Date: Tue, 26 Sep 2017 15:25:54 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Ace-Jack Chapter 1 Ace-Jack by badboi666 =============================================================================== If you haven't read "Fourteen Again" and "Lion-King" here you really ought to read them before starting "Ace-Jack", which is the final part of the trilogy. 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 1 I felt completely locked in. The ambulance people had covered King with a blanket - he'd lain in the rain for ages until they came. The police came and asked Ace what had happened. I heard him telling them that King had suddenly accelerated and slammed into the car. "I don't know what got into him," he told them. It wasn't much of an explanation. They asked me my name and I told them. "Peter Brown." That was the last thing I said - I was locked in after that. I could hear them asking Ace. It was the first time I heard his real name - Adam Perry. And King had been Rex. It made sense. They asked him who I was; why was I riding pillion. What Ace said next made everything that came after possible. "He's 15; he's our - my - apprentice." I knew this wasn't true, but I also knew that the truth would have been impossible. What was the truth anyway? I was really Peter Brown, and all I could remember was a month of unbridled sexual activity, culminating in meeting Ace and King 11 days earlier. I knew I loved Ace, and that he loved me. I didn't know anything else: what had I done before a month ago? where did I live? what happened to my parents? I knew I had to confirm whatever Ace invented. So I would be 15, and I was apprentice to a recently-bereaved builder in Harlow. I was conscious of being examined by the ambulance men. "He's in shock," one of them said, "better get him in to make sure he's OK." I remember being taken to the local hospital where they did tests. By the time they were satisfied there was nothing wrong with me - nothing, that is, apart from witnessing the second-most-loved person in my life being killed right in front of me - it was 3 o'clock, and far too late to discharge me. They stuck me in a bed. Ace told me afterwards that he'd been terrified in case they didn't return me to him, so he'd paced the hospital car park all night. Ace sorted things out in the morning, and a taxi took us both home. He put me to bed with a hot drink and told me he'd be back in an hour. I was distressed by this, but he took my hand. "I'm only going to get the bike, Jack," he said, "and when I come back I will never leave you again." He gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. I smiled and when he left the room the tears started in earnest. ***** It was a week before I started to be less locked in. Ace was worried that I wasn't saying anything, and he rang the hospital to talk to somebody. Apparently they said it was normal for children in shock to be silent while they came to terms with what they'd seen. It was the third day before I opened my mouth, and what I said can hardly have been encouraging for Ace to hear. "Oh, Ace, I miss him," I wailed. He took me in his arms and we both wept on each other's shoulders. We needed that, and we needed to do it together. Ace's grief was greater than mine: he'd lost a twin, a friend, a business partner, a lover, his life-long other half. I'd lost King, but I still had Ace. I gripped him more tightly. "Don't you fucking die," I sobbed. Ace ruffled my hair. "That's more like it, Jack," he murmured, "welcome back to real life. It's hard, but we'll get through it together." That word - that "together" - set me weeping again. I couldn't get my head round the idea that Ace and I really would be together for ever. He was 28 and I was - well, was I 14 or 15 now? 15, I reminded myself, got to remember that. For now, though, all that mattered was that Ace was here, holding me and loving me. ***** It was two weeks before we began to return to normal, if the great aching hole that had been King was ignored. The funeral had been grim, but Ace had got through it. He and King had no family, so the only people there were a few bikers and a few people from Harlow - neighbours, that kind of thing. I wasn't keen on being there, but Ace pointed out that I'd spend the rest of my life regretting not being beside him when he was saying goodbye to King. More tears; I nodded, ashamed that I'd been selfish in wanting to hide away from the raw grief. "It's OK to cry, Jack," he said softly, "I cry too." I knew. Each night as I lay beside him I could sense tears. Each night I reached for him to comfort him, and he ended up comforting me. Each night the pain grew imperceptibly less; the tears imperceptibly fewer. It was touching that most of the bikers wept as we buried him. They, more than the neighbours, were the source of comfort to us. Ace and I were hugged by great bears of men, and somehow gained strength from their embraces. The next morning Ace and I had our big discussion, Until then we'd taken each day - each hour - as it came, but after the funeral we had the future to plan. I started to say something but Ace cut me off. "Don't say anything until I've told you - again - what your thick head won't accept." This was the old Ace returning, and I was glad of it. "I've told you a hundred times that I love you. King's death doesn't change that: it makes it stronger because you and I are all we've got. I want you to stay, and I want you to live with me, just like you've been for the last month. Don't, please, think of going away. I couldn't face that." I nodded. "Of course I'll stay, Ace. I love you too, don't forget, and where would I go anyway? Aint no fucks anywhere else." Ace laughed - the first time he'd done that since ... Ace set about telling me what would have to happen. "You're 15 now, don't forget. That means you've left school, wherever that was. I'll get proper apprentice papers fixed up. Do you have a Birth Certificate?" I shook my head. "Good, because if you had it'd show you as being only 14. I'll find a way round that when I need to." This was a new Ace I hadn't seen before: Ace the planner, Ace the businessman. "I've been in touch with Oxford, telling him about King and why we'd not been in touch. He was very upset, probably because his research project won't happen. I assured him that I'd do the conversion though, and he was pleased about that. I'd like you to come with me. If you're going to be my apprentice you might as well learn to do it properly." I beamed. "Good," he went on, "because we're going there tomorrow." "Ace," I began, meaning to say how happy I was about being with him, but my throat tightened and I couldn't go on. He reached out for my hand. "I know, it's hard." We sat together in silence for several minutes. "There's something I