Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2017 13:52:49 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen again - Chapter 17 Fourteen again by badboi666 =============================================================================== This story is - guess what! - fantasy. If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with a 14-year-old then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Remember the three things: 1 Cum (you may wish to do this more than once) 2 Wipe carefully 3 Donate to Nifty =============================================================================== Chapter 17 I was at Plymouth Station after a hectic, and hugely exciting, few days. I wanted to head back towards London, but I was in no hurry to get there. I decided to stop in Exeter and try my train-spotting trick again. In those days Exeter was served by competing parts of British Railways, with trains from Paddington and from Waterloo, calling at different stations, but close enough for train-spotting to be done at both. I wrote down my usual list of numbers copped: 34021 34076 31586 I like 30746 30790 30838 sucking 30705 31542 4083 4549 cocks 4914 6003 1016 3809 interested? 6633 4226 And I was ready to cast my net. I had no particular prey in mind - another boy my age would be fine, of course, but my recent experiences with Alan and Peter meant I would consider something older. Maybe not 35 like Alan, but a sexy looking guy in his 20s would make a nice change from boy-hunting. I sussed out both main stations to see where the local train-spotters gathered, and soon discovered the preferred place. It was at the end of a long through platform well beyond where trains actually drew up, and therefore peopled only by train-spotters with no passengers, or worse, porters (remember them?) likely to be nearby. Ideal. I got there shortly after midday on a roasting Devon day in August. There were about 15 other boys, varying in ages from 9 to about 15. Two of the younger ones were with a grown-up who was enjoying re-living his childhood through their excitement. The others seemed to be either on their own, or in a group of three or four. Apart from the man with the two kids there were only three other adults. Two didn't interest me at all, but the third had definite possibilities. For a start he was the right age - 22, 23, maybe - and was what we would nowadays call drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, slim, short hair, nice features. The most interesting thing was that he had a camera with a telephoto lens. Nothing unusual about that on a railway station, but what I noticed was that, whereas the boys with cameras were snapping at engines, this guy snapped at boys as well. He stood some way away from the others - 20, 30 yards maybe - and took his pictures carefully when there was an engine coming in - but he aimed at a boy rather than the engine. I marked him out as likely to be interested in this particular boy. I was dressed as usual in a too-tight t-shirt and too-tight shorts. If I'd had 'jail bait' tattooed on my forehead it couldn't have been clearer - especially to someone as keen to read such a message as I believed my camera-wielding friend to be. Well, he wasn't a friend yet. I walked past him ostensibly to get a better look at some engine to which I paid much attention, writing its number in my book. I smiled and walked back past him, beaming with 'I've-got-a-new-number joy' so that he noticed me. When I got near to the other boys I stopped a few yards short, making sure that he could get good pictures of me if he chose. Well, choose he did. I didn't make my poses too outrageous, but it's amazing how much arse you can show if you really try while fiddling with your sandal buckle. And how you can jut out your stuff while leaning back on a lamp pole. Snap, snap, snap. After 10 minutes of this I was 90% sure he would bite at the worm I was going to dangle. "That's a big camera, mister," I said brightly. "Do you take lots of nice pictures?" (Damfool question, but I had to break the ice somehow.) "Yes, son, I like coming here to take pictures. There's so many interesting things to see." That seemed promising, I thought: my 90% was more like 99% now. "You've been taking lots of pictures of me," I said quietly, "but none of them so far have been interesting. Would you like to change that?" And I smiled my most winning smile. He was taken aback, but quickly controlled himself. "I develop my own pictures," he said, "because the kind I take can't be taken to the chemist to be developed." "No," I said, "I don't suppose they can. I'd like to learn about development, but I'm maybe not old enough." (Time to tease the bugger by twitching the old worm.) "Oh, I'm sure you're old enough - how old