Walking had been made interesting for Simon following Andy's `gifts'. As he walked, the butt plug rubbed inside his arse; not quite touching his prostate as it was not large enough, but it certainly provided a not unpleasant sensation as his lean teenage buttocks moved in time to his steps. At the same time, the motion of walking caused his penis to rub against the nylon lining of his tracksuit bottoms, thus ensuring an almost constant erection as it stimulated his helmet which was lubricated by the sperm from his earlier ejaculation. The feeling of the tracksuit itself would be enough; the white nylon was rough, and make a very loud swish every time he moved slightly; the bottoms were slightly shinier than the top, hence the semi-transparency, and nearly whistled as the material rubbed when his legs passed each other when walking. The top was more of a matt effect, although being white was also slightly transparent but nowhere near as much as the bottoms. Wearing the hood up over the cap dulled his hearing slightly, but even so he was acutely aware that every movement was punctuated by a swishing noise. In addition, the cock ring was providing pain and pleasure in equal measures; it made his erection even harder than usual, so that his cock felt almost fit to burst. At the same time, when his cock twitched, which it regularly did due to the sensation of the nylon, the tiny metal spikes pricked his undercarriage which, although slightly painful, heightened the feeling of pleasure even more. Finally, the fact that Andy seemed to truly be the boss of the situation and was ordering him around gave him an even greater feeling of sensuality; he was effectively Andy's plaything; the younger lad was dominating him and telling him what to wear which really got Simon's juices flowing.
Simon paused to light a cigarette, having trouble getting his lighter to ignite in the wind. Andy appeared not to notice and walked ahead with his usual confident swagger. He got his cigarette lit at last and tugged hard to make sure it was properly lit; after a few hard drags he was satisfied with his efforts and ran to catch up with Andy. The effort of running left him slightly breathless, although he didn't connect his much heavier smoking with the decline in his physical ability.
Ten minutes and, for Simon, two cigarettes later, they pushed through the bushes and saw Dale sitting alone on a large concrete slab; he was surrounded by several four-packs of beer, a bottle of vodka, and a rucksack. Simon's cock twitched and then recoiled as the spikes pushed when he saw that Dale was wearing his navy adidas tracksuit bought the other day. On his head he wore a royal blue Nike TN cap, the same brand as his own, but in a slightly different style and colour.
"Hiya Dale" said Andy.
"Alright Andy. How's it going?"
"Good mate. Simon just helped me on a little job."
"That a new trackie Simon?"
"Yeah. It was my reward from Andy for helping him!"
"Quite a collection you're building up for a non-scally!" Dale couldn't help but grab a quick look at Simon's crotch; was he really wearing no underwear?
Dale's glance hadn't gone unnoticed by Simon; as soon as he caught Dale's glance, Dale looked away. He unconsciously adjusted his penis in his tracksuit bottoms, causing a rustling of nylon and making Dale glance again. This time he briefly held Dale's gaze and smiled ever so slightly; he thought he saw Dale's eyes twinkle.
Dale tossed a can of Kestrel Super Strength to Simon who missed his catch and it landed on the grass by his feet. He bent over to pick up the can; as he did so, the thin, white nylon material covering his arse rose up slightly and pushed against the butt plug, pushing it in slightly further and giving him a shot of pleasure to which the cock ring responded by spiking his undercarriage. Dale noticed the black outline of the leather harness under the semi-transparent nylon and felt his own cock harden. Dale felt a bit confused; like most lads of his age he spent a lot of time trying to impress girls, so why was he getting an erection looking at Simon's arse? He put it down to his teenage libido; after all, he often got erections for no apparent reason. Simon did look good in those tracksuit bottoms though... He opened his can of lager and drank a few gulps; it tasted vile, but it was strong and he wanted to get drunk. Andy and Simon also drank from their cans and pulled similar faces as the disgusting liquid passed over their taste buds. Simon lit a cigarette to try and disguise the taste; he then crouched down and started to roll a joint. Dale and Andy copied him, and shortly they were all sitting on the concrete block, drinking their lager and smoking joints. Of course, sitting down pushed the butt plug further up Simon's arse; he was used to the sensation of having it in place by now, but movements like this reminded him and sent a jolt of pleasure through his body so that he almost shivered. He wiggled his bottom a bit on the block and almost groaned with joy.
