Date: Thu, 11 Mar 2021 22:26:38 +0000 (GMT) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - Chapter 127 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 NOTE to the reader: "Peter Brown" aka badboi666 is, as you might guess, not in the first flush of youth: indeed he is well into the you'll-die-if-you-get-this-fucking-thing age cohort. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post a synopsis of what is still to come. Then, if he snuffs it, you can at least have some idea of what befell Dab in the end. The good news is that he has had his first Pfizer shot. =============================================================================== Chapter 127 It was inevitable, I suppose, that Mark showed more interest in Jack than he did in me. I didn't mind as I knew that Jack would wear himself out sooner or later and, unless Mark was too exhausted to take any more, my turn to fuck his delicious arse would come before he would have to leave. So I lay back in my corner of the bed to watch, knowing that there would be a cock or an arse, or even a pair of lips, which would be available to me while Jack and Mark busied themselves. It wasn't long before Mark tugged my hand he was rimming Jack. "My arse is cold, Dab, and I'm busy exploring this nice new arse I've not seen before." I took the hint. Jack was on his back with his legs gripping Mark round the chest. Mark's arse was up in the air as he squatted down, his tongue keen to get to know Jack's arse. As I licked Mark's crack he licked Jack's. Would he finger Jack if I fingered him? Yes, and as I increased the number so did he. Jack was moaning quietly, encouraging Mark with praise for the excellence of the way he was going about his task. "Is he hard, Dab, can you feel?" I could, and he was. "Well then, let's get fucking, Mark. You do fuck, I hope." "He fucks all right," I said. "But not all night," said Mark, "I've not learnt that yet. The longest I've lasted is ten minutes." "Let's see if you can break your record," I said. Just for the record - he did, but not that first time when he fucked Jack. Jack's exoticness was too strong, and poor Mark lasted only a few minutes. When it was my turn an hour or so later he was in me for damn nearly a quarter of an hour before he reached his goal. In between his orgasms the three of us found many pleasant ways of passing the time needed for him to be able to deliver a respectable amount up me. Fingers, lips, tongues, cocks (but not his, naturally, for it was resting) - all had a part to play. Arses too. By the time he left us shortly after 4 he was a more fulfilled lad than he had been, and was walking about eight feet tall. "Be sure to thank Colin," I said, "it's a pity you can't wangle an overnight pass." He grinned. "No way either of you would be any good, Dab, I've drained both of you dry." "Worth a try though," murmured Jack after he had gone. "Never mind," I said, "you've never had an earl all to yourself in a four-poster before." ***** Dinner in Rutherford College was interesting. It was a much more recent foundation than Fisher and the Hall was a marvel of light wood and glass - quite unlike the 16th Century panelling I was used to. The food was almost as good (one must maintain one's loyalty) and the wine equally so. Jack and I were not the only guests. There was a Nobel physicist and a familiar TV naturalist (though as there was now no TV his familiarity was on the wane). The four guests, Grace and the other two hosts, were joined by the President for drinks before the meal. "We are just a small party," said the President, "but one large enough to justify the sacrifice of a rather nice champagne, I think." As I have noted before, details of the meal and the wines which accompanied it are otiose, not least because that was the last occasion when I sat down in a Cambridge college - or anywhere else, come to that - to eat a proper formal meal. Had I known that I might have set down the details for any future researcher to see how lavishly we lived before life changed so dramatically. The physicist was curious to discover why Jack was there - Grace had merely introduced us as participating in agricultural research - but the TV fellow homed in on Jack and quickly found a common interest in the vegetable kingdom. I turned to the other and told him that as a maths graduate I might just about understand his area of expertise, and, much to Grace's amusement, he and I had an earnest five minutes in the sub-atomic particle zoo. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Reading that, it is incredibly sad that by 2100 all knowledge of the particle zoo, of Siegfried, of Delacroix and all the million other things which made life full and rich and interesting have, like Ozymandias, been lost for ever. This tedious tale is nearly done, and I am very weary. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ There had been a vigorous exchange of views across the High Table. The naturalist had been the only optimistic one. "I'll be dead by the time it will be worth researching, but I'd love to be a naturalist in 200 years' time. By then the Climate Emergency will have reached its full effect and if there's any of us left we will have stopped making things worse. It will be fascinating to see what the state of equilibrium will turn out to be." The President (a classicist, I discovered) wondered why he thought that there would be equilibrium. "Maybe in ten thousand years, or ten million, but I thought you science chaps were telling us it would reach a critical position and then go galloping off into Venus or somewhere." Since neither of the science chaps among the guests was expert in climate studies it was left to Grace to bat for enlightenment. "I'd say there was a good chance that we might have got the message just in time to prevent that, but we won't know for 100 years, and even then it if it does stop getting hotter it will be centuries - not millennia - before it's back to what it was 200 years ago, say." 200 years ago, I thought: that was when Joel and Amos set off. A lot had happened since then. Grace turned to the TV man. "If your grandchildren want to study the jungle they'll have 500 years to do it in. If they're more interested in the Antarctic I'd suggest you tell them to get a move on. On the other hand if your field is the way plants colonize a new environment you could go to Greenland tomorrow." He grinned. "I'm off there next spring with a glacier guy from Oxford. We were there five years ago and we expect to find big changes." I explained why Jack and I were there, and how a casual conversation at Fisher a few years earlier about sea levels had made me sit up and take notice. "And not just take notice, Dab, but sell all our - your - East Anglian holdings." That led to a grilling about what we grew and whether I'd regretted selling perfectly good land. "I agree. It was - is - very productive. but so is my winery in Sussex, and I know which will last longer." Grace said that the reason Jack and I were there was that we were meeting the next morning to discuss just such things. "Dab has 22 acres in Sutherland, and we are going to carry out a five-year study of what will grow there as the change accelerates - which we're pretty sure it will go on doing for most of this century. Our job is to work out how to feed us all, and to do that we're going to have to grow it all on this little island." "I fear my particles won't be much help then, but at least I can dig a garden." The Nobel laureate was by some margin the oldest person there, and I hoped that by the time I was approaching 80 I'd be as happy to wield a spade in order to grow my dinner. "When I was an undergraduate here in the late 80s there was a great vogue for home-grown vegetables. One of us was a great nutrition fan. He had us trying to get permission to dig up half the college lawns," he said. "I don't suppose he got a Nobel though," said the President. And with that exit line he rose and the party was over. Jack and I thanked him and Grace ("see you in the morning") and walked the half mile back to Fisher. On the way I unplugged the electro from the charger. In bed the two of us were too full of good food and wine to do more than cuddle. Maybe I was beginning to slow down - and I was only 25. The following morning we were back at Rutherford. Grace explained everything she wanted to do and we spent three hours going through the details. I say 'we', but I left everything to Jack: this was his project at our end. We'd agreed as we walked to Rutherford that I'd say as little as possible. "Are you sure, Dab?" "You've known me long enough, Jack, to know that's a silly question." He grinned. "I'm in charge and that's how it's going to be?" "Up until the moment I have to sign a contract, yes, and then only for the 20 seconds that takes. Inverthrum Agricultural Enterprises is yours, Jack." Grace and Terry (who, like me, had sais little during the morning) invited us to stay for lunch and, to Jack's delight, this was in yet another Cambridge pub. "I'm collecting these," he said, "this is my fourth." "And this one's the most historic," I said, "this is where they announced the discovery of DNA. There's a plaque somewhere." Terry laughed. "It's where I did all my formative drinking as an undergraduate at Corpus. It's full of RAF memorabilia as well. The beer was good too, but only a very limited quantity as I had to drive home. ***** Dinner at home that night saw us explaining what would be happening. Hamish was overjoyed to be going back to Sutherland - Grace and Jack had agreed that once the initial planting had been done the crops would need regular monitoring. When regular turned out to be weekly it was obvious that Jack would have to be there permanently, and that of course meant that Hamish would be there too. "They're going to let us harvest what's in at the moment, and that means March. That's when a team, including us, goes up to do the detailed ground preparation and the planting. Grace and Terry will be there until it's all done - she reckons the whole process will take two months. That's OK, Dab, them staying at Inverthrum?" I hadn't for one moment thought otherwise, as it made no sense for them to sleep anywhere else. I said I would sort it out with Grace. "You'll tell them about us?" said Hamish. "Of course I will. They can't live in the same house and work all day with you without working it out for themselves, so it's much better if I just tell them and ask what arrangements they want to