The Code

[Londonmilk]

The Code​

I could see the City of London all around me from the coffee shop window as I wiped the chrome spout. 7.30pm. I sat down. Tired. It had been a long, draining shift as usual. I’d taken the job to help fund me while at University and if I was going to work in any coffee shop then this was a seriously cool coffee shop - ‘Juliet’ named after the founder’s grandmother. To describe it as ‘Artisan’ wouldn’t do it justice. This was coffee as a lifestyle. A myriad of speciality coffees, an unrushed wholesome service, and currently the darling of hipster #coffeeporn Instagram with city workers queuing around the side of the building every morning and lunchtime.
Juliet Coffee is bang in the centre of the City. The square mile. A rabbit warren of ancient streets and gleaming office towers, a shrine to the money that this city feeds on.

I pulled off my apron and sat down with the coffee I’d made for myself, on the house of course. A kick of caffeine before I headed to the gym. My phone buzzed. For the first time in the day I had time to look at it, scrolling through all the notifications I’d missed.
“Hey, how are you?” was the most recent one, which I was beginning to realise was the cliched Grindr welcome. A blank profile. No details. I had only started using the app properly since I moved to London and didn’t take it seriously but the sheer amount of men on there was like a sweetshop here compared to the slim pickings in my northern town.
So I replied with the required cliché ‘Good mate, you?”. I sipped the coffee as the conversation continued, yes we were both horny, no neither of us could host. “Wish there was somewhere we could go” I said flippantly. The coffee had perked me up and I could feel my daily horniness starting to arrive. I was 19. Only the workload of this job kept it at bay. The gym, the bored days in lectures…everything else brought that horniness to the fore.

“Wish there was somewhere we could go” I’d said it so mindlessly, so unexpectant.
“There is” he replied.


I still wasn’t expecting the conversation to go anywhere. It was 7.40. My shift was well over, and the gym was calling. I’d have my coffee to go. I grabbed my bag and shouted goodbye to Josh, the shop owner and founder. “Bye Mate” came the thick Aussie reply amidst a clattering of cups from the back kitchen. My phone buzzed another message from the empty profile. “There’s a building in an office block I know that is totally unused. I have the code to the building”.
I laughed, as I went out into the still warm June evening. I replied quickly:
“I’d honestly feel uncomfortable doing that mate, don’t know why, just would. Enjoy your night”. My mind was on the gym now. Needed that stress release.

Another buzz. “Ok mate. I’ll send you the code for £5.”
Intrigued,and playing along, I replied “ Haha alright mate”.

A few minutes passed. I was walking through the busy streets, workers heading home, city boys drinking outside bars as I pushed past the available space on the street, passing the steady flow of strangers heading into Moorgate Station.

“Haha, kidding mate. You can have it. It’s yours. #5874.
157 Bank Lane. Once in head up to the 7th floor. It’s a space that NEVER gets used. There’s a huge shower at the back of the space too. Enjoy it mate!”

It was an unusual message and I don’t quite know why but it had suddenly made me insanely horny. Just the idea of it. The excitement of the scenario. Even without the promise of meeting anyone.

Last year, when I’d stayed over with a friend from college her Gran had called her to ask her to fetch some groceries. I stayed, playing the video game we were playing. As I heard her leave my thoughts turned suddenly to the fact that her brother’s bedroom was next door. Two years older than me and football team captain. Knowing his room was so close my cock started to thicken and move. Those first stirrings every man recognises.. Anticipating excitement. I stood up and walked into his room. I stood not doing anything. Just being there amongst his things was insanely exciting to me. Being where I shouldn’t.

That is exactly how I felt right now. With these two pieces of information. An address, a code and the anonymity of the city around me. Hundreds of streets and buildings in this one section of the city. Maybe a section of a building could go unused and unnoticed in the sprawl of the metropolis?

I reached the traffic lights at the crossroads with London Wall. My gym was opposite slightly to the left. I could feel that I’d thickened to a heavy semi, starting to push against my briefs and black work trousers.
The traffic light red changed to green and I crossed the road, And walked straight ahead, passing the turnoff to the gym and deeper into the city, towards the Bank of England. I took out my phone, opened Google Maps and searched for 157 Bank Lane.

