Date: Tue, 12 Sep 2017 09:57:28 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Lion-King Chapter 22 Lion-King by badboi666 =============================================================================== 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 fresh young lads then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 22 31 August 1965 saw me at another Scratchwood orgy. We'd only re-formed after the fight six months ago, and the spring and summer had been a mad round of sex, We'd been as far as Exmoor in one direction and the wilds of Norfolk in the other, but generally we didn't go further than about 120 miles from London. The nucleus of the group was 40 or so of us, but sometimes we got a lot more. In Exmoor we had 70 guys in a huge barn, but that was unusual. So was tonight. I described what happened in the fire in 1971; this was in a way worse, because it was done by one of us. We were to meet at a pub in Hertford, and when we were full of beer we were to bike a few miles to some barn that Reg had found. This was the usual pattern, and nothing was out of the ordinary. There were 35 or so of the usual guys, and three new ones we'd never seen before. One of the regulars said that one of them was his pal from work, and he'd brought two mates. Nobody gave it a second thought - a failure which would have fatal consequences. As usual there were the druggies, the boy guys (just four of us, unusually - we were normally about 10 at least: it must have been the school holidays when many of the boys would have been at the seaside with their parents), the piss guys, the scat guy, the pain guys. Most of the guys there just wanted to fuck other guys: we were a tolerant lot once the straights had fucked off. The four of us with boys behind revved up and soon we were all there. My companion that night was a nice kid I'd picked up in a toilet in Ipswich on a building job - a 'normal' one for once. He was looking for action, although when he found it he wasn't sure that I was what he'd been seeking. Five minutes of my sucking his hot hard schoolboy cock persuaded him to think again. We'd met three of four times since then, but this was his first orgy. Half of him was looking forward to it and the other half was, if he'd been braver enough to admit it, terrified. I reassured him as we left the pub. "The rules are clear and everyone understands them. No-one apart from me will touch you. If anyone wants to do anything with you he has to ask me, and I will ask you. You can say yes or no, and that will be that. The only thing that'll happen apart from what you and I do is that we'll get pissed on." He was happy with that - we'd done piss at my place the weekend before and he'd lapped it up. Yes, I do mean that literally. Kinky little bugger, our Mike, and only just 15. We were one of the last to arrive. As usual the groups had sorted themselves out: druggies in one corner, pain guys in another, boy guys in a third. The man-on-man group - over half of us - were in the middle. The piss guys wandered about, as usual, in case their services were required. It seemed ordinary enough, at least as far as a Scratchwood orgy went. There was a fair amount of noise - 40 gay guys fucking aren't going to be restrained when those moments of ecstasy arrive. Mike and I got on with our own thing. He liked being rimmed and fingered (and I was happy to oblige: he had a nice tasty arse), and it would be 30 minutes or more before he was ready to be fucked. I'd already sucked him off - there's no point in delaying a 15-year-old's first cum if he's going to have three or four more - and he was feeling warm and happy while I was busy at his arse. A piss guy visited and gave us each a nice soaking. I could smell evidence that the scat guy was happy - we made him go in the furthest corner, but the smell still wafted over. Not my thing, but as I say, I'm a tolerant bugger. The boy guys were happily engaged, but we're the peaceful ones. There was the occasional cry of ecstatic pain as one of the pain guys got another taste of a whip (Mike flinched each time: was he a public school boy accustomed to the lash, I wondered). The 'normal' queers were happily fucking and sucking. So far, so normal. Mike and I were busy so I didn't see how it started, but there was a cry that wasn't the usual kind. Several men started shouting. I broke off. "Stay here," I said, "don't move." Most of us moved to where the commotion was. One of the three strangers - not the regular guy's work pal - had pulled a knife and had stabbed one of our guys. There was a lot of blood, but the wound looked superficial. Our guy was lashing out with his fists, blood pouring from his arm. The knife guy was keeping out of range, but he was still waving the knife about. "Fuck off, you filthy queer," he shouted. It was an odd thing to say in this company. What had he expected when he agreed to come? It was then that his pal, who hadn't done anything yet, produced another knife and stabbed another of our lot. He was jumped by four burly queers and kicked to the ground. Unfortunately the knife went into him as he fell. No-one saw exactly what happened, so whether one of our guys stuck it into him, or whether it was a genuine accident in a fight we never knew. Either way he bled to death in less than a minute. The original knife-wielder - the dead guy's brother, as it turned out - went ape and lashed out in all directions. Two of our lot got minor slashes before he too was wrestled to the ground and given a kicking. Four burly queers stopped him from moving. Reg, ever the leader, took charge. He got hold of the third stranger and the member of our group who'd brought them and dragged them both outside. "We have to sort this out, right now," he said, telling four of our lot to go with him to see that they didn't run off. Not that they'd have got far stark naked and with blood on them. When Reg came back a decision had been agreed, not entirely willingly. There had been two choices. Someone had to kill the second guy and we would dispose of both bodies, or the second guy, in return for his life, had to accompany some of us in the disposal of his brother. Naturally the second guy (pissing himself, ironically) opted to live. One of our lot was local and they agreed that there was somewhere only about 10 miles away where a body would never be found. Brother and Reg and two burly queers carried the corpse away. "The rest of you clear up the blood," said Rex. "Piss on it - you'll like that. Get water, sort it out." I had watched