Date: Sat, 17 Mar 2018 12:07:33 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Queen Mary Bell-boys 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 14-year-olds 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 33 Our second westward voyage went much more quickly. The Captain and chief Engineer had satisfied themselves that the engines were running smoothly, and that they could give Queen Mary her head to try to wrest the Blue Riband from Normandie. History records that they were successful, and when the Captain announced on the ship's loudspeakers that the record was once more held by a British vessel there was great cheering from passengers and crew alike. I don't think it occurred to anyone that arrival in New York several hours before they were expected would give passengers great difficulty if they were being met, or that having paid for five days of food and accommodation being turfed off a day early wasn't exactly fair. If there were complaints they never reached our ears. Once the record was safe the Captain slowed down a bit, and all our subsequent crossings took the expected five days. Well, almost all, as you'll learn later. We six were kept busy. Sir cancelled the 0700 daily meetings, allowing us an extra 15 minutes in bed, and when I knocked on his door at 0915 on the first full day he had much to tell us. "Patrick knows this already, but it's important that you all know how this works. If you get an approach from a passenger you are not to agree, but you are to get his stateroom number and tell him he will be contacted. I will then telephone him and make an appointment to see him in his room. When we meet, usually only an hour or so after he's approached you, I tell him the charge, and find out what he wants. The basic charge is $75 for an hour with you. A second hour is another $50. So far no-one has asked to spend a night with one of you, and I would like you to think about how willing you are to do that, and tell me tomorrow. Discuss it, will you? Unusual extras, like pissing, cost an extra $25. We had occasions earlier when a client wanted two of you, and if that happens I take $25 off the price for the second boy. I hope that's all clear. Any money a client gives you is yours to keep. Since Alan's misfortune I now hold the client's passport as security, and I return it when you're safely back. Now, sex between the six of you is fine, and now that we have a settled group of six I no longer want to hear the juicy details. Sex between you and other crew members is fine too, but there I do want to hear about it. You are aware that there is a similar, rather larger, group of men who are available to those passengers whose tastes don't run to boys. They are all over the ship, and their sizes and ages cater for most tastes that passengers might have. Phil on Deck 9 and Larry at the pool are the men who run it - I believe some of you are acquainted with them." There were grins from Charlie, Tim and me, and looks of eager anticipation from the others. Sir went on, "Andrew, how confident are you in taking on a client?" Andrew had no hesitation. "I'm very keen, Sir. I've fucked about with this lot and I love it. I'm not worried about sex with passengers." "Good," said Sir, "I'm glad. Remember, all of you, if anything nasty happens you are to come straight here to tell me. I don't mean a rough fuck, or even one that's a bit painful - you'll have to put up with that - but if you are hurt or threatened I need to know. Understood?" Six boys nodded. Andrew said, "what will you do if something like that happens?" Sir smiled. "I shall set Patrick onto his passport." I blushed, and knew that I'd have to explain again. "As there are only six bell boys now I need to change to messing arrangements. I need three of you on elevator duty all the time from 0800 unless you've got clients. Breakfast is 0730. Cabin 1, you eat at 1150 and 1710; Cabin 2 at 1220 and 1740; Cabin 3 at 1250 and 1810. 25 minutes each time. You go off duty at 1945. Client duty comes first of course. Unless a client requests a sweaty boy you will shower half an hour before you're wanted, and grease your arse. Bladders will be empty unless advised otherwise. Shower again as soon as you get back to your cabin unless there's a problem you need to report to me. Then back on duty in your elevator. OK?" All six of us nodded. "Then off you go. Enjoy your trip, gentlemen." All six of us grinned. "What was that about passports?" asked Andrew as we left, and I told him I'd explain later. The only times of day all six of us could get together were now at breakfast - hardly ideal as some of us were not at our best first thing - and after 1945. As we were going to the elevators I said that we should all think about what Sir had said about spending a night with a client, and discuss it after we packed up for the day. I was aware from several occasions on the first two crossings that the full complement of lift attendants had often not been available as fucking duties (or the fixing of assignations) had taken us to more lucrative (or fun) occupation. Sir wouldn't be too bothered if our absence from the elevators was because we were better employed; on the other hand the elevators were the shop window. It was with a spring in my step, therefore, that I headed off to parade myself. I was sure that the others felt just the same. When Charlie and I sat down to eat at 1150 he was bursting to tell me something. "I landed my first fish," he said proudly. "It was nearly as exciting as landing my first real fish when I was 6." "Tell me about it," I said, "but today's, not the one when you were 6." He smiled. "I'll tell you about that one day, but when we're in bed, quietly telling each other everything that happened to us before we joined Queen Mary." I smiled. "I'd like that, Charlie." "Anyway," he said, suddenly business-like, "a man got on half an hour ago. I'd noticed him a few times, but this time he was on his own." I nodded, "that's how it usually works. They get a look, like what they see, spend an hour wondering whether to