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Caught behind the Bike shed.
Public Grindr date with a brutal leatherman and a corrupt politician.
Picture this: My name is Ricky Walker, a 20-year-old muscle jock who stands tall, not just literally but in spirit too. When I’m not buried in college textbooks, you’ll find me at my favorite escape – the local sports park. This place is my playground and sanctuary, where adrenaline meets laughter.
I thrive on staying fit, not just for myself but for the camaraderie I share with my friends. Whether I’m sprinting down the track, mastering tricks on my skateboard, or shooting hoops on the basketball court, every moment pushes me to my limits in the best way possible. I feel most alive at this public sports park. Surrounded by the thrill of competition or simply having fun.
Even though the sports park has a bad reputation. Allegedly, many junkies, graffiti artists, and pedophiles preying on little boys and girls hang around the wooded edges. I’ve been warned about potential issues at the sports park, but honestly, so far, I haven’t had any problems there.
Life in Dogwood, USA, is treating me well. I have a pleasant two-bedroom apartment near the college and a good part-time job at a local trucker bar. Although it’s not the biggest city, there are still 33000 people living in this sprawling wooded area.
The main issue here is the homophobic stance of our county mayor and aldermen, who claim to keep the city ‘clean’ by limiting places like nightclubs and adult stores. Ironically, this suppression has led to a blossoming gay community but too few spots to meet. That’s important to me because, while living with my parents, I couldn’t bring a guy home to make out. And I do like to test the waters before I dive in. I enjoy exploring, and this story is about a spot that I recently found by accident.
Anyway, I was cycling to the “Light District - Sports Park” with my skateboard strapped to my backpack. Years ago, the city had bought all the plots around the abandoned light bulb factory and turned it into this enjoyable sprawling park. It had a few areas for different ball sports. And even a communal swimming pool, an athletics track, and an outdoor gym.
Surrounding the wooded edges were inviting trails that beckoned walkers, joggers, and mountain bikers alike. The back entrance to the park, conveniently located close to my home, offered an easy access point. Here, a quaint L-shaped covered bike rack nestled behind a rustic sports canteen. It provided a spot for cyclists to park their bicycles, mopeds, or scooters. The grimy shed rested on a low brick foundation. The wooden graffitied back walls blocked the view from the encroaching wilderness behind it, shielding them from prying eyes.
It was just a few steps away from the vibrant skate park and bustling soccer fields. The fences and structures were adorned with thick layers of graffiti paint, transforming the environment into a dingy canvas of urban art. Despite its surroundings, the brick canteen near the park’s back entrance thrived with life, likely due to the ample parking spaces out front. Yet, some hoodlum had changed the park’s sign by the bike shed to ‘Red Light Dickstrickt.’
That is an apt name. The stories that went around were horrifying. People allegedly got dragged into the bushes and molested. Or worse.
Heck, one of those stories told of a girl who had gotten into an argument with her friends. She got jumped and beaten up. They left her unconscious behind some bike shed. After some guy found the young woman, fourteen guys took turns using and abusing the virgin cunt for several hours. Apparently, they all got away with it. However, it was the catalyst of the park’s lousy rap. What happened to the girl, the story did not tell. But I am sure she’s a virgin no more.
I’ve also heard whispers of a clandestine gay meeting spot for men seeking connections in the secluded corners of the sports park area. However, despite my curiosity, I never stumbled upon this elusive cruising area. Not that I ever actively sought it out. I’m not really the kind of guy to pursue sexual encounters hidden in the bushes. Ever since I started college and moved out, Willy had been yearning for some extra excitement. It seemed long overdue for a bit of attention, given how quiet things had been lately.
When I rode my bicycle around the back of the cafeteria, a virile motorbiker overtook me at speed. The poser nearly ran me off the narrow footpath into the bushes. I heard him coming up from behind and looked aside. I had to drive on the path’s edge not to get run over by him. A few yards on, and he would have shoved me headfirst into the vandalized wooden fence. It lined the paved path on one side. And back there, the sports canteen butted right up on the other side.