need to tell you," Ace said. "When we got you back from the hospital there was a card tucked behind the clock. It was from King." He showed it to me. It was a simple greetings card with a message inside. The message read "The stuff in the envelope will explain everything - pour yourself a big drink, Ace, while you read it. I've had a wonderful life, and now it's your turn. Jack - make sure you love him as much as I've done. Love to you both for ever, King". I turned to Ace. "What stuff in an envelope?" "No idea. There wasn't an envelope. I've turned the whole place inside out." "What do you think it means, Ace? What 'wonderful life'?" "No idea. But it looks like what he did was deliberate, doesn't it? That's a suicide note." "But why, Ace? What was wrong with going on as we were?" "We'll never know, Jack," Ace said sadly, "but we must trust him because we love him. He knew what he was doing." The silence was terrible while I got my head round what Ace had told me. King had willingly killed himself so that Ace and I could go on loving each other. It made no sense. That night, for the first time since ... Dammit, I must get over this. That night, for the first time since King died (there!), Ace made love to me. Until now we'd cuddled and kissed, but the great empty hole in the bedroom (even though King had his own bed at the other end) had erected a barrier between the two of us, grieving, and the joy of love-making. He simply reached out and drew me into his arms. Our cocks, soft until then, touched as we embraced and the pent-up emotion of the last month boiled us up into a frenzy. I don't think Ace had even come during that month - I know I hadn't - and when he fucked me he lasted about 20 seconds before pouring his soul into me. My cock erupted as he did so, and we both collapsed into a great pool of my cum on the bed, howling with laughter at the sheer delight of it all. When we made love again half an hour later it was vastly more satisfying, as was the third occasion at about 6 the next morning. Life had begun to return to normal. ***** We biked across to Oxford, arriving tactfully after lunch. The professor was very sweet, expressing his great sadness at our loss. Ace said how sorry he was that the research wouldn't be possible and the professor agreed, but pointed out that Ace's loss was 'of a higher dimension than mine'. We then settled down to business. "Jack is my apprentice as well as my boy-friend," Ace began, "and I will teach him the trade while we do the conversion. It will take longer than we expected, obviously, but we have a contract price agreed and I will not move from it." The professor gave a bow. "Agreed, Ace. Take your time. When do you expect to start?" They went on to details, none of which remained in my head. When I started to concentrate I found that we would return the next day equipped to stay in the professor's house for as long as the work required. Ace thought this would be 3 or 4 weeks. The professor seemed delighted with this, but whether it was because he could expect to enjoy the benefits of his newly-enriched facilities in a month's time, or because he would have two house-guests, one of whom at least was in his - the professor's - preferred age range, it wasn't for me to know. I remembered that when he first encountered me the professor had been unhappy about having a catamite under his roof. What had changed? Perhaps I was an apprentice now, rather than a catamite. Either way I could not have been happier. ***** Ace and I worked steadily for two weeks. I don't remember a time when I've done more physical work, or learned so much about something about which I knew so little. I was exhausted by the time we gave up for the day. We stripped all the equipment and took off the flooring of the bathroom and revealed the underneath. Ace was pleased that the Victorian plumbing was deep enough for the conversion to work properly; apparently that's unusual in more modern buildings. Ace got the professor in to tell us exactly what he wanted now that we could show him what was possible. The idea was based on the bathroom joining the two bedrooms in Harlow. The floor would be sloped towards a central drain so that everything would drain away, or be washed away. Luckily the toilet bowl was in a corner - that made life a lot easier. The professor wanted two shower heads close together with detachable nozzles, and the whole room was to be cladded in wet-wall. A sling was to be rigged up near the central drain. Ace rubbed his hands. "Lots of hard work for you, Jack," he said, "put some muscles on you." I wasn't sure that muscles would add to my attractiveness to Ace, but I didn't have much choice. I'd always thought that my lovely slender boyishness was what ticked his boxes. After a week we were ready to rebuild the room. Ace mixed concrete and we spend a very careful two days sculpting the gentle slope. That really was exhausting as the bloody stuff would start to set more quickly than I could get to work shaping with the rake thing. You really don't want to hear the details. That was the worst bit. After that fixing the top layer and the wet-wall were straightforward. The showers and the other stuff were the last to be done, and we'd finished on day 23. The professor was delighted. That was how our days were passed in Oxford - days which started at 8 o'clock, paused for an hour at midday, and finished at 5. Ace was a stickler, and I learned a lot about the world of work in those weeks. At 5, or as soon after as the day's work allowed, Ace stopped. "OK, Jack, that's it for the day. You've done well. I'm proud of you." The formula never varied. I glowed with exertion, and I glowed with pleasure that Ace had praised me. This was so different from how we'd spent our life together in August. Different, but in a way more intense, because I knew this was for real. Occasionally I wondered how I'd come to be here, doing these things with Ace, but try as I might I could remember nothing before I'd found myself at Kings Cross a couple of months ago. After a while I stopped trying, and eventually I stopped worrying. What was gone was gone: I'd had a huge shock, and the doctors had said this might happen. What was much more interesting was the way our routine changed after 5 o'clock. The professor had given us the spare bedroom, with a big bed, and the use of what he called 'the small bathroom'. When we went to look at the plumbing layout of the house we discovered that there was indeed a larger bathroom next to the professor's bedroom. That made three bathrooms if you included the one on the ground floor which we were converting. I suppose the house must have been built when well-to-do Oxford dons had large families and lots of servants. Anyway, I'm digressing. Ace and I went to our