Lads on Tour

All Characters 18+

The Lads could hardly believe what they were staring at. They guffawed and balked by turns, each trying to quell the embarrassment. Their tour guide Luca had innocuously called this corner of the ruin 'the party room', and gave no warning about what would be found within. Here the crumbling walls of the Balearicus Villa were festooned with outrageous homoerotic frescos - Athletes and Soldiers, Masters and slaves, young men and their Daddies, all fucking every which way that could be imagined.

Way back in 121 BC, the Roman General Quintus Caecilius Metellus defeated the Balearic Pirates and celebrated his victory by fucking every single fit lad in Majorca. A hill fort and sumptuous holiday home was duly erected to consolidate his power over the island, and he decorated the interior with these steamy murals to memorialise his epic body count. The General appears time and again throughout the frieze, demonstrating his supremacy in one scene after another, pounding on the sons of Majorca's subjugated Buccaneers with Imperial impunity. Luca loved bringing hot British Boys to see this shocking proof of the brilliant excesses of Roman debauchery. Their prudish discomfort was always so delicious,

"This is how the Lads of ancient Rome used to chill out. Normal Lads just like you. If this was Roman times, you would have a party like this tonight."

"Fuck off!" the Brits chortled, turning on one another with nervous accusations,

"Ur, don't be gay!"

"Why are you so gay, tho..?"

But the drawings quickly arrested their attention, working a peculiar fascination on all who saw them, and in no time they were taking pictures and chatting excitedly about each mad, lurid detail they discovered in the timeworn paint.

"Mate, this Quintus bloke looks like you!" Jackson exclaimed, hanging off Scott's shoulder.

"He does an' all!" Grant agreed, and the Boys gathered round to verify.

It wasn't just the close-cropped blond beard and a chunky Dad bod. General Caecilius Metellus also shared Scott's naughty smile, making their resemblance striking in the extreme.

"And this little bitch looks like Leslie," Grant beamed, pointing at the hapless pipsqueak depicted choking on the General's choad. He was always dunking on his little brother like that.

"Fuck off, no it doesn't!" Leslie whined, but no one listened to him, and they all took pictures and tagged him in their socials.

The joke stung tho, because Leslie WAS actually secretly gay, AND he had a long standing crush on his Big Brother's bestie Scott. It felt like everyone had seen his private wank fantasy, and he wanted the ground to swallow him up.

"You would have been such a total bitch in ancient Rome," Grant boomed, scratching his balls and taking snapshots on his iPhone,

Leslie wished he HAD been born in ancient Rome, and he shuffled aside to sulk and wee a silly wet patch in his Calvin's, picturing life as a sex toy of the colossal General Scott.

He needn't have felt quite so alone though. Intrusive thoughts were giving them all a shifty boner, and the Lads tugged on their shorts to try and hide it. Letting their eyes wander through the frescos they went their own way around the room, each alighting upon scenes that spoke to their own fancies, and each finding a caricature that looked a fair bit like themselves.

Scott thought he could see the appeal in fucking all Majorca's naughty boys, and that he would have definitely indulged the same spoils had he been a Victor in such heady times.

"That would be Jokes!" Grant smiled to himself, nodding at a picture of a heavyset Centurion bumming a Roman twink. It seemed the perfect image of a Real Man, taking just exactly whatever he wanted, and letting all the boys know who was in charge.

Charlie was staring at the same picture, and he couldn't help but wonder how it must feel to be taken by a Man that way? A Man just like Grant maybe? Charlie broke a sweat.

Jackson burst with laughter a few paces down. Having found a drawing that would test polite society in any age, he beckoned the Lads to admire a cartoon of three regular Bros, each raising a chalice to collect the tasty sprinkles of pee splashing from a slave boy's willy. It caused an uproar among his mates, but they did each secretly wonder what piss might actually taste like.

"Getting lots of ideas for later tonight, right?" Luca teased, exciting a second wave of protestations and jibes.

These lads seemed somehow different to the usual Brits. Something about them, cooking just under the surface, as if their bestial frustrations were fast approaching a flash point. Why were English Lads so fucking sexy? With their random tattoos, and bulging muscles, and terrible skin fades, and cheap gold jewellery? Luca always had such a crush on these obnoxious louts. But they were always so straight. Or too scared to try anything gay.

"You missed the best part," he smirked, alerting them to the most shocking of all the scenes depicted in the fresco.