The muscle-bound leather stud exuded an irresistible allure as he cruised down the concrete footpath. He was dressed in his eye-catching leather jeans, an unzipped black biker jacket, and tall, commanding boots. His black sleeveless V-neck T-shirt, daringly cut and laced at the neckline, accentuated his chiseled physique to perfection. With a tantalizing three-day stubble and wavy black hair that danced in the wind, he resembled a modern-day Adonis. Eschewing a crash helmet, he embraced the thrill of the ride with only a leather cap, sunglasses, and sleek black leather gloves for protection. Overall, it was a fantastic look for a bronzed muscular specimen like him. But he aggressively drove around as if he owned the place.
Behind the blind wall of the sports canteen stands a wooden L-shaped bike shed on low brick walls. A public men’s toilet had been created in the corner where the two sheds met. The stories of that place were even more gruesome than the rape of that girl. I have never even looked inside the toilet. And I doubt I ever will. I like my balls too much for them to get cut off with a rusty raiser at the glory holes.
On the paved square, formed by the large L-shaped bicycle shed and the cafeteria, were a few parking spaces for scooters and mopeds, too. However, the motorized two-wheeler parking spots were usually accessed from the front of the cafeteria parking lot. Not via the narrow footpath the biker and I had taken.
The buff man kept looking over at me. At the time, we were the only people back here. I had the sense the biker was looking at me. Even though my back was turned to him, I could feel his eyes on me. When I sneaked a look around, I saw the man groping his crotch. After I locked my bicycle to the rack, I left for the skate park. The biker walked toward me, heading in the other direction we had come from. In and of itself, nothing odd so far.
The man looked me up and down as we approached each other. Evidently, he liked what he saw. And that feeling was mutual. He grabbed his crotch again and rubbed his hand over his leather-clad cock. I smiled embarrassedly back at him. However, the biker walked straight past me. Heading back up to the path he came from. I could not understand why he went back there. The sports park was the other way. It was clear he wasn’t here to work out.
All the while, I was so focused on the hand massaging the bulge that I had completely forgotten to take my backpack and skateboard with me. When I looked over my shoulder, the man had mysteriously disappeared from sight. Where had he gone?
My brain was confused, but my dick had other ideas. It had pitched a 7-inch tent in my tracksuit. Ridiculous really. This guy was way out of my league and was at least ten years older than me. I clapped a hand to myself as I stupidly strolled back to my bicycle to pick up my board. I am not sure that was such a good idea. My cock was itching for release. My nuts needed to dump their load so badly that my hand unknowingly disappeared into my army-green joggers.
Standing next to my bicycle under cover of the wooden bike shed, I stroked my dick in my sweatpants. I enjoyed the welcome hot massage – a little too much. I lost track of time and place. Anyone could have walked in on me!
Not that they would have minded. Judging by the obscene, pornographic texts and images scribbled with permanent markers on the wooden slats. Or the dirty garbage on the floor. The litter of cigarette butts, syringes, porn magazines, and used condoms that lay around the bike racks. No, this place really wasn’t the cleanest spot in town. And it had evidently not been swept in years.
As I secretly continued jacking off, I read a few of the naughty texts on the wall. They were calling for cocks to be sucked. Complete with pictures of what that would look like. Or they gave phone numbers to be contacted for ‘a good time’. Surprisingly, quite a few of these texts were of a gay nature. Or maybe that was just my view of them. I don’t know, but it turned me on, nevertheless.
However, my ears caught the faint murmur of a disturbance emanating from the shadows behind the bike shed walls. Instead of heading to the skatepark as I had initially planned, I found myself rooted to the spot, curiosity anchoring my feet to the ground. I strained to hear their voices drifting through the air, but the words remained elusive. It was evident that the two men were embroiled in a heated exchange. They did not sound angry but rather tense. With an almost suffocating vigor, rife with unspoken desires and lustful anxiety.
The older man expressed an ardent longing for the other man to take him on an exhilarating and daring public sexual encounter. Making out in those bushes behind the bike shed. The thrill of that public spot fueled both their hidden desires. It clearly pushed the boundaries of their everyday mundane lives.
