Date: Sat, 3 Jun 2017 14:52:54 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Fourteen Again Chapter 45 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 45 We were still curled up together when I woke at about 7 the next morning. I don't think either of us had moved. The raunchy smell was powerful even though the windows were wide open. Polly's ability to not notice would be sorely tested, but ... if it was going to be sorely tested by the smell as it was already, then adding to it a little wouldn't surely make any difference. This piece of faulty 14-year-old logic led me straight to Jack's cock, resting against his thigh. I looked at it, marvelling as so often before that such an insignificant little thing can exert such a powerful influence. Very very gently I put out my tongue and licked the very tip. Jack didn't stir, but Little Jack did - not much, but enough as if to say 'Good morning, I'm awake'. More tongue, more response from Little Jack - not so little now. As I hoped would happen Jack moved sleepily onto his back and stretched himself, allowing me to take his cock, now hard with morning lust, into my mouth. He stroked my hair as I brought him to his orgasm - a gentle one so unlike the urgent orgasms of yesterday. "Now you," he murmured, and soon I too was pulsing a stream of morning glory into his soft sucking mouth. It's funny how utterly different cums can be with the same boy: now violent and urgent, now soft and almost lazy. All good though! It was time to get up and shower before Polly felt the need to rouse us. I was relaxed about her finding us in bed, but I don't think Jack had got that far in relaxing in Polly's presence yet. Easy for me, of course, because I was old enough to be her grandfather, and I'd be buggering off soon. Breakfast was eaten with gusto, as though nothing untoward had happened. Shortly after 8 I made my exit as I had to be dog-walking (or dog-wanking if my suspicions were right) with Barry at 10. I told Jack I'd ring him. ****** And here, friends, I break off to tell you that details of the rest of today's adventures are listed under "Fourteen Again: Dog Days" in the Bestiality section of Nifty. I know that some of you will not wish to learn of our canine doings, but others, perhaps less averse to a bit of boundary-stretching, are welcome to switch over to the other channel. We resume here at around 3 pm after Barry and I have walked Rex for the second time. ****** Barry returned Rex to his owners and we spent a happy hour enjoying each other in the way that 13- and 14-year-olds do. There was no master/slave thing going today, so it was as his equal that I fucked Barry, long, deep and slow. In the post-coital glow Barry turned to me - we were in his bed by this time - and whispered that he'd like to be the one Rex fucked next time. I said, "I'm glad: you'll love it, and it'll be something you can do with him on your own after I've gone." "Do you have to go?" he said. "Yes," I said, "I don't suppose I'll be back. But Jack'll be here and I expect he'll introduce you to some of his other friends." Barry seemed doubtful. "What other friends?" I told him about Bob and Steve, and that I thought there was every chance that a frolicsome foursome was likely to develop. "You never know, Rex might join in too," I said. Twenty minutes later we got up and I showered Rex's stink off me. Barry helped, of course. I dressed and was away a good quarter of an hour before Barry's mum was home. I left Barry's with no plans about where to spend tonight. It was Friday, and I was expected at Bob and Steve's at 10 tomorrow morning. My balls had had two extremely busy days, and a night free from any sexual stimulation would be no bad thing. As I would need to catch a train from Kings Cross tomorrow the old faithful Youth Hostel seemed the obvious choice. I was greeted almost as a regular customer. "Hello again, haven't seen you for a few days. Having a good time in London?" I could only agree. The guy asking was really quite dishy - late 20s, tanned face, trim body, nice smile (all the kinds of attribute which would have made me likely to indicate that an approach would not be unwelcome) - but luckily he also had a wedding ring. In those days, of course, a wedding ring meant a wife, so my balls would get the rest they needed. Even the other three occupants of the dormitory weren't going to trouble my testicles. Two were old (my kind of old - well over 70) and the other was about 19, but much too large and much too hairy for my refined tastes. A dull, if very welcome, evening was in the offing - an evening which allowed me time to reflect on my time in 1957 so far. This was my 18th day back as a 14-year-old. During that time I'd had some kind of sexual encounter with eleven men (including one rape), two older teenagers and sixteen boys. Not a bad haul! Three of the boys had made an impression on my heart, as well as my genitals: Zak (although he loved me more than I did him, I think), Jack and Robin. I knew I would never see Zak again, but I was fairly sure that Peter would do his best to let Zak grow in his own way - that the boy's sexuality would be allowed to develop in as guilt-free a way as was possible in England in 1957 (or as it is now, come to that: easier than it was, but still far from easy). With luck Zak's memory of his few days with me would be a happy, perhaps as he got older an amused, one, but not a wound taking a long time to heal. I'd spent more time with Jack, and I knew much more about him, and his lonely home life. I knew Polly would be a rock, but whereas Jack at 14 needed a rock like Polly his needs at 16 or 17 would be quite different. Barry would no doubt provide Jack with a satisfying sexual outlet, but I couldn't see Barry as being of much use to Jack as a support in tougher times. It was likely to be the other way round, so at least there was a benefit in my having fostered their relationship, however kinky the surface attraction was. I would need to make sure that Jack's relationship with his near-neighbours and school friends Bob and Steve grew into a mutual support club as well as a mutual fuck club. Well, I would know more about how likely that might be tomorrow, I thought. That left only Robin. Ah! Robin. I really did love him, and try as I might I couldn't work out what it was that made my feelings for him more intense than my feelings for Jack. Stop analysing, Peter, and just enjoy that oddest and best of all human emotions - love. I might suffer withdrawal symptoms when I finally left him for the last time, but I knew that in less than two weeks I would be safely dead: dead after a month of bliss. How may men can say that