls.  "Wait 'til the boys down the pub 'ear
about this.  That big nigga fucker, wot's 'is face, Jacko, wudda liked it."
     "And your mate, Butch, the one with the ten inch cock.  'E said 'e
fucked a lot of blokes in the nick."
     "It ain't ten inches, I've seen it.  Can't be more than eight.
Bigger'n mine, though."  They're voices are growing fainter and I strain to
hear them.
     "I bet Lord Silky Knickers could 'andle four blokes, dontcha think?
One up 'is arse, one in 'is mouf and one in each 'and?"
     "No problem, fuckin' slutty whore like 'im."
     They're briefly visible in the street light at the end of the tunnel
and then they turn left and disappear.  "Thank you," I call, but they don't
hear me.  I stand, pull my cum stained boxers up over my cock.  I can feel
cum dripping from my arse as I pull my pants up and zip them.  I dust off
my bruised knees and start walking home, my arse aching, but feeling
beautifully satisfied.  This is going to be my regular route home from now
on.
     What a perfect evening!  The ballet was so moving it nearly made me
weep.  Two bits of rough DID make me weep.

The End.

To find my other stories, email me at tonywill9999@yahoo.com.  All emails
will be answered.