Teenage boys naked alone naked teenage boys why, he wasn’t from the ‘stow and his name wasn’t David, as far as Johnno was aware, but that was just crack dealers for you.
young Ray figured it out quick enough though. It was a bloody cold night, even for November in east London; too cold for a skinny babe with no blanket and few enough clothes to sleep in a doorway anyhow. Certainly around these parts. And Dave quickly got a good sweat on him once they’d got Ray’s jeans down and his tight young arsehole lubed up nicely. He was a good young fuck too. Once Dave had shot his load (which never took him long) Johnno lined himself up for a good hard poke while the Dealer cooked him up the goods over a Bunsen burner in the corner of the squalid room .Ray whimpered a young but he didn’t fight too hard. Dave had warmed him up nicely and it went in kushti – lovely and smooth. John gripped the lad’s skinny hips in both hands and gave young Ray’s snug, spunk-lubed hole a good shafting. His knob was high school boys naked and lean like the rest of him and it felt good up the babe’s naked highschool boys bum. John took his time; let the chicken know he was getting a thorough buggering, and Ray huddled under him on the filthy mattress, pushed forward on his shoulders and knees. He never uttered a word, god bless him, not even when Johnno’s crack-veined balls tightened up and he filled the babe with cum.
Gorgeous young whore, he was.
And tonight he was going to earn his keep well and truly. He looked nervous, but bloody gorgeous, all made up, a bit of shimmer on his pouty, choirboy mouth and dark pencil around those big, moody, ice-green eyes. He’d gone blond for a trick a few nights ago and it looked good on him. Made him look like a schoolgirl. The punters loved it.
It got Jonno pretty hot as well.
Rabid John struck the deal in a pub called the Rat and teenage boys naked down in Southwark. The punter wasn’t a regular but he was paying up front and that was good enough for Jonno. For three hundred and seventy five quid he went with Ray and the geezer from the pub to a warehouse in Balham where the guy owned a boxing club. A group of bruisers were hanging around the locker room when they came in and Rabid John was glad he’d taken the precaution of stashing the cash with a mate at the pub before they got down to business.
His punter took Ray by the arm now and led him out to the boxing ring, illuminated by teenage boys naked lights running on a generator. The motor cackled and rattled like a witch with consumption in the large, cold, echoing hall. |