Peering intently toward the source of the sound, I noticed a faint glow filtering through a knothole in one of the graffitied wooden slats of the shed. My curiosity ignited, pulling me forward with an irresistible thrill. As I darted eagerly around to the other side of the L-shaped building, the muffled voices transformed into a lively and intimate discussion, each word tinged with a mixture of excitement and mischief. Eavesdropping felt delightfully illicit, a thrilling secret that stirred my senses. Yet, despite the improved clarity of their conversation from this vantage point, the tiny hole prevented me from catching a glimpse of the two figures behind it.
The younger-sounding guy dominated the older man. He forced him to worship his muscles, making him smell his sweaty armpits and ordering him to lick his boots.
The older man struggled against this. He was there for sex. He kept telling the younger man so. Yet the older man was reluctant at the same time. Or perhaps that was part of his way to play. Coy and hard to get.
Their horny discussion excited me even more. Although, I could not envision myself engaging in disgusting sexual endeavors in public like that. I had to stop touching my dick in an effort not to cream my pants. Now I knew who one of them was. The biker I had met minutes before. My dirty mind formed a picture of the two guys behind the shed. But the scene was a little disappointing, to say the least. My curiosity wanted to see the action live and in person. It was lust as I had never experienced before.
With a throbbing heart and panting slightly, I hitched my backpack over my shoulder. Walking back up the paved footpath. I looked for an entry point through the heavily vandalized wooden fence. Trying to get to the bushes behind the bike shed. It couldn’t hurt to take a sneaky look, would it? The thrill of slipping behind the shed to see what was going on ignited a surge of sexual exhilaration within me. My heart raced with anticipation as a flurry of questions flooded my mind: What would I see? What would they do if they saw me looking?
The thrill felt so deliciously forbidden! Ignoring the warning bells that echoed in my thoughts, I pushed through a narrow gap in the wooden fence. Years of mischief and adventure had forged well-worn paths and clearings in the underbrush. Trails wound like serpents between these enigmatic spaces, and the scattered remnants left behind whispered tales of wild sexual escapades and daring souls who had once roamed this secluded retreat. The scent of earth mingled with the hint of adventure in the air, promising discoveries just waiting to unfold. By the litter strewn around, what people sought back here became apparent. Sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll!
It was a well-used workout area of a very different kind. Hidden from view by the densely planted bushes and trees. Even the later addition of the wooden fences did not deter people from sneaking behind the bike shed. But no one was lallygagging around the back of the L-shaped building.
Following their voices, I pressed on through the dense bushes. Adrenaline surged through me in waves. After weaving quietly through the thick underbrush, I finally spotted the biker and his companion. I remained camouflaged, blending in seamlessly into my surroundings. I was feeling happy that I wore my green tracksuit bottoms and camo shirt this morning. With my Nike baseball cap tugged over my brow, casting a shadow over my eyes, I watched the two of them. I quietly crouched down with my heart pounding in my throat. Observing their every move, ready for whatever thrill lay ahead.
The scene was much nastier than my dirty brain had envisioned. Leaning up against the back of the bike shed, the biker towered over the suited businessman. From here, I could not see who the older man was. He had his back turned to me. That he was a little bitch was quite clear, though. The biker made him lick his boot. At the same time, the other trampling foot had left several footprints on the back of the businessman’s blue suit jacket. The biker pulled back his necktie, holding it like a leash. Choking the older man a little and making it deliberately hard for him to reach the biker’s boot.
The biker was a true foul-mouthed Alpha. And he was clearly enjoying the attention from the graying older man-bitch. The biker’s semi-erect cock was delineated beautifully in the shiny leather jeans. The midday sun had created a perfect shadow, outlining the size and shape of his impressive member. There was something odd about the pants the biker wore, though. The black zipper wasn’t half-hidden like regular jeans. Instead, it seemed to continue from the front, between his legs, all the way to the back.
My knees were starting to hurt. I had knelt on a twig, and it loudly snapped as I repositioned myself. My face reddened as the biker looked straight at me. My position was compromised. I was caught! What Now?
Instead of angrily calling out to me, the biker brutally commanded the businessman to slowly lick up his pant legs. Preventing the other from looking around. The older man complied willingly. He still had his back turned to me.
Thankfully, both of them ignored me. Should I stay, or should I go? My heart told me to leave, but the dirty devil on my shoulder wanted me to stay. Ordering me to reveal myself and joining in licking the biker’s leather jeans. Wondering what it would be like to get dominated by a brute like him. This was better than watching porn online.
