It was not just beeping, it was radiating. A signal, in red circular waves. Somewhere nearby, a man was in need of a blowjob and Alfie was determined to find him.
He used his cellphone like a compass – holding it in the palm of his hand and pointing it in slightly varying directions, finding the strongest signal and then following it until the signal weakened or was lost altogether. And then, scanning the various directions once more, his phone picked up the signal again.
Sprinter’s Alley, Alfie thought. That’s where it seems to be coming from.
That made sense. Sprinter’s Alley would be pitch dark at this hour and, as the name implied, it was easy for anyone to take off in either direction and sprint quickly out of the alley if the situation called for it. The Public Sex Administration was located not too far from Sprinter’s Alley. There was a certain thrill in knowing that, at any moment, you could get caught. Because of the decades-long perpetual public health warnings, public sex was absolutely forbidden – punishable by maximum security isolation, where a prisoner’s every move was monitored so that he couldn’t so much as jerk-off for the duration of his sentence.
But now the signal had gone dead.
Alfie stood at the south end of Sprinter’s Alley and peered into the darkness, scanning the area with his phone for a sign of life. Maybe he’d been wrong and the signal had been coming from somewhere else.
He turned to head in another direction when there it was, plain as day. Not only was the signal suddenly quite strong on his own cellphone, he could also see the red circular waves radiating from a cellphone midway down the alley.
Alfie looked around furtively and then headed down Sprinter’s Alley. As a precaution, he turned off his phone, in case this was some sort of perverse sting set-up. He didn’t want his phone radiating.
He tried to act casual. Tried to pretend it made perfect sense for him to be walking alone, down a pitch-dark alley at this hour of the night.
“Hey,” a voice said quietly from the darkness of a doorway. “Did you get my message?”
Alfie recognized the code. All users on the app used it when referring to the phone signal: Did you get my message?
It gave Alfie courage. He quietly gave the coded reply. “I saw that you called but I couldn’t hear what you said.”
“Good,” the voice replied almost inaudibly. What was easier for Alfie to hear was the sound of the man’s zipper going down. Before going down to his knees, Alfie looked cautiously in all directions, even though it was too dark to see anything. He could barely see the man now directly in front of him. But he decided that the alley was clear. He went down to his knees.
The stranger’s cock was out of his trousers and already thick, completely stiff. Before Alfie even had the man’s cock in his mouth, he could smell the Basin District all over it. Alfie knew what the cocks smelled like from every district except for the Upper Canal District – where Alfie was from. He couldn’t tell what any of the cocks smelled like there because he was too familiar with it.
But men from the Basin District had cocks that smelled like earth and grass and fertile dirt. Alfie took the hard cock into his mouth, sucking it up and down slowly, but with passion; remembering those smells of earth and grass and dirt from when his nose had been pressed into the actual terrain of the Basin District. He’d been face down in it – the damp earth – in the pitch-dark of a moonless night, his jeans down just enough to expose his naked ass to a Basin District man, a different public sex offender, whose spit-covered fingers had gone up Alfie’s asshole, had probed around up there, opening him, stretching him, until a spit-covered cock replaced the probing fingers and seriously opened Alfie’s ass.
Each deliberate thrust of the man’s huge cock had pushed Alfie’s face harder against the damp earth, until the living smell of the earth up his nose became indelibly entwined with the feeling of his asshole stretching around the girth of that hammering cock. It had made Alfie want to cry out – the intensity of that cock’s power; the overwhelming size of it – but cries in the night were a dead giveaway of public sex, so he hadn’t dared make a sound. He’d taken the full force of that cock with just an occasional whimper.
Those were the thoughts that filled Alfie’s head as he sucked the new cock in and out of his mouth. The smells of the Basin District. The power of the men’s cocks who came from there.
Alfie’s own cock was painfully hard inside his tight jeans. But he didn’t want to risk lowering his jeans there in Sprinter’s Alley and jerking off while he sucked the man’s erection. It would be too much to keep track of if they each had to zip up and take off in a hurry. Alfie focused, instead, on just sucking the cock, hoping there was a way to transfer it psychically. The warmth of his wet mouth, opening wide and sliding the cock in and out, could be a promise of his warm asshole, stretching open instead, the cock pushing in, pulling out. In some private open field. Miles from the Public Sex Administration. Where, in Alfie’s fertile imagination, all the men were naked. Free. Available, with hard cocks and greased assholes in an unending darkness.