room, stripped off, and showered each day. We were instructed to present ourselves in the professor's study at 6 o'clock. "Be sure you're prompt, gentlemen," he said that first day, with a twinkle in his eye. I wondered what was about to happen. Would I get a telling-off for the Chablis moment? Ace knocked on the study door at 6. The professor bade us enter and sat us down on a large leather sofa. "We need to sort things out," he said, "that way each of us will be at ease while you are here." This made sense: I could foresee a tension between the master and the hired hands if the social divisions were not acknowledged and managed. It's an unusual arrangement for the tradesmen to be put up by the client. "I will speak freely: we all know the situation." He turned to me. "Jack, I want you to accept my apology for the insensitive way I dealt with you on the occasion of your first visit here. I was not expecting a boy of your tender years. I now know that you possess a wisdom far beyond your age, and I hope you'll allow me to apologize." He paused. "Professor, I don't know what to say," I said, "this is your home and you have nothing to apologize for. I'm happy to be here with Ace" - I touched his hand - "and I'm glad that you are able to accept our unorthodox relationship." It's catching, this Oxford talk, I thought. "Good," said he, "I think we can therefore call ourselves friends?" The question mark was so clearly there, in the air, that Ace and I had no option but to nod in agreement, wondering where this was going. "Good. You will dine with me each evening - we eat at 7.30 - and we shall talk about the day's progress and" (he gave a small embarrassed cough) "other matters of interest" (AHA! I thought, I know where this is going) "to the three of us. When you retire you will be entirely private. My servant understands how my house is run and he will be the only person who enters your room to carry out his duties." Things were becoming clearer, to me at least, with every passing minute. The professor's servant - whom we had not yet encountered - would be the fourth queer in the house. I allowed myself to grin at the prospect of an interesting few weeks in Oxford. Dinner was excellent. "As this is your first night I've arranged something a little special. It will not usually be like this. Jack, let's see what you make of the wine tonight." Had he not been so refined the sound he made when he said this could only have been described as a cackle. Consommé, duck, raspberries. Magic. I was careful not to take the risk of repeating the Chablis thing, and I daren't catch Ace's eye. I knew Ace hadn't a clue. I sniffed and swirled and tasted lightly - a much less poncey performance than last time, but my audience this time was different. Now I had to impress the professor as three-week host, rather than as a one-off lunch provider. "A '49 claret, but I have no idea what. My parents couldn't afford to waste something as good as this on a child." "Well done, Jack, your parents did a splendid job! It's a Lafleur - one of the smaller chateaux." I hoped we could dispense with this rigmarole in future, not least because my parents, whoever they had been, had never taken me to France. I knew it was a '49, but I hadn't the faintest idea how I knew. Whatever forgotten thing in my past which put that knowledge into my head could disappear without warning, leaving me at risk of looking really stupid. After dinner the professor set himself to talking about those 'other matters of interest'. He seemed to have forgotten his desire to investigate the day's progress. Perhaps tomorrow. He turned to Ace. "You're a man of the world, Ace, and one who's not concerned about his sexual preferences." Ace nodded his agreement. "Well then, let me put my cards on the table. Naturally everything remains within these four walls." Ace nodded, as did I. The professor pressed a small button by his side. A minute later in came coffee - four cups, I noticed immediately, which made me sit up and pay very careful attention. The fourth cup spoke volumes. Coffee was borne in by a slim young man of about 20, who enquired how Ace and I liked our coffee. When three cups were poured and handed round he caught the professor's eye. The professor smiled. The bearer of the coffee poured himself a cup and sat next to the professor. All was now clear - very clear indeed. The professor began. "Ace, Jack, this is Paul. As well as being my manservant he shares my bed. Paul, Ace and Jack have the same relationship as we do. Each one of us is capable of being brought down by any one of the others; we are therefore bound to each other by the secret we cannot share. Are we agreed? Ace, Jack, will you agree?" Ace twigged that a reply was needed. "Yes, professor." "Yes, professor," I added. "Good. While you are at work you will go on calling me 'professor'. As soon as you enter the study at 6 o'clock you will call me Gervase, otherwise our relationships will become confused." Curiouser and curiouser, I thought, a microsecond before it occurred to me that those words might first have been uttered, or even written, within 100 yards of where I now sat. "The work you are carrying out is for Paul's benefit as much as mine," he continued, "and it is my habit to host discreet entertainments from time to time. I hope you two will stay for the first such entertainment to mark the opening of my new facilities." I so wanted to burst out laughing - the contrast between the orotundity of what he was saying and the hot lustful wickedness (lovely!) of what lay behind it was irresistible. I wondered how long it would be before he relaxed (or forgot himself) enough to use language more familiar to the horny-handed sons of toil busily digesting his '49 Lafleur. The mischief monkey suddenly bit my ear. "Gervase," I said, all bold, "your entertainments sound exciting, and Ace and I will certainly want to make sure that" (I paused) "everything comes together on the night." It was a test I had set. Thank God, Gervase passed with flying colours. Life would now be a great deal less like walking on egg-shells. "Oh Jack," he beamed, "you are a joy." "That's what Ace thinks too, don't you, love," I said, taking Ace's not-horny-at-all hand in mine. Ace caught the ball without a fumble. "You bet, love," he said, and bent to kiss me on the lips. The transformation on the sofa across from us was instantaneous. "Gerry, love, if they're going to kiss then I'm not sitting here like a fucking mermaid any longer," said the professor's paramour, attaching himself as we had done to the object of his ... desire, love? Who knows. Gerry, to his credit, relaxed into the arms of his hitherto-correct manservant. Evenings after that were much more pleasant. I made it my business to find out all there was