Special Delivery Ch. 04

I sat in my car in the rundown north London street and opened a file, there was an information sheet and a professionally shot photograph of a handsome south asian man, his pretty wife who was wearing a hijab, and three small kids who were sitting on the floor. I'd been following him for a couple of weeks, and had identified him easily from the photo. His name was Ahmed. An associate of mine had made me aware of him a while back. On the face of it there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. A good Pakistani man from a respectable Pakistani family. He married young, as expected to a wife who was also from a good family. Soon after that, the kids followed, 2 boys and then a girl and from what I had seen, his wife was pregnant again. He owned a car showroom and worked there too, all shiny suits and too tight trousers. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. On the surface, at least.

But there was more to Ahmed, there always is. He also worked for Bill, a gangster who had ruined my best friend's life and the lives of many other young men. He had started laundering money through his car business and then he had moved on to other things. He had used his international contacts in the car trade and had started a sideline in people smuggling. That was barbaric enough, sure. But then I read something in the paper that made my blood boil. Something had gone very wrong with the last job and five migrants, five people... had been trapped in the back of a van and had suffocated to death. It made me feel sick.

I watched him leave the mosque. He was wearing jeans and a shirt and jacket. He was young, mid-twenties maybe with a swagger in his step. He was light skinned and clean shaven, with a hint of stubble. He had dark brown eyes and a proud aquiline nose. His black hair was cropped short. I got out of my car and followed him. His arse looked good as he walked in those jeans - firm, muscular and high. I knew I was going to core him like an apple.

He walked quickly away from the mosque until he came to the road that bordered one side of Finsbury Park. I knew that there was a shortcut through the park to his house, where his wife and kids were waiting.

It was dark now and the flow of cars was slowing down, the evenings were drawing in earlier and earlier as summer turned to autumn. He crossed the road towards the park and wandered in. It was nice at this time of night, tranquil. It looked more like a wildlife sanctuary and less like what it was, an enormous suburban park. I followed as he walked past the toilets and the playground.

He strolled on through the darkness until he reached the duck pond and he stood there for a minute looking down into the water's depths. I moved behind him, twigs crackled beneath my feet. He saw me and jumped slightly, I was standing closer to him than was strictly necessary. If Ahmed stepped backwards he would fall into the pond. Instead he took a tentative step to his left.

'Got a light, mate?' I asked.

He shook his head as he responded. 'No, sorry. I don't smoke.'

'Got any money for fags, then?'

Ahmed hesitated, then decided it was better to say yes. He started to reach for his wallet and then perhaps realised this wasn't the brightest thing to do. I could have grabbed it and had all his cash and credit cards. I laughed inwardly, that would be the least of his worries. He reached into his pocket instead and brought out five pound coins.

'There you go, mate.' He reached his hand out to me with the money.

'Take your jacket off.'

I could see the first hints of panic in his face.

He stalled for time, asking 'You what?'

'Take your jacket off now.'

Ahmed looked around for help, but the park was silent. He was too far away to be heard by the occupants of the nearest houses - and there were no dog walkers around.

'Look, what's this about?' His voice sounded thin and scared. If he tried to run, I was confident I could easily grab him. Although he was a bad guy into bad stuff, he wasn't tough, he wasn't a fighter - he was fit enough, football with the lads now and again but I knew I'd have the upper hand in a fight.

'Just take your jacket off.'

'All right.' He tried to sound indifferent to the idea, like a child trying to maintain some dignity when losing an argument with a parent. His arms shook slightly as he pulled them from the sleeves. It was a designer jacket, a blazer he had bought for work.

He couldn't bring himself to hand it to me, so just dropped it on the ground. As he did so, I reached out swiftly and grabbed him by the front of his collar and swung him sideways. He instinctively reached up to pull my hands away, but before he could do so I had turned him around again and threw him so that he battered into one of the long pond side benches. I could see all of the air had been knocked from his lungs. Ahmed slumped, gazing dazed over the bench, one of his feet on the ground and the other slammed awkwardly into the sitting section.

'Take off your jeans.' I took my knife from my pocket and pressed it against his neck. Ahmed stilled, kept staring straight ahead. I could see he wanted to look down but knew that the movement would send the blade slicing into his jugular. I leant in close to him so he could feel my breath on his cheek.

'There's no point in stalling,' I hissed 'in case you hadn't noticed, I have a knife at your throat'. Ahmed's fingers floundered against the buckle, then he managed to undo his belt. The button and zip proved equally difficult.

'Can I stand up now?', he asked.

'No.' I pressed the blade a little harder. Ahmed winced and started to edge down the denim, his face burned with shame. He got his jeans down to his knees, but as one knee was still slammed into the bench he couldn't get his trousers down any further. 'You'll have to let me move my knee,' he said.

'Lie down longways, then,' I said. Ahmed backed up carefully, aware of the cold cutting metal at his throat.

He flexed his injured leg for a second as he got to his feet and I manhandled him along to the edge of the bench and pushed him over it. Now he was lying along its full length, his jeans bunched at his feet. His legs were hairy and well formed. I'd noticed them when I'd watched him playing football.

Ahmed lay on the bench, his breathing heavy. I grabbed at his Y-fronts and pulled them down. His arse had a light dusting of hair, it looked good in the half light from the nearby street lamps.

I felt him tense as I lay on top of him. 'Wha.. what are you doing?' He croaked. Ahmed started to twist his head back but my weight was now on him, forcing him fully down. Then I started feeling around parting his buttocks, pulling roughly at both naked arse cheeks. I felt for his hole.

'Oh please, please no' he said, his panic audible.

'You know you want it really,' I whispered. I had pulled my cock out. I was hard as a rock. I nudged it against his hole then pushed and pushed.

