Date: Mon, 27 Apr 2020 07:37:32 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 56 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 56 I was keen to find out about Seth and the earldom: it can't have been far off, surely. If a boy brothel in Bayswater was where it happened Seth - or Gilead of Stoke - had the introduction now. I settled down after breakfast in the Library. Billy and Jack - 15 in a couple of weeks' time - were there too as it was pissing with rain and Hester had given him the day off, knowing that the first night I was back would mean that Jack might be feeling a little tired the next day. "What are you reading, Jack?" I asked. He was half-way through something, but I couldn't see what it was. "Billy said I should read The Catcher in the Rye 'cos he enjoyed it. I'm reading this now," and he held up Franny and Zooey. "They're weird, these Americans." Billy chuckled, "and we're not?" "You know what I mean," said Jack, and his nose was back with the Glass family. "What about you?" I asked Billy. "I'm being very disciplined," he said, "but it's hard going," and he showed me A Dance to the Music of Time. I had tried twice to get into it, but had never got far enough to find out for myself what a complete cunt Widmerpool was (a fact gleaned from Grimes at school, although not phrased exactly that way). "Good luck," I said, and picked up Seth. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ I must now come to the episode which turned my life around - not least because it led to the change of my identity. In 1882 I had been, as Gilead of Stoke, to an establishment in Bayswater where young lads were available. I was only an occasional visitor in the first year or so, but the attractions of the place became so great that I decided to make regular visits to London, and by the summer of 1884 I was a regular patron, visiting at least once a month. By some stroke of luck my plan that July had been to take rooms for two weeks nearby, and to visit as often as I could summon up the energy. By then I was 33. But first I must go back to 1882. As I have already written, my Father Amos fell from his horse in Summer 1879, and had had poor health ever since. By the Spring of 1882 he had accepted that he was not going to make any greater recovery, and had made the best of what he was still able to do. His mind, of course, was mercifully still as it had been, and his management of the Estate lands still remained, though naturally more - much more - of the routine oversight fell to me. Arthur naturally stayed at home with Amos in Uttoxeter so it was left in my hands to cross England more often than I had been accustomed. As well as the lands we held in Lincolnshire and Cambridgeshire we had acquired, at Arthur's recommendation, several hundred acres near the Wash in western Norfolk. On one of my routine visits there early in March I was staying at an inn in King's Lynn where I had the good fortune to be served my evening meal by a very comely boy of no more than 13 or 14 years. Naturally I studied him covertly as he busied himself with the customers. John, back home in Uttoxeter, did not accompany me on these trips, for his skills did not include riding, so my bed was lacking companionship. I was taken by this lad's fresh looks and ready smile, even when he was busy. If Gabriel in Melton Mowbray had been a lusty angel then this one had the appearance of an even lustier archangel (although my knowledge of such hierarchies is scant, alas). Three times the boy came to my table to take away my plate, bring pudding, cheese and ale and so forth. By the time I was finished there were only four other people in the room - four customers, that is. The boy was waiting patiently for them to go. At last, with a great slapping of backs and hearty farewells they tottered out, somewhat the worse for wear. I called out to the boy, "you will be pleased to see them go so that you can clear up and go to bed." The boy smiled and came over to me. "You are here for just one night, are you not, sir?" I agreed. He went on, "my bed is very cold, sir." There was no-one else in the room - no-one who could bear witness to what was said. The boy was pretty and forward - what could go amiss if I said what my loins urged me to say. "That's very sad, my boy. My bed is cold too, but I fancy when I climb into it it will be very warm. Would you -" but nothing further needed to be said. He grinned widely, nodding his head. "Fifteen minutes, sir, I must clear up." I pressed a half-crown into his hand. "That's for the service you've done me here in the dining room. Room 3." His eyes, already bright and full of sparky mischief, brightened even further. "Thankee, sir," and off he went to do whatever duties he had before venturing upstairs. I wondered how such a roguish lad would perform in bed, for if he had offered himself so clearly I could not have been the first customer so favoured. I anticipated a boisterous hour or two, and I hoped he might be willing to remain in my bed until the morning. I put another two logs on the fire and took off my clothes and, thinking