are you?" "Fourteen." "A nice age for a boy," he said. 99 = 100, I thought: good. "I have a car outside the station. I live a few miles away. Would you like to come to my house and I'll show you about developing?" I decided I wouldn't need my list of numbers today, but it would be sensible to keep them tomorrow - you never know! "Yeah, sure, mister. Maybe you could take some more interesting pictures first." We got into his car - a red Zephyr - and he drove a few miles to his house in Crediton. Like Peter's it was fairly secluded. We went in, and I was startled when he got right down to business. "OK, kid, what's your name? How old are you really? Who sent you?" I wasn't expecting this, but without knowing what he was on about the only thing to do was answer his questions until I had a better idea of where he was coming from - or, indeed, planning to go. I had thought this was a straightforward (straightforward for 1957 anyway) pick-up. "My name is Peter, I really am 14, and no-one sent me. I'm in Exeter on my own, on my way from Land's End to London." "How come you're on your own then?" Time for quick thinking. "It's the holidays from the orphanage and they don't expect us back until next Sunday." Lots for him to think about there - no nice middle-class parents to worry about me, a whole 4 or 5 days to have his wicked way with me ... let's see how he reacts to that fat juicy worm. "Sorry if I seemed cross, Peter," but lately I've been having a lot of trouble from older boys in the town" (I bet, I thought) "pestering me and putting things through my letter box." "Well, not from me - by the way, what do I call you?" "You can call me Tom. I'm glad you're nothing to do with the local boys, they're a rough lot, some of them, but you seem a nice boy." "You'd be surprised how nice I can be, Tom, especially with men who are very kind to me." "Let's stop pretending, Peter. I think you've worked out what I want and I'm pretty sure you are willing to offer it. Shall we just cut out the preliminaries?" "Glad to, Tom. Let me show you the engine numbers I copped today." Tom seemed fazed by this, but I put the notebook under his nose. "This is what I take to show any 13-year-old I like the look of," I said, "but when I saw you taking telephoto pictures of my arse and my stuff I decided I wanted a man today. The message is true for men just as much as it is for boys my age. Now, what are you after, Tom?" Tom hesitated before replying, so I jumped in again. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll strip off slowly and sexily and you can take as many pictures as you like. Then, when I'm naked you can touch me anywhere you like, but only if you're naked as well. I want to suck your cock and you can do what you like to me. OK?" Tom nodded, unable to speak. It would seem that his dreams were coming true. They wouldn't be the only things. He took me into a room with little furniture and curtained windows. It was fitted out as a studio with lights and stuff. There was a chaise longue and not much else apart from a cabinet next to it. I wondered what might be in the cabinet, and was confident I would find out soon enough. I hoped there would be lube. Tom got his camera and the lights arranged while I sat on the chaise longue. "OK," he said, "ready." I started a corny stripper's routine, going through all the bump and grind motions while Tom snapped furiously. Off came my sandals, then socks, pulled off slowly so that they stretched from my foot while my heel was still in them. A bit like a condom in reverse. Bare legs were keenly captured for the darkroom. I lifted my t-shirt up to give him a good look at my belly - I was pleased that my 14-year-old navel was a lot nicer than the one I remembered having 56 years earlier - and lifted it and dropped it back in time-honoured fashion. Then quickly right off, leaving my head stuck in it (deliberately, of course) so that he could get pictures of my nipples while I was being 'vulnerable'. The old tart's trick of pulling my shirt back and forth under my crutch (Tom beginning to pant, I was pleased to note) and then tossing it at him. He caught it and, as I had hoped, sniffed the armpit areas. My worm was earning its keep today! All I had on now was my tight little shorts (Tom had no idea that I was commando). Undo top button, pout fetchingly, tip of tongue out, undo next button, stick arse out, lick lips, undo third button demonstrating a lack of underwear ("fuck me," from behind the lens; "no, you fuck me," from the object of his desires), more arse wiggling, all buttons quickly undone, cock leaps out, hard as hell and slapping belly, lick lips more, wiggle hips so that shorts fall to ground, pretend to look embarrassed, step out of shorts, flap cock about in a come-and-get-me