Date: Tue, 5 May 2020 07:41:26 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 58 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. 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. It has been his habit in all his stories published here to be two or three chapters ahead of publication. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post all outstanding chapters together with 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. A bit like Edwin Dro 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 58 I looked up. "Jack," I called, "come here." He looked up. "What?" My arms were open, welcoming. He put the book down and came over. "What is it?" he whispered. I embraced him, emotion destroying any semblance of control. Billy was alarmed. "What's happened, Dab? Some tragedy a thousand years ago?" I nodded. "We rescued you, Jack, when you were 12 and brought you here. Can you think how Billy and I would feel if you suddenly dropped dead? Well, Seth brought two brothers to safety from a boy brothel in 1876 because he fell in love with the younger one - 14, he was. They lived together, the five of them, Seth, his father Amos and Amos's lover Arthur, and the two boys, Henry and John. On Seth's birthday they had a fancy dinner and John had an allergic reaction to lobster. He died within five minutes. He was 20. And I thought of you, Jack, you and Dodo, and what I'd have felt to lose you so quickly." Billy put his arms round Jack and me. "It was over 150 years ago, love, but it still hurts, doesn't it." He kissed the top of my head. Jack lay still in my arms until I regained control. He looked up at me. "You never stop being a surprise, Dab," he said, "I love it when your ancestors get you all weepy - it makes them seem more real. I can't wait to get going on them myself." I released him back to his book. "The good news is that he's about to meet Mary. She will be his wife, but she'll die before he does." "How do you know?" asked Billy. "He talks about her as his Countess, so she was still alive in 1903 when he was made an Earl, and he says she's buried beside Amos. He's going to have a son James." "You'd better get on with it then." +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Naturally I was desolated when John died. It was the suddenness, I think, which made the blow seem so much worse - that, and the fact that he was only 20. Joel had died full of years and when it came, Death was a blessing to him. But not to John. I had never been remotely interested in the church, and neither Amos nor Arthur were churchgoers, but when the local vicar came to assist with the funeral arrangements he saw in me a likely addition to his flock. Here was a man, whatever his relationship to the deceased - master or something more (the vicar took care not to enquire) - who was bereaved, who sought comfort. The vicar was a good, kind man, and I leaned on him for support more than perhaps I should have done. Although Amos and Arthur were there, and the business of the Estate still pressing, I was a lost soul. Let me just say that when I allowed the vicar to persuade me to attend his church every Sunday I found the ritual strangely comforting, and after a few months I began to see that the future might be not as black and empty as I had thought that awful December day. You will think it very odd, as I did - and do - that a man as steeped in (and as delighted by) what Joel would have called sodomy until he was in his 30s should find himself attracted to a young woman. I can only ascribe it to my emotional turmoil that Mary - another of the vicar's parishioners, then 23 - should have found a way into my heart. She was as innocent as I was worldly (let me put it that way) and her kindness and goodness lit the way for me out of my despond. I took tea with her parents each Sunday and quite suddenly in June 1887 I woke up to the realisation that I loved her. The feeling was different from the feeling I had had for poor John. In his case the sex had come before the fact of loving him; with Mary sex, believe it or not, was absent from my mind. I had been celibate since John's death, for even Henry's attempts to bring comfort through the forgetfulness of climax proved of no value. Put simply, my cock refused to show interest, and neither my brain nor my heart saw any great need to persevere. That June Sunday Mary and I were walking away from church when I suddenly stopped. I took her hands in mine. "Can you love a fool like me, Mary? For I love you and I would make you my wife if you will have me." It sounds very stilted written like that, but to Mary it was pure delight. We were married in October. Amos and Arthur were pleased, naturally, but were perplexed by the complete change in my nature. "Are you sure about this, Seth?" Amos had asked, "where will you and Mary live? It can hardly be here among a hotbed of sodomites." I laughed. "No, Amos, that is true. Mary does not know of my past, nor shall she. We will live in a small house in Uttoxeter." "That is foolish, Seth, and you know it is. By all means take your bride to your little house, but we shall build a proper house on the Estate fit for you and your immense brood of children, for all the spunk you have wasted shall surely now be put to its proper purpose. You and Mary shall set about designing it, and when it is built it shall be yours." I laughed again, but I was pleased with the idea of a house on the Estate. There would always need to be good solid accommodation as the family grew. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ This was astonishing stuff. Nothing I had read had prepared me for the possibility that Seth - Seth, of all people - might become a married man of apparently unblemished character. Might it happen to me? I hoped not. Of one thing I was pretty sure: the daily - or nightly - doings of Seth Cunliffe would be less riveting than they had been before the vicar got to him. Still, there was much to be learned. I looked at the papers and found I was around three-quarters of the way through the larger bundle. Bertie had written the smaller bundle, and his father - James, presumably - was busy being conceived while I sat before the log fire. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ This memoir has, by its nature, been of interest to anyone mired, as I had been, in more exotic behaviours than I exhibited after John's death, and after my marriage. All those visits to brothels were a thing of the past. My delight in Mary, and the delights she showed in me once her maidenly modesty was cast off, made sex with her in our marriage bed as satisfying as could be imagined. I cannot explain this, but I was content to enjoy the complete change in my like akin to that Saul experienced on the Damascus road. Yes, I found the church a welcoming place, and as a deeply stained sinner I found solace in what it could offer to me. Amos and Arthur must have found the change in me hard to understand - as I did - but their kindness to me and especially to Mary never allowed them to express any doubts about it. ***** We had but one child - James, born in the Autumn of 1886. Mary had a severe labour and was advised very strongly not to have another child. I recalled tales of my own birth, and gave thanks that Mary had not suffered the same tragic fate as my Mother Molly. She doted on James, and I was pleased that he filled her days with his infant demands. One day about three months after James was born Mary said that she and I had to have a serious talk. We had had serious talks before, about all manner of things, but the tone of her voice made me aware that this particular serious talk was of greater importance than others had been (the new house, some servant problem or other domestic difficulty for the most part). I will not set down what we said, for even now, thirty years on, it remains painful. Mary, being forbidden to have another child, saw no alternative but for us to sleep apart. I protested, but she insisted that her love for me (and for our fucking, though of course she did not express it in those words) was so great that were I in bed beside her, hot and close, she would not have been able to deny me. She was adamant; she had thought long and hard and had taken the advice of her doctor. She went further. Aware that she had a lusty fellow for a husband she would not deny me seeking pleasure elsewhere. Her only condition was that she should remain unaware that I had taken advantage of her permission, and that any attachment I might form would meet with her stern disapproval. "I love you, Seth. You love me and we both love James. Nothing must change any of that. If you find the need for ... other companionship I shall be content. But you must never leave us." I protested that any companionship, as she put it, was the furthest thing from my mind, and it is true that at that time - Christmas 1887 - I believed it. I slept in another room in the Uttoxeter house until our house was finished the following Summer. Thereafter we slept at opposite ends of the upper floor. You must not think that - sex apart - there was any change in our life together, for there was not. Two years went by. I found myself more and more thrust into the Estate's affairs as we continued to invest. The land holdings in the east of England brought us in good incomes, and we were lucky (and Arthur was skilled) in that our tenants were good honest men. By this time Amos had wholly ceased to have any involvement, even to the extent of having views about the development of our holdings. He said that James provided enough excitement to fill an old man's days (Amos was only 55 then, but seemed like a man fully twenty years older). I was glad that he and his grandson were so happy playing together. James sat on Amos's knee for hours at a time while the same stories were told over and over. One morning I was in Stoke with the lawyer. "Have you thought of diversifying into other fields, Seth?" he asked. He explained that a brewery in Stafford was likely to be on the market. "It is owned by a family who have had two deaths in fast succession, and the widows - mother and daughter-in-law - wish to sell. It's a good business, and needs nothing more than an owner who will run it as well as it has been run for many years." We had had no thought of becoming brewers, but as I turned it over in my mind I could see that it offered advantages. For one thing beer would never go out of fashion, any more than