A football hooligan meets his match

FINDING JOE

Joe was turning out to be a lot easier than Steve to track down. In fact, he fell right into my hands, as all it took was a wink on a dating app. It was definitely the fat lad who had fucked me first when I had been abducted, tortured and gang-fucked by those four Millwall lads: I led back from the wink to his profile, and took in what he had said about himself.

He was quite short, five foot six, apparently, and he described himself as a chubby bear. He also had taken lots of pictures of himself, which he had posted on his web page, showing parts of him naked. He had skin as white as a sheet of photocopier paper, but he was furry for such a young man. He evidently kept his pubes trimmed short but hair sprouted all over his plump belly, lay thickly over his chest, formed a black bush in each armpit, flowed down his back and arse, made a nice furry black valley of his arse crack, and forested his arms and legs. He had a beard and a full head of black hair. Like a lot of chubbies, he had very thick wrists and ankles, but also had huge ham hands and big feet. On the genital front, I knew he had a surprisingly big cock, but I hadn’t appreciated the size of his balls, which bounced around in a big sack. There were a number of tattoos on his arms, shoulders, the top of his back and calves, including a Millwall logo on his left shoulder. Nice, I thought. He wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea, no skinny little twink or a black love-god with a huge tool, but I like guys with a bit of meat on them. Twinks don’t do it for me, and as for black guys with big cocks I had one in my sights after being raped by one.

I carefully updated my own profile, and sent him a message.

Hi. Thanks for the wink. Nice pix yourself. Love the furry crack. Wanna get my tongue in that. Maybe more.

There was silence for two days, and indeed Joe hadn’t logged on. After two days, there was a message waiting for me from him, and he had obviously been browsing my pics. I had made sure that the photographs on my profile did not trigger his memory, although it was hard to tell what he remembered and what he had forgotten. I hadn’t forgotten his cock in my arse and down my throat: I thought my arse was going to be ripped apart at one point, and his cock had choked me and made me gag, but thinking about it again made my treacherous cock stand up as best it could in my sweat shorts. This time, though, I was going to fuck him so hard he’d be crying for mercy. I posted some shots of me in the gym: I always train in shorts, the bright polyester kind you pick up for a song at SportsDirect.com, and a vest, not the muscle kind, but the sort your grandad or a lorry driver might wear. I uploaded a shot of me barefoot, deadlifting two hundred kilos, some shots of me doing squats and bench presses, a selfie of me in the shower afterwards, and that was that. Some men post two hundred pictures of their cocks, others post pictures of themselves in women’s underwear (and not the sort your average woman would wear, either), and others still post porno pics of themselves sucking cocks or fucking arses. I wanted to pick up Joe, whom I hoped liked beefcake.

Lol. Glad you like the pix. What are you into?

Okay. The site actually states what I like, which is 1 on 1, Anal, Bears, Bikers, Cubs, Fur, Group sex, Kissing, Muscle, Naturism, Older guys, Oral, S&M, Safe sex, Shaved, Skinheads, Tattoos, Wanking. You always put safe sex down even if you like riding bareback. Mind you, guys don’t often check what they’ve written – you see some blobs who describe themselves as muscular, or have no tattoos when they are covered in them. I guess they just think you’re mesmerised by an average knob picture. You’re online to have sex, not to comply with the Trade Descriptions Act. I like to be truthful – maybe I want to comply with the Rough Trade Descriptions Act.

Kissing. I have to kiss. Tit-play. Like it rough, and they’re wired to my cock. Wanking. Sucking cocks and balls. Fucking. All both ways. I do other things, but it needs a conversation. Not into FF, women’s clothes or stuff like piss, blood, puke and scat. 

The reply came back more quickly this time.

Do you do safe or BB?

That wasn’t difficult to answer. When four hooligans have tied me up and are gang-raping me at both ends, the answer is bareback.

Depends. I’m tested and clean.

I got tested after being raped. I was negative for everything.

Well I’m clean too. Fancy meeting up?

How hard to get do I play it?

I didn’t answer for two day. I had to make sure everything else was in place. Being a labourer on a building site had taught me a lot of other skills rather than just being a lump who moved things around. My lock-up had to become a perfect dungeon, ready to take Joe and allow me to entomb, torture and pleasure him until he pleaded for mercy. I spent the next two evenings making sure that everything was in place before answering, including getting a very basic shower in place and a toilet, as all the lock-ups doubled up as workshops and had facilities fitted.

Sorry not to get back to you quicker. I had some stuff to sort out. Yeah, I’d love to meet up. I work days, free week-ends and evenings.