 

[MikeyWardrobe]

This is really good- keep going!

 

[Londonmilk]

Part 2

​

The building wasn’t new as I was expecting it to be, but one of the really old structures in a classical style. It had blank hoardings on it as though it had once been a shop. I looked up at the windows and the whole place looked completely empty. People buzzed by, and it stood there, hiding in plain sight.
I took a deep breath and walked up to the doorway, black, heavy and ornate, with the number ‘157’ painted on the glass.
5, 8, 7, 4…I punched them in quickly, before I could chicken out. Nothing happened. There was a faded green button on the panel, so I quickly pressed that too. Nothing…and then a buzz and a click and I could hear the door had unlatched.

My heart was pounding and I didn’t fully know why. I was simply walking into an empty building. Inside, it seemed much more like a standard office block. The lift was straight ahead of me. I walked towards it. There was dust gathered by the skirting boards. Maybe this place really was never used?

I called the lift and stepped in. ‘7th floor’ the blank profile had said. I pressed the number 7. The back wall of the lift had a mirror. I stood facing it as the lift began its ascent. 19 years old. 5’9”. Dark, floppy hair. Glasses. I guess I fit the label ‘hipster’ quite well. I’d been such a skinny kid and still was, but the new schedule of going to the gym daily was starting to show a bit. I had a long way to go. Standard black trousers and black tee, with ‘Juliet’ embroidered white in the centre. Hey, it beat the Starbucks logo. Adrenalin was racing through me. I was being a naughty boy, doing what I shouldn’t. The anticipation was turning me on. I was wearing blue Calvin Klein briefs and my cock was positioned to the left of them. It was now semi. Thickening. I could feel my cock head sliding out of its foreskin. Creeping. In the mirror I could see the bulge becoming a recognisable shape. A thickened length, off to the left. The lift halted. Floor 7.

I stepped out. A full deserted floor. No desk, just holes in the ground, some gaping and empty, a few of them with snakes of wires coming up from them where workstations could be plugged. Full plate glass windows looked out on to the CIty, The edifice that is the Bank of England off to the right.

I was hot. The June evening heat was still warm against the sheets of glass along the length of the building. I kicked off my trainers. My cock now ached against my briefs. That morning had been SO warm at work. My balls had been loose and heavy in their sack, the sack dropping low, pendulous in the heat. In the elevator my balls had swirled and lifted, the sack was now tighter, at the base of my thick erection.

I suddenly remembered the messenger had said’ there’s a shower at the back of the space’. I turned and saw the familiar ‘Gents’ and ‘Ladies’ logos on sections of walls which acted like screens to the open doors of each area. I padded across the floor in my white Nike stockinged feet. I undid my belt as I walked and the top button on my trousers. Tiny, ordinary male acts, but they felt rebellious given the space I was in. As I walked toward the male sign my cock throbbed even more. I had always been turned on by seeing men confidently heading to male spaces. Matter of fact about it. Knowing it was our space. Knowing a penis was required to enter the room.

As I headed towards the screened wall I heard the shower from within. Disrupted flow. Someone was using it. My heartbeat quickened. I decided that if anyone asked me what I was doing here I would just make something up about a friend saying I could use the shower here…it wasn’t entirely wrong.

I walked in. It was a vast bathroom space. Maybe this had been designed as a new office space pre-pandemic, for a world where some workers in this city spent their life at work. Urinal troughs either side with no dividers. 3 cubicles on the left hand side, then it opened out into a large square space. A changing space. Black doored lockers all around and benches in the middle to change. Crisp, clean, it looked unused. A single door frame opening ahead, blue tiles beyond it. As I approached it, the shower started to trickle to a stop. I walked through.