And at times like this, when Alfie was on his knees, the warm thick dick of some unknown man filling his mouth, Alfie thought of all those imaginary cocks in that imaginary field of night, and he imagined that his asshole was the only one they wanted. One after another after another, the mysterious hard cocks would pummel into him, open him deep and unload their cum. Until he couldn’t imagine being more filled with it – all that sweat and salt and cum of lust.
Lost in his delirium, Alfie moaned all over the cock that was in his mouth.
“Oh yes,” the man gasped quietly. “Oh god.” And the stranger gripped Alfie’s head firmly and pumped his cock in deep, aiming now for that spongy soft spot at the back of Alfie’s throat. Yeah, oh god, god.
Alfie knew the guy was getting ready to come. Sadly, it was happening too fast. Still, Alfie opened his throat and took that cock all the way down, until his nose was pressed flat against the man’s coarse mass of pubic hair, until all Alfie could think of was the Basin District. The joy of it. The filthy pleasure of having gotten his ass so thoroughly fucked there. The cum seeping out of his burning hole that night as he’d walked the long way home.
Oh god, the man grunted repeatedly, as he held firmly to Alfie’s head, jerking sharply against Alfie’s face, his cock wedged clear down Alfie’s open throat. The man was unloading his balls in spurts and streams and Alfie took every bit of it. Every drop. Until the man abruptly pulled out of Alfie’s mouth, zipped up and, without uttering another sound, was off down Sprinter’s Alley, into the anonymous night.
Alfie slowly stood up, his eyes watery, his nose runny from the force of the man’s eruption down his throat. He wiped his face with his sleeve and then turned on his phone and looked at it. He scanned the whole area for even a faint signal.
Nothing.
He left Sprinter’s Alley and walked back out onto the street. Soon, his phone did pick up another signal. This one gave out staccato blue waves. A man wanted to suck a cock, not have his own cock sucked. It would maybe do in a pinch, but Alfie kept scanning the distance, hoping to find an orange signal that was looking for an asshole to fuck. Or a green signal – a man who was looking to be on the receiving end and get a cock stuck up his own ass.
Or, best yet, a signal that was almost never sent out – Code Purple. Which meant there was a small group of men gathered in the abandoned sewer tunnel in the old Meat District, a rank end of town where only the truly depraved or truly deprived ventured, because that’s where the gangbangs happened. Down in the abandoned sewer tunnel.
Alfie had gone down there only once. At the time, he’d felt lucky to survive it. Afterwards, though, he dreamed only of repeating it – of finding that rare Code Purple signal radiating on his phone once more and then finding his nerve to follow it down.
Alfie walked for awhile and scanned the signals in the night. He didn’t really feel like having his cock sucked. He wanted much more than that. He wanted Code Purple – even though it unnerved him at the same time. To be at the mercy of the hardened, desperate men who had nothing left to lose, who took whatever holes they wanted with unbridled force, with relentless abandon; shoving their cocks in and forcing their captive prey to cry out. Sometimes Alfie felt as if he had nothing left to lose, either.
Who wanted to remain in a world where every act of public intimacy, or even comradery, was an act of defiance? One punishable by imprisonment if caught. When Alfie recalled his own prison term – three months in maximum security isolation, his every move monitored, not even allowed to touch himself – it seemed far better to go down in a rambunctious blaze of innumerable cocks and warm assholes, wet mouths and even greased-up fists…
Alfie glanced down at the sudden signal radiating on his phone. Finally. An orange signal. Depending on where the signal was actually emanating from, it could be that the night was not yet over.
Walking east, he followed the signal as it got stronger. He was heading into the Market District when the signal grew very strong.
It was promising. The Market District was filled with stalls and storefronts boarded at night – plenty of nooks and crannies that provided potential privacy, especially in the dark.
Once more, Alfie scanned the darkness for an orange signal radiating from some nearby phone. And there it was. Coming from a dark doorway behind a shuttered stall.
Alfie walked casually in that direction. Until a quiet voice said, “Hey. Did you get my message?”
And Alfie said, “I saw that you called but I couldn’t hear what you said.”