There was a fly in the ointment, of course, as it turned out Joe worked in a big fulfilment warehouse doing shifts which did not coincide with mine. I was on site at about half-past seven in the morning, finishing sometime between three and four in the afternoon, whereas he worked shifts, s ix in the morning till six in the afternoon four days a week, which seemed to vary, or six till two, two till ten and ten till six over a few weeks. It all depended on demand, and I suspected that he preferred the four long days and three days off. Eventually we found a week where he was working six till two and I agreed to meet him after work.  

Bingo.

KIDNAPPING JOE

I had agreed to pick him after work in my van. I was straight off the site, sticky with sweat and covered in dust and grime, which I would clean off in the lock-up. I wore a T-shirt (in case he recognised my tattoo marks: I would have preferred to be shirtless), shorts, my work boots, my yellow hi-vis vest and my yellow hard hat. Joe was hanging around the entrance to the warehouse, recognisable from his picture, dressed in a uniform blue polo shirt and shorts, a hi-vis vest and black safety trainers. I honked the van’s horn and he ran round to get in the front.

“Hi,” I said.

“Good to meet, you mate.” He replied. There didn’t seem to be any recognition – yet. I changed gears and we moved away.

“I’ve got a lock-up near here,” I said, carefully. “Just gotta put some stuff away in there first. Then have a shower and get down to it.”

“Sounds good.”

I stopped the van outside the lock-up and opened the doors. From the outside there just looked to be a load of junk, the kind which appears on that American TV program where a load of fat rednecks bid over the contents of a lock-up and then tell everybody how clever they are when it contains a stack of landfill.

“I’ll be a few minutes,” I said to Joe, after coming back to the van. “Do you want to come inside rather than sit in a hot van?”

“Yeah, if you’ve got a drink…”

“Sure”.

I locked up the van and followed him inside. There was that moment when he was looking around, taking it in, and off guard, that was when a cloth soaked in chloroform was held over his face and he fell unconscious in my arms.

“Right, you little tubby cunt, now you’re gonna get some payback,” I whispered. I had a few minutes till he came around.  I ripped his shirt off, unable to resist giving his pink nipples a squeeze, and fixed cuffs on his wrists.

I attached the cuffs on his wrists to scaffolding poles above his head, and locked the in place so he could not move up and down. I raised them so that he could stand upright on the bare concrete, but not too comfortably. Off came the safety trainers and his white socks, and I ripped off his shorts and underpants. He looked lovely and vulnerable. I now attached the cuffs around his ankles to blocks on the ground, and tightened them so that he assumed an “X” position. He tried to fight his captivity, but he was held fast. I felt his naked body, and smelled the fresh sweat from his armpits. I breathed it in and it made me feel stronger and more alive. Of course, he could not see who I was yet, so it was time to put a hood on him.

The hood fitted nicely on his head without adjustment, so I buckled the leather strap across his throat and looked into his eyes, not sure if I was reading terror or not. In any case, it didn’t matter as I slid the mask on and pressed the studs into place. Next, I fitted the mouthpiece, forcing the short rubber cock into his mouth for him to suck on, then pressing studs into place so that his head was completely entombed. I checked his breathing, which was faster than normal, but I put that down to his emotional state. He was coming round. .

I gently flicked his nipples in turn to get them to stand up, so I could attach the clamps. As each nipple was clamped in turn, he let out a moan of pain mixed with extreme pleasure, and he wriggled in his restraints. His exposed, vulnerable cock rose up. I spat on my hand and wanked it, feeling it rise and thicken in my hand. Joe let out a whimper of pleasure, which grew louder as I now attached fishing weights to the nipple clamps, increasing the pressure on his nipples. I took my hand of his cock and gently stroked his chest and belly and buttocks.

I now undressed. I piled up my shoes, socks, shorts, underpants, vest and T-shirt on the floor, and approached him. My cock was sticking up like a pole, so I stood behind him, rubbing my throbbing tool up and down his bum crack whilst I tortured his nipples and wanked his cock.

“You’re mine, now, mate,” I whispered in his ear. “Remember that West Ham lad you kidnapped and fucked with your mates? Well, he’s standing right behind with his cock ready to wreck your arse.”

Joe stiffened. There was a yelp and I pulled his nipple hard, and the fresh smell of his sweat grew stronger. It made me feel even better. I walked round and gently licked his hairy pits, savouring his odour. His cock was sticking up, so he wasn’t that scared. Stop it, I like it. I knelt down and took his stiff cock in my mouth, peeling back the foreskin and rubbing his helmet with the inside of my mouth, working my tongue over his eye and frenum. He was writhing with pleasure. I sucked each ball in turn, pulling them gently away and letting them go. This little bear was loving it.

