Date: Sat, 22 Jul 2017 16:57:07 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen again Chapter 62 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 62 After breakfast Bob left to meet Dan to take him to Jack's house for the day. Steve and I waited until he'd gone, then we went in search of Greg. "OK, Greg, time to open up," I said ***** As advised, the rest of today's activities are described in the 'Urination' section under 'Scat Games with Steve-2'. Those of you who don't wish to see such things described should look away now ... ***** OK, you can look again. All the nastiness is over. It's available on Nifty's version of iPlayer, over on the U channel. Bob came back from what looked, from his face, like a very busy day. "Had a nice time?" I asked. "You bet!" he replied, "Dan is a real find, and your pal Jack is pretty hot too." This was music to my ears. "What about you two?" "Oh, we managed," said Steve, "but you don't want the details. The good news is that you don't have to be into shit to use the sling Peter's bought for us. I think we'll wear it out with any luck." I was pleased that Bob's eyes lit up at this - my purchase would not be wasted. "I want to hear all about it," said Bob. "I have to go," I said, "I won't see you again as I'm off in a few days. It's been a lot of fun, and getting Jack and Dan involved has been good." Each of them gave me a big hug. "We'll miss you," said Bob. "Think of me when someone's got his hand up your arse in the sling," I said, and went downstairs with them. Greg was there. I shook his hand. "Thanks, Greg. You've been a pal." Greg gave me a hug too. "Bye, sweetie," he said, "I don't know who you are or what you are, but you're the queerest 14-year-old I've ever met." "And the oddest too," I added. I left and by 6.45 I was back in Harlow. There was Ace. We roared home, the wind blowing in my hair - no need for crash helmets in those days. When we got inside Ace gave me a hug. "Missed you," he said, and ruffled my hair. "I missed you too," I said truthfully. It's one thing to have your hormones all of a tizz because someone has their hand up your arse, or their lips round your cock, but it's another thing entirely to know that, even when that's going on elsewhere, there's a warm ocean of something much deeper. The me that was 14 couldn't begin to articulate what all this meant; the me that was nearly seven times that age wasn't having much luck either. Ace and I were lying on his bed, just being together. "Where's King?" I asked. "Out earning the money to keep us all in luxury. He won't be back till late. We've been asked to quote for a job in Oxford." This piqued my interest. "Tell me more," I said, "another queer conversion job?" "I'm not completely sure - that's what King's gone to find out. It's some university professor who got in touch. We'll know more when he gets back." The timing was perfect for me to suggest my last ploy. I told him about Peter and Zak, about the nudist beach in Cornwall and the queer section. I told him that Zak had a soft spot for me because of what we'd all done (I left Alan and his kids out of it: they weren't part of my plan at all); I told him that I'd suggested - 'engineered' would have been too strong - Peter and Zak maybe getting together. I then shut up. "And you want us to go and see if Zak and Peter are getting it on?" "And to see your Tattoo-boy on the nudie beach, and to see the reaction. Not just Tattoo-boy either," and I grinned and felt for his cock. I held my breath (not the only thing I was holding) and mentally crossed my fingers. Would the attraction of flaunting his art-work and his cock be enough? Yes, it would. "OK," he said, "I think that sounds fun. Tell you what. If King comes back with the idea that we might have a job, you and I will go to Oxford tomorrow, just the two of us" - my wishes were coming true - "and then we'll carry on to Cornwall. Can you get us to this beach?" "Oh yes, that's no problem. I've no way of finding out whether Peter will be around though. He's a long-distance driver. And I've no idea where Zak lives, except that they both live in Camborne. I can get to Peter's house all right." "Well, let's see what King says. And now, you need a shower, Jack, I can smell what you've been up to." Oh dear, I thought, would he be mad at me? We got up and I started to take off my clothes, but he stopped me. "No, let me. I've missed you being here. I need to." Soon I was naked. Ace had taken my clothes off as gently as as non-sexually as it was possible to imagine. I tried to do the same to him, but I wasn't very successful. No sooner had I lifted his shirt over his head than the sight of his gorgeous body, and of Tattoo-boy putting ideas in my tiny mind, made my cock harden. "I see," smiled my lover, "I have that effect on you, just like you have that effect on me." He pointed to the very large tent in his trousers. All thought of further non-sexual behaviour was abandoned, as was our love-making on his - our - bed. He fucked me slowly, deeply, lovingly, satisfyingly, wonderfully. When I felt his spunk pulsing into me, making me cum too, I wept with pure joy. "Oh, Ace," I sobbed, "I'm so happy." We showered, and all traces of the day's activities were gone. Our meal wasn't as splendid as the meal two nights earlier, but it was nice simple food, eaten with the most important person in my life, and eaten in what was now my home. The fairy's timetable was at the back of my mind, but I could do nothing to alter it. At least I had the maturity of old age to accept that, and not fight it as a real 14-year-old would have done, For nearly a month I had filled my days, and most of my nights, with a host of sexual experiences with dozens of men and boys. I had 5 days left. Apart from King and, if we found them, Zak and Peter, I would spend them solely with Ace. My Ace. The centre of my little universe. We sat in front of the television, me curled up in Ace's arms, waiting for King to come back with news and, as far as I was concerned, just being content