With his legs spread apart, the biker bent over the businessman’s back. He used his gloved hands to smack the older man’s backside. However, what he did next surprised the both of us. The biker grabbed the blue office pants and ripped the ass-seem open in one go. Revealing the boxers of the man. It got brutally torn open as well. Giving me a view of the full moon. A hairy full moon. Still, one where I could make out the pink crater between the spread hairy cheeks.
The biker nastily grinned as he looked up at me. He spat in the palm of his gloved hand and lubed the cheeks. Forcefully driving a finger in the hole. Making the businessman cringe in pain and squeal like the dirty piggy he was. The merciless biker did not back away, though. He kept fingering the ass with first one, then two fingers. All the while maintaining eye contact with me. It was as if he was urging me to join them. Keeping the older man facing into his leathered crotch.
I froze in place. My body felt instantly paralyzed. I was caught! Detected behind the bike shed, watching two grown men having sex in public.
Caught by the rugged biker with a fiery look in his eyes that sent shivers down my spine. The sunlight glinted off the tight leather this muscle stud wore, making him seem almost otherworldly. I couldn’t shake the overwhelming desire that coursed through me. I longed to be the guy on his knees before him, wholly vulnerable and willing to submit.
The moment left me breathless, confusion and exhilaration churning in my mind. I knew this situation felt wrong, yet every instinct told me to stay put. The weight of the tension pressed down on me, leaving me torn between the urge to flee and the magnetic pull of his gaze. Could I really turn away from something I craved so profoundly? The question loomed, paralyzing me further.
The biker appeared entirely unfazed by my sneaky presence, hidden amid the foliage like a dirty voyeur. In fact, he seemed to revel in the attention, exuding an air of confidence that only heightened my tension. With a commanding presence, he directed his gaze back to the older man. Grabbing the man’s gray-haired face and running it purposefully over his leathered legs. Forcing the older man’s tongue into his crotch. He raised his gaze to heaven as the businessman started to lick the leather bulge.
The biker somehow seemed familiar to me. I had seen his face somewhere before. And even his friend rang a bell when he called, “... Please... Piss over me. I want it. Vermeer... Piss in my face, Sir.”
It was not the disgusting suggestion the older man had made that rang a bell. It was his voice that I recognized. The news reports were rife with nasty statements from this Christian homophobic politician.
And the biker’s name, Vermeer, was even more familiar to me. The 32-year-old, John Vermeer, was a well-known café owner. In fact, Vermeer had several drinking establishments in the area. He even owned the truckers bar where I worked at. But I never saw him there.
The entrepreneur was always looking to expand his businesses in town. But the career politician at his feet had more than once personally prevented Vermeer from opening his dream gay club. The newspapers were full of stories of Vermeer and the city doing battle. The other man’s name also popped into my mind as I thought about those news clippings. Alderman Pieterson had been on the city council for as long as I could remember. He was the reason the conservative council always seemed to find an excuse to stop Vermeer. So far, John Vermeer owned several bars and clubs. But he wanted to open a nightclub specially for the gay community.
Knowing Vermeer a little, he wanted more than just another dance club. He wanted one with a gay playroom dungeon. And that was a big no-no as far as homophobic alderman Pieterson was concerned.
And yet, here he was. On his knees in front of an up-and-top gay Alpha dawg. Hoping to get pissed on. Acting the gay bitch. The two-faced bastard! What would his wife say if she knew her husband’s sneaky hobby? Fuck, forget his wife, what would the council say? The press would have a field day with this news.
“Teeth... Mind those fucking Teeth!” screamed Vermeer, suddenly outraged at Pieterson.
“Sorry, Sir... I am so sorry. Please, don’t hit me,” whimpered Pieterson.
But the alderman had made it sound as if he did want to be hit.
“Lick the leather. Use your tongue. Go on!... Serve me, bitch. No words, action!” shouted John down at Pieterson.
However, Vermeer did slap the alderman around the ears after he cowardly muttered, “... Yes, Sir!”
“TEETH!... What the fuck? I am going to teach you some manners! If you can’t even lick a cock, then you don’t deserve to suck it... Get off, pig! I’ll get someone else to do that. You can watch how it’s done.”