all this, taking no part, but seeing the horror story unfold. When Reg and his party left the spell was broken, and we were all just ordinary men in an extraordinary situation. I went back to Mike who had, with great presence of mind, gathered the other three boys well away from the horror. The youngest was only 12 or so. "Did he see?" I asked Mike quietly. "No, I don't think so. We saw the fight. Is he ... dead?" I nodded. I made a quick decision and beckoned the other three boy guys. "Look," I said, "there's enough other guys here to clear up like Reg wants. We've got a responsibility to these kids to get them out of here." All agreed. "Come on then," I said, "no more fucking tonight. Not here anyway." An idea struck me. We were only about 15 miles from Harlow. "Come back to my place. There's food there and it'll be safe for the boys. I've got a playroom too." That clinched it. By midnight a sombre procession of bikers had reached my place, and eight weary and, if truth were told, frightened, boys and men trooped in. Each of us had got dressed quickly, and most of us were wet with piss, so the showers in the playroom were put to unaccustomed use - washing pure and simple. There would be more interesting uses later if people felt like it. I got them all round the big kitchen table and put soup on to heat. Comfort food was needed for the kids. As I expected comfort food was welcome by the men too. We were a strange group. Round the table were sitting me (36), with Mike (15) on my right in a towel; Ray (30) with Geoff (16); David (42) with Bruce (12); Wolfie (we never knew his real name) (24) and his boy Sam (14) next to me. It occurred to me that I knew virtually nothing about any of these people apart from the single thing that united us. Well, two things. We were all queer bikers with a thing for boys, and we had all quite possibly witnessed a murder two hours earlier. In these circumstances it wasn't surprising that conversation was desultory: each of us was replaying the tape of what had happened. "Look," I said, "we can do nothing to change what happened. Reg will have dealt with things. We weren't there. There's no evidence connecting any of us with that barn. OK?" Murmurs of assent. I turned to Mike. "Mike, boys," I said, looking at the other three in turn, "we will take you back to where you want to go, and each of us will stand by you if you need anyone to talk to." I looked at each of my queer colleagues. "OK?" They all nodded. "Good. Let's eat then." The soup was ready, and I hacked lumps off a loaf. It seemed only sensible to bring out some beer as well - you never know. Everyone had an appetite, so I heated some frozen food. An hour after we got home everyone was feeling warmer and more relaxed. Four half-naked men and four half-naked boys full of food and drink make for a potentially frisky gathering, especially if the only reason they are together is sex-related. "Let's see your playroom then," said Wolfie. There was general laughter, so I led them through, making sure that as they left the kitchen they stopped being only half-naked. "Don't want the towels getting wet," I said, "we might need them later." The memory of death seemed to be absent, at least while the pleasures of the playroom were to be enjoyed. We naturally paired off, and the activities that had been happening in the barn resumed. Ray and David had never been into piss, so they made straight for the bed with Geoff and Bruce. I left them to get on with it, and they seemed to need no encouragement. Wolfie and I took Mike and Sam into the playroom. In such close proximity it quickly became obvious that we weren't two pairs: we were one group of four. The beer made a second appearance, to Wolfie's and Mike's delight. Sam wasn't too sure, but when Mike dragged him into range he quickly enjoyed it. Beer was joined by squash. I hate waste - a view I noticed that Wolfie shared - so that the squash didn't trouble the plumbing. The four of us spent a happy half hour before we moved across to what had been Ace and Jack's bed. No-one had used it since they died - not that I'd kept is as a shrine, merely that I'd never entertained more than one other person, and he had always slept with me. It did seem right that tonight, with four vulnerable boys, was the night that their bed, with all the memories of security and, yes, love, might help to heal these boys. You may think it odd that I could think of 'healing' in the situation where all four of them were about to be fucked, but remember that they were here to be fucked. I have no idea, not even about Mike, whether that night of fucking had any long-term restorative powers. I do know that Mike and Sam were fucked, and sucked off, to their deep satisfaction. Each of them sucked our cocks, to our deep satisfaction. The other bed seemed to be filled with satisfactory couplings too. At six the next morning someone stirred, and by half past everybody was up and dressed. The other three guys rode off before seven, taking their boys away. I saw Wolfie and Sam again at orgies, but Ray and David never came back. Mike stayed after the others had gone, and we talked for most of the morning. By 11 he'd got the experience out of his system, I think. After several minutes during which we both digested a horrible 12 hours he turned to me. "Fuck me please, Rex, I need you to love me." I picked him up and carried him to my - our - bed and made long slow love to him. Four hours later we were both utterly spent. I think I came three times, and I know he came four times at least, because I swallowed two and he rubbed one into my belly while I was fucking him. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure he came up my arse the first time he fucked me as well. When we woke it was dark. "Shouldn't you be at home?" I asked. "Not until tomorrow," he said, "I'm spending two days camping with a school friend." He grinned. "I need to refuel before you set about me again." ***** Mike was my only long-lasting partner between 1957 and when I met Leo in 1972. We got together every few weeks until the autumn of 1968 when he went to University. By then he was 18, and although I was fond of him he didn't get me going as he had done when he was only 15. I gave him an engraved ring when we parted. With a magnifying glass you could just make out a figure of a man with a boy kneeling, sucking his cock. =============================================================================== badboi666@btinternet.com is where you should send comments and suggestions