Date: Tue, 25 Apr 2017 21:31:02 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen again Chapter 27 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 2 Wipe 3 Donate =============================================================================== Chapter 27 Sitting in the train from Winchmore Hill to Kings Cross it was time to think about everything that had happened since I came back to being 14 again. In 12 days I had had adventures on a scale I had never had in reality before - such was the power of the fairy's gift of putting adult wisdom into a child's body. I had had some kind of sex with seven men (including one rape) and ten boys. Two of those boys had come close to my heart, and whatever happened to me in the rest of my life - perhaps only 19 days - I would always remember them with affection. I doubted I would see Zak again, but I was determined to keep my promise to Jack. There were things I wanted to do. Although the principal reason I was here was to find other boys my "own" age to fuck, and generally to mess around with, part of the reason for being 14 was to have sex with adults who got turned on by pubescent lads like "me". I liked the idea of being raped, especially when I had managed to engineer it. I wondered whether a gang-bang might be fun, again with me being in charge, as it were. I still had ambitions in the area of boys, not least with Barry. He was at the top of my list of priorities, and I decided to ring him when I got to Kings Cross. It was 12 August: it was my twelfth day in 1957. So much still to do. It was interesting to notice the things I couldn't do at 14 which I hadn't thought about - there was a downside. I badly needed to be able to buy adults-only things, and at 14 I couldn't try to pass myself off as being 21. There had been times, and this morning was one of them, when a large gin and tonic would have been most welcome. Yesterday I had wanted to buy a butt plug for Jack. There would be opportunities for sexual contact out of reach for me - seedy cinema clubs in Soho, for example. Maybe I could latch onto an adult who would buy stuff for me. On the other hand, as far as sexual opportunities were concerned, being 14 made many of them much more likely to be successful. I promised myself that one evening soon I would watch, and maybe join, the rent boys in Piccadilly Circus. The balance between gin and tonic and unrestrained sexual hunting still came down firmly on continuing to put up with Tizer. Mind you, if Barry's mum was out all day there might be gin there! Barry answered when I rang. "Where are you?" he asked. "Kings Cross. Can I come and see you?" "You mean now?" "Yes. Is it a day your mum's working?" "Yes. Come now, that would be great. I'll meet you at the bus stop - you remember where it is?" "How could I forget, silly, it's only 10 days since I saw you." Maybe this wasn't wise. I had lost count of the number of times I'd cum in 1957, but it was a helluva lot higher that I actually had cum in August that year. Was I putting my balls under an intolerable strain? Who knew: who cared, as I would be dead (or 101) in less that three weeks. And when I was dead I was going to be dead for a very long time, so cramming in an overdose of cums now maybe wasn't such a bad idea after all. These thoughts occupied me as the bus trundled slowly south towards Barry's bus stop in Croydon. And there he was. His green eyes were dancing with excitement as I got off the bus. He was like a puppy, bounding about and full of excitement. "Nice to see you, Slave," I said quietly, "or are you someone else today?" "No, Master, slave Barry. He will do Master's bidding at all times." "OK, Barry, but we're not in your house yet, so let's leave Master and Slave until we get into your room. There are things I want to talk about seriously," I said. As we walked to his house I told him a bit about Jack. "I met this boy - he was 14 yesterday and I was at his party - who likes the kind of sex games we like. I didn't tell him about you. I think it would be fun if we got him here one day to play when your mum's out and the coast is clear. What do you think?" He didn't need to think about it. "Well, you're the only boy who's shown up about my advert in the bog - I've been back with different dates, but no luck. So meeting up with another boy would be great, yeah. Where does he live?" "The other side of London, but that isn't a problem as he's a train-spotter and he goes all over London and nobody bats an eyelid." "What did you do with him? Does he do master and slave things?" "No, but he might well be happy to if that's what you want him to do. He's a nice gentle boy, but he can be red hot too, know what I mean. I've done most things with him. I fucked him and he's fucked me. Sucking, rimming, most things. You'd love it!" "I think you should invite him. Mum's at work today, but she won't be again for five days. Can you get in touch with him and tell him?" I promised I would do just that. We reached his house. He said quietly to me as we walked to the front door, "Thanks, Peter, I would love to have a friend. Will you be Master when we're inside?" "Yes, Barry, I'll be Master. Spaghetti again?" He grinned, "Yes, but I'm sure I won't need it." "By the way," I said, "Jack is lonely too, so you'll both have someone special." "I need a drink before we start," I said, "have you got anything?" "I may be your slave, but until we get upstairs I am your host," he said, grinning, and led me into the kitchen. He