John Vermeer’s piercing gaze locked onto mine. I was still cowering behind the dense thicket. Yet, he gestured for me to join the biker and the submissive alderman. Without a second thought, I sprang to my feet, leaving my backpack and board behind as if they were mere afterthoughts. The brambles seemed to part almost magically at my approach, their thorns retreating as I wove my way through the tangled underbrush. In what felt like an instant, I stood at John’s side, his warmth enveloping me.
He wrapped a leathered arm around my waist, pulling me close, while his other hand seized a fistful of Pieterson’s unruly gray hair, compelling him to bear witness to the undeniable spark that crackled between us. Our lips met in a fervent kiss, igniting a flame of passion that felt as powerful as the rustling leaves around us.
“Now, That’s more like it! I am glad you decided to join us, kid... Fuck you’re cute!” panted John hotly after we broke apart.
I slowly stroked a hand over the scorchingly hot leather crotch. Gauging the size of the tool I had to work with. The tough biker wasn’t much longer than mine. Although a little more girthy. As I slid down one of John’s legs, I looked up at him, softly asking, “... Can I?”
“Please do, buddy. Show the bitch how it’s done,” suggested Vermeer in heat.
“WHAT? Who is he?... I texted you for a private Grindr date. And I paid you, Vermeer!” said Pieterson, outraged.
“One thing, Pieterson,” I said derisively, “... If you go on an outside Grindr date, you risk being interrupted.”
Still stroking the fat bulge over the leather jeans, “... And another thing, if you wanted it to be private, you should not have asked to be pissed on... I got the video evidence!” I snarled at the alderman. Pointing to a square bulge in my joggers. The alderman looked shocked at my tracksuit and started to sweat and tremble profusely. The leather man just squinted his eyes at me but said nothing.
“Now sit back, pig... And watch me warm this fat cock up for your ass. I’ll make sure this biker has some jizz left to breed you,” I called loudly to the corrupt politician. Pushing the old man onto the ground against the bike shed’s brick wall.
As I looked up at John, my fingers slowly teased the long zipper open to well below his smooth balls. Fishing out the hot cock from the right-side pantleg. Vermeer put a gloved hand on top of my head as I set to work. While I held the stiffening shaft around the base with my thumb and forefinger, I smacked the glans on my outstretched tongue. Cupping the elongated nutsack with the rest of my fingers. John Vermeer started to breathe a lot faster. Talking dirty at me and Pieterson. The alderman just watched in stunned amazement at me.
I could taste the leather on Vermeer’s cock. The biker was eight inches and quite thick. The cut, shapely dickhead was already a little wet. I swiped the precum from the piss slit and eagerly tasted it. I felt the hand on my head tighten as Vermeer’s hips started to inch forward. He wanted to rape my throat. But I wasn’t ready for that yet. So I pushed back as I looked warningly up. First at John, then to the side at Alderman Pieterson.
I locked my gaze with the flabbergasted Pieterson and twisted my tongue over John’s shapely cockhead. Taking the dick slowly between my lips and twirling my tongue around the underside of the glans. The brutal biker harshly ordered me to suck him off. Again, I looked warningly up at Vermeer.
He changed tack in a split second. Dropping the dominating tone of voice and begging me to lick his shaft and balls instead. I was not about to get abused by the biker. I wanted to suck him off, yet on my terms. And my swift warning gaze must have conveyed that message to Vermeer. The man let me do my thing.
All the while, I kept a close eye on the shocked Pieterson. After licking up and down the heavy shaft a few times, I sucked the low-hanging fruits in my mouth. Making John moan even more dirty, and his cock head produce much more precum.
This disgustingly nasty action in these bushes had sent my brain whirling. I came to the conclusion I liked the sex but not the location. So, after some quick thinking, I released the biker from my mouth and asked Pieterson, “... Do you like what you see?”
Pieterson grumbled a disrespectful, “... Grumpff... Yeah... So what?”
For that rude outburst, Vermeer smacked Pieterson around the head again.
“The asshole is going to blackmail us!” called an enraged alderman to Vermeer, “... You should hit him. Not me!” stammered Pieterson.