to welcome him into a warm bed, straightway pissed in the chamber pot and climbed between the sheets. At least there would be a degree of warmth to welcome him. A soft tap. "Come in," I said very quietly. The door opened. In he came, an imp of unnatural beauty and illicit promise. He crossed to the fire and began to take off his clothes. A well-trained boy, he folded everything neatly and placed them by the fire. He had his back to me while disrobing - I think entirely deliberately so as to tease me by not displaying his cock for as long as possible. "Shall I turn round, sir?" he whispered. "Yes, my boy, show me what you've brought to warm my bed." He turned and I saw a most elegant body, fit, slim, his cock hard up against a hairless belly. I held out my hands. "Come where it is warm." He giggled - a delicious sound. "I shall indeed sir, and as often as you please." Once in bed he allowed me to embrace him, and I felt the old Adam rising as his hot young body conjured lust in me. "What is your name, boy?" "Tom, sir ... what should I call you?" "My name is Seth, and that is what you should call me, Tom. Now tell me, what skills do you bring? What do you like best?" Tom was not slow to tell me, with pleasing clarity. "I like being fucked, Seth, and I like sucking cocks." He reached down and satisfied himself that my cock was of a size likely to be very satisfying to him. "If you can spend twice, Seth, I will be very happy," he paused, "three times will make me the happiest boy in all Norfolk." Three times would make me happy too, I thought, but all I said was that I would do my best. Tom wriggled down the bed where it was warmer still, and I shuddered with pleasure as I felt two soft lips surround my cock. I felt even greater pleasure when two hands drew back my foreskin allowing those two soft lips access to the most sensitive part of me. And I felt greater pleasure still when a questing tongue joined its companion lips in carrying me to heights of ecstasy. You must not think that Amos and Arthur did not so engage with my cock (nor that I failed to do so with theirs), but the lips and tongue of a boy of 13 (for that was his age, he had told me) convey special pleasures. As Tom and I had already committed ourselves to coming as frequently as Nature allowed I was happy to relax and permit Tom to demonstrate his skills. His skills were not confined to the use of his mouth, for he wriggled his hands under my buttocks and I felt a finger inch its way towards my arsehole. Before it reached its target however Tom's tongue, lashing my cockhead while his lips sucked, drew me over the edge and I felt my spunk surge out of me into the greedy mouth of the boy - the delicious boy - with whom I was sharing Paradise that night. He kept his mouth on my cock while the last drops oozed from me, releasing me only when I softened and slipped from his lips. Then he wriggled back up. In the candle-light I could see his eyes, sparkling mischievously, asking an unspoken question. His lips were closed. I understood his question: indeed I thrilled that it had been asked. "Yes, Tom," I whispered, "share it with me." When we had each swallowed - our kissing being considerably prolonged - I held him in my arms. I felt his cock hard against my belly. "I cannot fuck you for an hour yet, Tom, but your cock shows that you need release. How should you like it?" By way of answer he moved to kneel over my head, his arse in front of my face. "I think you would like to see my arse, Seth, and then when your eyes have feasted enough your tongue might find pleasure." The candle-light glowed on Tom's buttocks and I gently stroked them, pulling them slowly apart to reveal one of the most delightful sights on this earth: the infinite promise of a young boy's arse. No blemish sullied it, no bruising (for Tom was no stranger to a man's bed), nothing but purity - and purity is all the finer to behold when the owner of the arse and the man beholding it know that purity is very far from what the arse will soon be called upon to receive and deliver. My tongue began its task of pleasuring the boy. I licked from the place where his balls lay in their smooth pouch along the ridge towards his arsehole where I lingered long enough to feel Tom quiver and sigh. "Oh Seth," he whispered - it was enough to know that our joy together would last a long time. The candle was well down before I whispered that he should turn round and kneel over my face. "It's time to have your cock where we both want it." I drew back his foreskin and the flame showed that his cockhead was wet - very wet - with his juice. My tongue tasted him for the first time. Tom shuddered, "I'm so close, Seth, I shall come as soon as I'm in." Since I had every intention that he should come more than once I was happy to put my lips and tongue to work and, as he had promised, only a few seconds passed before I was flooded with his precious nectar. Sweet as honey, it pulsed onto my tongue - four hard jets - before he leant forward onto me. I held him tight, lovely lusty Tom. Some twenty minutes later I fucked him from behind, and