to know about Paul. I've said he was slim. He had the palest skin I have ever seen - pale, flawless, hairless (he told me he shaved the bits he could reach every second day, and that Gerry did the other bits). His cock was long and thin - not in Ace's class by a long chalk, but 7 or 8 uncut inches when ready for use - a status we'd seen only half an hour or so after the mermaid remark. Very low-hanging balls. Blue eyes, short fair hair - nothing like a fucking mermaid at all really. He had been an undergraduate at Balliol but had 'found it better to remove himself' as he put it 'in good time'. This rather surprised me, as Balliol, like every other college, was good at keeping its secrets secret. I later found out, in a shared moment of tender post-fuck gossip, that Paul's problem had not concerned another undergraduate, which wouldn't have mattered at all, but had involved a treble in the choir. The boy, 12 at the time, had been inexpressibly wonderful, it seemed ('with an arse like a jelly on springs', Paul had said, although that observation was a Cambridge one originally), but Paul had sought Gervase's protection and as he was no longer on Balliol's books the matter was quietly forgotten. It dawned on me that the professor's earlier difficulty with having a catamite under his roof was perhaps more for Paul's reputation than his own. I began to like Gervase. You may be wondering why Paul and I were in a post-fuck situation. If you had asked me a week earlier whether I would be engaged with anyone other than Ace I would have strenuously denied it. However Gervase was insistent, after that first evening's revelations, that such things were entirely permitted (a word which clearly crossed the boundary into 'encouraged' territory). If Gervase (40-odd) was fucking Paul (who was only 19, I discovered) and Ace was fucking me (15, supposedly) then it was fair to assume that both the older men would have an interest in the other bit of younger flesh, if only for an occasional treat. If Ace had no problem (and he assured me he didn't: "we're in his house, so he makes the rules") then neither did I. I prepared myself mentally to be on the receiving end of Gervase's interests, as no doubt Ace did. But it was Paul who struck first. It happened on the third evening. Ace and I had showered and were hanging about waiting for the clock to strike 6, and for Professor to transmogrify into Gervase. Paul appeared and beckoned me to follow him to the kitchen. As well as the bed services he also satisfied Gervase's other bodily needs in the kitchen. I thought Gervase had found himself a very satisfying household. Anyway, Paul grabs me once we're in the kitchen. "I don't have much time," he whispered, "but ever since I first saw you I've fancied you. Make an excuse at about half past eight and come in here. Gervase will understand, and he won't be bothered. If Ace doesn't mind we can spend a couple of hours, just you and me." My eyes sparkled, and I felt his cock. Hard, like mine. "OK." I don't remember dinner. It was, as we'd been warned, less exotic than on the first night, but it was still very good. No wine though. For some reason I was feeling very horny. Ace and I had made love each night, and very loving and fulfilling it had been, but this was going to be new. I'd had a few minutes with Ace just before 7.30, and had told him what had happened. He grinned. "Go for it, Jack, I don't suppose you'll be the only one getting an offer from one of these two in the next week or two." "You don't mind?" "Of course not; you know that, I've told you often enough. What I might mind is secrecy - but you're being honest. That's all that matters. I think fucking Paul might be fun, and if he suggests it I'll be in there like a rat up a drain. So go and do what the two of you fancy doing. If it's really exciting I might feel strong enough to fuck you myself when you tell me about it." I grinned, "Oh Ace, for the billionth time, I love you so much." I met Paul as arranged and he took me into his bedroom. It clearly wasn't the one he shared with Gervase, but maybe it made sense for the servant to have a single bed in a small room in case there was a need to demonstrate it to anyone. It was pretty sparse - I don't think he used it much - but it had some of the useful things a man in his position would wish to have at hand. Lube, poppers, cock rings, butt plugs - you know the kind of thing, I'm sure. Paul was a very tender and considerate lover. He seemed completely versatile: he was a willing bottom for Gervase, but clearly his Balliol escapade with the choirboy had seen him in the role of top. Paul confirmed this to me at exciting length one evening a week or two later. (It crossed my mind that the boy in question might still be interested, but hot on the heels of that thought came another pointing out that it would be excessively risky, with the likely consequence of three adults being flung in jail. I couldn't do that to Ace. If I felt the need for a boy it would have to be on my own.) Would Paul be a top or a bottom with me - we were closer in age that he was to either of the other sexual partners I knew about? Paul was a top for me and, as I've said, a tender and considerate one. His style of - I can't call it love-making because to use those words would devalue what Ace and I did - sex was completely different from Ace's. There wasn't any emotional input from either of us, so the Ace-inspired intensity was missing. That aside, though, Paul pressed my buttons pretty effectively, and sex with him was enjoyable, if rarely ecstatic. Paul was endlessly patient, and on this first occasion, after we were both naked, he spent a good half an hour caressing my body with his fingers, his lips and his tongue. During this time I was under instructions not to touch myself, nor to touch him. "But I need to," I protested, "I need to feel your body too." "All in good time," he said, "we'll be doing this a lot more after tonight." Since what he was doing was enjoyable I accepted his restriction, and settled back to think of England. Except that England was driven from my thoughts by what he was doing to me. I'd always gone for the sexy bits of guys I was at it with: not always cocks and balls, but certainly arses. Paul didn't go near any of these. He licked me pretty well all over, just tiny fluttering touches with his tongue. After 20 minutes of this I couldn't resist asking him about the choirboy. "Simon?" he said, "what about him?" "Did you do this to him?" "Yes; he loved it. His cock was like steel. He sometimes came - dry, of course, no spunk if you're still a treble - just as a result of the tongue music I'm playing now." "That must have been fun." "Indeed, now shut up, please, while I get on with it." Thus chastened I resumed my thoughts