Balham & the Wilde Angel

© Sadie-Rose Bermingham 2003

“Easy Money!” Rabid John told Ray in the pub. “Close yer eyes, spread yer legs, easy as fallin’ outta bed!”

John was a skinny, bug-eyed Yorkshire exile, who made his money on the mean streets around Mile End. He might have been twenty or fifty, it was hard to say, and Ray did not ask. John had a temper, especially when he hadn’t scored. To him, Raymond Wilde was a means to an end. The lad was pretty for a start; he looked younger than his nineteen years and he was green as grass when it came down to business. Hadn’t a fuckin’ clue!

That first night when Ray stayed at the squat on Canal Road, Rabid John had taught him the rules all right. John thought the kid was gonna cry his eyes out when it was patiently explained to him that he would be sharing his mattress, not just with John but also with his Dealer, a muscle-bound fellow known as Walthamstow Dave. God alone knew 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.

Little Ray figured it out quick enough though. It was a bloody cold night, even for November in east London; too cold for a skinny kid 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 little arsehole lubed up nicely. He was a good little 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 little 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 long and lean like the rest of him and it felt good up the kid’s tight 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 kid with cum.

Gorgeous little 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 Ferret, 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 arc lights running on a generator. The motor cackled and rattled like a witch with consumption in the large, cold, echoing hall. A patched, leather vaulting horse with four metal legs stood in the centre of the ring and Ray was led up to it and quickly undressed by the guy from the pub and one of his burly friends. He was easily lifted astride the horse and his wrists and ankles were now tied firmly to the legs, his cheek pressed against the leather, head turned to one side.

He never said a word but the look that he turned on Johnno was filled with silent reproach.

“Bonny little bugger, in’ ‘e?” remarked the bloke from the pub cheerfully as if he was discussing a dog show. He pulled Ray back towards him, positioning the young man so that his thighs and small firm buttocks spread wide, showing off his clean-shaven crack and balls.

“He’s got big nuts. Is ‘e virgin?” asked the camera operator sceptically, unbuttoning his fly.

“What? For seven monkeys?” Rabid John made a rude noise through his nose. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! But ‘e’s young and ‘e’s fresh. ‘asn’t taken a lot o’ cock yet.” John knew there was little point lying to seasoned gang-bangers like this bunch. They’d know as soon as they breached him that Ray wasn’t untouched. The cameraman seemed happy enough though. He had dropped his pants now and was stripping out of his jacket and t-shirt.

Ray’s eyes watched the bob of his half-hard dick as he walked back across the ring, accepting a tube of vaseline from one of his companions. The other guys were unfastening their pants but they didn’t strip just yet. John couldn’t blame them. It was a cold night and he was shivering even with his clothes on. Ray must be fucking frozen, but they’d warm him up soon enough, that was for sure.

The procurer now checked that the camera was running and the naked guy spread Ray’s legs a little further and parted his creamy, white cheeks with the fingers of one hand. The pretty little whore closed his eyes as a liberal glob of lubricant was squeezed down his crack and rough fingers wasted no time rubbing it into him. Crude comments were exchanged as his assailant worked one finger into him , then another...

“Get out the way, I can’t see it…” muttered the fellow behind the camera as a third digit probed his ring, pulsing deeper. Rayne Wilde sucked in a gasp of astonishment and closed his eyes tightly. His teeth were clenched behind slightly parted lips as the nude man ejected another stripe of lube onto his own cock. He handed back the vaseline so that he could pump his cock vigorously with his free hand, working it quickly to full, slippery stiffness,

Now the encouragement gained a voice.

“Go on Mike, mate. Give it to him good!”

“Fuck the fairy slut!”

“Give the dirty little fag something to moan about!”

The thrusting fingers withdrew at once from Rayne’s arsehole, with a slurping sound and his hips were gripped in strong, sticky hands as a swollen, purple cock-head replaced them at the entrance to his rectum. His sphincter tightened defensively but was no lasting barrier to Big Mike’s four and a half inch diameter, vaseline and spunk-lubed bell end. Rayne yelped and struggled as the muscular boxer pumped him hard; ramming his cock deeper with every thrust. His mates cheered him on. A couple of them were already lubing up and wanking themselves hard as they eagerly watched Big Mike in action.