make. It's not as though we were short of bedrooms up there." In the end it was, as I'd expected, straightforward. "Jack will be there full time, and his boyfriend Hamish - he lives locally and his family are still there - will be there too. Hamish will be working with Jack. Inverthrum has plenty of bedrooms, so we can accommodate whatever you and Terry want." Grace laughed. "Terry and I aren't an item, so two bedrooms for us will be fine. From the way you say it Jack and Hamish are open about their relationship." It was my turn to laugh. "My whole household is what would have been illegal 100 years ago, odd 50 years ago, and now merely a bit unusual." "Unusual?" "We have no heterosexuals living there." +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Get on with it, Dab! You don't have much time. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The experiment was a success and was extended for a second five years. The decision to do so was made easy by the March 2049 storm, just a few days before the routine six-monthly assessment of things. Travel to Cambridge was impossible - travel in most places was badly affected by flooding - and we agreed to postpone meeting until May when it was hoped that roads and railways would be open again. When we did manage to meet I was reminded of Simon's remark about Cambridge being the lowest point of the river which could be bridged. Some parts of the town were still very damp, and places not that far away were now saltmarsh. All my former acres - the acres Amos and Seth had bought - had been, and some still were, under the sea. Useless. I had been so lucky. The six-monthly meetings had become routine, but the first time Hamish had been present (at Jack's insistence) had been an eye-opener for him. He was familiar with Grace and Terry, of course, but Cambridge and Fisher were new territory. We alternated the meetings between Cambridge and Uttoxeter, but although Hamish liked my beer, we didn't have any nice pubs to drink in, so he always looked forward to playing away, as he called it. ***** Things got hotter as the years went by, and we all got older. The Inverthrum Experiment (as it became known) was so successful, even in the first five years, that the lessons we were learning were put into practice across a wide range of places, not just in Scotland, which had been unsuited to southern European agriculture during earlier times. The first orange trees were planted in 2048 with olives the following year. Dates were a failure, largely because it was too wet. They were the only failure though, and by 2055, when the ten years were up, we were producing oranges and olives on 22 acres. That was when I decided to acquire the adjoining land. I'd made a serious attempt in 2052 to find out who owned it, but by then libraries had long ceased to function, and a trip to Edinburgh, where land titles used to be kept, was fruitless. The man in the office who did his best to help looked me with a twinkle in his eye after a fruitless three hours. "In your shoes I would go and plant it with more of your oranges and see who comes to complain." This was, to say the least, unexpected advice from a Scottish lawyer, but it was advice I took. Needless to say no-one ever showed up. By 2058 I was farming 130 acres in Sutherland and 600 in Sussex (I'd expanded the area under vines in 2051). That was the year that Seb and Dodo left for Italy. They had come back to Uttoxeter when we finally accepted that the shop had to close in 2051. High Streets and shopping generally had practically disappeared by then - the storm was the breaking point in many towns - and the supply chain for our kind of merchandise dried up. We spent the last couple of months almost giving stuff away. We lasted longer than most though, as alcohol and sex remained a high priority on most shopping lists once the basics had been bought. In the end Billy and I hired an ancient diesel van and took all the remaining stock home. The Uttoxeter house was probably the only private house in England with four slings. Many of the other toys eventually found their way several hundred miles north. One day a few weeks after they had come back Seb said he wanted a word. "I'm useless here, Dab. You and Billy have responsibilities and Dodo has found he's happy on the land, but I'm just a waste of space." I was busy, and said flippantly "well, you must scour the hedgerows for boys for us all to fuck," and I thought no more of it. He went off and I returned to whatever it was I was doing. Two days later he put his head round the office door. "Got a minute, Dab." I needed a coffee, so I was happy to take a break. "I've got some," he said. "Some what?" "Boys, like you said, Dab, boys willing to be fucked." "You're not serious, Seb." He grinned. "Deadly serious. I took your words to heart, but I didn't think the hedgerows likely to conceal what you were looking for. I went to the Chase where I found a gang of boys living wild - there were always rumours they were there - and I brought some of them back." "Go on. I'm not sure I believe you, but you always told a good story." "Oh, it's true all right. The oldest one was about 17 - there were about ten of them - and the youngest were still small: six, seven at most. I took