poured us each out a coke and brought out a tin of biscuits. We sat eating these. "Before we go upstairs there's something I need to know, Barry. Once we're in there it's Master and Slave, but I must know before then what things you want me to force you to do. It's OK by me if I make you do all the things I want, but Slave must want things too, and if I'm to make you do them I need to know what they are. Does that make sense?" "Yes, Peter, it does, but I can't think of anything off the top of my head. Can we have another magic word for me to say if I want to stop being Slave for a moment while I tell you?" This seemed a good idea, particularly as it was the slave who was suggesting it. It could be that his sexual need for a particular activity over-rode his apparent need to be dominated. I was fine with domination: I could play that game without trouble. Barry had shown no sign that he wanted humiliation, and I was glad of that. The line between play-humiliation and real-humiliation was a fine one at his age, and damage could easily be done. "Yes, OK. If you want to say something then you say ... "macaroni'. Nice and easy to remember." He topped up our cock glasses and we each had another biscuit. "I'm sure you've been naughty," I said, "so you'll probably deserve to be smacked?" "Yes, I have been naughty, and a smacking is what I deserve," he said, with an appropriately contrite look, spoiled rather by the large grin which accompanied it. Right, get upstairs, Slave." Barry grinned and led me into his bedroom, or lair, as I preferred to think of it. We went into his room and shut the door. Apart from two horny boys the house was empty. We had free rein, or rather, I had free rein to deal with my slave. "Strip off all your clothes, Slave, and stand in front of me," I ordered. Within 15 seconds he was naked. I examined him closely. "Arms above your head, Slave." I sniffed his pits and the heady aroma hit me instantly. "When were you last washed, Slave?" "This morning, Master." "Good." I turned him round. "Crouch on all fours, Slave," I knelt behind him and inspected his rosebud which, as I'd hoped, wasn't 100% clean. "I see you stink in the arsehole, Slave. Why? Tell me, boy, or there will be trouble," "Please Master, I was clean after my shower, but I had a shit afterwards." "Do you not wipe your arse, Slave, after your foul droppings have fallen from it?" (It was hard not to lapse into olde-worlde language.) "Yes, Master, but your Slave must have failed to wipe himself properly. Slave will do better." "Indeed you will, Slave. Master will instruct you in how to wipe properly." (Could be fun!) "Stand before me, and let me examine your boyhood. It looks clean, but I must make sure." And engulfing his hot urgent cock in my mouth I enjoyed the thorough cleaning it then received. "Yes, Slave, I am satisfied with your body; it is now fit to service me." "Before I attend to my wants, Slave, I need you to prepare the bed upon which I will carry out my desires upon your defenceless body. Go and find cloths which may protect the bed from your tears and your blood." I was glad to see that he interpreted this to mean protection against rather more exciting bodily fluids. He went into a cupboard and returned with two thick towels and a sheet. I doubted whether any fluid which was likely to be produced would get through that lot. "Good, Slave, you have done well. Spread them on the bed, make them thick enough to soak up your outpourings." When everything was arranged to my satisfaction I told him to bend over the end of the bed to be punished. He bent over, his feet wide apart and his chest and head on the bed. His gorgeous arse was there to be admired, and I spent a moment or two just gazing at it, and thinking how lucky I was to be in a 13-year-old's bedroom with several hours of fun before me - before us, I reminded myself. I gave him a good hard smack on his left cheek, followed by another on the right. "Oooh!, Sir!" "Slave, I make that two. I order you now to say exactly three words. The first will be 'macaroni' the third will be 'Sir' and the middle work will be the number of smacks you think you deserve. Two already, don't forget. Speak, Slave." There was a pause while Barry worked out what he was prepared to put up with. Then, "Macaroni, eight, Sir." "Very well, Slave, your wickednesses must have been many in number to merit such severity. However I shall not inflict them all at once. Tell me, Slave, what the most serious of your wickednesses has been since last I was here to punish you." This could be good, I thought. "Master, my worst thing was that ... I lied to you when you were here before. I told you I had never been fisted. I didn't want you to know that your mighty hand wasn't the first to invade my weak and vulnerable arsehole." I didn't expect that, but I have to say that when I fisted him the discomfort he felt seemed pretty minimal. "Lying to Master is indeed very wicked," I said, and without warning gave him a helluva hard smack right on top of the red glow on his left buttock. "Owww!" "Raise your hips, Slave, I wish to see whether your foul boyhood has taken my blows to heart." Just as I - both of us probably - expected, his cock was now fully hard (as was mine, still inside my trousers). "You are truly evil, boy, and when I have done with you you must repent sincerely." "Yes, Master, I will do anything you want." "You will do anything I want regardless, Slave, you have no say over what tortures I may