“Fuck ‘im good Mikey!”

“Show ‘im what a real man’s dick is fer!”

Each furious stab elicited a short, sharp exhalation of protest from the naked blond boy astride the horse. Rabid John had been selling his arse for nearly a month now but Rayne had not experienced anything like this in the short time he had been Jonno’s tart. Mike’s tool was the biggest he had felt inside him in a long time. Every thrust seemed on the verge of ripping him open and he exhaled a little sigh of short lived relief when one of the masturbators tapped the big man on the shoulder and reluctantly Mikey pulled out.

John swallowed, watching from the shadows, discreetly rubbing his dick through his pants. They were going to make this last. He had heard about Tag-Shagging before but never watched or taken part. Mikey wasn’t even close to spurting, but that was the point. They would take turns to fuck their victim, and all of them would get at least a couple of turns on the lad. The first one to cum was out. The last one to shoot his wad was the winner. John had heard of these sessions lasting for days. Three hundred and fifty nicker had bought them two and half hours up Ray’s arse but even Jonno was not sure how he was going to stop them if they wanted more.

“Shag the little fucker, Popeye!”

“Make ‘im bleed!”

Ronnie–‘Popeye’-Doyle wasted no time mounting the kid once Mikey was out. He was no fag, but he had seen the videos O’Toole made and sold under the counter. O’Toole said that young lads were even tighter and better than virgin lasses and he was not wrong there. Popeye had a long, narrow, crooked cock and it had not seen much action since his old bitch of a wife upped and left him for a younger tool. The little queer boy was pretty as a girl too, and his hole was warmer and wetter inside than the older guy had expected. He had been going to wait; just watch and pull himself off, but now he was eager for some action. The skinny little faggot was struggling underneath him as he clambered up on top of the horse, pushing the boy along it to kneel between his legs and force his prick up that hot, tight hole.

“Oh yeah!”

It felt good around him and he clung on tight, pumping it for all it was worth. So what if this was his only stab at the kid? Popeye was going to enjoy every minute. He grunted his approval incoherently and the boy panted rapidly underneath him, little squeaks of sound driven from his throat by every thrust. His struggles only excited the older man even more and within minutes Doyle had cum hard up his arse to cries of “Shame!” and “You dirty old bastard!” from his companions.

Even as Popeye slipped down from the vaulting horse, another competitor was waiting in line and Rayne closed his eyes and chewed on his lower lip, fending off the sick anticipation of yet another rough and ready buggering. He had counted seven men; seven eager faces around the ring, watching him take it. One of them Jonno, whose expression was no less fevered than the rest. He knew that even once the punters were satisfied, his work for the night would not be over. One of these days he was going to get Rabid John on his own, up a dark alley and put a loaded gun in his mouth. Then the fucker would get what was coming to him.

“Let it be soon…” he breathed, barely audible over the laughter and shouting from his attackers.

“Bob the Knob!” someone yelled and there was another burst of laughter.

“Fuck the little poof, Bob!”

“Make him beg!”

‘Bob’ hauled Rayne's bared arse back to the edge of the vaulting cushion and onto his cock in one long slow movement. His grip on Rayne’s slender hips was tight and the lad gasped for breath as he was quickly penetrated and mounted for the third time in rapid succession. Mikey was back behind the camera, having wriggled quickly into his jeans and a sweater and he moved in close for a good shot of Bob’s long, fat hard-on pushing deeper inside the blond boy. Rayne swallowed a moan of astonishment as the punter’s tool just kept coming. ‘Bob the Knob’ was well named. He was not as chunky as Mike but he was easily longer than both his predecessors and that slowly pulsing, rock-hard penis entered Rayne like a nuclear submarine coming back into harbour. He felt his own cock getting slowly harder against the warm, red leather. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes this happened to him when he was with a punter; even when he didn’t fancy the guy he found himself inexplicably getting off when they began to fuck his arse.

