Date: Fri, 25 Dec 2020 09:43:16 +0000 (GMT) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 111 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 111 Hector didn't take long, thank goodness. Five minutes after he had knocked at the door we were seated and menus were in our hands. It didn't take long to see that the chef was catering for the palates of men - and it was only men, Hector told me - whose education had been at "good English public schools", thus requiring him to provide nothing more adventurous than roast beef and stodgy puddings. Still, even school food is acceptable to a starving man, and it wasn't at all bad. The ingredients may have been basic, but they were put together with skill. We ate quickly, and conversation was confined to the morning's solemnities. It was only when the spotted dick was tucked away that Hector signalled for port to appear, and with it more interesting conversation. "The grub's not why members come here, of course, Dab. I expect you've worked that out. What do you think of the waiters, eh?" I had noticed that, apart from XXX who had detained me while Hector had abandoned me, all the waiters were attractive young men. "I take it that their duties are not confined to waiting at table." He chuckled, "indeed not. Their waiting at table is really only the shop window. They are mainly here to cater for other appetites, but the formalities of maintaining a kitchen have served to keep the place in business for generations. Why don't you bring your port through to the lounge?" He got up and led me through a double door into a room very different from the rather spartan dining room. It was not yet 3 o'clock but all the windows had thick curtains drawn and such lighting as there was did precious little by way of illuminating. He sat on a deep sofa and patted the seat beside him. Was I being invited to intimacy on so short an acquaintance? "Don't worry, Dab," it's not you I'm after, he said, "but I thought we might find someone to amuse you." Just then one of the waiters appeared, but not as he had been in the dining room. There he - like all the other waiters - had been indistinguishable from a waiter in any West End club: black trousers, white shirt, uniform waistcoat. Now, in the more relaxed part of the premises, I could see why Hector had used the words `shop window'. The waiter was down to only three garments, and two of those were small slippers. His black leather shorts did little to disguise what lurked within, and the flash of colour merely served to indicate his particular role in what might happen. "Hello, Mark," said Hector, "will you bring the book so that my guest may study it." "Of course, Hector. Shall we be playing today?" "Oh yes, but not straight away. Have you any other gentlemen today?" Mark shook his head. "Good boy," said Hector, patting the very nice arse in the black leather shorts only inches from his face. The very nice arse went to do Hector's bidding, giving me the chance to ask a few of the many questions I had. There were 8 boys, it seemed, with ages ranging from 16 to "damn nearly 30, though I'm not in that market" as Hector put it. Nor was I, I assured him. The book would provide details. This sounded very like the arrangement Seth had described - or Gilead, to give him the name he used in such establishments. Mark's shorts had had a red stripe. "Does he dish it out, or take it?" I asked. "Oh, dish it out, dear boy. He has a very strong arm and is quite merciless. Do you ... take such treatment?" I shook my head: being whipped wasn't my cup of tea at all, nor had it ever been. "I'm more a daffodil than a peony." His eyes lit up. "Then you have a choice to make. We have two such boys here who share your taste." At that point Mark came back and handed me a leather-bound document like a wine list. "I hope you find what you like, sir." He sat down next to Hector and stroked the old man's thigh. I busied myself with the book. The 8 boys were described in considerable detail, with accompanying photographs. Each boy had about 300 words of text and 3 pictures - face, body in leather shorts displaying chest, stomach and so on, and a close-up of an erect cock. The boy's willingness to perform a litany of acts (or have them performed on or in him) was given, together with encouraging facts which might enable a discerning patron to make his choice. I noticed that each boy was blessed with a cock of more than generous inches: doubtless the recruiting process winnowed out the merely average. Foreskins were possessed by all but two. Only Mark (22) was willing to ply a whip. My eyes fell on Zeke (16) and Rufus (19), each of whom bore a yellow stripe. I asked Hector how one arranged matters once a choice had been made. "That was quick work, Dab. Mark, detach yourself for a moment and tell my guest what happens." Mark got up and moved to sit beside me. I pointed to Zeke and Rufus. "I know what yellow means. How much notice do they need to satisfy me?" Mark smiled. "Those two are always well-filled. If