screw up their courage, then they wait until you've got no other passengers and pounce." "Well, this one didn't pounce, luckily, but he stood very close and asked if I'd like to earn some money." "What did you say?" "I had to think of something pretty quickly, so I said that would depend on what I'd have to do to earn it. He said 'oh, I think a big boy like you can work it out'. I reckoned that was clear enough, so I asked him for his number and said he'd be contacted." "And you told Sir?" Charlie nodded. "Sir will see him this afternoon and you'll find out tomorrow at 0915. What was he like?" Charlie had struck lucky from the sound of it. It was becoming clear that Americans tended to give us something for our troubles, and the middle-aged ones tended to be better tippers, maybe because they were more used to paying for it that good-looking guys in their 20s who still looked fit. Charlie's client was American and around 40. It would be a good start. "What about you?" Charlie asked. "Nothing yet, and I've not even had the fleeting smile. "Never mind, kid, your turn'll come," said my 16-year-old lunch companion. Had it been my brother who had addressed me in that way I would have felt the need to thump him. With Charlie I just smiled. "Yes, old man," was enough. By the next time we ate I was able to report an approach, so Charlie's superiority was short-lived. The first day at sea is always interesting as passengers wander about trying to find their way about the huge ship. We get asked all sorts of questions, and that enables the more shy passengers to ask what they really want to know, although they often don't get round to it till the second or third day. The first day at sea is therefore a day when our balls have a chance to store up goodies for later. Soon after 1945 all six of us had gathered in our cabin. We were soon stripped and lying on the bed. It had been a busy day, and it was as hot as hell in our cabins. "What about Sir's suggestion then?" I asked, "what do we tell him tomorrow?" Alan was the first to speak. "Andrew and I have talked about it a bit. I don't mind giving it a try, but Andrew doesn't want to until he's had a few clients first. Maybe on the voyage home." Andrew added, "I just want to feel confident I can handle things." This brought gales of laughter, and immediately two hands reached for his cock, neither of them his. "What about you two?" I asked Sam and Tim. "Oh, we're happy about it," said Sam, "we've discussed it and since Sir probably charges a fucking fortune we think we ought to see some of that." This was something which hadn't occurred to me, but it made good sense. "Charlie and I are up for it too," I said. "How about this for an idea. Sir charges $75 for an hour and $125 for two hours, all at any time of the day. If we suggest that an overnight session starts at 2200 we could probably think in terms of four hours action and four hours sleep." Tim expressed the view that his experience so far was that no client was likely to keep it going for anything like four hours. "I agree, but a client booking an overnight is thinking with his cock, not his head. If each extra hour is $50 the four hours would come to $225. But the client's cock might be ready for more when it wakes up next to a hot sexy boy still reeking of the night before's fun. So he'll want another go. Maybe we should tell Sir we're up for it - not Andrew yet - but it'll cost $300 and we want $50 of that. How does that sound?" There was silence while they thought about it, then Alan said that he agreed. The rest followed. "OK, I'll tell him tomorrow," I said, "but so far it hasn't happened, and we shouldn't spend the money just yet." After that was sorted we just lay about and talked about all kinds of things. I told Andrew about the passport thing, and he was duly impressed. We were relaxed and life was good. Cocks were stroked, not always by their owner, but it was gentle, unsexy stroking, a bit like stroking a cat. The thing being stroked liked it, and that was reason enough for doing it. Oddly, no-one was hard. I think we were all happy to be there among other boys, all with the same immediate purpose. We were care-free, we had little responsibility, none of us had to worry about where the next meal was coming from, we would be spending much of our time being fucked: what could go wrong? Looking back, the next few months were idyllic. None of the horrors that would befall is all were visible to us boys, nor was the idea that in ten years time we wouldn't still be 14 or 16. I suppose all boys of our age were uncaring about the future, and ... my thoughts were interrupted by Tim poking me in the ribs. "Where were you?" he said, "Andrew asked you something." "Sorry, Andrew, what was it?" Andrew wanted to know what the nightly routine was. "How do you mean?" "Well, here we all are on your bed talking and being nice and cuddly. Is there anything planned?" I assured him that unless there was a treat being offered, and I didn't expect one, then we did what all kids of our age did - what we felt like doing. "In that case," he said, "Alan and I are going to our little love nest, and leave you guys to do whatever you do." Tim said drily that he felt it likely that the activities would be much the same in all three cabins. Alan and Andrew got up, picked up their clothes and carried them off. "Night all," was all they said. Sam and Charlie got up too and went off as well. Tim and I were left. "Are you happy?" I asked. "Yes. You?" "Yes." "That's all right then. I wonder what those two are up to." I suggested that it was likely they needed a piss before turning in, and that I for one was similarly minded. Tim heaved himself off the bed, and we went to piss and clean our teeth as well. In the showers there was no sign if Alan and Andrew, but the other two were there whispering. They broke off when Tim and I came in. Something was up, but from the look on their faces it wasn't something to worry about. When we were all done Sam took Tim's hand and Charlie took mine, and we were both led off to bed. We all