the crops we grew. Food and ale were part of every man's daily needs. Besides, it might be possible to grow our own barley. "Yes," I said on a whim, "let us investigate the matter." Three months later we owned the entire company. I had hoped that the family might wish to retain a minority shareholding - it was, after all, their name on the labels - but they were adamant. I assured them that the name would remain. "After all," I said, "the name is the most important thing we are buying. Any fool can brew beer, but this beer is highly prized and if I changed the name - who would know it was the same beer that your name had made famous." The widows were charmed, and we parted on very good terms. I agreed that we would retain all the staff for a period of at least six months. During the negotiations I had spent several days in Stafford. There was an inn attached to the brewery and as it had three small bedrooms I put up there for convenience. And on my third night there a worm entered my brain unbidden. I was away from home; I knew no-one in Stafford apart from the people with whom I was here to negotiate; Mary had allowed me to - what were her words? - 'seek pleasure elsewhere'. At no time since James's birth had the idea of straying with another woman entered my mind, nor did it now. But the old Adam remembered that there was a house in Stafford whose address I had somewhere ... "Gilead of Stoke." "Gomorrah." For the first time entering such a house I felt a pang of guilt. My hat and coat were taken as usual and I was shown through to the room in which patrons made their choices. This was the fourth such house I had visited but the way in which things were done was no different. A boy came with brandy and a leather-bound book. "I am Brian, sir, and I welcome you to Stafford. The Master will come to hear your choice when you have had time to study the book." He smiled fetchingly. I wondered - not for the first time - where these pretty boys came from. There must have been any number of boys, especially from poorer families, who would have been willing to work in such a place but who were not pleasing of features, but none of the boys I had seen were less than charming to look at. I knew little of the men, of course, but it was a sad fact of life that even the most elfin lad of 12 or 13 could coarsen in his features as he became a man. And for many patrons who wanted the services of a man other attributes were doubtless of greater importance than a pretty face. I remembered the mighty Jason from Stoke. I opened the book. There were seven men being offered and two boys. I knew I should be choosing one of the boys, for if Mary was giving me permission to seek pleasure it seemed - to that insistent thing that was showing interest in my trousers - that the nature of the pleasure might be mine to choose. Nevertheless as it had been almost four years since that night in Bayswater I allowed myself to read about the services the men were offering. Did all the houses have a Jason, I wondered. Here the biggest cock belonged to Derek, and it was said that it came to 11 inches. A picture of a hard cock was shown, but whether it was 11 inches or not could not be discerned. All Derek was willing to do was fuck, but it was stated that he could perform in this way "for a considerable time". Three of the other men, their ages varying from 22 to 46, would fuck or be fucked. Two, while happy to fuck, were also "proficient disciplinarians". In case any patron were not a fluent reader there was a drawing of a whip to assist understanding. One - Wilfred, a man of 38 described as being "very slim and supple" would allow patrons to piss on or in him. Had he been half his age I might have been tempted, but my hunger was for younger flesh. The boy who had brought my brandy and the book was Brian. He was 17 and was willing to do anything a patron might require. Had he been the only boy available he would he been my choice. But on the final page I encountered - my cock lurching as soon as my eyes lit upon him - Peter, 14. Peter loved sucking gentlemen's cocks, especially, the book told me, "as a preliminary to having those cocks up his arse" in which place his especial joy was occasioned by "the feeling of gentlemen pumping him full of spunk". Peter and I would pass two happy hours during which his pleasure and mine would be very considerable, I decided. I laid the book down and waited for the Master to appear. There must have been a spy-hole, for he appeared not 20 seconds after I set the book down. "Welcome, Gilead of Stoke. What shall we call you?" "My name is Seth, Master, and although I was once a frequent patron of these houses it is some years since last I had the pleasure. My choice is for Peter, and for two hours." "An excellent choice, Seth. Patrons who like boys use his services many times. Two hours will cost you £8." "Master," I said, "I see that one of your older men offers pissing. Is that something Peter would be willing to offer, no doubt at a higher price?" The Master nodded. "I am sure he will be willing, Seth, but no-one has asked for it before. Let us find out," and he went away. Two minutes later he returned with a beautiful boy. "This is Peter, Seth. I have spoken to him and he