Let’s see how he liked being flogged and caned. I cherish that moment when you have your sub helplessly bound, naked, unmarked, expectant and scared, and then the lash hits and there is a cry of pain. I worked the flogger up and down his body, concentrating on the nice plump parts which could take the impact, his lilywhite arse cheeks, his plump thighs, his thick calves, his fat belly and pecs, and his upper back.

I fitted a harness on him, the sort that goes over your shoulders, chest and back, not the full master harness with a ring for your cock and a strap over your arse. I now let him down and wrestled him into the stocks, which were part of what I called my fucking chair, in which you got somebody to kneel, arse in the air, held down by chains attached to the harness and stocks.

I now closed the stocks over his neck and wrists. The cuffs had chains with carabiners on which I attached to metal hooks in the stocks, limiting movement. Joe could still breathe well enough, but now, with the stocks on, and his thighs strapped to my special fucking chair, he could barely move. I stroked his bare furry back, and stroked his bare furry arse. I moved between his legs, parting his fat cheeks, and looked at his crack, a line of black fur with his rosebud of an arse hole in the middle. It was irresistible: I bent down and licked it slowly with my tongue from top to bottom, and then back up again, which made Joe moan, before pressing the tip of my tongue against his sweet hole, which yielded as I worked it. Joe began to moan and then rock with pleasure. I kept this up for several minutes, until I saw a thread of pre-cum dripping from his cock. I stepped back and smacked his left cheek as hard as I could with my hand, which made him rock helplessly. He cried out. I smacked the right cheek now as hard as I could. A red outline of my hand was making itself appear: I stroked the soft skin, mixing pleasure with pain with pleasure.

I gave each cheek six of the best with a cane. I did not hold back. I wanted his arse to look like the arse of a zebra. Each time the cane striped his arse, he left out a muffled cry. I stroked his cheek and then struck him again, until his arse was an angry mass of red stripes, my hand mark, and flogging marks.

I now picked up a tube of lubricant and squeezed some into my hand, and began to work his hole. First one finger went inside, and then a second, and then a third, so that I was finger-fucking him, with one finger on his prostate. I squeezed the tube again, slathered lube over my cock, and eased myself in. I had finger-fucked him so that he was nice and relaxed, so I scored an easy, slippery hole in one. I pushed my cock in right to the hilt, so that he could feel every inch in his arse, and I could feel his arse cheeks on the inside of my thighs. I held it there for about ten seconds before I began to pump, at first gently, to get the lube worked around my cock, then accelerating. Every angle was right. I could feel his tight arse holding on to my cock. My cock was bumping his prostate. His fat arse was soft yet resistant, a good cushion, and my balls were bouncing off his perineum. Although Joe couldn’t move much or make a sound, I sensed that he was loving being fucked.

I could not control it. Fucking this lad’s arse was too nice, too easy, and too sexy. After a few minutes I felt spunk welling up in my cock, and with a few hard thrusts I came, splashing cum all over his rectum. I let my orgasm subside before taking my throbbing, sticky cock out of his hot hole.

Joe had come as well. There was spunk on the floor and a thread of it handing from his piss hole. I squeezed his balls a little, enough to make him jump, and wiped my cock on his arse cheeks.

I now let Joe out. I unbuckled the straps around his thighs, but only after giving those plump white arse cheeks another good smack, making him yelp. Next, I took the mouthpiece off the hood and put it on one side, and made him lick the end of my cock, so that he could clean it up. I removed the mask, and undid the hood. I unattached the harness, and finally unlocked the stocks so that he could climb out. He wasn’t angry. He was smiling and happy.

“Fucking hell, that was good,” he said quietly. “You could fuck for England.”

He stood up, slightly wobbly on his bare feet. I reached forward, grabbed him, and brought him to me so that I could kiss him deeply. I wanted to consume every part of him and make him mine.

“I’m gonna take you home and fuck you all night,” I breathed.

THE LAST TWO

I told Joe that I had already fucked Steve, although it hadn’t turned out quite like I had planned.

“Who are the other two?” I asked.

“Karl and Jameel. Karl knows you’re coming for him,” said Joe, “and he’s looking forward to sorting you out again. He thinks you’re just a thick lump. I don’t think you are, not now. You just support the wrong football team.”

“What about the black guy?”

“Jameel? He’s inside, in HMP Tooting.”

“What for?” I was disappointed. I would have to wait years to take him, by which time I wouldn’t care anymore.

“GBH and ABH. He beat some guys up. He got ten years.”

“Fuck. He must’ve nearly killed them.”

“Yeah, wasn’t pretty. Don’t fuck with Millwall, you see.”

“I’ll fuck you whenever I want, “I said. Joe laughed, and rolled on to his front to let me in his arse yet again.