“Oh... I thought you like to get hit,” laughed John as he slammed a gloved fist into the alderman’s face.
“That is Enough!... Sir,” I called up to Vermeer. And to my surprise, John stopped right away.
I looked at Pieterson beside us again and calmly asked out of mock interest, “... So, are you bisexual, Sir? Do you hook up with guys often?”
“Sometimes...” he snarled indignantly. Leaving me with the impression that the alderman did not like me very much. Immediately cowering away from John’s fists again.
“Okay... Good for you. Only... Umm?... You hooked up with the wrong guy in the wrong place, didn’t you, Sir? Nevermind... I don’t care! But here is the thing,” I said in a forced calm, “... You could have hooked up with this guy in a gay club. A private club with facilities for this sort of thing in the backrooms. In a safe and controlled environment. If only our town would have such a gay nightclub?”
I had come up with a sneaky idea. And this was as good a time as any to take advantage of a politician who oppressed our gay community for decades.
“What are you saying, boy?” asked a sweaty Pieterson, scared and bewildered. His face had turned a blotchy red. He looked like poorly mixed red currant ice cream. Pieterson’s eyes were wide in shock. Trying – and failing – to focus them on the rectangular bulge in my tracksuit pocket.
“I will not tell the press, the council, or your wife what you’ve been up to here... IF – AND ONLY IF – you let Vermeer buy the 3-story warehouse on the dead-end alley off Parker Street. The council owns that place, don’t they?” I asked as I gave John a fleeting look, “... Vermeer can turn it into a charming gay club. It’s out of the way of everything. It’s well outside the edge of the town center, so it won’t bother anyone. The rest of the empty buildings around there, on Parker, can be turned into gay bars, cinemas, clothes shops, and galleries. Breathing some much-needed life back into that part of town.”
I snappishly told Alderman Pieterson, “... So, as soon as Vermeer has filed his plans. You are going to approve them. Aren’t you, Piggy Pieterson? Or I WILL go to the press with my evidence!”
I had stunned both Pieterson and Vermeer into silence. But, while Alderman Pieterson fell back against the wall gasping for air, Vermeer drove his cock back into my mouth.
I sucked him off good and fast. Grabbing John’s leather legs, making him ride my lips progressively faster and faster. John grunted lustfully as he face fucked me.
When he was about to bust, I pushed him back, though.
Calling to the alderman, “... Your turn! Open, nice and wide. And NO teeth!... Let him cum in your mouth. If you’re lucky, he’ll piss down your throat as well! Come here! I am not going to ask you twice. Do as I say! Pig... Suck him dry!”
I yanked on his suit tie to pull Pieterson close. Vermeer clapped both gloved hands on the back of the alderman’s head as he mercilessly thrust forward. Making Pieterson gag on his cock. The old bisexual man had clearly a lot to learn. But he seemed eager enough.
As I watched the juicy cock disappear into the alderman, I crawled behind John. Pulling the zipper of the leather jeans back up his ass seam, revealing a firm hairless crack. I placed my fingers on either side of the cheeks and pulled them open a little. Vermeer looked down at me over his shoulder and grinned nastily. As I swiped my tongue over the starfish, John propped one hand on the boards of the bike shed. Bending enough forward to get rimmed. Even his firm, sweaty ass smelled of the leather cowhide. He kept pulling a struggling Pieterson over his shaft with his other hand. Moaning loudly as Pieterson’s tongue and mine serviced John.
Once I had slicked up Vermeer’s backdoor well, I swiftly stood back up. Not giving Vermeer time to react to the empty feeling where, moments before, my tongue had forced his hole open.
I warningly whispered in his ear, “... Sir?... Make sure the piss-pig enjoys that big cock of yours. Take it down a notch or two. You don’t want to get busted by the cops for a throat-rape.”
John Vermeer looked a little surprised at me. But the surprise was all on him. I thrust forward and upward. Driving my rock-hard spit-lubed twink cock directly into the distracted Alpha top. Clamping a hand over his mouth and nose, preventing him from screaming too loudly. The other arm tightly wrapped around his extreme six-pack. Hanging on to the biker athlete for dear life.
I fucked my first Alpha muscle God. And after the initial shock, Vermeer actually let me do it! I had half expected to get thrown off him and beaten up. But John allowed me to enter where no man had entered before.