The three lads sat smoking for a few minutes. As usual, Andy tore into his joint, dragging furiously and inhaling deeply. Simon's style had adapted closer to that of Andy's; if anything he dragged for slightly longer, but not so hard. He also inhaled deeper and held it for longer than Andy. Dale was more relaxed; he took shorter drags and inhaled in an almost languid manner, breathing out in a cone or with little wisps of smoke as he spoke.
"So, what was the job?" asked Dale, wisps of smoke exiting his parted lips as he mouthed the words.
"Could be of use to you when you start shaving!" Replied Andy
Simon laughed. "There's enough razors to keep you going for a lifetime!"
"Another hair-brained scheme?" asked Dale
Simon took on a fit of giggles. Try as he might, he couldn't stop laughing; to try and compose himself he took another drag on the joint, but burst out laughing again as he took it from his lips, knocking some burning hash onto his tracksuit bottoms as he did so. That made him stop laughing as it quickly penetrated both layers of nylon and singed his skin.
Andy and Dale both laughed heartily. They tapped cans with a "cheers" and finished their beer. Simon did the same and Dale produced three plastic cups. He opened the bottle of vodka and filled them to the brim.
"Last one to finish is a queer." Said Andy.
They drank for all they were worth; Andy easily finished first and placed his cup on the slab with a bang. Dale and Simon struggled a little more; they both had to pause and let their stomachs settle. Simon took the opportunity to light a cigarette to try and numb his taste buds somewhat; he could feel the vodka bubbling in his stomach. Dale brought the cup to his lips again and Simon followed suit; they both plopped their cups down on the slab at the same time.
"You're both queers." Pronounced Andy. "I thought as much!"
Simon and Dale both laughed; they were starting to feel light-headed from the alcohol and Simon's stomach was protesting furiously about the amount of vodka it had been forced to hold. Although he wasn't yet feeling the warning sign of warm saliva, he felt that he would be lucky not to vomit at some point. He finished his cigarette and lit another before starting to roll a joint.
"Lots of this disgusting lager." Commented Andy.
"Yeah, well, it's cheap and it gets you drunk." Replied Dale.
"How about we mix it with the vodka? Might mask the taste a bit?"
Dale nodded and tossed another can to Andy and Simon. He opened his own can and filled it three quarters with beer and then topped it up with vodka. That done, he passed the bottle to Andy and then Simon who did the same. Andy was right: the lager did taste better mixed with vodka, but given how revolting it was on its own the improvement wasn't enormous. They swallowed a few gulps and Simon lit his joint, leaning back on his elbows as he did so. The vodka was starting to kick in and he felt more than a little drunk already. He smoked the joint, feeling the cannabis firing the receptors in his brain and increasing the feeling of unsteadiness. He drank deeply from the cup, spilling some on his jacket as he tried to engage his mouth, splashes of the brownish liquid spattering his brilliant white tracksuit top.
"So what are you going to do with the razors?" asked Simon
"Sell them on to a market trader I know. He'll give me £100 for them and sell them for about £200 down the market. That's half price, so people will snap them up. Thank fuck I don't need to shave yet!"
"I bet you don't end up paying full price when you do!" joked Dale.
"You're looking a bit fucked there Simon." Said Andy.
"I'm OK. Just enjoying my smoke."
"Hey, show Dale your new haircut."
Simon had forgotten about his new haircut with all the excitement. He pulled down his hood, and lifted up his cap. Dale stood up and came over to inspect.
