Date: Tue, 14 Mar 2017 17:38:00 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen again Chapter 4 Fourteen again by badboi666 =============================================================================== This story is - guess what! - fantasy. If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with a 14-year-old then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Remember the three things: 1 Cum (you may wish to do this more than once) 2 Wipe carefully 3 Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. =============================================================================== Chapter 4 Morning on 2 August couldn't come soon enough. The 4-bed dormitory in the Youth Hostel was hot and stuffy and the man sleeping in there had farted all night. His two sons were OK though. In the shower I had a good look at them, making no effort to hide my interest. The older one was about 16 and had a good-sized cock with a hairy bush. I liked the look of his cock, but the bush turned me off a bit. As an adult I have always kept my pubic hair shaved - I think it looks better and it's a bloody sight easier to keep shit out of it if I'm playing scat games. His brother was much more my type, if a bit on the young side: he was about 11 with a nice little cock. Well, I say "little" - it was little when he came into the shower but when he saw me in there with a semi (it was morning and I was 14, after all) his cock firmed up nicely. He was embarrassed by this (his brother didn't pay any attention, so his embarrassment must have been because I was there) but when I looked at it and then smiled he gave me a quick grin. Too bad that all I was going to be able to do was look, I thought. When the older boy left to dry himself the younger one stayed 10 seconds longer - just enough time for me to give him a quick grope and a wink. Another wide delighted grin from him! I didn't want to stay another night there, so I would have to find somewhere else tonight. Given that I was 14, horny, worldly-wise, and keen to get fucked I didn't imagine I would have too much difficulty. But before I did anything else I had shopping to do. I made a list: lube, something I could use as a dildo (there were no sex shops in those days, so I would have to improvise - I cursed myself for not thinking to bring something from 2017), a couple of pairs of skimpy shorts and some tight t-shirts. Something interested me that the fairy hadn't warned me about. Although I was supposedly a year older in real life, and I was only a day older as a 14-year-old, at least one thing was changing more quickly than it should - my hair (yesterday a crew cut) was now as lot longer. Nothing like a year longer, but much more than a day longer. This was odd: would other things change at a peculiar rate? And if they did, would my genitals be affected? Could be fun! So far, though, there was no sign of anything more than the odd wisp. I added a razor and shaving cream to my shopping list in case I suddenly developed pubes one day. I was out of the hostel by 8.45 and by 9.30 my shopping was done. As well as the things on my list I bought a small backpack and junked the suitcase: the pack was far more convenient and a kid with a pack wouldn't be noticed whereas lugging a case, even a small one, might look odd. I headed off to Victoria bus station to see whether the boy who had written the graffiti was there. Probably not, I thought, but it was certainly worth a try. What had he written again? "13 and horny. Want older boy to play with. Will be here 2nd August 10 o'clock." By 9.50 I was outside the toilets. I checked inside - there was no-one there and the filthy cubicle - had it only been yesterday? - was empty. If he was coming he hadn't got here yet. I decided I would wait outside a few yards from the door so that I could see who was coming. Nothing happened, no-one came, and it was 10.05 and I was thinking of giving up when a boy the right age came running along and dived into the toilet. Anyone glancing at him casually would have thought it was just a kid dashing for an urgent piss, but I was pretty sure I knew better. What I saw was a boy who knew he was late for a meeting he desperately wanted, and he was frightened he might have missed out completely. I waited 30 seconds then strolled in. He was standing by the pisser still puffing and sweating. "I hoped you'd be coming, " I said, "I was worried when you were late." His eyes lit up. "Are you here 'cos of, you know, my, er ... ," he muttered. "Your message - yes, and as I'm 14 and you're 13 then I'm an older boy. And since you wrote where you did, and I saw it, then we can be pretty sure that we like the same kind of "playing". OK?" A huge grin appeared, and I grinned too. He was skinny, about 2 inches shorter than me. He had blond longish hair and green eyes. Like all boys in these stories he had a nice naughty grin. I took his arm and propelled him into the toilet, bolting the door behind us. We wouldn't have long, I thought, this was fine for a quickie, like yesterday, but not for the leisurely sort of sex I wanted with him. "We don't have long," I said, "is there somewhere we can go to do this properly?" I felt his cock and it was hardening under my hand, as was mine. "My mum's out at work until 5, and there's no-one at home until then," he said, "but my home's miles away." "Not a problem, as I have nowhere I need to be. Come on, we'll go to your place." And I gave his cock a squeeze. "It'll be much better there." I don't need to tell you about the bus ride to his place - we sat close together right at the back upstairs where we could hear if anyone else came up (no-one did) and once the conductor had taken our fares we were completely undisturbed for half an hour nearly. During this time we each had our hand inside the other's shorts, but nothing more exciting beyond that. Still, when we got to Croydon we were both aching. His name was Barry and he lived in a detached house with a garden about 5 minutes from the bus stop. By the time we got inside his front door we were both pretty horny. "You say you want an older boy to play with," I said, "just what sort of playing were you planning? Sex stuff, obviously, but what special things?" Barry paused, and said "Well, it's a bit embarrassing." (Strange, I