inflict on you," and without warning the fourth hard blow landed on top of his red right buttock. "Owww!" Half way. "Before the last four blows, Slave, I will instruct you in how to clean your disgusting self. You will practise on me." I shucked off my clothes and stood naked before him. I laid down on his bed on my back and put my knees by my ears. "Look upon Master's holy place, Slave. Approach it. Worship it with your unworthy tongue." I had rimmed him last time, but this was the first time he'd got close to my arse. "Memorize Master's scent," I commanded, "so that you may follow me like the dog you are." (I was really getting into this.) Happily he got straight down to a thorough rimming job, and I was content to let him have his head. When I felt he'd spent enough time there (a good 5 minutes) I told him that Master's holy place was now clean. Was his holy place clean? "Master, Slave doesn't have a holy place," (clever, I thought, I give him marks for quick thinking) "his sewage works are so near his pleasure garden that all are contaminated with his filth." Promising, promising! "Master is pleased, Slave. Your answer shows the beginning of wisdom. Master will reward Slave with a precious gift. When the punishment is over and Slave's pain has subsided Master will anoint Slave's body with his ointment, and salve his bruises." Better and better! But Slave still had punishment to endure, and I pushed him back down ready to smack him again. Wallops five and six were duly administered, pretty near as hard as I could make them. His arse cheeks were really red and I hoped the marks would go undetected. "Oh, Master, I am on fire. The punishment is intense, but I have deserved it. Perhaps the final blows will be the most severe of all." (I could have added 'he said, hopefully'.) I had every intention with these two smacks of hitting his arse as hard as I could: he was encouraging me, after all, and I was curious to see how much pain he could not only endure, but actively beg for. But not yet. There had to be some mental torture first. "You have confessed your biggest sin, and your arse has paid the price. Tell me, Slave, what were your second and third most wicked failings." I waited while he thought about it. Would it be something invented, or would it, like the first confession, be true? "Master, I am ashamed," he said, " my second sin took place in the bus station bogs. I wrote a message there which was very wicked." "Indeed, Slave, I know you write messages there - that was how I discovered you. What did you write this time?" "Master, this is what I wrote. 'Cock-mad 15-year-old desperate to be fucked rigid seeks boy 16 to 18 to oblige'." "What is wicked about that, Slave?" "I put the name and phone number of the school bully." Now I really was impressed, so much so that I had to come out of character. "Christ, Barry, is that true?" "Yes." "What happened?" "I've no idea, and we'll probably never know, but I love thinking about it. What will he say when he picks the phone up?" "Slave," I said, getting back into role, "I will forgive that sin, for you committed it to right the wrongs of another. But your third, what was that?" "My third sin, Master, was something I want to do, but have never done." "How can that be a sin, Slave, unless it is something very terrible. Speak, boy, confess to Master. What is this thing so depraved that even thinking of it is wicked?" He said nothing. I wondered whether his imagination had run away with him, leading him to a place where he had no ready answer. I should have trusted him. Barry, it was increasingly clear, had a vivid imagination. At 13 he had been fisted; he had sucked me (and doubtless others) and swallowed my cum; he had rimmed me. What might this unmentionable wickedness be? "Come on, Slave, it can't be that bad!" "It is, it is," he wailed. Could this be genuine? "I want to wank next door's dog," he said. That I did not expect, I have to say, but as soon as I thought about I could see the attraction to a randy teenager. I couldn't resist asking him what kind of dog it was. "A Labrador. They've had it for about a year. When it was a puppy it was forever trying to rub itself on my leg, and one time its cock came out. I couldn't believe the colour of it - bright red and pointed. So I was curious. Macaroni, by the way. Do you think that's disgusting?" "No, I don't. If I'd had a dog do that to me I'd probably be curious too. Does it still do it?" "Dunno, I've never given it a chance." "This requires thought, Barry," "you can call me Slave again, Master," "and I will think about your lusty thoughts." There would be no better chance to administer the final round of punishment, and I gave his tingling cheeks two slaps as hard as I could. "Oh, fuck, Master, that's so fucking hot," he cried. I could see he was in a high state of excitement when I turned him over. His cock, still rigid, was pouring pre-cum. Too good to waste, I licked it up. He moved to the bed and laid himself gingerly down, face up. When he had done so I slipped the handcuffs I had bought yesterday onto his wrists. I tied his ankles wide apart and his hands together above his head. He was completely helpless. His arse was on fire, his cock was leaking, his balls were doubtless ready to do what they were there for. But I was in charge, and he was going to wait a long time for release. The towels and the sheet would be put to good use soon. I told him I'd be back in a moment, and went quickly down to the kitchen. I'd