The heat rose to his cheeks as Bob tooled him harder and faster. His own prick nudged its way up between the worn leather covering of the pommel and his naked belly. He could feel the hot wet head just above his navel, trickling a slow trail of cum down onto the horse. Bob was bent over him now, grunting urgently, his breath hot and harsh against the back of Rayne’s neck. He had let go of the younger man’s hips and was holding onto the rings to either side of his body, pulling himself in deeper. Just as Rayne began to experience the first trickling sensations of pleasure in his colon, the fellow let go with a gasp and pulled himself out. His cock made a wet, sucking sound as it withdrew smoothly from Ray’s spasming rectum and the young prostitute exhaled rapidly, uttering a little groan of disappointment.

“’e likes you, Bob!” someone observed.

“Wonder why!” There were a few muted snickers.

“C’mon Tool! You’ve been waitin’ in the wings too long!” Mike the camera man urged.

“Get it in ‘im before it wilts in the friggin’ cold!”

The procurer, the man they called O’Toole, grinned now and took his place behind Rayne and the vaulting horse. He took the precaution of rolling on a ribbed, pre-lubed, black condom as he approached. His companions teased him about this but he took it in good humour.

“Dunno where ‘e’s been,” he laughed back at them, then nodded towards Rabid John in the shadows; “but I’m takin’ no chances!”

In spite of his caution, he was an experienced sodomite and got his sheathed erection into Rayne quickly and relatively painlessly. His fingers kept the youngster’s buttocks spread firmly and within moments he was fully inside the blond’s well fucked hole and giving it another rapid-fire pounding. He pumped away hard for no more than a couple of minutes then yanked himself out. Rayne uttered a drawn out; “Ohhhh…” as that ribbed tool pulled out of his anus and his own balls tightened with pain and pleasure and released a wad of pearly spunk that trickled down the flanks of the horse.

“Fifty points to the Tool! He made the slut cream ‘imself,” Mikey laughed crudely.

“Maybe ‘e likes the feel of a bit o’ rubber up ‘is arse!”

“Must be a fuckin’ novelty for ‘im!” O’Toole panted.

Rayne was beginning to feel sore and stiff, not to mention bloody cold, by the time the fifth and sixth members of the tag team had fucked him. His wrists were chafed and his sphincter felt uncomfortably loose. Jonno always administered a thorough enema before he was sold to an important client, so he was not too concerned about losing control, but all the same his stomach hurt nearly as much as his anus.

Number six had injected a second spurt of cum into his alimentary canal as he was pulling out, so it was a simple, if slippery, matter for the last of his clients to get up his bum. The guy had a gruff, Scots accented voice (‘there was an Englishman and Irishman and a Scotsman…’ said a small, cynical voice in Rayne’s head) and a small, meaty prick which was rammed in and jiggled urgently inside him for what felt like an age.

“D’ye like it, pretty lad?” he kept grunting. “Tell me how ye like it!”

“C’mon, Jocko! Get a move on!” the others chided, obviously sharing Ray’s opinion that he was taking far too long. It was a blessed relief when finally he yanked it out with a little groan of reluctance.

If Rayne had harboured the idea that this was in any way the end of his ordeal, he was to be disappointed, however. There was one small pleasure to be had, in that he was finally un bound and lifted from the horse. Mikey and O’Toole rubbed his arms and legs until he began to feel warmer, then refastened his restraints in a different manner. They tied his wrists together behind his back and he was made to kneel in the middle of the ring. Once in this position, his wrists were bound to his ankles so that he could not rise. He looked up at them a shade indignantly, his blond forelock flopping down into his fierce, pale green eyes.

“What now?” he asked, sounding resigned. It was the first coherent thing he had said since they brought him into the hall.

“I was beginnin’ to think you was a mute!” O’Toole chuckled.

“Think again.” The young whore glared back at him defiantly. “What happens next?”

“Down to five players now. We’re gonna play a little game called Doubles,” the older fellow told him, taking his coat off and removing his jeans again. “Maybe you can tell me how it works!”

Rayne rolled his eyes wearily. O’Toole laughed some more and looked around; “Who’s comin’ in with me?”