It was a brawl scene in which a crowd of mean Jocks had some wimp pinned down so they could take turns beating on his balls.

"...what the fuck?" Alfie muttered under his breath.

"Rome was a Macho's paradise," Luca explained, "the Bullies reigned supreme."

"Fuck, that's awesome!" Alfie blurted, rather telling on himself.

An open season on wimps was Alfie's idea of heaven, and to his way of thinking ball-bashing had to be the sweetest pleasure of all. But he wasn't the only one thinking it. All the Lads wanted to be in the picture, holding the boy down. Luca clocked the many hard-ons forcing tents in their shorts.

"This is my favourite picture too," he dared to confess, leaning his back against the dusty wall, and staring longingly into Alfie's eyes.

Of all the Lads in the group, Alfie was absolutely the sexiest one - his pecs bulging in his Arsenal football shirt, and dark curls in his chavy mullet. He might even have been the sexiest guy Luca had ever seen! He wanted to throw himself down at Alfie's feet and beg for a drip from the Fit Lad's pretty dick.

Alfie caught the Spaniard staring at his crotch, and did nothing to cover up. Throwing a quick glance down himself, he noticed with smarmy satisfaction that the contour of his swollen bellend was discernible in the white fabric of his shorts as his long erection fought to stand tall.

"We're hitting the straight bars tonight, mate," he spat unkindly, loving the attention he could garner from a queer, "Brits aren't bum-boys like you dirty Dago faggots. We'll be stealing your women while you're busy diddling, mate! Comprende? Gonna fuck some sweet Spanish pussy tonight!"

"Nah, only ugly English birds at the clubs!" Luca grinned antagonistically, "Spanish girls don't fuck with Gammon."

The Lads cracked up. It was such an awesome put down, even if they did get the impression Luca had used it before. No hard feelings.

Concluding the tour, Luca ushered them out the way they came in.

*

Despite hours of anticipation and inane, empty big-talk, when they finally made it into the club it proved to be every bit as dry as Luca had warned them. No Spanish babes, just a slew of shitfaced English birds making a fool of themselves. The Lads weren't going to be fussy tho, so they switched on their charm and did their best to impress the slags, but they completely failed to score.

Most of the Lads had girlfriends waiting for them back in Luton, but that never stopped them cruising for a cheeky bit on the side while abroad. They danced and drank until it was difficult to stand, and staggered back to their hotel empty handed. The lobby echoed horribly with drunken heckling as they climbed the stairs in a clumsy mob. Then they bickered about who was supposed to be holding the key, waking every other guest as they went. Scott had it and, stabbing noisily at the lock, he got it open and let them pile through like clowns.

The louts were sharing a single room. In the brilliant confluence of a last-minute booking and the imperative to secure the cheapest possible option, all six of these sexy, stinky chavs were forced into one bedroom. Three double beds awkwardly cluttered the space, leaving only narrow trenches between the divans through which to pass up and down. Upon their arrival two days before, they'd fought over who was sharing a mattress with who, but in the end they were all too drunk for it to matter, and they crashed on the nearest available spot.

Didn't seem like they'd be getting much sleep tonight though. On this side of the building, the beats and bass of a dozen beach parties shook the whole room. Alfie closed the window, but it did nothing to quiet the rumbling, and he whipped the curtain to try shut out the streetlight, but a long, thin beam remained dissecting the shade. Laying side-by-side the Lads made a genuine attempt to drop off.

No one slept though. Drifting in the torrid dark, those old Roman frescos fluttered up in each of their booze-addled and sexually frustrated minds like the pages of magical porn mags. If they'd been Roman Lads, like Luca was trying to tell them, they wouldn't have needed any slags to chafe. They'd just have come back here and fucked each other. It wasn't even gay back then. It's just what Lad's did.

It probably wouldn't even be gay if they did it today. It's not gay if it just between mates, they reasoned silently. They'd all enjoyed circle jerks before and seen each other nut, and that wasn't gay. It would just be like helping out a mate - just giving him a cheeky hand job, or maybe stuffing his chops with your cock.

Grant felt horniest of all. He was sharing a bed with his little brother's mate Charlie. He'd bullied Charlie Evans since the lad was a tyke. But he wasn't a tyke anymore. He was a nimble teen, pretty as a rosebud, stripped down to his trunks and low-cut white ankle socks. Laid on his front without sheets to cover him up, that stripe of orange streetlight ran right over the bubbles of his butt. It looked like a girl's butt. His hairless legs looked like girl's legs. Would it be gay if Grant fucked him like he was a girl?

