Oscar narrates part 3.


Mr. George, as he likes to be called even though George is his middle name and his first name actually is Evelyn, is a hypocritical, self serving, exploitative piece of shit. In other words, he's entirely typical for a banker. He professes his love, but he lies. Had he truly loved me, he might have let me continue my schooling rather than consign me to life as a servant. All I ever learned from him was "Serve from the left and take from the right, Oscar," and "Add some elbow grease to that silver polish, Oscar."

He would rot in hell, if there were one -- assuming we're not already there. The sweatshop workers on the East Side certainly are there. Fine. I get all the food I need to fill my stomach, a roof over my head, and a few coins to spend on my afternoon off. Still, if my parents had lived, my life would be so much better today. I was a bright little boy, and my father had dreams of sending me to university. He saved towards that goal from the day I was born until the day he died, almost nine years later to the day.

I am fairly certain, today, that the Honorable(!) Harley Beaufort, Attorney at Law, must have stolen that money. I didn't know it at the time, though. He seemed so kind and solicitous to a little boy whose parents were lost to the yellow fever -- so affectionate. Naturally, I was willing to accommodate all his requests in the three months I lived with him; I was a good little boy, and I sincerely don't regret his having taught me those little "tricks" that so endeared me to Mr. George when I was younger. They've come in handy with gentlemen far younger than Mr. George, and considerably more handsome.

I can't believe Mr. George was pleased with me for surprising him at his dinner with his aunts. When I had the special livery made for Joseph and Timmy, I was certain the situation would become very embarrassing for him in short order -- but, to my great surprise, he managed not to moan and groan as he shot his pud in his pants. Still, were it not for the fact that his aunts are just as self-centered and oblivious to others as he is, they must have have noticed their nephew having an orgasm at the dinner table. Alas, they were too busy listening to themselves talk.

I was not expecting him to bring a new boy home, much less two, it being so soon after he was so disappointed by Luke. Incidentally, when he tells you that Luke was "only his second," he means only the second boy he brought to live with him. He's had hundreds of boy prostitutes at those special brothels he likes so well, and he was still having them when he was having me and when he was having Luke, and I do not doubt he will go on having them now that Joseph and Timmy have arrived, even though both are very lovely indeed. (I have to admit Joseph raised a bit of a lump to my trousers even though I always have preferred a salami over a Vienna sausage.)

I am embarrassed to admit that my heart leapt a little when Mr. George invited me to join him with the boys for a foursome, and I nearly was ready to persuade myself that he still cared for me. Then, of course, I realized he had an ulterior motive. I'd also been invited to his room when he brought Luke home, my job to teach him the "tricks" I had learned from the Honorable Mr. Beaufort. Teaching Timmy and Joseph would have been far simpler if I could have had them to myself for a while, but naturally the old pig wanted to watch.

And so I dressed the boys like little tarts, with lacy panties and silk stockings and ribbons in their hair, and gave them a bit of an orientation lecture while I did it. "Mr. George," I told them, "does not love you, and he never will. He is incapable of love. He does, however, want to suck your willies and have you suck his. He also wants to ram his cock up your asses, but if you're firm with him and give him plenty of pleasure in other ways, he may refrain."

"Does he have a big one?" Timmy asked.

"No," I told him truthfully. "For a grown man, it's really quite small."

"Well, then I guess I won't mind so much," Timmy said.

"I mind," Joseph grunted.

"Then you'll have to learn to suck very well," I told him. He made no reply.


Mr. George was very anxious to put his tongue where his finger had been at dinner, so he sat the little ginger down on his face and proceeded to make loud, obnoxious slurping noises. Timmy wiggled around on him enough so that I suppose he thought he was making the boy happy, but I could see that Timmy was half hard at best. Still, he was a good sport, and feigned little squeals of pleasure.

That gave me time to give my undivided attention to Joseph's instruction. "Joseph," I said, "I imagine you've sucked a few willies in your life, but now you will learn from a master. Pay close attention and do your best to imitate my technique, and you will be the most popular boy at the bathhouse."

Having said that aloud for Mr. George's sake, I leaned close to his ear and whispered, "And if you can get Mr. George to squirt his juices twice in five minutes, he won't have the wherewithal to bugger you afterwards."