A large open gang shower. The familiar small blue and white tiles across every surface, floor and ceiling. 5 shower heads down each side. On the left hand side, under the middle still dripping shower head was a man. I noticed the white curved cheeks of his arse first. Two pale circles. Below them his legs were a little darker, and then the tan lines where his summer shorts had stopped and his long, tanned hairy legs began. He looked well over 6 feet tall. His back was tanned too and tapered up to wide, muscular shoulders. He stood stock still. He knew I was there.
I wanted to make it look like I had walked in to use the shower, so took off my tee, unzipped my flies and dropped my trousers. Stepping out of them and putting them to the side, near the doorway. I stood in just my blue briefs and white socks. I had hairy legs and some dark hair on my chest and stomach. I still wore my glasses.

He turned around. Dark hair glistening slick and wet which he swept back off his forehead. He looked to be late 20s. Every bit the city boy. Square jawed, shaven, but that skin some men have that is undeniably male, where you can see the pores, and the dullness of where stubble would be. Knowing if he left it he would have a thick, dark full beard in a very short time.

He had a hairy chest. dark. curly. Possibly Greek I wondered. The hair thickened into a thick treasure trail of darkness leading down to his trimmed pubes. And then I saw his cock. Thickened. Hanging. Uncut. The only way I’ve been able to describe cocks like this in my own head is ‘Dad’ cocks.
Any age of man can have a ‘dad’ cock. It is a cock that has a girth, a hang to it, and looks well used. On this young man it looked beautiful. His young face looking at me, the beginnings of a smile, with his Dad cock unashamedly between his legs. His ballsack hanging loose from the heat of the shower, water droplets between the folds of the sack and two large plumb-like balls hanging.

I didn’t know if I’d be able to speak, but I knew I had to try, “H…hi Mate”. My voice came out nervy and high pitched.
He nodded. If he’d come here looking for another city slicker he must have been deeply disappointed by this stumbling, short hipster in front of him in his pants and socks. I was still wearing my round Harry Potter style glasses.

“Er sure” I said. I had no clue what I was going to do about my erection, which felt harder than it had ever been. I dragged my briefs down and stepped out of them. There was no hiding it, my pale thick cock bounced out. I stood looking down at the floor. Socks, glasses, and an erection that I could see bouncing, needy. The piss slit on my cock had started to gape. The foreskin had fully peeled back and I could see the network or veins beneath the glans shining in the dim light of the shower room.

For all I knew this city boy…city God, could punch me. I dared to raise my eyes. I got to the level of his balls and I could see that familiar movement. The folds of his sack were moving! The hanging balls were beginning to churn. His thick Dad cock was thickening up and peeling itself away from the sack. Within seconds it had fully lifted and his shiny cockhead was pushing out of his foreskin.

There was probably about 10 years between us but I felt worlds apart from this specimen of man in front of me. We both stood, looking at each other. Our cocks both bouncing, searching, needy. I knew in moments mine would be glistening with precum.

Then his deep as gravel voice. London accent. “Welcome to the Brotherhood lad”.

 

[Londonmilk]

Part 3

​

7.30am and the queue was forming outside the shop already. The coffee was good, but it is amazing what Instagram can do for a brand nowadays.

I turned and put the black takeaway cups on the counter “Skinny Latte and a Black Americano - House blend for Lewis” I said. We’d been told not to shout out orders - all part of the more community-led brand Josh had told us to push.
The customer’s hand came into my line of sight to collect the drinks and I didn’t need to look up. I knew it was him. The man from two nights ago who had stood in front of me naked.
FUCK. He must work nearby.

His hand wrapped around the cup. My heart leaped and I instantly had that familiar feeling in my balls again. Churning. Thickening up, in seconds.
His other hand was wrapped around the waist of the lady with him. A tiny blonde, smartly dressed in a short tweedy grey skirt and white blouse.
Those fingers around the cup. Such a man’s hand. It was another hot day and the veins of his hand were sticking out in thick ridges. Long, girthy fingers on this young city gent.

That same hand, that I now knew to be Lewis’s hand, had reached for his own cock two nights ago as he stood naked in front of me. His bouncing cock was beautiful. Its purple head was halfway out of the foreskin and I could see it moving further out, peeling the foreskin back as it pushed, searching for what it needed.
His hand reached for it and slowly pulled the rest of the foreskin back over his glans and further, so I could see the beautiful veined network below.
I was transfixed. My own cock felt harder than I’d ever been and was nodding its approval.