of England. When he'd licked me to his satisfaction he gradually moved his mouth up the centre of my body from my navel, never moving to either side. I was expecting some nipple action, but they were ignored, as had been all the other erotic bits. No, that's not true: every inch of my body had been made erotic by this guy's astonishing mouth technique. And now he was at my chin ... and at last our mouths met. It was as though the contact of our lips had switched off his 'patient' button and switched on his 'urgent' one. "Oh fuck, Jack," he whispered, "you're so sexy. Your skin tastes like - I don't know - somewhere between peaches and paradise." I felt flattered. "If my skin tastes so good how about I get to taste you now?" Paul grinned. "I should tell you," I said, "that as a randy teenager I don't have the patience that you older guys have," and without warning I had my lips on his cock. His foreskin was loose and half retracted already by his engorged cock. I used my lips to uncover it completely: moist, red, and incredibly inviting. This cock, I knew, would be spurting spunk inside me quite a few times while Ace and I were employed here. I knew that Ace would be doing the same, and I was pretty sure that Gervase would not wish to be left out. But tonight it was Paul's first time fucking the apprentice. And the apprentice was having a high old time with Paul's cock. "Suck my balls," he murmured. I did as asked, one at a time, rolling them gently over my tongue. When I'd done that I went back to his cock. "Pull my balls down," he said. This was a new one on me, but I took hold of his scrotum above his balls - I didn't want to hurt him - and pulled gently downwards. "Harder." I complied. "No, really hard." This was a bit worrying: no-one had ever done that to my balls, so I had no idea how hard I should pull. I decided that I would go on pulling until he stopped me. I pulled for a long time, increasing the hardness. At last he sighed and told me to stop. "Remember how hard you pulled then. That's how I like it. If I'm fucking you then you can't pull them, but if we're doing anything else I like them being tugged like that." "OK. Now for God's sake fuck me. I'm hot for your cock up me." He got behind me and spent a few minutes licking my arse and generally getting me nice and wet. Then in he went, slowly but firmly. I quite like doggy fashion sometimes - it has the advantage that my cock and balls aren't stuffed up against the other guy's belly, and I - or he - can wank me as things progress. I was about to stroke myself when Paul's hand beat me to it. He started to tug my balls, and I immediately tensed. "Don't tense," he said, "if it hurts I'll stop immediately, but you should let me try it - it's a big turn-on for me and it might be for you." I nodded. He tugged. It didn't hurt, and now that I was confident that he'd stop if I yelled I was able to relax. My cock was as hard as hell - not something that always happens when I'm being fucked. Maybe the tugging had some effect after all. Paul was getting up a good speed behind me, and I could feel my own response getting closer. "Nearly there," he panted. "Me too. Go for it, Paul, fill me up." A dozen more deep thrusts, each faster and deeper than the one before, and he was pouring spunk into me, pulse after pulse after pulse. As his cock strained to spurt the next pulse he tugged my balls harder than he'd done before and, to my astonishment, my cock responded to the tugging exactly as a cow does to being milked. Tug squirt, tug squirt, tug squirt. Completely unexpected and very very exciting. "Oh fuck, Paul, that's intense. "Yeah," was all he could say. My arse was full of Paul's cum and I intended to keep it there. "Can I have a butt plug, please? I want to keep all this in for Ace." Paul's eyes lit up. "Eater, is he?" "I haven't found anything Ace isn't up for yet," I said, "but I wouldn't want to divulge any family secrets." A butt plug was selected - good and wide, happily - and lovingly inserted by Paul. "There," he said, patting my arse, "that'll keep nicely until bed-time." I apologized for coming on his bed. "Don't be daft," he said, "that's what beds are for. Now off you go. They'll be talking about us." I put my clothes on again and joined Gervase and Ace in the sitting room. They were sitting in two arm chairs and broke off their discussion when I came in. "Ah, Jack," said Gervase, "how nice to see a boy with healthy rosy cheeks." This of course made me redden even more with embarrassment. I had no option but to grin "Apprentices have so much to learn," I said. Ace laughed. "Not in the department you've just been exploring though." "Look," I said, "I'm happy to be a sex object here. I love it, as Ace knows, and Paul has just discovered. But we're four horny males all of whom are happy, if not keen, to fuck all the others. Surely after 6 o'clock I can stop being a 15-year-old and just be another horny male." Gervase was quick to put things right. "You're quite right, Jack, I was wrong to tease you. It was just that you looked so ... fulfilled when you came in. Paul is very tender and considerate, isn't he." I nodded, and sat down close to Ace. They were nice big arm chairs. I whispered to him, "I have something for you." He smiled. I wondered if he knew what it would be. Just then Paul came in with four coffees, as though nothing had happened. We had an early start each day, so we'd formed that habit of going to bed, or at least going to our bedroom, at around 10. As ten approached the build-up in my arse was becoming decidedly interesting. I yawned. "I'm sorry, that was rude. But I'm tired and I need to be ready for work tomorrow." When Ace and I got to our room he asked me about Paul. I described it all to him, and he was interested in the ball-pulling bit. "Worth a try if it got you off," he said. I agreed. "But not tonight. I've got something for you that you like." "And what might that be, my favourite little pervert?" "Sloppy seconds." Less than a minute later we were both naked - clothes flung in an urgent heap - a towel was on the bed, I was on my back, the butt plug was whipped out, a modest amount of cum rolled out of my arse and trickled down my crack, and Ace was in - in, all the way in, pounding and giving me the urgent hard fuck I so needed from my lover. I wanted to be possessed, to be owned, to be loved, to be needed, to be fucked. Oh Ace, I love you. ***** That evening was one of many where Paul and I went off for a teenage session, leaving our seniors to put the world to rights. Ace told me that on two occasions Gervase had expressed a desire to experience 'that very fine cock of yours', and that he, Ace, had been happy to demonstrate the many ways in which it might bring pleasure. Ace told me in bed afterwards