So I applied myself to Joseph's adorable little boy thing, and it stiffened eagerly in my mouth. I was happy to discover that he was not one of those possessed of a very extensive foreskin that continues to flap about like a banner well after the flagpole is fully extended; the tip of his most sensitive area emerged of its own accord, and it was no trouble to push the remainder of his protective skin back with my lips. There is nothing inherently wrong with using a hand to reveal a cockhead if need be, but it is so much nicer to put that hand to other use on other erogenous zones.

Nobody has to trouble himself about a foreskin when using my equipment because it was removed when I was an infant. The child of a more affluent family that could afford such niceties, I was circumcised in accordance with the popular belief that the procedure makes a boy less likely to masturbate. In my case, it seems to have had no such effect.

I teased Joseph's little mushroom with the sides of my tongue, beginning with a series of faint touches to the tip as my lips went up and down his shaft, then shifting to a light circular licking around the edge of the crown. The secret of a great fellation, in brief, is to maintain a steady up and down with the lips while using the tongue with complete independence of that up and down motion. It is a bit like rubbing one's belly and patting one's head at the same time in that it requires learned coordination, but is much more satisfying when accomplished.

Even more important is to be constantly aware of the recipient's responses to one's ministrations; so many lovers become so totally involved in their own pleasure that they cease ever thinking about the person attached to the appendage they are swallowing with such great gusto. A superior mouthing of a penis will bring the recipient to the edge of orgasm several times before allowing him his happy release. One cannot accomplish that end without being attuned to the emotional states of one's lover.

(For some odd reason, an old play on words just passed through my mind. It begins with the question, "How does a Sodomite hold his liquor?" The answer, "By the ears," may amuse the uninitiated rabble, but certainly should not be taken as valid advice.)

To go on, though, I stayed closely attuned to Joseph's responses to my ministrations, and stopped short of his presumably dry orgasm. That, I decided, would be reserved as a reward for when he should make progress in his lesson. I released his little peg and gave it a gentle kiss before I moved my head away.

"Why'd ya stop?" he asked, disappointment clear in his voice.

"Because this is a lesson," I replied, "and it is your turn to practice. Do your best and I promise to make you a very happy lad before this night is over."

"So I gots to suck on you's now," he reasoned, albeit with the typical street boy's disregard for proper conjugation of verbs.

"Correct," I replied. "Did you notice how I maintained a steady rhythm with my lips while surprising you with my tongue?"

"Yah," he answered. "Is that what I'm s'posed to do?"

"Give it a try," I said with a smile, hoping to put him at ease.

It was then he looked over at Timmy and Mr. George. The man, lazy bastard that he was, still lay on his back. Timmy, however, had shifted position, so that his rectum rode up and down the man's undersized penis rather than his tongue. Judging by the expression on his face and the stiffness of his little boy bone, Timmy was rather enjoying his ride -- although apart from the rod up his arse, he seemed to be entirely ignoring Mr. George's presence.

That made no difference to Mr. George, as far as I could see. He was breathing loud, raspy breaths, and his face was extremely red. For a moment, I hoped he might suffer a fit of apoplexy and die right there, but the only fit he had was a fit of sexual release as he pumped his load up his little playmate's hole. Timmy, who was not yet ready for his own moment of joy, looked down with undisguised contempt as Mr. George's swiftly softened member slipped out of his backside, leaving him unfulfilled.

Apparently, our master was amply satisfied for the night. We were dismissed, and as Mr. George rolled over to fall asleep, he hurried us out of the bedchamber with a loud and extremely noxious fart to boot. I was left with two horny and discontented boys.

"Y'know, you made a promise," Joseph reminded me.

"Come along, boys," I told them. "My bed will fit the three of us until we're truly in need of rest."

The butler's room is traditionally the largest in the servant's quarters, and accommodates a decent sized bed, albeit not nearly so large as the master's. It certainly is large enough for a bit of play with a pair of small boys. Just the same, I resolved that they would not be staying the night. I need my sleep, and the two of them thrashing and farting and grabbing the covers would not have suited me at all.

I scarcely had sat myself down on the edge of my bed when Timmy began fishing around inside my robe. "Not so fast," I told him. Joseph is going to suck it before you get it up your hungry little bum."