thought, it must be something way beyond just wanking.) "I like being tied up and made your slave." That didn't seem embarrassing to me at all, and I told him I would love to tie him up and make him my slave (come on, I thought, this is why I'm here, after all). I asked him what sort of things slaves might be expected to do, tied up and all. He hadn't thought too much about that, of course - being tied up and helpless was the big thing. "OK," I said, "here's what we'll do. We'll both strip off in your bedroom. When we get there I'll tie you to the bed and see how things go from there. Agreed?" He nodded excitedly. Upstairs his bed was an old-fashioned kind with an open metal head-board and another at the foot - perfect for tying boys. He started to take his clothes off, but I stopped him. "No, slave Barry, you must undress me first. Master must be naked and you must worship him before you are allowed to be bare." Barry willingly accepted this plan - slaves know when to obey. "Before we start we need to agree what you will say if you want to stop playing, and be ordinary Barry again, OK?" "Yes. I will say "spaghetti" as it's what I'm having for tea tonight. But I don't think I'll need to." At that Barry knelt in front of me and ran his hands down my bare legs. My cock immediately started to harden, and the slave noticed it. "Master's mighty cock is so immense," he murmured, "that I have to worship it." Carefully he eased my shorts over my erection, which sprang up and smacked my belly. "Oh, Master, it's so hot and hard and proud. I must clean it in case it's not perfect." and without me having to ask his hot little mouth engulfed my cock as far as it would go. No blushing bride, this slave, I thought, he's done this before. Pretty obvious, when I thought about it, given his graffiti in the bus station bog. No beginner. I didn't spend much time thinking about it though, because the slave was giving me the best head I'd had for many years. Reluctantly I stopped him. "My staff is now cleansed," I said, "and we must shackle you to punish you for your disgrace yesterday. You remember the foul thing you did yesterday, soiling your tunic. If you are to remain in my service you must never soil your tunic again." (Unless I order you to, I thought, an idea for another time.) He took off my t-shirt and I ordered him to strip himself. Using his dressing gown and pyjama cords (all boys wore pyjamas in bed in those days) I tied him firmly, but not too tightly, on a towel face down to the bed head and foot boards. He was splayed out like an X, his delightful arse cheeks presented for my lustful attention. I gave him a smack - not too hard, but enough to make him jump. "That's for being sinful, careful or there's more of those, and likely harder. D'you understand?" Silence. Another swat, a bit harder. "Speak, slave, when I address you. Do you understand?" "Yes, master, but, er, I liked it when you smacked me, so I didn't answer you. Have I been very naughty?" OK, that was how he wanted to play this game - fine by me. "Very naughty, slave, and you must be severely punished (one good hard smack: "ow!" - "more?" - "yes, master" (a bit muffled) - one more real stinger across both cheeks, now beautifully pink). "That's punishment enough, slave, you have learned your lesson and been a brave boy. I will now tend to your wounds," and pulling his cheeks apart I dived on him, licking furiously at his cheeks and moving quickly to his pucker. "Is your holiest part clean, slave, if I am to tend to it?" "Yes, master, it needs tended to very much. And so it was. My tongue bathed his pucker and after a couple of minutes I remembered the lube. Reaching down I opened the jar a coated my right hand. I smeared his crack - he gasped at the coldness - and stuck a finger in. It entered very easily - my finger was not its first visitor, I thought - could be easier than I had feared. Soon two fingers ("Go on, master, I can take it") were joined by a third. Christ, I thought, I can maybe fist this kid. "Slave, has any master had his fist up there? Speak the truth, boy?" Barry was in two minds about how he should answer. The truthful answer was that yes, indeed, he had been fisted, but he felt that he didn't want Peter to think he wasn't the first to take him that way. Peter would never know about the other boy, after all. "No, master, but I wish to serve you in any way you wish. I should like you to fill me with your hand and then, if it is your wish, with your mighty sceptre." So I lubed my fist and formed the four fingers into a nice wedge, tucking my thumb inside. I told Barry that it would probably hurt for a moment or two, but that once my fist was in he would feel a great sensation of heat and fullness. I didn't know then that Barry was well aware of all this. "Remember spaghetti," I said. In I went, slowly at first. Just before my knuckles were about to penetrate his boyish opening I rotated my hand, causing him to squeal with delight. Forgetting himself he cried "Oh Christ, just stick it in!" I decided both to forgive and to obey. In went my fist, "aaah!" went Barry and then a deeper purr of lust. I rolled my fingers round and quickly found his prostate, massaging it with two finger tips. Suddenly he cried out "Oh, fuck! I'm cumming!" =============================================================================== There will now be a pause in posting of a few days as I (the real "I" who writes this stuff) am going into hospital for a few days. Nothing too serious. Should be posting Chapter 5 at the weekend. There will be more about Barry and some man/boy action is likely Thanks to the guys who've already been on with ideas - keep them coming. I will reply to all of you, but it may not be for several days. Not everything suggested will happen, but I expect I'll want to try many of them. I'm going to be here, being 14, for the whole of August 1957. I have lots of ideas about degrading, filthy, exciting things I want to get up to. But if you have things you would like to read about while I do them, email me at badboi666 "at" btinternet "dot" com and let me know. Tell me your most depraved fantasies: I'm 70, after all, and won't be shocked. Even if I am only 14 to look at ... or touch ... or suck ... or fuck ... or piss on.