stopped outside cabin 2 and kissed good-night. Once Charlie and I were in our cabin he took me in his arms. "Tonight I am going to make love to you, Patrick, and you are going to lie on the bed and let it all happen. I owe you so much and I want to let you see how much I want to give you in return for what you've given me - no, don't say anything, just accept it. For once I'm in charge." He picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bed, and gently laid me on my back. "Stretch out and let me look at you." There is something uncanny about lying on your back naked and being consumed by your lover's eyes. He isn't touching you, but you feel a tingle as his eyes feast on what he's seeing. You know you're just a fairly ordinary-looking skinny boy of 14, and at the same time you know that what he's seeing is beauty, perfection, the ideal, the one he wants to love, to protect, to possess. You know this because it's precisely how you feel about him. You want to tell him all this, but you don't, because this moment, this now, is when it's his turn to tell you these same things, these universal truths which, because you're only 14, you think you've invented. The real joy is that when you're both wrinkled old men in whom the sexual fires have long gone out, you still see the naked beauty and perfection, but now you know that these things aren't on the surface, now no longer anything more than a shell for the memories, but inside, in your heart and his, untarnished by time, indeed made stronger. As the flesh has aged the love has deepened. I closed my eyes: I couldn't bear to see what time would do; I closed my eyes: I wanted Charlie's touch on my skin to be the only sensation my brain had to deal with. I wanted that one sense to be overwhelmed until the moment came for me to open my eyes to see my Charlie and to thank him for loving me. I felt the softest touch on my lips. The touch moved away ... I felt it softly graze my nipples ... my chest ... my belly. The bed moved slightly. My right big toe was in a warm mouth ... a tongue licked all round my toe ... it moved from toe to toe, sucking then licking ... the other foot ... my ankle ... the inside of my leg ... I felt my leg being lifted and a tongue licking the hollow behind my knee ... the other leg ... the other knee. I lost count of time. Nothing remotely sexual had happened yet, but my skin was on fire for him. The bed moved again. Both my legs were lifted and my hands placed under my thighs. I took the hint and pulled my knees back on either side of my head. Now would begin something altogether more intimate. The tongue licked the inside of my left thigh, moving slowly, so slowly, from my knee to ... it stopped. The same on my right thigh. My cock was like a foot-long steel rod, or so it felt. I knew I mustn't touch it - this was the bargain Charlie had made with me. Tonight I was clay in his hands. His tongue touched my balls with the gentlest contact. They moved in my scrotum, responding like a cat to being stroked, stretching and - I could imagine it - purring. Charlie's tongue became more insistent in its treatment of my balls, his licking firmer, always from the back to the front, but never allowing any part of my cock (two feet of steel now) to be touched. If I had been on fire before I was now incandescent. The bed moved again. I felt two hands under my buttocks lifting me slightly - the hands stayed there. A tongue slowly licked from the back of my balls all along my perineum. It reached my arse where it very slowly circled round the centre of my being for that moment. For the first time I heard a voice. "This is for the boy I love. One day I will do this for the man I love." The tongue went on licking ... it pushed into my arse ... I tried to relax and the tongue pushed an inch or so into me ... the heat was indescribable ... the nerves in my arse were shrieking, deafening my poor brain, urging action of some kind from me, but I managed to deny these insistent demands ... Charlie would give me release in his own good time. The tongue was joined by lips soaking my arse, devouring my arse lips as they had devoured me when we'd kissed. I felt my soul being drawn out of me, and the empty space being filled with a new white-hot ... the bed moved again and at last I felt Charlie enter me. So hard and so gentle. So consuming and so possessing. Every nerve in my body was sending waves of pure pleasure ... it couldn't last ... but it couldn't end either. Charlie was fucking me so skilfully, so lovingly, that fire was coming out of my ears. Then he came, a tidal wave of spunk drowning me, his beautiful wonderful cock buried deep inside me where it belongs pulsing, pulsing, singing his love ... and my balls at last heard the screaming of all my nerves and released all the tension as my cock shot the biggest jet of spunk high into the air ... and another ... and another ... and I felt that tongue again, that magic tongue which had lit such a tempestuous fire in me ... it licked the length of my cock, no longer two feet long ... it devoured my cock and every drop of cum still on it ... it sought my juices under my foreskin ... it sucked my cock hoping for a last drop of cum ... my balls delivered it ... and then the tongue sought out the jets of cum my balls had sent into the atmosphere ... every part of my body was searched and lines of cum gently consumed ... it was 't possible to live any longer after such extreme pleasure ... but somehow I pulled through, sustained perhaps by the certainty of knowing that I would be doing this for Charlie tomorrow and hundreds of times after that. I opened my eyes to see his face looking down at me. "I love you," he said. "I know. I'll always know." =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 34 as we continue on our way. The story is, of course, fiction, but the photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing a few months ago, and the boy I describe as "me" is really cute. I'm sure he had adventures ... Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================