that he thought that Gervase had wanted the experience more to be able to boast that he had taken 'the biggest you've you seen, boys' than for the sexual pleasure that being fucked by it actually provided. "You're far better at taking it than he is, Jack," he said, and gave me a cuddle. I looked up into his eyes. "Thank you," I whispered, "that's because I love you. I can't get enough of you." By the time the 23 days were up and the work completed every possible coupling had taken place. Gervase had refrained from fucking me until the last evening because, as he put it, "I've been saving the best for last." I was glad, because compared to Paul he was a rather selfish lover. I'd got the best of the bargains going, I reckoned. On Day 23 Ace summoned the Professor (it was well before 6) to inspect the work. Fasolt and Fafner had laboured mightily, and his Valhalla was ready for occupation. He was delighted, so much so that he said he would add a bonus. Ace said that was unnecessary, pointing out that because of King's death we had taken several days longer. "Nonsense. You and Jack have done a splendid job. I know that King's death has affected you both deeply, but you have both worked on, and devoted yourselves to the task." He gave Ace a cheque for the agreed sum, and he gave each of us, with some ceremony, an envelope. In each was £100. In 1957 that was a couple of month's wage for a builder, and to a boy of 15 it was a small fortune. Despite its being Professor-time (rather than Gervase-time) I gave him a kiss as I thanked him. His mentioning King had got me all teary again. "Now," he said, "I have one final favour to ask. In two days time I've invited some close friends to join me in celebrating the new installation. I would consider it an honour of you - both of you - would stay on and join in this party. I think you'll find it to your tastes." Ace had no option, and I was glad. A couple of days was neither here nor there and I would be with Ace. The party might be fun too. Little did I know then that the party would change my life. ***** The party was a great success in so many different ways. Gervase had invited half a dozen guys, all of them queer and all known to each other. Paul had been allowed to invite one boy, largely I think because otherwise I would have been the only boy there. What Gervase's problem with that would have been wasn't clear - it wouldn't have worried Ace or me, but maybe Gervase didn't know that. Anyway, by the time everyone had arrived there were 8 men (Gervase, Ace and the 6 guests), Paul 19, me 15 and Paul's boy. He couldn't have been more than 13 - was this the choirboy whose arse was the jelly-on-springs one? When we were all gathered (as Gervase put it) Paul came in with drinks. The men all still had their clothes on (as did we boys) but Paul was naked apart from a black jock strap. He was greeted warmly by four of the men, while he (and the jock strap) were admired by the other two. It turned out that they hadn't been to Gervase's house before: they had met Gervase at some Oxford do to which servants had not been invited. I was watching keenly, and as far as I could tell (apart from Gervase and Paul and the boy, and Ace and me) only two of the six men were an item. Gervase clapped his hands. "Now, boys, welcome to my little house of sin. There are a few rules which I expect you all to adhere to. I don't expect you thought there would be young boys here. The older one, Jack, is Ace's boy-friend, and no-one touches him without either Ace or Jack being willing. Agreed?" There was general agreement. "Good. The younger boy, Simon, is Paul's boy-friend. He is only 13 and Paul and I have agreed with him that only Paul will have any contact with him. This is a special occasion, and I want it to be a memorable one for all of you, and that includes the boys. I don't want anyone - anyone at all - to leave here tomorrow morning with even the tiniest shred of regret. Do you all agree?" There was general, if on this occasion not untinged with regret, agreement. As I was sitting next to Simon I whispered in his ear, "Does that ban include me?" He looked at me, smiled and gave a tiny shake of his head. I smiled too. Good. "Well then, gentlemen, to business!" Paul led the way, his arse being admired as he did so. We were shown into what had been our room, where everyone stripped off. Clothes were put into drawers in a wardrobe, leaving the bed free for activities. I noticed that a waterproof sheet had been laid on it. Simon and I were in a corner and I was able to have a quick word with him. I wondered, given his history with Paul, how the arrangement had been made, and what cover story he'd made up. "Oh, it's simple, Jack," he said. "When Paul left suddenly everything was hushed up very quickly. I don't think more than about three people in College knew what actually happened. The servant who discovered us was given a lot of money to keep his mouth shut, with the clear threat that if word ever got out he'd be out of a job and have no references. The Fellow he told wanted to keep any hint of scandal out of the papers, so he told Paul that if he left College the following morning the police would never know. They concocted some story about a breakdown of some kind - it isn't unusual. The Fellow made only one mistake; mistake, that is, from his point of view. He thought he was doing the right thing by letting the Choirmaster know, in case I had some fit of the vapours or something. 'Best you should know,' he said, 'in case poor Simon is troubled.' Silly bugger. Poor Simon was a willing player in Paul's games. But what was really funny was that the Choirmaster was just as keen on my fragile little body as Paul had been, and knew all about Paul. That's him there." Simon pointed to a good-looking man of about 40 who smiled at us. He came across, his generous cock swinging interestingly. "Tonight, Simon, I have promised not to touch. Will you mind dreadfully?" Simon grinned. "I'll just have to make do with Paul, Charles. It'll be a terrible strain." The Choirmaster swung away again. "It was through him that Paul got the job here." "What excuse did you give for being out on the tiles all night?" I asked. "Oh, that's easy. Charles concocts some choir reason for being away - I'm one of his prize trebles, so there's always a course or a competition or something somewhere. I'm supposedly competing in Worcester tonight." During the evening there was a great deal of coupling, of splashing around, of poppers being sniffed, arses filled (and emptied), cum spurted and swallowed. I didn't see most of it. The only three cocks I was interested in, and I enjoyed all three of them, were Ace's, Paul's and Simon's. I told Ace that I was going to make a bee-line for Simon when I had the chance, and