"Very cool. Love the style at the back."
Although he had been wearing a cap, the strength of the clay applied by the barber had ensured that Simon's hair remained almost as styled; as it was supposed to look messy anyway, the cap had only reshaped it slightly. Dale ran his hand through Simon's hair.
"Shit. You could cut yourself on that!"
Simon loved the feeling of Dale's hands running through his hair. Part of him was hoping and wishing that Dale wasn't so much interested in his hair as wanting to feel Simon; he felt that it was almost a sensuous touch, at least that was what his cock was telling him judging by how hard it was tenting in his tracksuit bottoms.
"I'm going for a piss." Said Simon, and stood rather unsteadily, staying still for a moment to let his head gain some more balance. He sauntered over to the bushes, not yet drunk enough to stagger, and disappeared into a gap between two hedges.
"I need to go too." Said Dale, "That lager went straight through me."
He followed Simon through the gap in the hedge and came to a tree trunk just in time to see Simon pull his trackies down and take his cock out. Simon hadn't heard him, so he spent a moment standing behind him, looking at his trackie-clad backside, the thin white nylon material pulled hard against the skin as his cock hung out of the front. He could clearly see the outline of the leather strap Andy had made him wear and wondered what it was. Could Simon be into something kinky? He had no idea about his earlier exploits with Andy and was slightly puzzled. He loved the tracksuit that Simon was wearing; the material of the bottoms was exactly the type that he liked, and the semi-transparency made them even more sexy; he wanted to go up to Simon right there and give him a big hug, feeling his skinny teenage frame in his embrace. He moved alongside Simon who was still draining his bladder. Simon seemed to be struggling a bit; as he pissed, it separated into two streams, one of which was coming back on itself and running down his leg, his erection causing problems with aim. Dale glanced across and felt his own cock harden further, but he didn't want Simon to see that he was getting turned on so faced away slightly.
"Having problems there?" he asked Simon.
"Fucking thing! You know how it is when sometimes you piss and it comes out in two streams at different angles? Fuck knows why!"
They both knew the reason why, but neither was willing to comment, the taboo on talking about anything other than their own masculinity when it came to the sex stakes as a teenager overriding everything else. Simon finished his piss and wiggled his cock to remove any last droplets, splashing some more urine onto his white tracksuit bottoms as he did so. He lit a cigarette and waiting whilst Dale finished, tucked his polo shirt into his tracksuit bottoms and tied the waistband. He offered Dale a Camel, but he pulled a face.
"Nah mate. Too harsh for me. Mayfairs are fine!"
He unzipped the pocket of his tracksuit jacket and pulled out his cigarettes, accepting a light from Simon and sucking on it a few times to make sure it was lit.
"I've got the rest of that carton in my bag by the way."
"Cheers mate."
They headed back to the clearing and found that Andy had finished his vodka/lager mix.
"Come on lightweights. Get it down you."
Dale and Simon downed the remainder of their drinks; by now Simon was feeling a little unwell from the sheer quantity of alcohol he had consumed in a short time and he slumped back down onto the concrete block. Andy poured him another drink, making sure that he gave him considerably more vodka than to himself and Dale. Simon didn't notice as he was busy rolling another joint; he was struggling, and kept forgetting that he'd already added the hash, so it was very strong. Once rolled, he lit up and a shower of burning crumbs fell onto his jacket and tracksuit bottoms as he removed it following two enormous drags. He drank from the cup and followed it up with some more smoking. His head was starting to spin a little now, but he was determined to keep up with the two younger lads. He chain smoked cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep himself going, but was fighting a losing battle; he lay down for a moment.