Damn, the gay athlete was tight. But I knew he could take me. Not that I gave him much choice in the matter, though. I rode Vermeer like he rode his bike. Hard and fast. Making him scream and shout lustful obscenities like there was no tomorrow.
I reached around to pinch one of John‘s pierced nipples. Pushing my cock forward so forcefully that the back of Pieterson’s head banged painfully against the bike shed a few times. In turn, John’s cock disappeared deep down the alderman’s gasping and gurgling throat. This was to the utter delight of the dominant biker, Vermeer.
“Fuck, Sir... I am getting close... I am cumming!... Can I seed that tight ass?” I hissed out of breath in John’s ear after several minutes of extreme ass pounding.
“Yeah, baby... Give it to me! Breed my ass! Pieterson can clean up the shitty mess. I hear he likes that sort of thing,” smirked Vermeer nastily.
I felt John tighten his ass muscles and start to pump his load loudly in the alderman’s mouth. The alderman audibly gurgled, gagged, and coughed. Struggling to take the massive man-juice load.
I could not hold back anymore, either. I buried my dick deeply into Vermeer and held on to his hips for support. Knocking him up.
“Arghh... Oooh... Fuck... yeah... Take it... Oooh... Shit... Arghh... Hmm... Owe... Holey fuck, Yes!... This... Feels... So... Nice!” I bellowed. Forcefully stabbing the tight ass with each squirt of cum.
I unloaded a 4-day stream of college cum in spurts into John’s guts. I kept my cock in deep as Vermeer straightened up a little. He sounded like he was in pain, but, in fact, he was in utter blissful ecstasy. Breathing hard and swaying a little. The Alpha biker might have fallen over if I had pulled out too soon.
As I looked over John’s heaving shoulder, I saw Pieterson’s ruddy face. Covered in thick globs of Vermeer’s slimy cum. Gasping for breath. But with a glow that asked for more. The alderman had not expected an encounter like this. That much was clear.
“Clean that cock, Pig!” I said harshly to Pieterson, pointing to Vermeer’s dick, “... You’ve made a mess. No hands! Just tongue and lips.”
“Yes, Sir...” he muttered as he began cleaning John.
I had a little issue pulling out of Vermeer. The man held me inside with one arm around my back. His ass muscles clamped tightly onto my dick as if he feared losing me. Obviously, Vermeer wanted this to last. John only released my cock after his slimy dick was expertly cleaned, and I had whispered hotly, “... This was so fucking nice, Sir... You can let go now, Vermeer. I promise we can do this again sometime in the backrooms of your new dream club. I do not mind a ride on that fat cock of your’s John. But not out here!”
Alderman Pieterson looked up at us, asking, “... Were... Were you serious? Are you not going to tell anyone about this? This was so nasty!”
“I am a man of my word... Even if you’re not, Pieterson,” I half shouted at the alderman, “... But only IF YOU COMPLY!” I smirked naughtily.
And Pieterson – weighing his options – nodded his head in shame. John hooked his arm around my neck and pulled me to his side.
Vermeer called, dominating down to Pieterson, “... You’re not done cleaning, piggy... Gobble up my shit off his shaft! And I will take a look at the buildings around Parker Street. I like the idea. I like it very much!... It’s a perfect location to start a redlight district!”
My dick was indeed a little slimy from John’s ass juices. But Pieterson made eager work of it. John put a gloved hand on my head as we played a fears game of tonsil hockey. But I pushed the alderman back down when he wanted to get up.
Calling to him, “... Where the hell do you think you’re going, Pieterson? Felch my cum out of Vermeer’s ass, you nasty bitch... If I didn’t mind pissing on the cool leather pants of John, I would wee all over you while you eat him out. I really need to piss, though... But I’ll save that for the toilets.”
John turned around and pushed his ass into Pieterson’s face.
He asked me, “... Do you really like my leather pants, kid?” Slamming the back of the alderman’s head against the wooden bike shed simultaneously. The man was trapped between a wall and a hot place. I watched the biker getting eaten out by a true pig of a politician.
“Fuck yeah!... I love those leathers. I think it’s not my style. But it works on you, Sir!” I grinned.