their last month has been as filled with the experiences they sought as mine will have been? The real difficulty I faced was doing my best to make sure that Robin wasn't destroyed by my leaving. I wasn't so stupid as to kid myself that he wouldn't hurt, and hurt badly, so my responsibility would have to be to equip him with the strength to deal with the hurt, to remember the pleasures that had brought the hurt, to accept hurt as the price of those pleasures and - most of all - to know that his heart was capable of feeling, and engendering, love for and from someone else. Who cared if that was another boy? I had my work cut out. On Saturday he would return home from Thetford, and I would ring him in the evening. I felt that Zak, Fred, Harry and I had dealt with the rape problem. I didn't suppose for one moment that his sadistic tendencies had been curbed, but he had suffered, perhaps the loss of his job, and to a vengeful 14-year-old (the fairy's benefits cut both ways) revenge was all that was needed. Other adults had been generally friendly - even Luigi had seen that gentleness would get him more, and probably better, fucks than assertive aggression. I planned to see more of Marcel and Yves, quite possibly in the next few days. I didn't doubt that there would be more encounters, with both boys and men, that I hadn't thought of planning yet. Bob, Steve, Robin, Marcel, Yves, who else? I wondered, before the end of the month, the end of this blissful adventure, and the end of my life would probably ensue. Who knew? Who cared? Hedonism, tinged with - no, that was undervaluing my capacity for caring - well laced with altruism, was what it was going to be about between now and the end of August. ****** Next morning - Thursday - I was due at Bob and Steve's in Winchmore Hill. I set off from Kings Cross and was at their front door at 10 as arranged. Steve answered as soon as I rang the bell. "Hi, Peter," he said, "we've been looking forward to this so much." "Me too," I grinned, and followed him into a huge hallway and up the stairs to the suite which Jack had described to me. I confess I wasn't looking forward to meeting Greg. He sounded decidedly creepy. Still, I expect most folk would think I'm creepy too - an 88-year-old perving on young teenagers. When we got upstairs Bob greeted me with a big hug. "Hi there, sexy boy! Good to see you again. Been doing much since Jack's party?" I gave a very much edited version, mentioning The Thetford Experience but leaving out just about everything else. No point in alarming the natives. Well, not yet anyway. They were impressed with what I'd got up to at scout camp though, especially with my description (detailed, with nothing left out) of the orgy in the tent on my last night. I noticed that looks were exchanged. Maybe, just maybe, I was going to strike gold. Well, not gold exactly. Pretty much the opposite. There was no way I could foresee that what I was after was going to come up in the way of casual conversation. I decided to be upfront about it, encouraged by the signals that I thought I was getting from Bob, and in particular Steve. "Look", I said, "Jack's told me about what the three of you got up to the other day. It sounds thoroughly perverted, and right up my street." (Grins all round.) "Well, in particular the bit where you all pissed on each other in the bath. I love piss games" - ("So do we") - "but I also like going a lot further even more, if you know what I mean." I stopped there, waiting to see whether either Bob or Steve picked it up. As I expected it was Steve who replied. "Peter, if you mean shit then I'm all for it, but it turns Bob right off, so I never get to play that kind of game with another boy. If you're up for it then so am I." Bob agreed, saying, "I can't understand what the attraction is, but Steve's been badgering me to join in for a year or more and I just won't. If you two want to play that kind of game that's fine by me, but I won't be joining in." I thought quickly. "Tell you what, " I said, "Jack's with his cousins today. How about you, Bob, go to Jack's tomorrow for a session with him - he'll love it, I promise you, and there'll be no trouble with grown-ups - and Steve and I play dirty here?" Bob and Steve exchanged looks, Steve's having a distinct 'please!' content. "OK," said Bob, "that sounds like a good plan. With any luck four randy teenagers will get what they're after and my bloody brother will stop pestering me to shit on him." So it was agreed. "What about Greg?" I asked, "I'm not keen on doing anything with him around." "Oh, that's not a problem," said Steve, "tomorrow's his day off and today, if we do anything wicked, he won't come near us because we've told him not to. Unless you want him to join in he won't disturb us until we call him." "Call him?" "Yeah. We have a bell which we ring if we want anything. Crazy, but that's how the olds like us to behave." This seemed very 19th Century to me - ringing bells for servants - but it wasn't my house and I wasn't about to question it. "Does he hang around nearby? Can he hear what you're up to?" "We don't think so," said Bob, "we've often said or done things to see whether he made any comment later, but he never has done. Maybe he was in the SAS or something in the War and learned not to give away secrets under torture. Years ago Steve and I decided to ignore him if he wasn't in the room and enjoy all the things he taught us when the three of us were at it in here. We like it that way, and Greg seems to like what he does with us. Poor old Steve never gets any shit there either, so you're a real fucking godsend." Tomorrow therefore it would just be a twosome with Steve, but today all three of us would be frolicking together. Several days ago I had cum in both ends of Bob after fisting him, and I had wanked him and used his cum as lube for my own wank. All I had done with Steve was suck his cock. It was time to redress the balance. I leant over and groped Steve, already sporting a fine stiffy. "Come on then," he said, "no time to waste." We went into Steve's bedroom where we stripped quickly. This wasn't to be a slow sexy session, not yet anyway. Three hard cocks were soon proudly exhibited. Three foreskins still cloaking the sensitive cockheads underneath, ready to be teased back to reveal the hot moistness underneath. Three sets of balls hanging patiently waiting to be called into spunk-producing duty. Three teen rosebuds waiting - anxious - to be penetrated. Three pairs of hands. Three pairs of lips. Three tongues. Where to start? ============================================================================== 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