He awoke to large splashes of rain falling on his face. He wasn't sure how long it had been raining, but he was soaked. His tracksuit bottoms were wet through and clung to his legs as he slowly clambered to his feet before having to sit down again. Now they were wet, the white nylon material was even more transparent, and if you looked closely you could make out the downy pubic hair around his balls. Clearly visible was the harness that Andy had placed on him, although Simon was not really aware of this. What he was aware of was that he appeared to be alone. The other lads had left the detritus of cans and bottles, but of them there was no sign. Dale had left the Camel cigarettes however, which provoked a strong craving in Simon. He'd smoked around thirty cigarettes so far that day along with several joints, and his chest was certainly feeling it; his lungs had responded to the heavy abuse by secreting a large amount of mucus in an attempt to rid themselves of some of the foreign substance that each inhalation had pumped into them, This mucus had settled on his chest and back of his throat as Simon lay on his back comatose, and the effort of sitting upright had dislodged some of it. He cupped his hand to his mouth and gave a barking cough; nothing shifted, but he could feel the congestion in his chest as he wheezed and took another cough. This time he was a little more successful, and the cough was slightly more productive, moving some of the congestion around a bit and lessening the tight feeling around his chest. He gave another harder cough and was rewarded with a sticky yellow glob of mucus which stuck to his fingers. He wiped it on the concrete block and lit a cigarette, his body craving the nicotine and his brain responding with a hefty dose of dopamine. He smoked the cigarette quickly, followed by another and then retreated into the shelter of the trees to roll a joint. Without realising it, he had become quite adept at rolling, and was finished within two minutes. It was only then that he glanced at his phone and saw that it was just after 4pm; it would b getting dark soon. In fact, the heavy cloud cover and rain had already given a twilight feel to the light, and the strong winds were shaking the trees above him and stripping dying leaves from branches. He smoked the joint, feeling slightly dizzy as the cannabis reacted with the remaining alcohol in his bloodstream, and then set off for the station.
Walking through town, he was aware that he was attracting looks from passers-by. It wasn't as busy as earlier, but a few shoppers remained as well as some of the gangs of teenagers.
"Hey mate!" one lad in a group called out, "Nice shellsuit!"
Simon felt a little embarrassment; when he was with Andy and Dale it felt fine walking about dressed as a scally, but on his own he felt much more self-conscious. Perhaps they could see the harness underneath his white trackies, or even see his cock? The thought of this worried him, but at the same time he felt quite a thrill which made his cock stand to attention and bulge visibly against the crotch of his tracksuit bottoms. As he walked, the ultra-sensitive tip of his cock rubbed against the damp nylon, tickling it with pleasure, and causing the spikes to depress into his skin. He paused to light a cigarette; he felt that he was about to ejaculate, but at the same time it wasn't coming out. He didn't realise that the cock ring was prolonging the time that it took for him to fire his load. Standing smoking his cigarette for a few minutes, he felt the feeling of imminent ejaculation subside slightly and decided to smoke another. He stood in the corner of a shop doorway, both to keep out of the wind and rain, and to stay hidden from view of all the people on the High Street. Just as he set off for the station again, the rain started lashing down; he was already wet, but now he was soaked through, and the nylon material of his tracksuit bottoms became more revealing than ever. The feeling of being so thoroughly soaked and the realisation once again that his private regions were not very well hidden pushed him to the point of ejaculation once more, but again the cock ring held him back. He debated pausing again, but there was no obvious shelter and decided to keep going and quicken his pace. The extra pace was enough and finally pushed him over the edge; as he walked his young penis started pumping spunk into his tracksuit bottoms; the restriction of the cock-ring forced it through a narrower gap than normal so as a result it fired with great pressure, almost causing visible bumps in his crotch. He tried to grab his cock to stem the flow, but it was far too late and he realised that people were watching him anyway so the best thing was to try and carry on as normal. He reached the awning in front of the station, headed for the corner and lit a cigarette. As he stood smoking, he slipped his hand between the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms and his bare skin, reaching for his penis. He passed through the gooey mess of the fresh, warm spunk and adjusted his penis so that it tucked down his right leg as it softened. There was nothing immediate he could do about the spunk itself, so he would have to clean up later. He glanced down at his crotch: the tracksuit bottoms were bedraggled with the rain; there were several thin strips of burnt material were burning hash had fallen on them; there were several streaks of yellowish tinge where his piss had splashed earlier; and now, he could clearly see stains which could only be his spunk. Overall, they were quite a mess. He couldn't see the back of the tracksuit bottoms; if he could he would also have seen brown mud stains and green grass stains from his earlier siesta in the clearing. Although he was a little more embarrassed even than before, again he found it very exciting. Although his cock had just emptied of juice, he could feel it twitching, but even a horny teenager has to wait a few minutes before being able to come so quickly.
