Date: Tue, 30 May 2017 13:05:06 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen Again Chapter 44 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 2 Wipe 3 Donate =============================================================================== Chapter 44 We must have dozed off, wrapped in each other's arms. No bad thing, I thought as I woke up, given that the night's activities would probably be more than a little exhausting. I licked Jack's ear. "Come on, sleepyhead, it's time to refuel." "What time is it?" he asked sleepily. "Just after 10. Will Polly still be about/" "Oh yes, I'm sure she will." "Come on then, let's go and see if something to sustain us in our next energetic bout of fucking might be available." "What d'you mean?" "Cocoa, idiot, and maybe some more ice." He grinned, "You're weird." "Yes, I know. I'm thinking of having 'Beware weirdo' tattooed on my forehead to warn off vulnerable little 14-year-olds." "Bugger 'little'." "I will, I promise." Five minutes later two hungry teenagers peered round the kitchen door. "Hello, you two," said Polly, "time for more food already? A busy evening, no doubt." Jack was still embarrassed by Polly's innuendo, but I was happy to play along. "Yes, Polly, we need a refill. It really takes it out of you. Could we have some cocoa, please?" Soon three mugs of cocoa were on the table, together with slices of rich fruitcake. It was clear that Polly was inviting herself to our feast - fine by me, although I couldn't answer for Jack. Jack and I were sitting together at one side of the kitchen table, and Polly at the other. She reached across and took one of each of our hands in hers. "I want to say something important to you both," she said, and looked us both in the eyes. I nodded, aware that something huge was coming. "Peter," she said, "I don't know anything about you, who you are or where you come from. You don't mention parents, or home, or any of the things a 14-year-old boy would naturally mention - no, don't interrupt" (as I tried to break in to explain) - "but you will have your own reasons for that. All I see is a nice polite boy who has made friends with Jack, and that makes me happy." She turned to Jack. "I've known you since you were a little boy, Jack. You were only 6 when I came here to look after you. You were shy and it took you several weeks to accept me as your friend. You've never had friends to play here, even when you were at primary school. When you brought Peter here to your birthday party I could tell that something big had happened in your life, and the change I've seen in just two weeks has been enormous. I don't think you know how much joy that has given me. You're very easy to love, Jack, and not many people are, believe me." She turned back to me. "I know perfectly well what you two are up to. It doesn't bother me, and I'm not a spy. What does matter is that you've brought so much happiness to Jack and me, and maybe you can guess how much that means to me." At this point Jack couldn't hold back the tears any longer, and I held his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Oh, Polly," he sobbed, unable to go any further. I turned to him and took him in my arms, just holding him. Neither Polly nor I felt the need to say anything, but she and I exchanged a mutual smile over Jack's head. I kissed the top of his head. After a few minutes Jack had stopped sobbing, and turned to Polly. "Thank you both," he said simply. It was perhaps the wisest speech he had ever given. Polly became business-like. "Drink your cocoa, you two, I expect you've work to do," accompanied by a twinkly grin. I wondered how twinkly her grin would be when a string of fuckable boys appeared for cocoa - Barry, Bob, Steve, others whom I would never know. That, however, would be for Jack to sort out, and I decided that his self-confidence was not the only thing that was bigger and more prominent than it had been two short weeks ago. Thank God for trainspotting! Cocoa done, much cake consumed, ice replenished ("What's that for?" "Got to keep cool under pressure, Polly.") we returned to our silken bed of earthly delights. Rumpled sheets, actually, but when you're a lusty 14-year-old who needs a loaf of bread or a jug of wine? After a nice G&T I felt up for anything. As we were sitting on the bed I turned to Jack and felt him up. "Nice and slow this time?" I asked. "No. Hot and fast this time and nice and slow the third time." "OK, Tiger. But you take the lead this time if it's to be hot and fast. Seduce me!" Jack had already fucked me twice - once today - but both times there had been other boys there as well. The first time it was a four-way orgy with Bob and Steve, and earlier today (God, I needed a rest!) with Barry. This would be the first time he had fucked me on his own, as it were, and I wanted him to learn how to take the lead. He had bottomed and topped with, as far as I could tell, equal enthusiasm, so I had no clue how the adult Jack would prefer his gay sex - or even whether the adult Jack would choose gay sex: not the easiest choice in the early 1960s when he would be 21. Oh, stop it, Peter, all that happened over 40 years ago - you don't know anything about the adult Jack, or any of