as I came inside him I held his cock as he came again onto the sheets. We slept, the dampness of no importance. At around 6 he stirred. "I must be up to light the fires, Seth, but before I do I must light yours," and he burrowed down to suck my cock again. Despite my age and the exhausting night Tom's skills were enough to conjure up another mouthful of spunk for him. "You keep it," I sighed, "you have earned it." I gave him a half-sovereign. "There is no need to pay, Seth, but thankee. Will you be coming this way again? I hope so, for the fucking was the best I've had, and you are kind and gentle." I kissed him. "I shall be here as often as my duties permit, Tom, you may be sure of that. Now off you go and light the fires." I gave his arse a light smack and he turned, grinning, to go. ***** My business concluded for the day I resolved to pass the night in Norwich: Norwich, where the patrons of the brothel were all called after fish. I had the address of the house noted down, and in a quiet street some 200 yards from the Cathedral I was knocking the special knock as nine o'clock struck. "Gilead of Stoke." A few seconds passed, doubtless while the doorward consulted a list of the type of names a patron from Stoke might have. "Gomorrah." So that didn't change from one house to another. The door was opened and I found myself in a much smaller establishment than I had visited in Stoke. I gave my hat and coat to a man of more mature years than interested me and sat in a comfortable armchair by a log fire. Two minutes passed before a boy of around 16 or 17 brought me a glass of brandy. "Welcome, Gilead of Stoke. My name is Hugo. Ours is a smaller house, but you will find much to delight you," and he gave me a book like the list in Stoke. "Thank you, Hugo, I will study what you have," and off he went with a wiggle of his hips. Norwich had only 6 names in the list, but two of them were boys of the right age. Hugo offered the kind of services you would expect to find in such a place - being fucked, fucking and so forth. While he had been pleasant enough he did not kindle any great desire in me. I turned the page to study the other lad and what he was offering. My eyes lit on Walter. He was 15 and loved being fucked, according to the list. He was highly skilled in sucking cocks and "could take even the largest without discomfort". Walter sounded ideal. When Hugo came back I asked whether Walter was free, and if so whether I could pass the night with him for, as I explained, I had no accommodation elsewhere in Norwich. "Yes, Seth, he is free and the Master allows patrons to spend the whole night. The charge for two hours with Walter is £4, and he will be yours until morning for £8." I said that would be acceptable. Hugo left to advise the Master. I studied the pictures of Walter in the book; his cock was said to be 6 inches and I hoped he would be as keen to have it in my mouth as he evidently was to have mine in his. The Master came and sat beside me. "You are a long way from home, Seth. Is this your first visit to Norwich." I told him that I was a landholder in the neighbourhood of Kings Lynn but that, knowing from the Master in Stoke that there was a house in Norwich I had decided to extend my stay in the Fen country. "You like them young I see, Seth, and I guarantee you will not find a more willing and accommodating boy than Walter." "I am sure he will do everything he can to please me, Master, for the description of his skills makes me very keen to experience them." I handed him £8 and he got up to go. A few minutes passed during which I allowed my imagination to dwell on the possibilities the book has set out. Could the boy really take a cock deep in his throat, as was suggested? My cock was of no vast length, being (if put to the test) maybe seven inches fully hard, and I knew that there were many men with two or three inches beyond that. Could a 15-year-old boy take ten inches in his mouth? Surely not. Then a boy came and sat beside me. "I am Walter, Seth," he said softly, "and I am to serve you as you will. Shall we go?" and he took my hand. "Come," he said, "come and let me show you what I can do." "I shall enjoy learning, Walter, for the book makes exciting reading about your skills." Walter smiled. "I hope you will agree that it is all true." The room to which he led me was more comfortable and well-appointed than any of the rooms I had been in in the Stoke house. It could easily have passed for a bedroom in any gentleman's home. The bed was large and there was a good fire. We should not be cold if our endeavours were conducted on top of, rather than in, the bed. "Let me undress you, Seth," whispered Walter, and I sat on the edge of the bed while he did so. He drew off my boots and unfastened the buttons on my shirt, easing it over my head. "I love it when the gentlemen are smooth-chested," he murmured, his lips softly brushing my nipples. I stood up in order that he could unfasten my trousers, and his hands stroked my hardness through the cloth. "You are hot already," he said, "I can feel you are keen to get to it." I