Date: Mon, 4 Jan 2021 19:45:32 +0000 (GMT) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - Chapter 113 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 113 I let myself enjoy the sensation of having Zeke's arm deep inside me, but I knew that what I really wanted was to fuck him. As he had cum himself not long before I needed to give him a bit more recovery time before we both enjoyed the fuck he had promised me. His arm was getting me so hot to get my cock in him that I could wait no longer. "I need to fuck you, Zeke - I need to make you mine." Crazy talk, you'll agree, but understandable. It's all too easy to lose control when the body of a 16-year-old who looks only 14 (apart from 8 inches of lusciousness) is lying on its back with its arse gaping. "Come on in, Pos, the water's lovely." I kissed his lips and teased his arse with my cockhead. He pulled me in, growling "don't fuck about - I want to be used." I glanced at Billy, deeply embedded in Rufus, his face a picture of concentration. Rufus was articulating the delight he was feeling as Billy's cock stimulated bits of his insides thitherto unstimulated. He called upon his saviour to witness his delight. I grinned at Billy, but his eyes were closed. I began to fuck Zeke. I love it when a boy - it's usually a boy, as the men I've fucked tend to be more restrained - makes no effort to conceal what is passing through his brain, or his arse, come to that. Zeke maintained a running commentary on the state of his emotions, and of his response to the fact that my cock was causing his neurons to fire alarmingly intensely. He found words to praise the rigidity and heat of my cock, and the entirely satisfactory way in which it was going about its business - business which he implored Higher Authority to allow to continue for ever. Alas, such wishes are never granted and after less that ten minutes his comments, uttered at considerable volume, encouraged me to do what I had been doing for ten minutes. "Fuck!" he cried as my cock swelled and squirted, swelled and squirted, pouring goodness deep into him. It was a particularly draining cum, and I collapsed onto him as my cock uttered its last. He put his arms round me as we kissed. "My turn," he whispered, "I want to get it in you while you're still quivering." I smiled, still several feet in the air, and as he move I lay in the warm space he'd vacated. He smiled down at me as I lay on my back, vulnerable, begging to be filled. "You'll enjoy this, Pos," he said softly. I looked across. Billy was still busy giving Rufus one of his half-hour specials. Rufus was a million miles away. There was a thread of spunk hanging from his cock - I hadn't heard him cum but Zeke had made enough noise to cover any sound Rufus might have made - must have made if Billy's magic bend had delivered the goods. I think if I had closed my eyes in the position I had adopted I would have been able to guess the age of the cock fucking me. 14-year-olds and 16-year-olds went about it differently, and 20-year-olds differently again. Being fucked by a boy in a brothel was to be fucked by an expert, and when that expert was 16 then ... well, I don't have to explain, do I. For fifteen minutes I was floating in a warm sea of lustful agonising delight. When my bladder gave up the unequal struggle and piss - mine, Zeke's and Rufus's - flooded out onto my belly Zeke crowed with delight. He had, it seemed won a bet with Rufus. (Rufus showed no awareness that he had lost the bet, busy as he was with Billy's long-awaited and now fast-approaching orgasm.). Whether the sight of piss arcing onto me spurred Zeke on I know not: what I do know is that he accelerated and maintained a magic combination of deep and quick that took him over the edge and I felt for the ten thousandth time the wonderful feeling of spunk surging into me over and over again. I pulled him down onto me. "Keep it in and go for it," I whispered. And to my joy he did. It's odd that the feeling of piss surging deep inside your arse is so different from spunk: maybe it's that one is pulsing and the other is, well, just streaming. To have both, one after the other, is an excellent way of passing an afternoon. I knew that the threesome would happen, and would do so soon. Rufus had recovered from Billy's orgasm and was at that moment, we were informed, enjoying Billy's cock's more usual bounty. Chaste showers followed and when Billy and I were dressed I made an excuse and left with Rufus. In the shower I'd asked Billy to tell Zeke ("and don't let Rufus know") that a threesome would happen soon. "Get his zipper number and tell him I'll zip him about fixing it up later today." "Tomorrow?" "Maybe, you and I can talk about it when we've gone." ***** When we got back to out hotel it was clear that Billy was as turned on by Zeke, and by what he did, as I had been. He made me describe the first fisting episode again. "Can you fix it with him, Dab?" "Let's see what he says. He's as keen as I am, but I don't know how easy it will be for three of us to get mucky there. It's not his colour, and they probably charge