'Please, please.. don't'.

I withdrew a bit and felt Ahmed relax, ever so slightly. I spat three times on my hand and spread the wetness on his hole.

'Please, mate, don't do this,' he said.

"You my mate, are you?'

I pressed on, shoving my hard cock between his cheeks again.

"You can take all my cash, my jacket.' He pleaded.

'I know I can. And now you're about to give up your tight little hole.'

'No, I'm not like that. I have a wife, kids.'

I kept pushing into him, relentlessly. 'And does she shove her fingers up your arse?' I asked, enjoying this now.

'No, and I don't want her to.'

"But you want this, flaunting your backside in the park.'

'No, I don't.'

'Well, your arse wants it and your arse is getting it.' I pushed against his hole again - and suddenly he opened up a little and I started to enter him. He cried out in revulsion and denial and pain which was a signal for me to push harder.

I was fully inside him now and started moving back and forth. I let out a grunt of satisfaction.

'Oh please, take it out, take it out.' He screamed.

I whispered in his ear 'You love it really.'

'If you stop now, I won't tell the police.'

I laughed. 'Not tell the cops that you took it up the arse? Oh, they'd like to know, a pretty boy like you. I'll tell them you begged for it. I'll tell them you were wriggling your arse like it was a fly on a fishing rod, that you offered me three quid to fuck you hard. And then I'll tell everyone at your mosque.'

I thrust forward, pulled back, plunged deeper in. Ahmed screamed again.

'Tell me you love it.'

I could tell Ahmed didn't want to say it. He was fighting me, trying to push me out.

'Want me to cut off your balls?'

"No.'

'Then say what I tell you to say.'

I was fucking him like a piston now. Hard and fast.

'I love it,' he said brokenly.

"Say it like you mean it. Tell me you want it hard up your arse.'

He said the words. He said everything that I wanted him to. I grabbed his shoulders for purchase as I pounded him. I was getting close.

This fucker needed to know why this was happening. I slipped out of his hole. Ahmed let out a sob, a sigh of relief. If he thought this was over, he couldn't be more wrong. I took my weight off him slightly, he tried to push himself up. I slammed him down onto the bench again. I pressed my knife to his neck again.

'Turn around' I growled 'turn around and face me' He lay still. 'Now' I hissed, making sure he could feel the knife. He started to turn, twisting uncomfortably until he was lying on his back, facing me. His eyes were dark pools of confusion and fear. I'd been watching this guy for a while. I'd seen him strutting down the street with his wife and kids. I'd seen him at work, selling cars, he had the cockiness and self confidence you need for that type of job. I'd seen him on the football pitch, high fiving the other players after scoring a goal. I had even seen him on this very park bench sharing an ice cream with his wife. But I had never seen him like this, fearful and confused.

I ripped open his shirt. He was lean with well formed pecs with small brown nipples. He had a trail of hair from his navel down to his pubes. He didn't trim. His cock was soft, brown and cut. I grabbed one of his tits and played with his nipple. 'Do you know why this is happening, Ahmed?'

His eyes widened as I said his name. He had twigged this wasn't random - he had been targeted.

'You're a bad guy Ahmed'

'No, please, please.. I'm not a bad guy. You've got it wrong', there was a pleading note in his voice.

'Ahmed', a hint of sarcasm in my tone 'I think we're a bit beyond that'

I shifted down a bit so I could get his legs over my shoulders and lined myself up. Before he could react I rammed myself into him again. He screamed, louder this time. I looked down, he was trying to hide his cock with his hands, I pushed them away. He was starting to get a hard on.

'You fucking love this, don't you?'

His face burned with shame and confusion. I grabbed his cock and started to work it.

'No', he begged 'please don't do that... don't touch me there. That's for my wife'

He was getting harder. 'You need this. You deserve this'.

I thrust again harder. It was time, he needed to know why he was spread out on a park bench with his legs in the air and a dick up his arse.

'Kofi Adebeyo' I said. His eyes were wide with shock. Shock at hearing the name. A name that he knew only too well. It was the name of one of the people he had killed with his carelessness.

I thrust again, 'Fatima Hussein'.

I thrust again, 'Daniel Oteke'.

I thrust again, 'Mohammed Begum'.

I thrust again, 'Maryam Amaara'.

He was crying now. Deep sobs that made his chest heave.

I continued pounding into him and working his cock. Finally, I felt him start to clench his arse, he was close. I rammed him again and again and then he came. Not much but a definite wetness in my hand. I smeared it over his chest. He scrunched his eyes shut in shame and disgust.

'You were begging for that' I whispered. I was still inside him and gave a final thrust as I grabbed his cock again and gave it a gentle squeeze. He yelped.

I pulled out of his arse, that amazing, straight, hairy arse. I stood up. He lay there, trembling and curled up on his side, his freshly fucked hole on display. I moved around to his head and grabbed his hair, lifting up his head.

'Lick it,' I said. Ahmed clenched his teeth.

'Do it, you fuck.' Ahmed kept his lips tight-closed and actually looked like he was going to be sick.

"Fine, have it your way.' I was losing my patience now.

I gave my cock a couple of tugs and came on his face. A hot and heavy load. My cum was dripping off his nose and chin. He looked at me with those big dark eyes, which were full of hate and confusion.

I tucked myself in and stepped back. He watched me, dazed, as I walked over to the jacket still lying beside the reeds. I took out the wallet, counted the cash and pocketed it, slung the jacket over my shoulder then walked away. I knew he wouldn't tell the police. I had set up a camera in the bushes and caught it all. I'd send him the video of him cumming in my hand while I was railing his arse with the promise that it would go to his wife next and then his mosque if he said anything.

For now though, it felt like justice had been done.