you choose one now he will be able to give you all you could wish for in no more than 20 minutes." I turned to Hector. "Do the club rules allow me to pay if I'm not a member?" "Not for lunch, but through here each of us pays for his own entertainment." The book had listed prices - Zeke and Rufus each cost £400 for an hour with each hour after that a mere £200. I felt I could splash out that day - it wasn't every day you buried the King. "Can I have Zeke for two hours?" Hector chuckled. "Dab, you can have what you like as long as you pay for it. Mark, go and get him, would you." The two of them were back in less than a minute, as was an older man. "Ah, Hector, I see you have a guest." Hector and I stood up. "My friend wishes to sample both of this beauty for two hours." " I have little doubt, sir," he said, turning to me, "that you will wish to return. We don't use names here, so you will be Posner. Hector will tell you about the knocks." It was all very well not using names, but I didn't carry £600 on me. I got out my wallet to use my credit card but Hector stopped me. "No, Da-, Posner, I will put this on my account and you can settle up with me later." The owner smiled, "that's quite in order, Posner, I'm sure Hector will explain about settling up when he tells you all the other things you will want to know about. Now, Zeke?" The boy had been standing in front of us while the owner had been talking. He was stroking his cock inside his shorts, smiling at me in a very come-hithery manner. He had short blond hair and blue eyes - always a turn-on - and a slim body, a body which would not have been out of place on a lad two years younger. No sign of any body hair, not even (he allowed a glimpse) under his arms. As he had a neat treasure trail visible above his shorts I seemed he was shaved. "I want you to piss on me and in me. I'll piss on you. I want to be fucked. Is that OK?" Zeke nodded. "I'm a yellow-man, Posner, and I'll do whatever you want," he said. "Good boy," I said, giving his arse a squeeze. "Lead on, Zeke." "Enjoy yourself," said Hector, "I will wait for you here - Mark and I will be finished before you." Zeke took my hand and led me through a curtain and up a flight of stairs. "There are six bedrooms," he explained, "we won't be overheard." When he opened one of the doors I was amazed at what was inside. A big bed, naturally, but what I had not expected was a sunken bath, and one of sufficient size that two could lie in it side by side. There were several bottles of water and soft drinks and, as I later discovered, a cabinet full of sex toys of various kinds. "There's a shower through there," said Zeke, "if that's what you prefer." "What I prefer is that we're both naked," I said, "that cock of yours needs to be let out to be admired." He stood in front of me and our lips met. Our tongues introduced themselves and became firm friends. Zeke's fingers undid my buttons and I did nothing to stop him. He knelt to unfasten my trousers and to greet what lay - no, what surged - within. "You match Rufus," he murmured, nuzzling my cock. "My turn," I whispered. He stood up and I knelt to draw his shorts from him. A hot hard cock sprang up, 8 inches of it, the foreskin partially drawn back. I licked the precum. "Mmm," he murmured, "that's nice, Pos - can I call you that?" I nodded, his cock in my mouth. "We can piss in the shower or in the bath. They don't mind the bed getting a bit pissy, but if you've got as much to give as I have it's best not doing it all in the bed. We can get into bed after we've done what's needed. Will I put some towels in the bath?" I removed my mouth from its pleasurable task. "Yes, let's get in. How near are you to losing control?" Zeke smiled, "I never lose control, but if you're asking whether I can unleash a huge amount the answer is yes." He put four towels in the bath and we got in. "Where would you like it?" "Kiss me," I said, and we embraced. Without a word being exchanged each of us began to piss on the other's belly as soon as our tongues gave the signal. We were both hard, but as we were both experienced pissers we could perform with full erections. I broke off after ten seconds, dropping to my knees and, taking hold of his cock, aiming it into my mouth. His piss was salty and warm - he must have been drinking water solidly, for it was not rank. I let him flow for another ten seconds, swallowing hard. I stood up. "Do you want mine?" He answered by falling to his knees and opening his mouth. As my cock bathed his tongue his fingers sought my arse crack. "I'm not lubed," I said, "I wasn't expecting to be doing this when I left home this morning." "Then I shall see to that," he said, reaching for a bottle of lube on a shelf. "You want me to piss up your arse now?" I nodded. "Don't worry if my piss makes you shit, Pos, we're used to that. One of my colleagues has a brown stripe, but we yellow-men aren't bothered by shit, though Clive positively revels in it." I got on all fours, my brain filled with lust at the thought of a 