that Simon had agreed. Ace laughed. "Why am I not surprised by that, Jack? Good luck; I envy you - that arse looks delicious." I promised I would let him know. "I'll try to keep something for you," I said. I wasn't sure whether this treble was firing more than blanks yet. "I'm guessing that Paul and Simon will spend the first hour or two together," he said, "so you and I can test the work we've done here, just the two of us." "That'll be nice," I said, and cuddled up to him. I love Ace's hot naked body - it's so ... mine. Tonight, however, it would be shared. ***** By about 10.30 the party had been going for two hours, and many of the men were on one or other of the beds getting their energy back. Ace had fucked me a couple of times, and Paul had fucked me once. I'd sucked four new cocks and swallowed four healthy ejaculations. The two guys who were an item hadn't joined in, as far as I could see, but they were certainly all over each other. Gervase was being a good host, and making sure sure that everyone had 'something nice to nibble on'. Paul and Simon were on Ace's and my bed. I slipped over and got beside them. "Paul," I said, "Simon and I want some boy-on-boy action. We talked about it earlier. Do you think the guys would like to watch?" Simon's eyes lit up. "Oh go on, Paul, tell them. It'll be a riot." Paul thought for a moment. "Let me talk to Gervase. He said no-one was to touch Simon apart from me." "I don't think I was included in that," I said, "tell him that Simon and I are willing - no, tell him we're keen - to give his guests a floor-show." Paul chuckled: the idea was attractive. After all, he was a damn sight nearer our age than he was to any of Gervase's guests. Five minutes later Gervase clapped his hands again. "Gentlemen, I've got good news for you. In a few minutes Paul will be round with drinks and something to eat. When you've all got those Jack and Simon will perform for you. That will put fire in your loins and steel where it's most needed. But the boys are for looking at, remember, not touching." Paul whizzed round with drinks and snacks while Simon and I agreed what the performance would involve. I had no idea that the next 45 minutes would change my life. I was rather taken aback with the wildness of some of Simon's ideas. He looked exactly like what he was - an innocent blond boy of 13 with an unbroken voice, and no signs of impending puberty. That was with his clothes on. Take off his clothes and there still wasn't any sign of puberty. His body was hairless, even under his arms, and although his cock was a bit bigger than average for his age it wasn't anything to write home about. It was only when you got inside his head that you began to understand the whirlwind of sexual desires he was willing to admit to. Before we started I asked him if he could cum yet. "You wait and see," he said, "but make sure that they can see as well. I won't cum in your mouth." I indicated that I was sorry to hear that. He grinned. "OK, I won't cum in your mouth while we're performing." That was better, but how many cums could even a randy 13-year-old whip up? By breakfast tomorrow I would know. Our audience awaited, reclining in Roman style on the two beds. Everyone had a good view. Simon and I were pleased to see that Ace and Paul were together on the nearest part of the big bed. We would perform for them. Simon stood stock still, his feet apart and his hands outstretched - Vitruvian Man only a damn sight sexier. If you can imagine Vitruvian Boy as having a 5-inch erection, a nice juicy foreskin, two balls barely noticeable, but - as I would learn - fully functioning, then you have the idea. I stood facing him a foot or so apart, in the same pose. The only differences were that my cock was about an inch longer, my balls a lot bigger and lower, and my armpits had hairs. My genitals were, as Ace and I liked them, shaved. We reached towards each other and intertwined our fingers. Our lips met for the briefest of kisses. I could hear a sound from the audience: some of them had noticed that they were about to see something special. I leant back, and we stood still with out fingers laced. Then we bent towards each other, only this time instead of our lips merely touching we inclined our heads, allowing our mouths to join in an erotic kiss. Our tongues engaged and the audience could see that we were active in each other's mouth as out throat muscles moved. Two teenagers, stark naked, erect penises only inches apart, their mouths hungrily exploring each other. I withdrew my lips and knelt at Simon's feet - not the way round that might have been expected. I took his cock, his beautiful cock, the 13-year-old cock with so much history and so much promise, into my mouth. Simon quivered and lowered his hands to caress either side of my head. I licked his cock for a minute or two; there was no hurry. I stood up, resuming the position I'd had earlier. Now Simon knelt and did to my cock what I had done to his. His lips excited me hugely. I could begin to understand the qualities that had led Paul to risk so much. After he had sucked me for two minutes I lifted him to his feet and embraced him. For the first time our cocks touched. Electricity flowed. The performance for an audience had faded: this was now going to be my act of erotic delight for Simon, and his for me. Fuck the audience. I took his hand and led him to the sling. With a lithe leap he was in it. At first he sat in it, like a boy in a swing, grinning teasingly. Then he gradually scooted forward so that he was in the right position. I lifted his right ankle and fastened it in the stirrup, then I did the same to his left ankle. His arse was now exposed. Simon put his wrists into the cuffs and smiled at me. Neither of us had said a word, or made any other sound, since we'd started. Simon broke the silence. "Like what you see there?" No reply was necessary: it hadn't been said for my benefit after all. If you've been paying attention you'll know that this arse now displayed for all to see (and me to enjoy) was described as being 'like a jelly on springs'. Simon's arse cheeks were generous - they were the only part of his whole body where he carried any apparent fat. I took one on each hand and gently parted them to reveal his arsehole. For an arsehole which had been penetrated as often as I knew his had been, Simon's arsehole was a picture of clean virginal innocence. There was no sign of bruising, or of any redness. His pucker was tiny, neat, and light brown. His crack was perfect, with no blemish of any kind. I bent before this scene of earthly delight and began to worship it. My tongue licked from the bottom of his crack to the base of his cock - a cock which twitched in grateful acknowledgement of the erotic potential about to be stimulated. I