“Good,” the voice said. “There’s a stairwell here.”
Alfie’s cock lurched to life again inside his tight jeans. A stairwell. It would be dark and dank but it meant privacy. At least a modicum of it.
Alfie walked in the direction of the voice, going behind the shuttered stall, meeting the shadow of the man in the darkened doorway. “Down here,” the man whispered. And Alfie followed him, the stranger carefully helping Alfie down a dark set of old sagging wooden stairs.
They did not dare to venture all the way down, where there would be no exit out; they only went down halfway. And the man’s voice was full of excitement when he told Alfie, hoarsely, “Turn around.”
Alfie turned around, facing the darkness of the old stairs, and he felt the man’s hands come around to the front of him and unbutton his jeans for him, unzip his zipper and then, to Alfie’s fear and delight, the man pulled Alfie’s jeans down – all the way down, passed his knees to his ankles. Alfie felt as good as naked. It was a feeling he rarely ever felt.
The man’s rough fist gave Alfie’s erect cock a couple of swift tugs and it was all Alfie could do to keep from groaning out loud. Then Alfie heard the man’s zipper go down and could feel that the man’s cock was now out of his trousers, too. Clearly, the stranger was not going to join Alfie in his half-naked and vulnerable condition – only the man’s cock was out – but Alfie didn’t care. All he cared about now was the engagement, the feeling of the hard cock pressing against the tight flesh of his exposed backside. Warm skin against warm skin.
“Try to bend over,” the voice urged him quietly. “These stairs are rotting, but do the best you can.”
And Alfie did just that: he bent over, feeling in the darkness for a step below him to grab hold of. Alfie knew it was going to have to be quick, but he was going to try to sear every moment of the coming penetration – the cock-contact, the impalement – into his brain so that he could return to that slab of a bed in the silence of his cubicle and re-live what was about to happen over and over in his head, with his dick in his fist. Orange signals were not sent out often – they were dangerous.
Alfie felt the man’s large hands separate his ass cheeks; felt the man’s warm erection slide teasingly up and down the crack of his spread ass. Alfie’s asshole was exposed now in the dark, his own aching cock hanging down, swinging free. Then he felt the warm cockhead, slick with spit, press into his asshole and push it open. Alfie gripped the sagging wooden step and grunted – he couldn’t help himself; the cockhead had pushed into him swift and deep. With sudden force, the cock had Alfie opened up all the way and, without hesitation, the man launched into the savage rhythm of fucking Alfie’s ass, until both men were hard-pressed to keep the lusty sounds of their nefarious pleasure from escaping them.
Oh god, Alfie groaned deeply under his breath every time that cock hammered into his hole. And he clutched that step, taking the full force of the man’s power without falling over. Yes, Alfie thought; oh yes, he shouted freely in the privacy of his own mind. Fuck me, he thought; just fuck me; keep fucking me. Oh god. And his mind slipped back to the abandoned sewer tunnel in the old Meat District. And as the cock hammering into his ass now, filled his balls with a pressure he could hardly stand, his cock feeling ready to explode, Alfie let the fire of Code Purple engulf his memory.
There had been a cock hammering into his ass then, too. But there’d been a cock filling his mouth – opening his throat. And another man’s mouth took Alfie’s own stiff cock all the way down at the same time… Men combining and re-combining, and then re-combining again, until every man in that sewer had emptied his cum into every kind of warm, pulsing, opening hole.
That had been a night filled with sounds – the freedom of human sounds and fearless contact. Yes, Alfie thought; fuck me. Fuck me. He could feel that the man was on the verge of coming and his mind urged the stranger on. Alfie’s asshole was thoroughly open now and riding the incoming cock, pushing hard against it as it pushed its way up him. Oh fuck! Alfie thought. And the stranger came, gripping Alfie’s hips tight, emptying his load deep inside Alfie’s opened ass – jerking it out in steady spurts, making complete contact.
When he was done, the man pulled out of Alfie and quickly zipped his dick back inside his trousers. Then he helped Alfie pull up his jeans. Alfie still had a hard-on, though, that he managed to stuff behind his zipper. Then they cautiously went up the old rotting stairs in silence and parted immediately, phones in hand, once they were out of the dark doorway, heading to the street.
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