seen some bananas in a fruit bowl, and I brought the straightest one I could find back upstairs. It would do nicely. "Well now, Slave, the outside of your arse has had its punishment. Now it's time for the inside to be dealt with. Apart from the names of any kinds of pasta I don't want to hear a single word from you. You may cry out, or moan, or sigh, or say 'ooh!', but you may not say a meaningful word. Nod if you agree." Vigorous nodding, big grin, cock lurches. "I am going to insert things into your dark disgusting place, and you are going to accept everything I insert. If you behave well I shall reward you, Slave. Nod if you agree." "Mmmmm!" "That wasn't a nod, but I will accept it." Lubed up, I soon had two fingers up him; he wriggled as much as his restraints would allow. The third finger soon joined them, and the prostate trick started. "Ooooh!" After rummaging around in there I withdrew without any warning ("aaah!") and inserted the banana. It still had its skin on, and I got it about 5 inches up him ("oooh! fu-" but he stopped himself just in time). I fucked him with the banana, but it didn't have much effect, perhaps because it was smooth, unlike fingers. I won't do that again, I thought. Fisting time. I out my three fingers back in and told him that the whole hand would be next. His arse was so relaxed that a hand quite a bit larger than mine would probably have fitted, but I still went at it carefully. His greedy lips sucked my hand in, and once there I got my fist in as far as my wrist. My knuckles rubbed his prostate and "Aaaaaaa!" a fountain of cum poured into the air, and another, and a third, smaller, and a series of small pulses coinciding with his heart-beat. "Oh, Master!" I decided to forgive him, but I kept my fist in there, and kept up the stimulation on his prostate. I reckoned that if his cock hadn't been touched then it wasn't likely to suffer from the usual post-cum tenderness. To my delight it stayed hard, hard as hell, and he muttered "aaah!" as my fist kept up the action deep within him. "Oh macaroni, no, fuck it, spaghetti, I'm going to piss, for God's sake, stop!" This was what I'd been planning for. This was why we'd had refills of coke; this was why towels and a sheet had been prepared. "I hear you, Barry, but, Slave, I'm not going to listen. Your piss may well leak from your cock, but the cloths will contain it. But restrain yourself - do not piss until you cannot avoid it." It is hard to describe the expressions on Barry's face at this point. There was panic certainly: he hadn't wet the bed for a great many years, no doubt, and he was clearly going to wet the bed in the next ten minutes or so. That realization caused another evil grin, and his eyes lit up with the sheer wickedness of it all. Needless to say my fist continued to punish (or to reward) his arse. His juices were pouring down, lubricating my fist; his cock, dribbling cum still, was pointing heavenward; his balls were tight up against his perineum; his face was covered with sweat; his body gave off the most aphrodisiac scent (it was a much as I could do to resist falling on top of him and licking him all over. Then "Aaaaaaaaaaah!" and another fountain of delicious cum poured out of his cock, still untouched. It was time to take my hand out of his arse, which plopped shut with what was almost a sigh (well, you could pretend it was). I could no longer resist his body. I could no longer resist sucking up his cum. I could no longer resist taking his exhausted cock into my mouth and kissing it better (and clean). I did all these things, lying on top of him. Forbidden from speaking, he took hold of my hips and turned me so that he could 69 me. My cock was deep in his mouth and his in mine. My tongue and lips were coated with his cum, and he could taste it. Our hands were all over each other, clasping, squeezing, stroking, caressing when suddenly ("Oh no!") I could feel my mouth filling with that most delightful of fluids - 13-year-old piss straight from the tap. "I can't stop, sorry, sorry, sorry!" he wailed. I pinched his cock hard to stop it temporarily ("ow!), long enough for me to swallow and say, "don't fucking try, just fill me up, Slave!" and putting his cock back in my mouth I let it go again. His bladder must have been about the size of a football, because it went on emptying for over a minute. I kept up as best I could, swallowing the nectar and trying not to waste a drop, but inevitably some escaped into the towels. When he had finished pissing, and I had finished swallowing we were both whacked. "Fuck, that was good," he said, slavery being forgotten, as it had been last time after his climax. "Yeah," I agreed. "I love piss. But I promised to put ointment on your wounds." I undid his handcuffs and untied his ankles. "I want to be your slave now for a bit. I want you to do what you like to me, but finish up by making me cum, and rubbing my cum into your poor sore arse. OK?" "OK. Can I do anything?" "Yes. If I want you to stop I'll say spaghetti." This would be fun! =============================================================================== Keep your depraved ideas coming, guys. Do we want more on the dog-wanking, or shall we just leave that as something Barry may or may not do, but we'll never know. What do you think? Ideas always welcome and, like a bog wall, make interesting reading. badboi666@btinternet.com Make sure you drop something Nifty's way at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html