"Oh," Timmy remarked, "he won't mind. He ain't never minded licking my hole."

"It's much nicer," I instructed him, "to suck a cock that's clean and fresh smelling, young man. Joseph goes first." Then I turned to Joseph. "And while I'm fucking your little friend, I'll take care of your own pleasure with my mouth."

"Awright," said Joseph in his hopelessly gutter snipe accent, "that sounds fair."

Boys, I have noticed, pay great attention to what is and is not "fair." Having approved my schedule of activities, Joseph knelt between my knees and brought forth my poker. When he took a good look, he seemed surprised. "It's a big one," he gasped.

I admit I am a bit larger than average, although mine remains a pygmy compared to some I've seen, like the one on the colored towel boy at the baths, or the one on Moshe the diamond dealer, who frequents the same venue. "And you thought I'd have a little one," I said. "Now why might that be?"

The gaslight was turned down low, but not so low that I couldn't see Joseph's face redden. "Well, y'know, I just thought that, y'know, on account of you being kind of a, um, a nance, don't you see?"

I had to laugh. "Boy, just because a fellow has a bit of a wiggle in his walk doesn't mean he's not all man between his legs. And it also doesn't mean he can't beat you bloody if he gets it in his head." I laughed again, thinking of the time a complete pansy who went by the name of Alice beat the living daylights out of two sailors who were harassing him down on Bowery.

I began to harden as he weighed my meat in his hand, and his eyes grew even wider as I swelled to my erect proportions. "Timmy," he exclaimed, "you can't never get this big thing up inside you!"

Timmy merely shrugged. "You does your sucking on it, and just let me worry about my arse."

Joseph did as Timmy instructed, and did fairly well with my guidance. Given regular instruction and opportunity to practice, Joseph had the potential to be a first class cocksucker. Granted, he couldn't service more than my first three inches, since I am wide as well as long, and it seemed nobody ever taught him to take it into his throat. Nevertheless, I shot a substantial load of my male juices into his soft little mouth, and he did his best to swallow every bit.

"Shite," Timmy complained, "you used him up."

Joseph, looking altogether adorable with my my seed dribbling down his chin, also looked a trifle guilty. "I'll try and fix him," he told his friend, then reapplied his mouth to what recently had been a steely rod in an attempt to restore its temper.

"I'm not used up quite so easily," I put in. "Just give me a minute or so to recover and you can ride my Cock Horse all the way to Bambury Cross and back again." Did I cheat a bit by closing my eyes to imagine Alexei, the attendant at the Russian bathhouse? Yes, but then a well-developed young man inevitably will hold my interest better than a skinny little ginger. I always did, and I always will, prefer the more manly looking man to a wisp of a boy.

Nevertheless, that wisp of a boy was impaled on my rehardened cock scarcely a moment later, and I must say he was tight. Had I not seen him riding Mr. George but a short time earlier, I might have thought him a virgin (although anyone buggered by Mr. George is the next best thing!)

Since I lay on my back to allow Timmy command over the speed and intensity at which he rammed himself up and down, I invited Joseph to sit on my upper chest and shoulders, so I could have access to his sweet little willy with my mouth. In truth, and contrary to what I said just a moment ago, there are decided advantages when it come to sucking four inches rather than eight. One's breathing is unimpeded, for one thing, and one's jaw is much less likely to hurt afterwards.

Actually, the entire experience was very pleasant. Timmy was the first to convulse with delight, which I took as a signal to let Joseph have his relief as well. As for me, well, those two squirming, moaning little boys sent me into one of the best orgasms I'd known in months. I delivered my second load of the evening well up inside Timmy's bowel, let myself be carried along for a considerable ride on the wave of pleasure that ensued, and finally collapsed in contentment.

The boys collapsed to both sides of me, cuddled in, and held me close. This is not something I had come to expect from the men in my life, neither those who had been my masters nor my friends and companions from the baths. I experienced an unusual emotion, something vaguely remembered from my early childhood.

I let the little devils remain in my bed for nearly an hour before I shooed them off to their own chamber. I had uncharacteristically peaceful dreams that night, or so I believe, because I could not remember them upon awakening.


Next: Dreams of the Wild West

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