doing nothing at all. At about half past ten a roaring bike signalled King's return. "God, I need food!" he said, "that bugger gave me some sandwiches about 10 hours ago and I haven't had a bite since." Ace rustled up some food and when he'd eaten King told us the news. The professor was, as King put it, "as bent as we are," and wasn't short of money. He lived alone, or so he said, in a large house in North Oxford, and had heard about the conversion services in which Ace and King specialised. He had very precise requirements, which he had insisted that King wrote down. It was to be expected that once the conversion had been completed he would be able to entertain his friends in the way he chose. "He wants to know whether we can do the job, and what it would cost." "OK," said Ace, "that's easy. Of course we can do it - we've done a couple like it already. Why don't I work out some figures - you've had a long day - and we'll see what's what in the morning." "Good idea," said King, "I'm whacked, and I'm for bed." I was glad that Ace and I had had our time together earlier: Ace would be working on the figures well into the night. I left him to it and went to bed - our big bed - by myself. I was dimly aware of his climbing in beside me hours later, and smiled when he put his arms round me and kissed my hair. But I didn't really wake up. Next morning - Friday - when I woke Ace and King were already up. I went through to the kitchen to find them poring over the figures. "Morning, Jack," said King, "morning woody, I see," and went back to the figures. Ace looked up and grinned. "Glad you're feeling at home, Jack." "What's the picture?" I asked, climbing onto Ace's lap where the morning woody was gently stroked. Ace told me that they had come up with a figure of £1500 to do a big conversion job. "Will he accept that? It seems an awful lot," I said, not knowing the first thing about building work, but knowing that a brand new house cost about that much in 1957. "Oh, he'll pay all right," said King, "he's desperate to build a nice lair for his gentlemen callers." Ace told King about the plan I'd suggested. He would phone the professor with the good news, suggest that he and his 'assistant' would come to Oxford late this afternoon to discuss terms and, if the professor was agreeable, sign a contract. He and his assistant would spend the night in Oxford before the two of us went down to Cornwall for the weekend. We would be back on Monday morning. Was King happy with that? "Of course. He'll be much happier to know he has a contract. You and Jack need time together. You don't want me around all the time." I found it hard to keep the excitement out of my eyes. Ace phoned the professor. "He says he will be free any time after 4, and insists that my assistant and I stay with him tonight. He's so excited he practically dropped the phone. You made quite an impression yesterday, apparently." We left after a quick lunch. The cross-country ride to Oxford wasn't as fast as the runs I's made with Ace along the A11, but it was still exhilarating. We found the professor's house and Ace rang the door bell. The door was answered by a tall spare man of about 50 who looked at me with interest. "Is this your assistant, young man? How very interesting. Come in, come in." After that rather odd reaction I was ignored while Ace and he discussed business and agreed terms. I was shunted into a side room and given two biscuits (rather meagre fare for an assistant, I thought) and a glass of lemonade. 20 minutes later the deal was done and a contract signed. It was still only a bit before 5 o'clock. "When I invited you and your assistant to stay here tonight," he began, "I didn't expect someone so young. Your brother - so alike! - made no attempt to conceal his queerness, and led me to think that we all had a similar outlook mon these matters" - pompous arse, I thought - "but I must say I'm not happy with an ephebe under my roof. You do understand?" "Professor," I said, speaking for the first time, "I'm rather younger than that. Everything that goes on here is illegal, but no-one is bothered by that. Why should my being under age - well under age - be of concern?" Ace was taken aback, but wisely kept his mouth shut. "Ah!" said our host, "an educated boy. I salute you, young man. However I still can't accommodate you. I have my position to consider." Since this man was going to be a valued client of Ace and King it was important not to piss him off. "I'm sorry," I said, "I spoke out of turn. We wouldn't want to embarrass you. Forgive me." The professor was pleased by this emollient tone, and turned to Ace. "Your catamite has excellent manners: I'm sure your and your brother's work will be as good as your taste in companions," and he showed us to the door. Ace said that they would order the materials and would expect to start work in about two weeks. Rather to my surprise the good professor gave us a little wave, "toodle-pip," he cried merrily. "What the hell was that all about?" asked Ace when we were astride the bike. I explained about Ancient Greece and the highly civilized way in which man-boy sex was organised. "The professor was having fun at our expense," I said, "but it really doesn't matter. You've got the job and he'll never see me again. Let's get along the road before we find somewhere to sleep. I don't like Oxford any more." In the end we got as far as Yeovil before we decided that enough was enough. Ace pulled up outside a small hotel and booked a double room. As no-one had the idea that a man and a teenager travelling together in 1957 might be anything other than family no-one batted an eyelid. Ace and I slept entwined together in a naked cocoon of bliss after I'd sucked out a good mouthful of his hot cum. It was the least I could do. =============================================================================== badboi666@btinternet.com is where you should sent comments and suggestions. Make sure you drop something Nifty's way at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html