Knowing I was watching him intently, he slowly rubbed his thumb over the shiny vein-bumped skin beneath his cock head. He then brought it up in front of him. He was a lot taller than me and he held his thumb down towards me. I stepped towards it and instinctively sniffed it. He’d just showered but I could already smell the distinctive scent of a cock that was readying itself. Ripening.
Bespectacled, looking up at him I stepped even closer.I took his thumb into my mouth making sure to keep eye contact. First to the knuckle, then all the way. Tasting his cock on him. I kept looking at him. Eyes wide.
In the 2 relationships I’d had so far I had always been the more dominant. I’d been with guys my own build or even smaller. I’d even had one girlfriend in college. They’d all been fairly vanilla and if I’m honest awkward. In this situation right now I was acting on instincts.

Thumb still in my obedient mouth, he spoke. That deep blokey voice again. “Guessing this is your first time here. You’re one of us now, you have the code”. He slowly took out his thumb.
He rested the huge span of his hand on my left pec and his middle finger curved to find my nipple. He started playing with it, a mixture between stroking and flicking. I whimpered. It drove me wild. He laughed. “Someone likes it eh?”. My girthy 6 inches was nodding its approval, glistening precum at its slit.

“The only rule about having the code is we NEVER tell another soul what happens in this building. We can share the code to others we believe will be respectable members of the brotherhood, but what goes on inside here remains sacred”.
I nodded. This speech along with the now more intense pulling and flicking of my nipples was feeling like an initiation. My cock was dripping precum. I get a lot and it was starting to hang in a thick string that swung as my cock moved, a big drip at the end weightily making its way towards the floor.
With his other hand Lewis bent down and held his hand out, fingers together and started to wrap the string of precum around them, all the way up to the head of my cock. Still playing and working my left tit, he put his fingers to his mouth and lapped at my precum. “That’s fucking tasty boy”. Hearing him swear for the first time made me even hornier if that was possible. Another string of precum was forming, slightly thicker his hand went there again and collected it.
This time he held out his fingers up to my face. They were covered in my pre. I could smell it.
“Eat it”, he said. “I want to see you get off on yourself”. I started to lick it from his hand. That sweet familiar taste. Sweet. Lapping it from his rough fingers. He splayed his fingers for me, then started feeding me it.I adjusted my body so I could eagerly take three of them in my mouth. Down to the thick knot of his knuckles. I looked back up at him. I wanted to please him, to show him what I could do.
He was the sort of man I’d idolised throughout growing up. He reminded me of the lads in years above me at school who were great at sports who already looked like men before they’d finished secondary school. Big, masculine hairy thighs, the ability to grow a thick full beard. School uniform the only thing calling out their age. This was what boys like that grew into.
I’d looked them up, the boys above me at school and this is how they looked now. Good jobs and trophy girlfriends. Rugby at weekends. Now this particular one had his fingers in my mouth and I was taking them to the back of my throat for him. His ‘Dad’ cock was leaping to attention as I did it.

His mouth was at my ear. “Do you know what I want?”.
“No” I gurgled through the thickness of his fingers.
“I want to use your mouth. I don’t want a blowjob. I want to throat fuck you”. The deepness of his voice sounded even more beautiful close to my ear, whispering filth into it.
“Can you do that for me?”
“Yes” I garbled. “..Sir”.
The Sir came out of nowhere but it just felt right. He slid his fingers out of my mouth. Leaving A thick drool of saliva from my lips to chin. I left it there. I wanted him to know my mouth was wet and ready for me. As I dropped to my knees my hands went to his pecs and stoked down through the soft dark hair. His cock head was so close to my face. I stared at it. Admired it. I could see the thick central vein of his cock tapering down to his pubes. Because he’d just showered, his balls still hung fairly loose. I moved my face under his cock and got my tongue between a deep flap of his ballsack and lapped. In this moment I wanted him to know my sluttiness…wanted him to know I’d go anywhere for what he needed.