17-year-old pissing up my arse. I felt cold lube being applied by sexy 17-year-old fingers. The fingers penetrated well inside, causing me to squirm and my cock to pour precum onto the towel. Zeke noticed this and caught some. "You're hot for me, aren't you, Pos. You want a boy's cock, all 8 magical inches of it, you want me deep inside you, filling your arse with golden joy while you imagine all the boys you've fucked and all the boys who've pissed on you all standing round us pissing on us while I ram my cock -". He did just that, hard and merciless and wonderful and ... as soon as it was in I felt piss stretching my insides. Piss flowed inexorably into me. My cock poured precum. My brain tried to process the myriad messages from the nerve-endings being battered inside me. Suddenly Zeke pulled out and all the piss poured out onto his legs. I must have sighed because he whispered, "don't worry, I'm coming back," and he plunged back in. So hard did he plunge that my bladder lost control and an arc of piss flew onto the towel. "Mmm, I like it when my cock makes another cock piss," he muttered, "but keep it in if you can - I want it up me too." He went on pissing and I remained in ecstasy. He pissed for over a minute, buried deep in me all the time. Piss ran out of my arse as fast as it ran out of his cock, down my legs and into the towel. "That's it for the time being, Pos," he panted, "but I'll fill up and there'll be plenty more. My turn now." We changed places and I prepared to enter another in the very long line of 16-year-old arses I'd enjoyed. His back was perfect with no sign of acne or any of the other afflictions of youth. I bent to rim him, tasting yet again the new, but familiar, scent of a boy high on sex, his pheromones lighting up my brain and telling my cock it was urgently needed. My tongue licked his perineum; he writhed, "ah fuck, Pos, you're magic back there," he moaned, "get it in me, I need to feel your piss." I preferred a slow entry, but as soon as my cock-head was in him I began to piss, and continued to do so while I buried my cock deeper into him. It was nothing like the length of his, but he made all the right noises. "You've done more up there than most men," he said, "it feels like I've got a great balloon inside me. I can feel your piss pressing all kinds of things in my insides. It's really hot. As soon as you've stopped I'm going to fuck you - I need to cum so badly - I won't last long," he panted. "You'll have to make the second one count then as I want your cock up me for a good long time." My piss done I pulled slowly out. He must have pushed hard as I did so, because the torrent of piss which flew out was much stronger than his had been. I think if I'd pushed as hard as he had done I wouldn't have been confident that none of Clive's delight would have followed, but Zeke was a professional, and no such unwanted (and un-paid-for) material appeared. I lay on my back in the piss-soaked towel, my knees by my ears, my arse lit by flares. "Come on, Zeke, give me all those gorgeous inches." He grinned. He drew back his foreskin and painted my arse lips with his precum. I shuddered, "God, yes," I muttered. His cock pressed in and I put my arms around him, drawing him in as deep as I could. It felt more than 8 inches, every one of them liquid fire in me. He held it there, our bodies tightly pressed together, each of us panting with lust. "Fuck me, Zeke," I whispered, "paint my guts white." Only Jack had fucked me quite as fast as Zeke did that first time. He was right about it being quick, but even a mere three minutes being fucked prestissimo is a memorable fuck. I was glad he had said we wouldn't be overheard because we were both very vocal. After he'd pulsed half a dozen jets I felt him relax. "Out you come, I want it in my mouth," I murmured. I hadn't cum and I was still red hot for as much of the boy as I could consume. He knelt over me, his wet wilting cock in my mouth, his spunk on my tongue, his cockhead still sensitive to my tongue's hunt for every last drop. He bent his head nearer to mine. "How do you want to cum, Pos?" "In your mouth the first time." He chuckled, "good. I like the taste of new cum. You'll enjoy this," and he turned to kneel over me facing the other way. As he was six inches shorter I was perfectly positioned to gaze at his arse as he sucked my cock. His mouth went to work, and as he had said, he was bloody good. His arse and what joys I tasted and smelt added to the heady whirl of pleasure. He held up two fingers which I took as an invitation to put two fingers of mine up. He wriggled appreciatively. I decided that a third would fit nicely. His wriggle showed that he agreed. All the while his lips and tongue were gradually bringing me to the boil. Ten minutes of gradually mounting intense feelings suddenly got me over the line. I thrust up with my hips. Zeke, professional Zeke, rode with the storm. I'm sure he could have deep-throated me, but I was glad he didn't. The feeling of spunk shooting onto a