sort of way, turn round, wiggle arse, bend slowly over to touch toes, grasp both cheeks and separate ... and wait. I heard Tom take a few more pictures - he must have taken 40 or 50 in the course of my performance - and then I heard him put the camera down. As he came to me I reminded him, "No touching if you've got clothes on." He was stripped faster than he had probably taken his clothes off for years. Naked, he came to me and knelt down, his face in my arse crack. Good, I thought, I'm going to like this. Although I planned to suck him off and get a mouthful of his cum I wanted - needed, if I'm honest - a good seeing-to from this guy, and I needed it right now. Tom put his hands on my two arse cheeks and gently pulled them apart, exposing my rosebud to his gaze and, I was pleased to discover, his hot wet tongue. He lapped at my arsehole like a thirsty spaniel, and he was pretty vocal about it, moaning and sighing. I wriggled a bit in an encouraging manner, although if I'm truthful I wasn't acting any more. There was something about this guy that was turning me on and ... suddenly I worked out what it was. Stubble. He didn't have a beard, but he seemed not to have shaved that morning and the stubble round his mouth and on his cheeks was tickling and stimulating me in a way I hadn't experienced before. An very erotic it was. My cock started dripping and I murmured, " Oh, Tom, that's so hot. Your tongue on my arse is getting me so wet. Reach round and feel my cock." He did as I asked, and wrapped his fist round it, starting to wank me. "No, don't wank me," I said, "I don't want to cum yet and you're so sexy I'll cum really quickly if you keep on. Just feel my juices." He gently rolled my foreskin back and spread the copious pre-cum on my cock-head, then I could hear him licking his fingers. Nice! I wondered what he would do next as he was continuing to lap at my arsehole. His lips left my arse and I heard fumbling in the cabinet, then a dollop of cold lube landed on me, causing an involuntary shiver. More lube on his fingers which were soon teasing my lips. I squirmed encouragingly. A finger went in, then a second ("Mmmm!" from me). He wriggled them about, hitting the spot and eliciting another, bigger Mmmm! "Another?" he murmured. "You bet, Tom," I said, "but only three until it's time for you to rape me. I like being raped." In went the third and I felt delightfully stretched ("Oooh! yesss! You're filling me so much. I think your cock is going to be very scary when you rape me with it. You won't be gentle, will you?"). Judging from the panting going on behind me the rape, when it happened, was going to be fierce and urgent. That would be fine, provided that the second coming was more long-lasting. It would be my job to make sure it was. The deep fingering was actually extremely erotic. (It has always amused me that the nerve endings inside an arse are so receptive to pleasure - why? An arse isn't biologically designed as a pleasure centre. A good shit can be - well, good - but you don't get an erotic frisson every time you shit. Well, I don't anyway. Maybe I'm missing something.) I decided it was time to be raped, so I reached round and felt for Tom's cock, which until now I still hadn't seen as he had been behind me all the time. I felt a long, thin cock, probably about 8 inches and uncut. He was very hairy (oh well, you can't have everything) and very hard (that's better). Tom had picked up on the rape theme and decided to play along. "I'm going to stick my great cock into you, you wicked boy. That'll teach you not to put shit through my letter-box. You'll feel a great deal of pain as I ram myself into your weak little bottom. You'll beg me to stop, but I'll keep on thrusting up you until you scream." and, without warning he stuck his cock in fast, and all the way. "Owwww!" I yelled, 90% because it seemed appropriate in the context of our pretence, and 10% because it actually did hurt like fuck. "You wicked, sinful boy, you'll soon be screaming a lot more." Out came his cock and back in at full speed. "Owwww!" again, but this time 98% and 2%. I was enjoying the fierceness of his possessing my vulnerable arse, and hoped that, with luck, he would feel the need to inflict this ecstatic fictional punishment for a good long time. "Oh! please mister, I'm sorry I put my shit in your letter-box. Don't fuck me again ... Owwww! (he did: good!) ...Pleeeese." "You're even filthier that I thought - it was your shit, eh? You disgusting little toad" ("Owwww!") "I've a good mind to shit on you." Now that, I thought, might very well be interesting. If I was as into piss as I was then being shat on might be at least worth a try. "Oh, no, sir, that would be horrible ... Owwww!" This all-the-way-out and then