This man deserved to wait no longer. I moved back up to his cock head and started to take it in my lips. Over the vast purple head of it. Tasting the sweetness of its leaking juice. Then, over the curved ridge of his bellend base, and across that gnarled network of veins. Over the bump of his folded foreskin and down the girth of his length. He must have been 8 inches. I made my mouth tighter. I wanted to give him what he’d said. He didn’t want a blowjob, he wanted to fuck. So I made my mouth a soft, wet hole for him. A pussy. A cunt. At the base of his shaft I held there. The top of the fold of the sack I’d just lapped at on my stubbled chin. He reached down and gently took off my glasses, dropping them onto my clothes pile.
He then started to rock back and forth. His hands on my head, guiding me. Slight at first and then slowly having my head go the full length of him. Building up his rhythm. He got faster. His balls swinging against my chin. Each time he completed a thrust I felt his leaking cock touch the back of my throat. It felt blissful.
I looked slightly to the side and could see us both in the full length mirror. I looked so small. White socked, on my knees, my hairy legs wide as he fucked me. He was moving back and forth on me as though he was fucking a pussy. He’d started to grunt too. Seeing a man unashamedly throat fucking me like a slut gave me so much joy.
It felt like I was giving him an animalistic release he needed that he couldn’t get elsewhere.

Suddenly footsteps right behind me. Boots. I hadn’t heard anyone approaching. They were behind me and then to the side of me. And past me. Lewis broke away from his grunting, but his rhythmic movement continued, “Alright mate?” he said to the passing figure.
“Mate” said that the man who I could now see was wearing builders boots, trousers and a flash of high viz.

“That’s a good lad” said Lewis as he got back to his verbal fuck. His hands occasionally held my head right down on his shaft base so he could wallow in the gargle of me beginning to gag.
And now, two days later, here he was collecting coffee. He passed one of the drinks to the woman he was with, presumably his girlfriend or wife judging by the fact his hand had just been rubbing the small of her back. He must surely have recognised me but he showed no sign of it. I tried to do the same. I wanted to live by the rules of the code.
As they chatted to each other and walked out of the shop I saw his beefy arse in his suit trousers and remembered how I’d seen it in the mirror. Thick, muscled and tensed, a dusting of dark hair across its cheeks, as it went back and forth. I wondered if how he’d fucked my mouth was how he fucked the woman he was with…or how he wanted to.
His beautiful body disappeared into the early morning Moorgate crowd.

 

[Londonmilk]

All characters featured in the story are 18 and above.

This story and characters are entirely fictional and only meant to be read by an audience of over 18.

Part 4

​

I grabbed my backpack and dashed out the door. Josh had given me special permission to knock off early today to head to meet mates in Victoria for food and then theatre. It wasn’t until I sat down in the muggy heat of the tube that I could stop and think about what had happened that morning. Seeing Lewis in the coffee shop had almost been as hot as being on my knees for him.
That unspoken knowingness between us both. Being utter gentlemen in public. I’d always been turned on by that - the way men behaved in public - and I got a heightened sense of it in the city. The smart dress sense, the show of masculine politeness and efficiency, versus the more primal togetherness of the locker room. Our shoulders relax when we walk into male only spaces.

I must have been on my knees for Lewis for 45 mins. Letting him throatfuck me with his muscular rhythm, his perfect arse back and forth, my hands splayed across each large, hairy cheek.
Occasionally he’d withdraw and I’d get down under his cock to the base of his shaft and start a long slow tongue lap up the thick length of it, its underside, reaching the head and then devouring it again. There was so much I wanted to do to his body, but that moment was all about his cock and my mouth. He’d started to thrust quickly, more urgently.
My cock throbbed even more. I just loved being able to provide what this man needed. He didn’t tell me he was going to cum. His hands just went to my head and forced my head right down to the base of his shaft. I felt his balls churn and leap in their sack and then the warm first hit of his spunk on the back of my throat. Another spasm and more, the taste filled my mouth and I savoured it. Thick, creamy ropes of his release. I gulped, then slowly drew back, my tongue guiding along the shaft to the head then slowly licking around the slicked glans.
I wanted to take every drop for him. I didn’t want him to have to clean up. I wanted this again so I needed to make it easy for him.
His cock bounced away from my mouth and stayed thickened, clean. His large hand reached out and patted the side of my cheek “Good lad”.
He took a few steps back and hit the shower button with his fist, the wide circular shower head spraying into life.