a lot more." I zipped Zeke to ask whether the three of us could have a nice brown session. The answer came back quickly - he wasn't with another client - and it wasn't good news. A threesome would be fun, but only yellow. "Why?" I zipped. "Not allowed, sorry." Billy was disappointed. "Tell you what," I said, "let's go back tomorrow for a threesome along the lines offered. We can then talk to him and see how something might be arranged." Billy nodded, "I like the sound of that." So, when zipped, did Zeke. I fixed that we'd be there at 8 the next evening for two hours. "Great!" came back. Rather than spend a day in London - intolerably hot in August - I suggested that we go to Sussex to look at how the grapes were doing. It was as well we did, because the grapes, and the long conversation with the people who looked after them, kept our minds on higher things than our genitals. The 2040 vintage was expected to be a good one, though how the wine-master knew was beyond me. Back in London we had an early meal, washed down with two pints each, and at 7.59 I was again knocking at the door. Lionel greeted us both almost as old friends. Zeke was waiting for us in the lounge. "This is going to be fun," he said, a pint of beer in his hand. I went to pay - £800 for the two of us for two hours - and he led us upstairs to the same room where towels were already laid in the bath. ***** An hour later, when all three of us needed a rest, Zeke suggested a shower. "Then we can all get chummy in bed before we need to piss again," he said, "there's just about room for three." It was a tight squeeze, but all any of us wanted to do was sluice off the worst of the piss - we knew that we didn't need to be completely clean. When we were in bed, with Zeke lying on his back between us I made the suggestion I'd been planning all day. "Do they ever give you a holiday in this place? Or are you on your back seven days a week earning money?" Zeke giggled, "don't you like the way I earn my money, Pos?" I assured him that everything was entirely delightful, but pressed him about holidays. "I've only been here just under six months, and I get a day off once a week. You were lucky that it wasn't today," and his hand reached down to stroke my cock, "I'd have missed this," he added. "What Posner wants to know, Zeke, and I do too because he and I live together, is whether you would like to come and play in our place one time. Without your boss here knowing, that is." Zeke turned to look at Billy and, I noted, to stroke his cock with the other hand. "You mean a threesome at your place? With other colours?" "That's the general idea," I said, "we'd pay you, of course." It was something which hadn't occurred to Zeke before, the idea of making house calls for the direct benefit of his own pocket. After a minute or two, time which passed happily as he continued to stroke our cocks, he said it was a great idea, but he had no idea whether he would get time off. "Where do you live anyway? London?" When Billy told him we were 100 miles away he seemed less interested. "We'll pay your fare of course, and it would only work if you had two days off - a weekend say." ***** By the time our second hour was up - filled as pleasingly as the first, although naturally in a less frenzied manner - Zeke had come to a decision. "I'll ask the boss in the next day or two when he's in a good mood. Maybe I'll talk to the others to see if they get time off. Can I zip you when I know, Pos?" It was left that he would proceed in just such a manner. The two hours had been most satisfactory. Not only had plans been laid for a weekend of sin in Uttoxeter, but seven orgasms had been enjoyed in a variety of ways, and several pints of beer had been recycled into a variety of orifices. On the way back to the hotel Billy reckoned that it had been money well spent. "A bit like us then," I said. ***** Zeke's zip came when I was in the office after lunch three days after Billy and I got home. - No chance. Mean sod. I zipped back. - That's a shame. Not even a week off ever? There was no reply - had the 'mean sod' become difficult and fired Zeke? It didn't seem likely as 16-year-old flesh was bringing a lot of money through the till. A week passed ... another, and still no word. "Never mind," said Billy, "there's plenty of fish in the sea. We'll survive." ***** I've gone ahead a bit because I wanted to round off the Zeke saga, or at least to bring it more up to date. The weeks since Billy and I returned from his bed had not been idle however. Jack was due to start college in late September and with every day that passed his excitement mounted. It was infectious, and even Hamish, soon to be separated from his boy-friend - no, dammit, his lover - for ten weeks, was caught up in the preparations. I was amused by it all: Jack had never gone willingly away from home - any home - before, and he had no idea of how to choose what to take, or how to pack. Apart from the joys of Stubbs and pupdom, boarding school had taught me a lot. Sometimes the indecision and the running around became too much and I took refuge in the library, where I was often joined by Billy. I'd neglected Bertie's doings for too long - once the wet room at Inverthrum had been installed I'd rather left him high and dry. It was time to see what had happened next. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Life with Ben was wonderful - we were so happy together. Arthur used to joke that we must be the happiest married couple in England, "except you aren't married." "Maybe that's why we're happy," said Ben, "the fact that I could run away makes Bertie nicer to me that if we were stuck with each other." It was a strange way to put it, but it was exactly how I felt too. We didn't see Piers again, and neither of us felt up to asking whether their relationship was no longer sexual. Arthur duly went up to Cambridge in 1975 to read Law. "If you two are going to go on living in sin you might as well have a tame lawyer who can defend you when the Stasi come a-knocking in the middle of the night," he explained. I thanked him sincerely, but advised him that rural Staffordshire wasn't likely to be very high on Herr Honecker's shopping list. "You never know, Bertie, all these queers sloping off to Moscow might bring you to official attention." "I doubt it, but we'll bear you in mind when the time comes. Now off you go to that hotbed of queer spies and find someone nice to keep you warm. It can get very cold in Cambridge." I wondered how many father-son relationships were as easy as ours. Ben and I made a point of spending the summer at Inverthrum - we both missed the facilities that Ace and Jack had installed. Ben had once asked me why I didn't have a wet room in Uttoxeter. "It's out of the question," I said, "we have too many servants and while they don't seem to mind you and me being a couple you can bet your boots there would be trouble if we did anything kinky." "But it's your house, Bertie." "Maybe, but if one of the servants tipped the papers off we'd both look bloody silly. No, in Scotland there's only the two of us, so we can get up to what we want there." Thus our annual trip north was always the high spot of the year. Sadly we never repeated the inauguration ceremony - not then, anyway. ***** When Arthur graduated with his expected Upper Second Ben and I went to the ceremony. There, for the first time, we met Grace. We'd heard about her at considerable length during Arthur's final year, but he had kept her well away from Uttoxeter. "She knows about you both naturally, so you needn't worry on that score. Her parents are a bit up their own arses morally." Ben fell about laughing. "How unlike us," he spluttered. Grace could not have been more charming and Arthur must have briefed her well. The four of us had a splendid post-graduation dinner at which Arthur announced that he and Grace were engaged (apparently they had been for some weeks) and that they planned to marry in December. The wedding would take place in Yorkshire where, we learned, Grace's parents 'had a few acres'. Further investigation when we got home revealed that they were country gentry with an estate quite a bit larger than Uttoxeter. "How will they deal with Ben and me?" "We haven't worked that out yet. Sometimes Grace wants to be open about it, and so do I, but ... well, they're paying for it and ..." I felt sorry for him. He had been used to the idea of having a queer father and his queer father's boy-friend for so long that it seemed nothing strange any more. Prospective in-laws up their own arses on a moral hobby-horse didn't present a simple challenge. Ben giggled. "Why can't I be your valet, Bertie? I don't mind for one day." I wasn't keen as it would mean Ben and me being seated separately, or Ben not being fed at all, and while it was Arthur and Grace's big day I saw no reason why the views of her parents should so comprehensively squash ours. We were no further forward by bedtime. Some weeks later I tripped and fell awkwardly. Ben picked me up and when we had made sure that nothing was damaged beyond my dignity he said 'that's it!'. "What?" "The wedding. You must break your arm a week beforehand and I will have to come with you to cut up your food." "I have no desire to break my arm, even for Arthur's wedding." "You don't have to break it, love, all you have to do is tell Grace you've broken it and that a place next to you must be found for your valet. I'm sure we can fake a plaster cast." "What if her father's a surgeon?" "Do you want to go to this wedding or not?" I wasn't happy about faking a plaster cast, so I decided to take the local GP into my confidence. He and I had no secrets and as he looked after Ben as well he was amused when I told him the plan. "I can't put a plaster on you. Bertie, but I'm sure the hospital will if you make it worth their while." "Would £100 in their Christmas Fund do the trick?" "I'll see to it, and if you make it 100 guineas I'll make sure they cut you loose again afterwards. When do you need it?" I don't suppose hospitals routinely do this sort of thing, but over the years the Cunliffes had been generous supporters of the hospital, and it was the only occasion