the other boys and men you've encountered here in 1957. All you can do, here in 1957, is bring some pleasure - while getting plenty yourself, let's not forget - and try to help sexy 14-year-olds build some armour for life. While all this was going on in my head Jack had stripped and was busy getting my kit off me. I did nothing to help, allowing him to do whatever he wanted. When I was naked he pushed me back onto the bed and lifted my legs over his shoulders. I closed my eyes - I wanted to discover what he was doing purely by touch. I felt a gentle breath on my arsehole as he blew. Then I felt his tongue running along my crack from behind my hole, past it, and onto my balls. Wisely he left my cock alone. He was learning! Soon he was concentrating his rimming tongue on getting my arse really wet. I felt him lean over and I heard the lube bottle being opened. I felt the cold on my arse, but immediately I felt his long fingers questing inside me. I lifted my buttocks off the bed to encourage him to go deeper. While I didn't want to take the lead in our love-making I wasn't going to keep silent, so when the second finger went in I moaned happily, "Oh God! Jack, that's nice". He must have remembered the pleasure my prostate-play up his arse had been, because that's what I felt him do to me ("Yesss!"). My cock was leaking big time, but Jack wasn't paying any attention to it. "Fist?" "Yeah." And so, for the first time, he fisted me. And it was unbelievably good. The pre-cum puddle on my belly was somewhere between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario by this time and my colon was massively enjoying the sensations produced by its uninvited, but greatly welcome, guest. "Much more of that and I'll cum," I muttered, "I'm nearly there." All he said was "good". He started to rotate his hand, making a fucking motion with it at the same time. Those of you who paid attention in school will recall that between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario is a little thing called Niagara, and that is what my cock, hard, hot, but completely untouched, suddenly delivered all over my chest. "Wow!" said Jack, surprised, as I was, by its suddenness and its volume. He whipped his hand out of my arse (a wonderfully erotic sensation - you should try it) and had his tongue on my Niagara in an instant. "Leave some for me," I said. "No, this is all mine. You can have mine soon. I want to drink every drop of you, Peter." And giving effect to his words his lips took in my wilting cock to drain it of the last few drops. Christ, I thought, this kid has come a long way in a short time. He must have been like a time bomb, just waiting for the right trigger. He was lying next to me, his fingers gently tracing lines of my no-longer-cummy chest. "What will you do when you have to leave?" he asked. I confess I had no idea myself beyond being aware that I would have a stark choice: either I'd be back in 2017 as a 101-year-old (or would it be 2048 - that might be interesting!), or I'd be a dead 14-year-old in 1957. "I don't really know," I said, "but I've got to be away by the end of August. I don't have a firm plan." "That's weird, but then you're weird, so it's probably just you being you." I couldn't fault his logic. Can you imagine the trauma of his being told that it was actually (quick calculation in my head) an 87-year-old man he had just fisted? Better by far for him to think I'm weird, and let that stand as an explanation. "Weird or not," I told him, "it's time for you have a good seeing-to. Hot and fast it won't be since, as you've noticed, I've just cum gallons. But let's see what my tongue can do." I laid him down as he had laid me with his feet over my shoulders as I went to work at his rosebud. I wanted to see how quickly I could make him cum using only my mouth. "Eyes shut," I said. I was pleased to note that it was about eight minutes. I started with a lascivious rimming, but I've never been able to get my tongue far up anyone, so the rimming was really only to get him warm (and to give me the hot aroma of boy arse, essential to a successful night's boy-fucking). Then tongue on balls, tongue on cock, tongue suddenly on nipples (massive twitch), back to balls, cock, then lips on cock (he's beginning to thrust now), leave cock suddenly and rim a very moist arsehole ("oh fuck! get me off!"), lips round cock, he's doing the work now, fucking, fucking, fucking my mouth and ... he's there! "Aaaaah!" and he fills my mouth with warm hot essence of boy, teeming with sperms, every one wasted. Wasted? No, never. Devoured with relish, savoured, treasured, swallowed. We kissed in a prolonged clinch, sweaty, spent, wholly absorbed in each other. "Oh, Peter," he murmured. "Yeah, kid. Oh Jack." Much as we might have planned more sex there was no way a pair of shagged-out 14-year-olds were going to be able to, and curled up together like a pair of cats we slept, our bodies still sweaty and utterly content. ============================================================================== badboi666@btinternet.com is where you should sent comments and suggestions. Make sure you drop something Nifty's way at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html