He heard the train pulling in and quickly drained his cigarette; luckily it was on the platform by the entrance so he was able to rush through the barriers and board just as the doors were closing. He slumped in a seat and brushed some of the water from his jacket. It was at this point he realised that he'd need to get changed before going home; the train took fifteen minutes to get to Liverpool Street, so plenty of time to change and roll a joint in the toilet. He headed for the toilet, ignoring the glances of people as he passed, and locked the door behind him. It was cramped and the floor was a little dirty, but he didn't care. He unzipped his jacket and placed it by the sink before removing his PSG top from his bag and putting it on over his hoody. He then took off his trainers and slipped the white tracksuit bottoms over his feet, also placing them by the sink. The whole time, the train was rocking and he was already unsteady, so he kept banging into the close confines of the walls. He looked at the harness Andy had placed on him, and his cock grew once again; no harm in leaving it on. Pulling the PSG bottoms over his legs, he then placed his feet back in his trainers and stuffed the white tracksuit into his bag. Just time to roll two joints as the train pulled into Liverpool Street.
He felt a little more comfortable on leaving the train, despite the fact he received a few odd glances from passengers who had seem him enter the toilet dressed in white, but now saw him in navy. His tracksuit shimmered in the light of the station and swished loudly as he walked; now that he was sure nobody could see what he was wearing underneath he felt more confident and strode purposefully out of the station towards the alley which was now becoming a favoured haunt for smoking joints. He crossed the street and stood behind some large bins, reflecting on the day he had just experienced. He had never committed a crime before, if you didn't count the possession of illegal drugs and buying cigarettes before he was legally old enough. On the one hand it scared him, but on the other it excited him. He also loved the new tracksuit that Andy had given to him; the only problem was that it was now filthy and would probably need to be washed. This was not easy without his mother finding out and he wasn't ready to reveal another tracksuit so soon after the first, especially given its condition. Tomorrow was Sunday, and his parents often went out for the afternoon with his younger brother, so he could do it then. He finished the joint with three straight inhales, held the smoke for as long as he could, and headed for the bus stop.
The wind had eased off, but the rain still hung in the air like a fine mist, clinging to his shiny navy tracksuit and accentuating the sound it made as he moved. The bus stop indicator reported a bus due in five minutes, so he smoked a cigarette and texted Dale and Andy to find out where they had gone. The bus pulled up and, as was now his habit, he drained the dregs of the cigarette as he boarded, billowing smoke behind him. He went upstairs and checked the message he had just received: it was from Dale apologising and saying that Andy had wanted to get home; he'd call later. Simon felt a bit annoyed that they had left him to sleep in the rain, but decided not to press Dale on the issue right now.
Once the bus reached his stop, he lit a cigarette and headed across the park. It was dark, and the first of the evening revellers were starting to appear, dressed up in their black trousers, Ben Sherman shirts and black shoes. He avoided them as they approached, not wanting to hear any witty comments they may wish to share. He reached his street and paused under a shelter to smoke another joint; by now he was feeling a little hungover and also very stoned, so it was a bit of a struggle to get his key into the lock. His mother was watching TV in the living room, so he called out a quick "I'm home" before making for his bedroom where promptly fell asleep, fully clothed once again.