I stood up. I laughed to myself that I still had my socks on. I wanted to give Lewis some space so I stayed on the same side of the gang shower but walked to the furthest shower head in the corner. I hadn’t realised that the hi-viz jacketed man I’d glimpsed walking past me as I worshipped was already naked and walking back out of the locker room. He walked towards the showerheads directly opposite me.
The shower room was quite darkly lit, with lights set into the walls near the floor. Some looked like they’d been deliberately taken out to make the space even darker. I wasn’t complaining. This added to the semi-anonymous vibe of the space and I’m sure it made men feel more comfortable here.

This new man, who was clearly a builder of some sort, was older. Mid 40s. A beefy body, rugby player-esque and the sort of body that stays toned through hard work rather than
the gym. The sort of bloke who can still sink a few pints with the lads but works hard enough through the week on the site to keep the beer belly just about at bay. Dark, cropped salt and pepper hair, around 5’10, tanned, with a deeply dark hairy arse. He padded across to the shower. He was holding something.
In the half light, I saw his hands twisting. Was he undoing a jar? I saw a circle of pink and realised he had a fleshlight!
Fuck, this was too much for my cock. I slapped it quickly against my stomach. Took my socks off and turned on the shower. Through the warming water I watched him. This regular man, after his shift, setting up his fleshlight was fascinating to me. He had such a no nonsense way about him as he did it, the unscrewing, the way he briefly splashed the fixture of the base under water so it would gain suction against the tiled wall he was about to push it on to.
Before he suckered it to the wall he stepped back, weighing things up for a moment. Choosing with precision the correct height it needed to be for him. His cock was on its way to a hard on as it anticipated the plastic it was about to enter. 6 inches, uncut, head halfway out.He turned the shower off, and squatted down to grab a bottle of lube he had left on the floor. As he squatted I saw the full hang of his balls. Not as low as Lewis’ but a decent hang and they looked achingly heavy. His cheeks spread too as he grabbed the bottle and I saw a deep crack of black hair. He stood up, squirted some of the lube from the bottle into his hand and then slicked it on to the hole in the silicone.
Thick fingers, wider than Lewis’s. Roughened in the way that builders’ are. His lube slickened hand gave one sudden move along his cock and he was ready. I turned my shower off. I started to walk forward. I needed to see the detail of this. He glanced over. 40s and handsome. Clean shaven with a strong aquiline nose. He didn’t smile, just nodded. I nodded back as though I was one of his mates on site greeting him in the morning. Instead, I was standing feet away as his thick fingers reached and parted the lips of the silicone pussy.

I loved the experience he seemed to have with it. He squelched into it, all the way. And then he smiled. Eyes half closed he looked like he’d slid into a bubble bath. He stood there fully inside it for a few seconds, legs wide. Then he fucked it. He didn’t start off slowly, just straight to the mid level fuck. A steady rhythm and the beautiful noise a fleshlight makes. I loved hearing the squelch and suck of it, knowing it was perfectly enveloping his cock. I loved seeing him get his stress relief after a long shift in the sun.

Subconsciously I’d started stroking my own cock as I watched him. I watched his face, seeing him bite his lip as he rode it, that mid-fuck expression all men have that’s unique to them - and I was getting to see it. He had hair between his wide pecs that tapered right down to his pubes and as he fucked his pecs wobbled, sweat building on them. He had that deep tan of a builder from a summer working outside.
Suddenly he looked at me, “Want a go son?”. A thick northern accent. Geordie I think?
Timidly I nodded. That deep sucking noise as he pulled out of it. Pre and lube hanging from his fat cock.
I picked up the lube and squirted some on my cock, smearing it over. I was shaking with excitement. I’d never used one before - and now I had an audience. An audience of two, as out of the steamy shadows stepped Lewis, grinning.