repeated this several times, each time spending more time on his rosebud before moving on. Throughout this my hands were on his thighs, allowing my weight to press my tongue onto his arse. Simon sighed. That was the sign that penetration was wanted. I picked up the lube I'd put on the floor and applied it to my right hand. Very slowly I drew my index finger along the path my tongue had travelled. Then I inserted my index finger all the way in. I could feel Simon's arse muscle relaxing and almost welcoming me in. This was an arse well-accustomed to penetration. Simon squirmed. The audience stirred: this was special. In other circumstances I'd have had three, if not four, fingers inside right then, but these circumstances were not normal. My second finger entered slowly, and it took almost two minutes before it was clear that it could go in no further. More squirming: this boy could act all right. Time for the third. I was aware that only a few of the men could see clearly what was happening at Simon's arse, so this was really for them. Ace and Paul were off to one side, but they weren't uppermost in my mind at that moment. I was performing an erotic dance, and Simon was my instrument. My third finger went in. I used my index and fourth fingers to stretch Simon's hole sideways as far as I could, using my middle finger to rub his prostate. You've heard this described often enough before, but Simon had never experienced it, and it took him right over the edge without any warning. His cry of "Oh fuck!" was accompanied by a large spurt of spunk shooting from his cock onto his belly. Appreciation from the audience was audible. "No touching," came a voice. "Bugger," muttered someone. Simon's arse had tightened while he came, but within half a minute I detected a relaxation. I bent over him to whisper "fist?" "Try," he whispered back, "if it hurts too much I'll tell you." I took the opportunity of my leaning over to whisper to check on his cum: quite a lot, which boded well. I got a finger's worth and raised it to my lips. My tongue was visible as it licked my lips. More audience noises. It was sweet. I hoped for more later. Time for the wedge. I bent down again, allowing those in the right position to perv on my arse, and squirted a lot of lube onto Simon's arse. The wedge went in nicely as far as my knuckles, occasioning a rather unexpected (and very unrefined) 'fuck me, he's going to fist the little bugger', followed by 'sssh!' from elsewhere. I was, and I did, with a little difficulty. Simon cried out (real or faked? - who knows) but I pushed in anyway. His arse lips were accommodating, and as soon as my knuckles were in the rest of my hand slipped in easily. I say 'slipped': 'was engulfed' would have been more like it. There were muscles up there which grabbed my fingers and tugged them deeper, deeper. There's a bend in the piping inside an arse several inches in, and by the time my fist reached Simon's bend my elbow was only about four inches outside. Simon was bathed in sweat. His face was beaming like a child with a large lollipop which, if you think about it, was what his arse was enjoying. I moved my arm in and out and Simon, to the limited extent he could, arched his back as it went in each time. "Next time," he whispered. We hadn't rehearsed any of this, so I wasn't sure what was in the offing, although there were really only two possibilities, and he'd cum not that long ago. In I went and as I pressed Simon allowed his bladder to respond to the pressure my fist was putting it under. A golden arc of piss shot out of his cock and sprayed onto Simon's innocent body. You have to remember that he looks utterly angelic while all this is happening. The stream of piss just went on giving, drenching the boy from his hair (some of it flew over his head at first), his face, his chest, his belly and, as the flow finally ceased, a few dribbles onto where his pubes would soon sprout. Applause was heard. We'd hardly started. Fist out, cock in. Cock all the way in, hard. Hard fucking is what Simon wants, and hard fucking is what I'm giving him. No longer the slow caressing foreplay, now it's a dash to the tape ... or is it? I stop, my cock as far up him as I can get it. I lean forward over him. He leans forward as far as his restraints allow. We can just about reach to kiss ... our tongues reach out to lick the other's tongue (I'm still up him to the max) ... Simon mutters something about love, but I don't believe him: we've all been there. What he means is something like 'what your cock is doing to me is so fucking wonderful that I say the L-word, but I don't mean it - I'm sure you understand'. I do, Simon, I do. I've been there a million times. Time for Act III. I whisper again. "I really want to cum inside you, but this time they'll want to see it. Maybe next time?" Simon smiled. "You bet, Jack. Go for it." My cock is deep in the boy; it's warmly enfolded by his hot wet inside. It's time to fuck him properly. A slow withdrawal ... a slow deep penetration ... (a purr from Simon) ... faster this time ... faster, faster, nearly there, a couple more then ... whip it out to let my cock, in full view, pour my fountain of spunk onto Simon's pure innocent white unravished virginal body, corrupting it with hot sinful spunk ... and again ... and again ... a fountain of 15-year-old lust defiling the flower of English innocence. How could a scene be more vile? By the 15-year-old emptying his bladder onto the sacrificial victim to wash away the evidence of sin. And what could follow? The second eruption of spunk from the victim's cock, brought on by the victim's vigorous wanking while his poor little body was being soaked by the invader's piss. I relaxed. Simon relaxed, his cum having exhausted him. My piss glistened on his body; his cum left a pearly train from his cock to his chest. I undid his restraints and helped him out of the sling. We stood, face to face as we had at the beginning. His spunk was slowly running down his belly. I knelt, as I had done at the start, and slowly, carefully, licked it all up. I stood and kissed him. We shared his spunk. It was nice. So was the applause. Ace and Paul cuddled us, and took us to 'our' bed. The next hour was warm and tender and loving and - oh, I don't know - just very special. Paul obviously felt the same way about Simon as Ace did about me. We were oblivious to the goings-on elsewhere. It was now after midnight. You'll want to know that I did indeed manage to cum deep inside Simon, but not until about 1 o'clock. That was after Simon had had his third cum, this time in my mouth, and as I'd hoped, the taste was, well, perfect. =============================================================================== End of Chapter 1. Comments welcome at badboi666@btinternet.com