The fifth man, a circumcised Skinhead whom O’Toole identified as Jake, unzipped his flyer and pulled out his cock again eagerly. He did not strip, and had not done so previously, but this time as he stepped forward it was to take a handful of Rayne’s bleached blond hair in his tattooed fist. He pushed the boy’s head back until he cried out and immediately Jake’s stiffening member was urged between his lips and into his mouth.

“Don’t even think about biting anyone,” O’Toole whispered in his ear from somewhere behind him. “Or we’ll have to spread your legs and take a belt to your balls. And don’t think we won’t do it!”

His rough fingers gripped Rayne’s slim thighs and pulled the lad back onto his rubber-ribbed hard-on. Jake knelt down as O’Toole began to shaft the whore’s arsehole as vigorously as he had before. The muscular Skin pushed Rayne’s head down into his crotch forcing him to swallow the six inch length of his fat, cut cock. The skinny boy tart gagged and struggled for a while but quickly figured out how to deep throat him without choking. Jake had spent only a couple of minutes up the kid’s arse but he lingered over this, holding Ray’s hair with one hand and leaning back to pump his sex between the boy’s lips. Mikey crouched down for a better shot. The cameraman had his jeans undone and was wanking with one hand, watching saliva and pre-cum running down the blond boy’s chin as Rayne sucked Jake’s knob obediently.

O’Toole was panting as he pulled out, controlling his climax, and Bob the Knob took his place between Rayne Wilde’s firm, white cheeks. He hauled the skinny, struggling rent-boy backwards slowly onto his cock, impaling him as he had the first time with one long, smooth stroke. Jake was observing all this as he pumped away vigorously in the pretty boy’s mouth.

“I wanna watch him eat my cum,” the Skinhead panted at last.

Mikey rubbed his cock faster. O’Toole said; “You know you’re out of the game if you spill your jizz?”

“I know,” Jake huffed, his face turning slowly redder with the effort. “I’m not that keen on anal, mind. I wanna make ‘im neck my load! Get it on camera, Mikey. Get the little fucker takin’ a face full!”

Rayne had his eyes closed. If there was one thing he knew he could do well it was sucking cock. He had been blowing older men since he was at school, for money or for drugs and this was second nature to him. He wrapped his lips around the meaty cock, running his tongue up and down the shaft and teasing skilfully as Jake thrust deeper and faster into his mouth. His pre-cum tasted sour and salty but Rayne did not mind. If he blew Jake now it was one less to take next time.

Bob’s huge prick was fully inside him from behind and amazingly, that felt good too. The persistent friction against his prostate gland was getting Rayne unbearably hard and horny as Bob fucked him faster and less gently. Jake gripped his hair in both hands and began to grunt profanities at him, bucking his crotch into Rayne’s face and releasing a flood of hot semen into his mouth and throat. The lean, blond prostitute also jerked, tensed, and uttered a bubbling, strangled groan of satisfaction as a double jet of ejaculate pumped out of his balls, spattering the knees of Jake’s jeans.

“Fuck it, yeah!” Jake panted appreciatively. “Best blow job I’ve ever ‘ad!”

“Looks like ‘e enjoyed it too, mate!” someone remarked.

Jake cursed at the state of his pants but already his place had been taken. O’Toole had commandeered the camera once more and Mikey was kneeling in front of Rayne, his trousers and briefs pushed down to his knees. A rough hand snarled in the blond boy’s unruly hair and as Bob fucked him hard and fast from behind, Rayne’s mouth was pushed down relentlessly onto the erect dick of his first assailant. He gagged initially, but quickly mastered his breathing and was able to suck and swallow without choking.

“Tha’s it… suck it, Blondie,” Mikey urged huskily. “Suck it good!”

For a moment, Rayne felt that he was no longer physically connected to the earth. He was transported back in time and just for a second or two he was in New Romney again, kneeling on the living room floor at Uncle Brian’s house, stark naked, with two strangers raping him orally and anally, whilst other men watched and laughed and Brian took polaroids. Perhaps Brian had been right; this was all he was good for, satisfying the darkest desires of his fellow men.