when any of us made improper use of their time. It was agreed that I would present myself at 9 pm. two days before the wedding. "It'll be bloody itchy," said the man plastering me (he was in on the deal, I was given to understand), "and you won't want it on a minute longer than you need. When's the big day?" "The day after tomorrow, in York." "If you're back by this time in two days I'll cut you loose. Thanks, by the way," and he smoothed me down. "Keep it dry and don't let too many wedding guests write obscenities on it." He was right - it was bloody itchy. Ben and I couldn't stop laughing as he practised feeding me the next day. "Just cut stuff up. I can get it in my mouth myself." Arthur's eyes rolled. "Don't for God's sake fuck things up, you two. Just behave yourselves." The whole thing went off splendidly. Grace's parents couldn't have been more solicitous and faced with a servant obliged to eat with them carried it off as to the manor born - which her father was. Ben behaved impeccably throughout the service, helping his crippled employer to his feet as though the plaster was on his leg, rather than his left arm. We had not been briefed by Arthur, so when we saw that the Best Man was none other than Piers we were surprised. "I thought that was all over," whispered Ben. "So did I, but they van still be friends, can't they." Piers gave us a big smile as they paraded out - a smile which clearly said that he was in on the charade. There was much mingling at the reception - there always is as the guests get a good ration of champagne down their throats while the snapper does his job with the various important people - but luckily the December air in York curtailed too many snaps being found necessary, so by the time we starring guests arrived the rest of them were for the most part still sober. As father of the groom, sharing a (hired) Rolls with Grace's mother and, of necessity, my valet proved an interesting test of her ability to converse and condescend at the same time (a feat about which, some hours later, Ben declared himself impressed). The meal was interesting, and we were glad that we had practised the day before. Even so it was hard to avoid unseemly laughter. Piers, sitting on Ben's other side, was happy to chat to a familiar face. Luckily Grace's parents were on the other side of the happy couple, and so failed to observe the warmth with which their new son-in-law's presumed best friend was chatting with a servant. After Piers had made his speech (much toned down from its original draft after Arthur had made him aware of the Morality Police sitting only a few places away ("and I'm bloody well between you, so keep it clean") and Arthur was replying I nudged Ben. "Ask him what he's doing after. It won't be fucking the bridesmaid, that's for sure." A whispered conversation took place. "Nothing, why?" was related to me. "Does he fancy a repeat of what happened last time we met, but without Arthur?" It soon became apparent that the idea, once planted in Piers's ear, became highly agreeable. "Good," I whispered, "in that case let's the three of us skip the 'and afterwards', pleading a severe arm ache. One dance with the bridesmaid and we're off with him." This news was relayed and Piers's reply made Ben stifle a laugh. Glares were to be seen. I let half a minute pass during which I beamed happily towards our hosts. Then, "what did he say?" I whispered. "He bet himself a fiver that he would be getting a fuck before Grace." I leaned forward and, across Ben, grinned happily at Piers. "I hope so," I mouthed. The drive home was fun, even more so when Ben drove us into the hospital. "What's wrong?" said an anxious Piers. "Nothing, Piers. It's just that Bertie has to have his fake plaster removed." By the time I returned, still scratching, Piers had been put fully in the picture. "And they had no idea you two are an item?" "Grace knew, but no-one else did." "In that case, Bertie, may I be the first recipient of your newly invigorated right arm?" I was pretty sure what he meant, but my hands are rather larger that I thought suitable for such activity. "Are you sure, Piers? Ben's hands are smaller but they probably reach just as far." I received a very old-fashioned look from Ben who in turn received a warm smile from our guest. "In that case I'll just have to make do with the hired help," he said, taking the hired help's hand and kissing it theatrically. It looked like being a fun night. When Piers said he didn't have to be back in London for two days it looked like being a fun weekend. "What will Arthur think?" said Ben. "Oh, he knows. well, he doesn't actually know, but he did suggest that I might try to wangle a repeat visit. 'Have one with them for old times.' he said. It didn't occur to him that Ben might make the first move, saving me the bother." We went in. It was half past nine. "It's been a long day," I said, "bed?" I met with no resistance. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 114 as Piers enjoys his unexpected weekend in the country. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================