is very willing to accommodate your special desires. However with Wilfred some notice has to be given so that he and the patron can - how shall I put it? - make full use of the time they have together. It is now a little after 8 o'clock. Why do you and Peter not sit here and drink for 30 minutes and then spend two hours together when you both feel you are ready to commence business?" I said that I would find sitting next to Peter and becoming acquainted with him highly delightful. Peter's grin - was it because he was being asked to do something new and excitingly wicked? - indicated that half an hour next to me on a settee would be fun. "Very well," said the Master, " £10 will do, Seth." I gave him the money. "Wilfred will bring you what is needed, and will tell Peter what he should know. Peter, pay attention to what Wilfred tells you." Peter and I sat down very close. He stroked my thigh and I closed my eyes, allowing the memory of what happened in these houses to flow back. Was I going to be able to perform? Was Mary's permission really meant to include fucking a 14-year-old boy in a brothel, or had she only had a discreet liaison with a young woman in mind? Before I allowed myself to become too worried by such moral dilemmas Wilfred appeared carrying two flagons of beer and a jug of what turned out to be apple juice. Peter stayed next to me, so Wilfred sat on his other side. "Seth," he began, "do I assume that you are experienced in these matters?" I nodded. "As giver or as receiver?" "Both," I said, "with equal enthusiasm, and to save you asking, Wilfred, I love being pissed on and in - in my mouth and up my arse - and I hope Peter will be willing to receive in like manner." Peter had heard it all, and nodded. "Yes, Wilfred. Seth will tell me what he needs." Good boy, I thought. "Well then, drink up, lads. You will be in Room 1, Peter. I will return in 30 minutes." When Wilfred had gone Peter said quietly, "I am looking forward to time with you, Seth. I've never done these things before, but Brian and I have often wondered what happens with Wilfred and his patrons, and Brian will be jealous that I am finding out first. Room 1 is the special room which Wilfred uses, and I have never been inside." "Let me guess then, Peter, for I have been in such a room in other houses. It will contain a bath in which we can do those things which Wilfred has explained. The bed will have some covering which allows us, wet with piss, to cuddle and play -" "and fuck?" "- and fuck, Peter, without making a mess. Now drink up, for we each have to have full bladders so that the enjoyment is as great as can be." I have described piss play with Henry, and what Peter and I did in Room 1 in Stafford that September night in 1890 was no different. No different except that whereas Henry had been experienced Peter was that rare thing in a brothel - a virgin, or a virgin in the context in which we were sharing. When Wilfred came to tell us that we should start I could tell that Peter was feeling very uncomfortable. So much the better, I knew. When the door of Room 1 was closed I took the boy in my arms and kissed him. His lips and tongue were old hands at the game and they wrestled with mine for a minute or two before I broke off. "Take your clothes off, Peter, this is all about swiftness tonight, not slow alluring stripping." We were both naked within a twinkling. Peter was very slender and without a hair on his body. His cock was hard and urgent, quite large for a boy of his age - six or seven inches, perhaps, and very thrilling to me, knowing what it would soon be delivering. His balls were full, however, and seemed to belong to an older lad than 14. "Can you come, Peter?" I whispered. He nodded, adding - music to my ears - "lots and often." "Well then, I am ready," I said and I took his hand and led him to the bath. I knelt and made his stand before me. "Let it go," I whispered, "and do it on my chest. It will flow down over my cock, but keep some back for I have other plans." I knew he would have difficulty at first, not least because his cock was hard, but I knew too that a full bladder would not allow him to keep it back too long. I blew very gently on his cock and gently drew back his foreskin to reveal the object I found I needed to worship. I blew a stream of cold air onto it through pursed lips; he twitched and sighed, his eyes closed tightly. My tongue grazed his wet cockhead and he sighed more deeply. "This is heaven, Seth," he breathed. Then I saw a little stream leave him. "Ah, yes, Peter, let it come," I murmured, "piss on me, lad." The stream grew stronger and Peter opened his eyes to see a jet of piss surge from his cock onto my chest and run down my belly. My hands spread the hot liquid over my cock and balls, and my sighs matched the boy's. "Do not stop," I said, and put my mouth over the fountain. Instinctively he attempted to move back, but my arms were round his arse clasping him to me, clasping this beautiful boy so that his cock would piss in me, so that I would drink the joy he had stored up inside him. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 59 as Peter and Seth continue to explore things. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================