the leader aside and told him what I was after and he saw advantage for everyone in what I was doing. The fewer mouths he had to feed, the better, he said. So I bought three of them." "You bought them?" "Yeah. He said I could have them for £50 - that gave him money to buy things they needed, and it gave me what I - we - wanted." "And are they willing? Do they know what they're in for?" Seb grinned. "Put it this way. When the leader said that this bloke wanted boys to fuck three of them put their hands up sharpish. And when I said that they would live with me and get fed and looked after they were even keener." "Where are they now?" "Dodo took them upstairs for a shower. They're pretty stinky after living wild for ages." "And all this is true- you're not pulling my leg?" "Come on and see them. With any luck they'll still be naked and you can judge the goods properly." My need for coffee had been forgotten. Dodo had had the good sense to head his stinky charges to the shower in our rooms, rather than the sling room. When Seb and I got there we found two boys sitting with towels round their middles while another was still hosing himself down in the steam. One of the boys looked at Seb. "Is it fucking time now?" My immediate impression was that Seb had been fortunate in his quest: fucking time would not be long delayed. "Let's wait until your friend's here," I said, "that way I won't have to tell you twice." "Told you," said the other one, "it's gonna be all right." I didn't want to say too much until I'd heard more about who they were, but I did say that they would be safe here, and fed. "And fucked rigid?" "And fucked rigid if that's what you want." "Isn't that what you and your friend want, mister?" "Wait and see. Your pal won't be long." This brought unexpected mirth. "You aint seen it then, mister." Dodo, sensing that the conversation would stall in the absence of his final charge, banged on the shower door. "Come on out, you're clean now." The shower was turned off and a hand appeared to grab the offered towel. "Right," I said, "first things first. I'm Dab, and these two are Seb and Dodo. What are your names and how old are you?" The boy who had enquired about fucking time assumed the role of spokesman. "I'm Eric and I'm 15. That's Ralphie, he's my brother, and that one's Vern. He's 13." "I'm 13 too," said Ralphie, "me and Eric've been fucking for ever. We love it - so does Vern." "Yeah," agreed Vern. Jimmy's been fucking us for ages." "Who's Jimmy?" I asked. "The boss, the one you paid." This to Seb. "And you're happy for us to fuck you?" "Yeah," said Eric, "especially what was it? - Dodie?" "Dodo," said he with a grin, "you know what they say about us blacks: well, it's true, lads." Eric looked at his brother and a nod was exchanged. "Come on, Vern, they seem OK. Let's give them a butcher's." Towels were shed, cocks were revealed, cocks were eyed, cocks began to rise (some still concealed within trousers), smiles appeared. ***** We burnt their clothes as they were disgusting, and that afternoon Billy and I went to find things they could wear. Neither of us had any experience in buying children's clothes, but when we got back the boys were thrilled to have new clean stuff to wear. During the time we were away Seb and Dodo had promised that there would be no action until all seven of us - we had become an 'us' that fast - could act together. The boys had said they were cold , so they climbed into bed - Seb and Dodo's as it happened. Two minutes later, after much giggling and a quick conversation held under the covers, Eric said that they were still cold and would the two grown-ups like to keep them warm. Dodo had been reluctant, but Seb started to strip so Dodo had no option. "You can look, but Dab made us all promise, remember!" he said, trying to sound severe. "Fuck me!" from Ralphie greeted the revelation. "Then me," said Vern quickly, "is it real?" Seb smiled that smile. "Oh, it's real all right," he said softly (Vern was at that moment being warmed in Seb's arms), "and it goes all the way in." Eric and Ralphie had elected to warm Dodo, instead of the other way round, as that meant that each of them had a hot sexy black tiger to hold on to. Dodo was amused that even with each of them with a handful there was still some unclutched. "Dab and Billy will be back soon," he whispered, "then you'll be warmed up nicely. But there won't be any fun and games until tonight." Ralphie wasn't pleased. "I'm hungry," he announced. That stopped Dodo. "When did you last eat?" "Yesterday." "As soon as they're back and you're decent we'll go down and get something inside you," said Seb. Vern giggled, "I want something inside me now, Seb." Seb looked at Dodo. "Do you think we'll be able to cope with these three? They're going to make a lot of demands on old men like us." Dodo got out of bed, allowing his inches to be admired. "I'll go down and bring some food up," he said, "they're all yours, Seb." As he was putting his clothes back on he looked at Eric. "There won't be any action, Eric, because he's a complete bottom." =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 128 as yet more waifs and strays find a welcome in Uttoxeter. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================