Turning this way and that, the chunky Top Lad tormented himself with lusty thoughts until he could resist no longer. Grant could see that Charlie was wide awake. The boy's open eyes sparkled in the darkness as brightly as the false diamond stud in his ear. Soundlessly raising his hand, Grant brought it down on the cheeks that taunted him and gently squeezed.

Charlie lay petrified, completely unresponsive. Leslie's Big Brother was squeezing his arse! He'd always been terrified of Grant, and Grant knew it. Years of roasting, and beats, and swirlies in the school toilets was all he'd ever got from Leslie's Big Brother. But now, in the torrid Mediterranean midnight, Grant's fingertips were caressing his bum. Charlie wasn't sure if this was just another prank or some clumsy, locker room style show of dominance? He didn't know how to act. His heart raced. Grant's fingers glided over the cotton of his shorts, pushing their way between his warm buns, and stroking ever nearer his hole. This had to be more than a joke, Grant was properly feeling him up! It felt nice, but Charlie didn't seem to be getting a stiffy. He was just a bit too scared.

Reading the boy's complete inaction as a wordless show of consent, Grant lifted his head to check that the others were sleeping. He couldn't make out anything in the shadows that surrounded them, but the room seemed still, and the all-pervasive boom of trashy EDM blasting from the beach party outside provided an extra level of cover. Emboldened to proceed, Grant slid his palm under the waistband of Charlie's Calvin's, scoring a fulsome grab on his naked cake, skin to skin. It pumped the semi that had been lazing in his Lonsdale's right up into a raging porker.

Grant could only rub and tease a short while before animal impulses overwhelmed him. Rolling drunkenly on top of the boy, he tore Charlie's panties down his slender thighs, planting hungry kisses on his delicate shoulders and neck. Charlie's heart nearly stopped. He surrendered completely to Grant's molestations, awestruck by the raw power of the Man's passions.

Grant groped for Charlie's cock, and finding it flaccid and tiny in his hand he inwardly rejoiced. Fucking the boy with a frightened little penis was somehow so much hotter that giving him a boner. And anyway, it definitely wasn't gay sex if the rascal was soft. It was just more bullying - Grant's wheelhouse. Resting the length of his own mighty hard-on in the cleave of Charlie's bobbing buttocks, and with a hand still cupping the chav lad's shrunken willy, he whispered from behind,

"I'll give you something to be scared off, babe. You feel that? My beastly cock?"

Charlie moaned with a troubling mixture longing and fear., "...fuck me, Grant."

"I'll make you sorry you asked..." Grant growled, settling in for the naughtiest fuck of his life.

In the next bed, (and completely unaware of anything taking place between Grant and Charlie) Alfie was bunked up with Jackson. They were already spooning in boozy slumber. Unable to forget that nice fresco of the Roman Bullies busting that ginger pipsqueak's balls, Alfie had reached across the mattress and drawn Jackson in close.

Astonished, but adapting to the situation with praiseworthy ambition, Jackson accepted the embrace. Back home, Alfie would take this as a cue from his girlfriend Chantelle to reach down and stroke her cunt. Almost before he knew it, he had Jackson's balls between finger and thumb, stroking them through his briefs. He'd never clutched another lad's bollocks before, and he tried their tensile strength as he kissed Jackson behind the ear.

Quite unlike his nervous pal the in next bed over, Jackson got a sly stiffy nice and quick. Alfie caressed his dick too, stroking it's shaft and massaging the head as it leaked under it's cotton shroud. Jackson sweltered in the careful attention he was receiving. It felt lovely. He turned his head to snatch those kisses up with his mouth. Tongue-tips touched, and suddenly they were making out.

Who knew kissing another Lad would be this fucking sick? So much more exhilarating than kissing a girl. Boys were tough and gentle, beautiful and brutish, all at once. And Alfie was such a Stud! A proper fit lad. A perfect male specimen. Still wearing his red Arsenal shirt, the Alfa continued to tease Jackson's junk, squeezing testily on his nuts. He'd been thinking about it all day - bashing balls. And now that he had a cute, warm boy so closely wrapped in his arms, his imagination flooded with mean thoughts.