I stepped towards the fleshlight, my purple cock head fully exposed and shiny with lube. To get it to the plastic hole I needed to rise up slightly, half on tiptoes. I glanced at both of the men who smiled back, like proud fathers. With one grunt I was inside. It felt insane. Wet with lube and precum the plastic tunnel gripped my cock so tightly.
I took a deep breath. If I’d relaxed too much I’d have unloaded instantly. Another deep breath and then I moved on it, rocked out and then back in.
“FUCK” I said loudly, my voice echoing around the room. The two men laughed. “Good lad!”, said the Geordie, slapping my back. The touch of his calloused hand on my skin made my cock leak.
Correcting my breathing again I managed to gain a rhythm to my thrust and speeded it up. Faster and faster. Proving myself to these men was fuelling how horny I was for this plastic. As I reached speed I felt Lewis’ arm wrap around my shoulder, “That’s it son, fuck the cunt”
And the Geordie to my left offered his arm of support too, “ride that plastic”. My panting got heavier and my balls started to churn. “I need it, I fucking need it”.
“Let it out lad, let it out” said Lewis, turning gentle for the first time as he stroked my hair.

It came in a vast moan that filled the space. My full 3-day load thrown out into the silicone. Lewis and the other man cheered, it felt like I’d scored a goal and in my spaced out state I accepted their high fives.

It felt as though they almost lifted me off the fleshlight. I was spent, I crossed to the shower on the opposite side to the sound of Lewis now blissfully mounting the plastic and the guttural moans of his fuck.

SCREECH. The tube had arrived at Victoria. Shaken out of my memory. The City building and the code I had to it were now forming a large part of my thoughts. It was drawing me in.

I hurried out of the station to meet my friend Anton. Anton was great. One of my new Uni friends, as camp as Blackpool seafront and so much fun. He was a theatre Youtuber and Instagrammer and he’d just started gaining enough traction with it to drop his job working alongside me in the coffee shop. 18 thousand Instagram followers and counting, he was starting to be offered free tickets to shows to review, and he often invited me along as long as I offered to be cameraman for his vlogs. I happily accepted the freebie. Tonight Anton was doing what he termed a ‘Rewatch Review’ of something well established he’d already seen. I didn’t fully understand why, but hey the content machine is a greedy beast I guess!?

I strode up the stairs and out of Victoria Station and there he was pastel pink shorts and a black t-shirt with the words ‘Click, Boom’ across it in bold white letters. He always brought a smile to my face. I crossed the road and met him outside of the Victoria Palace Theatre where in an hour and half’s time he’d be ‘Rewatching’ and I would be watching for the first time, that evening’s performance of Hamilton.

 

[Londonmilk]

​

All characters featured in the story are 18 and above.

This story and characters are entirely fictional and only meant to be read by an audience of over 18.

Part 5

​

I followed Anton through the small crowd at the stage door. I always felt embarrassed when he did this but he insisted we did it for his Instagram as it was a way of publicising his review. I had really enjoyed Hamilton! I didn’t really know what to expect but it was so creative and hey, it gave me a history lesson to boot. I’m not going to lie, the cast were easy on the eye too. All of those hot bodies in period clothes - if it wasn’t a freebie that would have been worth the ticket price alone!

Anton being Anton he pushed through to the front of the crowd just as the stage door opened. Everyone raised their smartphones, but to be fair they were being quiet and respectful. A small whoop went up as some men and women in tracksuit bottoms and hoodies came out - I vaguely recognised them as part of the ensemble. Then a louder whoop and I instantly recognised this next gentleman as the man who had played George Washington. Well over six-foot, a stockily built black man, with a thick beard. Out of his costume he still looked stylish, smart black trousers, black boots and a baggy white t-shirt. Cropped, slightly grown-out afro hair. He spotted Anton immediately. I’m not sure if he recognized him from his socials (Anton had interviewed a fair few of the West End actors for his channel) or if it was the ‘Click Boom’ branding of his t-shirt, but he pointed at Anton and gave a huge wide white toothed smile.