“Dude, You can pull off this look too... You’ll have the men waiting in line around the block. Get yourself a biker jacket to start off with,” suggested Vermeer as he spread his cheeks and pushed his ass deeper over Pieterson’s face.
He had given me something to think about there. I left them as those two finished what they had started. I wasn’t sticking around for the golden shower Pieterson had been begging for from the beginning. Piss and poop sex wasn’t in my repertoire. I had my standards.
However, badly needing a piss myself, I grabbed my backpack and found my way out of the maze behind the bike shed. The public sex sounds we made must have attracted some attention. The clearings behind the other side of the shed were crawling with unsavory guys now. I got asked by one guy if I wanted to buy a gun. A bit past him in a different clearing, another asked if I wanted to buy some dope. A third Vietnamese-looking ladyboy offered me his ass for 10 dollars, and a few junkies begged me for some money. Ignoring those guys, I thought about this encounter as I walked back up the path to the toilet block. Getting caught behind a bike shed and watching people having sex in public. Man, this was so wrong. Yet, it felt so exhilarating at the same time.
Luckily, the toilet block was empty. But I really needed to take a whizz, badly. Or I would not have used these facilities. When I tentatively opened the door, the smell hit me like a sledgehammer. Man, this truthfully was the foulest-smelling, dirtiest men’s room I had ever been in. And the stories of the glory holes were true, as well. On one side, there were three grimy sinks with scratched mirrors. On the other hung a metal piss-troth urinal. With a condom dispenser next to the door. In the opposite corner, beside the bog, stood two filthy latrine cubicles. The soiled partition walls all had glory holes cut into them. What dripped off those walls was indescribable. But the surgeon-general could discover a few new viruses on them. I was sure of that.
Looking around, I saw that the few lightbulbs that did work all had used strawberry-red condoms pulled over them. You could see the dried-up cum in the filthy tips. Dimming the light to a red glow, making the renamed sign outside: ‘Red Light Dickstrickt’ even more fitting. I think I finally found the gay cruising area I had been warned against.
It wasn’t so bad. I thought as I heaved my cock out of my joggers to take a well-deserved leak.
Minutes later, I stood propped up against the back wall of the metal urinals in the forbidden toilet block. Pissing like a racehorse.
“Hey... I never caught your name, kid,” said the deep voice of John Vermeer as he planted himself next to me.
“Oh... Fuck, you gave me a scare! I had not heard you come in.” I stammered.
“No need... You’re a great fuck,” John smiled.
“I am Ricky... Rick Walker... I work for you at the Queen’s Men,” I answered.
“Ah... Cool! I need to tell the manager, Durk, to give you a raise! Anyway, text me, son! I like the way you think! I want to talk to you about your ideas for Parker Street. Did you really video Pieterson and Me?” said Vermeer worriedly, looking at the rectangular bulge in my tracksuit pocket.
I smiled and pulled out a pack of paper tissues from my pants. I think John thought it was my smartphone. He grinned and handed me a business card. He had scribbled his private phone number on the back.
Within three months, John Vermeer owned several buildings in the Parker Street area. We hooked up at his loft condo to celebrate. He had warned me he liked his lovers dressed in leather. So, I bought myself a biker jacket, a harness, and a spiked leather cockstrap. He dominated the shit out of me. A new but enjoyable experience. After that first time, we met up a lot more times. He even brought his boyfriend for a threesome. Teaching me all I needed to know. It really got a little nasty. I had more sex during those months than in the years before.
The proposals for a gay nightclub with cruising areas and a large dungeon – made to the town council – got the surprising backing of Arthur Pieterson. The newspapers had a field day with that U-turn. Figuring out he was an unfaithful bisexual pervert without my help.
With my new, tougher look, my college life also became hotter. I started to attend the gym that John and Durk went to – Bulking up. Those two really knew how to have fun. They even took me to my first weekend-long orgy. Pimping my ass out to anyone who wanted a stab at it.
A year later, I started work as the lead floor manager at the “Dream Factory.” Living my best life.
• The End •
Thank you for reading this story.
Please give it a 👍 Like or a Comment if you are inclined to do so.
And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - October-2023.
Edited and Re-uploaded: March-2025