For his own part, Jackson's heart fluttered. Alfie's vindictive little kink was kind of sexy. He wanted his new Romeo to hurt his balls. Snatching the Bully's hands up in his own, he silently guided them, miming a decent sack-tap in a cute rehearsal. Alfie got the picture alright, quickly whacking Jackson's balls with a smirk. Jackson stifled a yelp, and no one heard a thing over the ongoing rumble of shit dance music. Fuck it hurt! But it also made his dick harder than ever before. He wanted another hit, and opened up for it. A second, a third, a forth time Alfie whipped his bollocks, and Jackson's dick got harder with every tap.

Worrying that the other Lads might discover them both at such sordid play, Alfie let up a minute to survey the room. It was too dark to know for sure, but the bedroom seemed quiet. Ball busting was so fucking badass! Every bit as good as he imagined. And he was just getting started! He wanted to fucking murk Jackson's testicles, pulverise them. Just thinking about it made his dick drip so profusely that it soaked a rich wet-patch his shorts. Jackson's thigh tingled with the clammy touch of wet fabrics as Alfie's precum seeped from one pair of undies to the other. This was the best holiday ever!

Over in the last bed, poor Leslie had no idea these brilliant moments were unfolding on the sly. Unable to sleep, he tormented himself with teenage longing. The tumble into bed had thrown him down on the same mattress as his crush Scott, and from the moment the lights went out he'd been burning up with heartache. Of course Scott would be the only one among them who succeeded in passing out. He was even snoring, laid on his back like a King.

In the gloom, Leslie could just about make out the wondrous bulks of Scott's sexy body. Without the slightest regard for his roommates, Scott had stripped butt naked before collapsing, and his pretty circumcised choad was on show. Leslie stared so long it made him cry. He had no fucking chance in hell of living his dreams. Scott's engagement ring twinkled with a speck of light. The lucky girl in question was Jackson's sister Kelly, and their baby was due at the end of the summer. If only he'd been a girl, Leslie would have beaten Kelly to the alter. If he'd been Grant's little sister, he would have spent all those weekends flirting with the Bear, teasing him form the doorway as they played their video games and watched the footie. He'd have been perfectly placed to seduce him. He'd be the one carrying Scott's babies now, not stupid Kelly.

A wicked notion flashed up in his mind, bringing his tears to sudden halt. Throwing furtive glances into the dark beyond their mattress and deciding the room was dormant, Leslie crept his way down the bed. Soon his hot face was inches away from Scott's bellend.

"Scott?" he whispered, but hardly heard his own voice in the din of the parties carrying on outside.

And driven by forces more powerful and seductive than his moral compass, Leslie carefully placed his mouth on Scott's penis. The unresponsive meat of his chubby glans wobbled on Leslie's tongue. Short but wide, Scott amply crammed the chops. Leslie's heart and mind totally flipped. Even in this inert jelly state, the thrill of finally tasting the Man he loved was voltaic, shaking him to the core, but the tickles they shared caused Scott to thrust and stir, snorting as if he might wake. Leslie shrank back and waited.

The Bear was still asleep, and so he dared to go in for a another turn. Licking this time with purpose, he pushed his tongue tip around the crest of Scott's bell, exploring the wonderful shape and quality of his meat. With kisses and sucks he drew forth a single, blesséd bead of salty juice, seeping over his tastebuds and igniting all his senses. This was heavenly. Leslie wanted Scott's dick in his mouth forever, squirting tasty pee.

But this stolen micro-gasm only roused Scott more profoundly than before, and the Lummox rolled onto his side, putting his penis out of reach for good. Leslie despaired. He knew his one and only chance to share in Scott's love had been and gone. Laying back down, he ruminated on the flavour still saturating his mush - the flavour of a real-life Daddy dick. A dick that was busy making babies...

Then sliding a hand dejectedly under his pillow, his fingers tangled with some foreign object, and pulling it out found he had Scott's discarded trunks in his clutches. Wrapping them quickly over his face, he inhaled a lovely hit of dick musk, and balls, and pee, sinking into the solace of a furious cry-wank. With booze still swimming in a fog around his head, Leslie nutted over the edge of the bed. Then he fell asleep at last, swaddled in Scott's stink.

Back in the first bunk, things had escalated. Charlie was outright gagging on Grant's massive cock, his own tiny penis still flopping forward and back as the mattress rocked. Completely overwhelmed, his head had just become a hole for Grant to pound on, trouncing his tonsils, and slapping his chin with his balls. How was no one else waking up? Charlie didn't care if they did at this point. Getting face-fucked by Grant was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and tears spilled onto his cheeks with the strain of keeping up.