bang-it-all-the-way-in-again method of fucking was new to me, and once I'd got used to the slamming of his body onto my back it was very pleasant. I decided to encourage him. "I'm starting to enjoy this, Tom - can you stick your great big cock into me as far as it'll go. I want to feel it pressing up against my guts. I need to feel really really filled up with you, and then when you cum it'll feel like I'm bursting with all your spunk." Always talk dirty, it never fails. In he went, hard and deep and, as I expected, climactically. "Yessss, Peter, take my spunk! It's filling your arse! I'm breeding you, boy." I could feel three hard high-pressure gushes as his cock pulsed and his spunk coated several inches up my soft wet insides. "I think I like being raped after all, Tom," I murmured as he slowly subsided in me. "What are you to do about me now?" He let his cock slide out, leaving my arsehole wet and gaping. Quick as a flash snap! snap! snap! and my battered little hole was recorded for posterity, agape and ravaged (and thoroughly pleasured). "How about I lie down and wank myself while you take pictures?" I could always have the oral job as number two, I decided. He nodded, so I set to. Wank, wank, wank, snap! snap! snap! "Pull your foreskin right back and let me have a shot of your wet red knob." Snap! snap! snap! "I'm gonna cum soon - I'll squirt it up my belly if you like." "Oh, yes, I like, tell me as it's about to squirt and I'll get a picture of an arc of your spunk as it leaves your cock." "OK, I'll try ... NOW" and as the first gush of my cum shot out of my 14-year-old cock on its way into the air, and to land on my right nipple I heard snap! snap! When I'd finished cumming there was a pearly train from my nipple to a small pool at the root of my cock. Snap! snap! snap! "D'you want to lick it up?" I asked, "that would be nice." He made to do so - "No, 69," I said, "I suck cocks, remember?" "I've only just cum," he said. "So? I'm good at this, just lick up mine and let me do the rest." Tom duly engaged with me, and I enjoyed the sensation of his tongue as it travelled from my chest to my cock. When he reached the pool of cum and had licked it up he put his lips round my soft cock and nuzzled the still sensitive tip. He found more cum oozing out as he did so. Meanwhile I had his soft cock (only about 6 inches now) between my lips. I went to work, tonguing the sensitive underneath and concentrating on his frenulum (7 inches). I dived down past his cock (mine slipped temporarily from his lips, but I wasn't bothered) and tongued his balls, and even further down I gave his perineum a good soaking. "Oh, fuck, Peter, where did you learn that?" I didn't think he would much like the truth (from a rent boy in Cairo in about 1965), so I said nothing. Lick, lick, lick (back up to 8 inches now) so time to engage with the serious business. Lips round cock, suck, swirl tongue round exposed head, lick frenulum, suck, swirl. Much moaning was coming from Tom, who had given up any idea of 69ing with me. This was all about him. Suddenly he moved round so that we were head to head. Now I could really get going at the underside of his cock as my licking was from root to tip. Now I could get his frenulum dancing! It was difficult to judge which of us was enjoying this more. I've always liked sucking cock - I mean the sucking bit - and the culmination of getting a mouthful of hot man-cum (or boy-cum, of course) is just the icing on the cake. Too soon he was there, crying out and fountaining into my mouth. Salty this time, and (considering he's filled my arse not 10 minutes ago) quite generous. He was, of course, completely exhausted. "I suppose you'll be off now," he said. "No way, Tom," I replied, "I'm here for a lot longer. You've not shown me any developing yet." "I didn't think you were serious." "Well, I'm not really, but I would like to see your pictures. How about you develop the ones you've taken today while I look through your album - I assume you have an album - at the boys you've captured already." "Yes, Peter, I have several albums, and you can look at them by all means. Developing the film I've taken today will take a couple of hours, OK?" "That sounds fine. I'll take the albums to bed and you can bring today's ones when they're done," this said with a lascivious grin on my part. And so it was. I stretched out naked in his nice big bed with 6 albums which he, naked, went into his dark room to do whatever he had to do. A plan began to form in my mind. =============================================================================== Keep the ideas coming (as well as yourselves). badboi666 "at" btinternet "dot" com Make sure you drop something Nifty's way at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html