smiled. "I am, Walter, but we have all night, and I am greatly enjoying the slow build-up to the nakedness we shall both soon exhibit." His hands deftly undid the buttons and he drew my trousers over my hips. Only my underwear now concealed my cock from his view. Before he could draw down my last shred of modesty I stopped him. "Nay, Walter, it is my turn to rid you of your garments. Stand and let my feast on your body as it gradually appears." He stood, his arms by his side. He was no wearing the kind of clothes a lad of his age would have worn in the street, but more a smocked tunic with a leather belt about his waist. He slipped off his shoes and I undid the belt. As I did so I perceived that his cock had been hard up against his belly, held there by the belt which, when I removed it, allowed his cock to lean forward and protrude most obviously in front of him. He looked down and smiled. "Do you like it?" he whispered. I lifted his tunic over his head, revealing his nakedness, for it was the inky garment he had on. "I do, Walter, it's a very fine cock," and it was in my mouth in an instant. He held my head and stroked my hair as I became familiar with the taste of him. "Shall I do it in your mouth, Seth, is that your desire?" I stood up. "Not now, but later in bed. I shall hope to come twice ere we sleep and, if all goes well, again tomorrow before we rise. You are young and spry - can you deliver spunk three times with me?" He smiled. "That is why I am here, Seth, and your skill will draw it from me, I do not doubt." We stood by the bed. "Suck me," I said, "the book says you are proficient at it." Walter grinned. "That I am." I was 31; I had been having sex in any number of different ways - giving and receiving - with many different men and boys since I was 12 with Nathaniel; I thought I had experienced everything. How wrong I was! A 15-year-old boy opened his mouth and the next thing I felt were his lips hard against my belly: my whole cock was in his mouth - in his throat! I had been sucked hundreds of times, but the sensation Walter gave me was unlike any other. The tightness of his throat round the head of my cock - he had drawn my foreskin back - was even more constricting - and therefore pleasurable - than the tightness of a boy's arse. How was it that he did not choke, or vomit? Whatever the reason he showed no sign of distress or discomfort: indeed he placed his hands on my arse to draw me even further in, should that have been possible. "Jesus, Walter, that is ... I cannot ..." I could not even finish my sentence, so intense were the feelings radiating from his throat into my cock, and into my brain. "I'm near," I managed to groan, but he made no effort to dislodge me, merely grasping my arse more tightly. I could not count the number of spurts of spunk my cock forced into his throat for my mind was incapable of anything other than yielding to the wholly unexpected ecstasy of coming in this new manner. Walter grunted, perhaps as my cock swelled as it fired each bullet of spunk - I do not know. We were both groaning and moaning for what seemed like an eternity: I am certain that I had no wish for the sensation ever to end, but of course it did, leaving me as exhausted as though I had run a mile. Walter drew back very slowly, allowing his tongue ample opportunity to salve my cock-head and bathe in its still-oozing balm. I felt another pulse of spunk. "Ah! Seth! You are a big spunker! And tasty too!" I put my hands on his head and he looked up into my eyes, my cock still in his mouth. As our eyes remained locked he moved back a little more, and my cock, rapidly softening, slipped over his lower lip. As it fell from his mouth his tongue gave a last lick, causing me to shudder. He stood up and we embraced, falling back onto the bed still in each other's arms. "I'm going to fuck you now," he said softly. I smiled the fulfilled smile of one who has just come and knows that more joy is to follow. I lay on my back and Walter lifted my legs. "I need to prepare you, Seth." ***** When I finally rose shortly after 8 o'clock the following morning Walter and I had matched the number of spunkings we had planned. I could not remember when I had last come three times. Strangely though I felt no feeling for Walter beyond the heightened sexual arousal and - perhaps at the moments of coming - gladness that he and I had made something special happen. Nothing that I felt for Walter, or for Tom the night before, came close to what I felt for John ... but Tom and, to a greater extent, Walter had opened the door to new experiences it would be hard to recapture at home. At home, however, was love. John, 20 now and no longer a scullery boy; John, who was my personal servant as well as my lover; John, who fisted me still, even though his arms were those of a man; John, who shared golden pleasures with me: would John be able to learn Walter's trick? Would Henry know it, and be able to show him? +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 57 as at last Seth reaches Bayswater. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================