boy's tongue is a special feeling and Zeke clearly revelled in spunk in his mouth (rather than straight down his throat) as much as I did. The result was that the quantity I shot was a lot greater than I usually managed. Zeke turned round and lay beside me. "That was some cum, Pos, I loved it," he whispered. Our lips met. They stayed met for a long time. The towels ceased to be comfortable after a while. Warm piss is fine, but cold piss isn't. "Come on," he said, "let's drink something and shower." We each drank a pint before showering and a second pint after we got out. The shower had been nice, with much contact of wet bodies but nothing overtly sexual. As we dried he asked me what I would like to do. He had small hands, so I asked if he would be willing to fist me. "Of course. I'm here to do what you want, Pos. Fisting's fine, but I think it had better be in the bath. I'll put fresh towels in." Evidently a chunk of my £400 would go on laundry bills. The refills were beginning to make themselves felt in both of us as Zeke made the bath welcoming again. "Do you want me to fist you now, or wait until you're desperate to piss?" he asked. I said I'd prefer to wait a bit longer. "When we get down to it you can piss on me when you want - don't ask me or tell me, just do it where you like. Let's get on the bed until we're ready - I want to get to know that cock of yours. Your arse is familiar territory, but this isn't," and taking hid cock - hard with need - in my hand I pulled him onto the bed. "On your back, Zeke, and let me get at you." My mouth was warm and the feeling of my tongue on his cock and my balls made me even hotter. "Do you want to cum in my mouth? I'd love it if you did. You can manage another when we're in the bath, can't you?" He nodded happily. If this angel wanted his spunk rolling over my tongue I wasn't going to deny him the pleasure. My mouth welcomed him back and within a couple of minutes he'd passed the point of no return. "Yesss," he groaned as I sucked hard. His cock spasmed and his stomach muscles contracted as he pumped gallons of goodness into me . My hands were under his arse and I pulled him deeper into me that I thought possible. I swear that the last two jets went well past my tongue straight down my throat. As soon as his cock slipped from my lips - lips which lingered and hunted every last morsel of spunk - he kissed me and I tasted his spunk again. All too soon, "come on, Pos, I need to piss. Come in the bath." "I've been fisted hundreds of times before, Zeke, I know how it works. I want to be on my back so that when you piss I get the benefit." Zeke grinned, "you're in charge." Neither of us wasted time on the preliminaries. He greased me up thoroughly and poured plenty on his hands. His fisting technique was different from any I'd encountered before - he used the fingers of both hands one after the other so that my arse was being thrust into from both sides. It was a new sensation, and one I found highly erotic. The eroticism was increased when, without warning as instructed, a stream of piss splashed onto my belly. I rubbed it over my body. "Keep some back." He nodded, "I think you're warmed up now. I'll just use one hand at first." I was glad! His right hand pushed into me. He paused when his knuckles were stretching me as wide as possible. I loved the mixture of pain and sexual heat. "Yess, Zeke, oh fuck! fill me." His hand slid in; his arm slid in; I felt the sensation deep inside me of his hand touching my guts where it could go no further. "Nice?" "Mmm." "Do you want the other hand?" I wasn't sure. "Not right now. Let me enjoy just the one." He rotated his arm - another new sensation - and I felt my whole insides melt. Piss poured out of my cock. It wasn't a forceful jet as I had done earlier - this was just a continuous flow. I felt utterly relaxed. The invading arm inside me didn't feel alien: it wasn't uncomfortable. I felt full and at peace. "You're loving it, aren't you?" whispered Zeke, pissing on me again. "Keep it coming," I said, "I'm loving everything you're doing." "That's interesting, because there's more up there than you expected. I want to try something new for you," and before I could say anything, or even fully understand what he meant his hand was coming out of me. "Close your eyes," he whispered. I felt his hand smear something soft and warm over my arse and balls. Though my eyes were closed my nose wasn't. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 112 as I make a discovery. Posting in the next week is likely to be sporadic, what with the rapid approach of Brexit and its attendant problems - got to stock up on bog roll and things. But chapters will still flow, just less frequently. badboi666 has been watching another Cambridge choir on television - almost as good as the Fisher choir - and he was delighted see simulacra of Edward, Gordon and Henry there. It did his soul good. Other parts were also cheered by the sight. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================