“Harrison!”, screamed Anton, “Can I get a selfie?”
“Anton for you, anything. So long as I get a 5 star review?” They both erupted into laughter. Harrison emitting a deep, thick sexy laugh that seemed to come from deep within his massive body. I was surprised to hear he was British.
Anton practically threw the camera at me. That was my cue to play cameraman. I snapped a few photos of them quickly, aware of the crowd around me who wanted their moment with Harrison and the rest of the cast.
“Will that do?” I said pleadingly to Anton. I know he wanted to meet the other cast members but my bed was calling to me.
“I guessssss” he said, with puppy dog eyes looking up at me. “I suppose you can’t get much bigger than George Washington''.
“..And he certainly was big. In all ways” I said with a smirk. Anton slapped my arm, “Ryan, behave!”.
As we walked away I glanced behind me and I was sure Harrison was looking at me through the small crowd. He smiled, and then he was gone amongst the selfie-seekers.


I spread out in bed, I was exhausted. I sleepily picked up my phone. An alert flashed up telling me II’d been tagged in a post. Anton!
I clicked on it and there was one of the beaming photos I’d taken of Harrison and Anton at the stage door. He’d tagged me as ‘photographer extraordinaire’. I smiled and shared it to my story.
Within seconds my phone buzzed. A message, from Harrison Andrews. Why was he messaging me? I opened it quickly.

‘And you are a GREAT photographer. Thank you’

I was so flattered he’d bothered to do that. It was almost midnight and he must be exhausted after his performance. I grinned and wondered if he was doing the same as me, spread out naked in bed scrolling through his phone before sleeping. I suddenly thought of his beautiful dark body and what it would look like naked.

‘Well, I had SUCH a Handsome subject’. Send. My heart jumped as I sent it. This was one attractive man. What did he see in scrawny me?

I noticed he’d scrolled right back through my feed and liked a photo of me last year, topless by a pool. I typed his name into Google. He was beautiful. I scrolled through photos and news articles about him. He’d played the role of Washington in the Broadway production before coming to London. He was dating one of the other female cast members.

‘That means a lot, even though I feel a tired mess right now. And a matinee tomorrow’’

My fingers paused, but I was feeling in a mischievous mood. Fuck it.

‘A gentleman like you needs to find a way to unwind’
I cheekily added the eggplant emoji.

‘Oh yeah? Any ideas?’

I can trust this man, I thought.

‘#5874.
157 Bank Lane. Once in head up to the 7th floor. It’s a space that NEVER gets used. There’s a huge shower at the back of the space too’

Nothing for several minutes, then a single message replied.

‘?’

I left his question mark, turned over my phone and was asleep within minutes.

Although today was a day off from work, my body clock wasn’t having any of it. I woke up wide awake at 6am.
I pulled on some loose shorts and made myself a coffee (beans from Juliet of course) and padded back to bed, trying not to wake my housemates.

The question mark still hung there.

‘It’s a discreet space where you can unwind’ I replied to Harrison.

I then found myself going to the theatre website and finding what time the matinee started. 2:30pm?

Would he be brave enough to try it? I knew he probably wouldn’t. I think at this point I was just searching for excuses to pay another trip to Bank Lane.

My phone buzzed.

‘Well, I have 4 days worth of unwinding to do, so maybe I should try it’

Wow. I jumped out of bed. Brushed my teeth, pulled on some briefs, some shorts and a tee and grabbed my bag. I could shower when I got there. I ran to the tube station.

As I turned on to Bank Street I opened Instagram. No more messages. I clicked on Harrison’s profile. A new story. He was sitting wide legged at a cafe table, outside on a street .He was so tall his leg span was amazing, with an obvious bulge. Was that the huge curved head of his cock? A pretty woman sat next to him who I vaguely recognised as one of the ensemble cast members.

He’d written the text ‘A City Breakfast with this one #TwoShowDay’
He’d added the location ‘City of London’.

He could be anywhere in the Square Mile I told myself, but that didn’t stop my cock from instantly chubbing up towards a semi. Was this absolute mountain of a man who I had watched sing and dance on stage last night going to be in the room where it REALLY happens?

Only one way to find out. ‘#5874. And I was inside once again.

 

[Red-wood natural]

More, this cock I'm nursing through your story needs more! Hahaha

 

[conundrum61]

heres hoping you come back to this, OP!

 

[batnballs67]

@Londonmilk , hope you get back to this story, man!