Date: Sat, 9 May 2020 08:05:25 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 59 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 59 When I felt he had finished pissing I released him from my clasp and looked up. "That was magic," I whispered, "I hope you enjoyed it too." He nodded vigorously. "Will you do it on me now?" I stood up and he made to kneel, but I stopped him. "I am taller than you, Peter, so if you stand close it will go on your chest as yours did on mine. Will you be willing to take it in your mouth?" He looked unhappy, so I was quick to assure him that I would not force him. "Do it on my first, Seth, and let us see." I knew that most of what I did would go up his arse, and I was not greatly bothered that his mouth might not be involved. After all, it was a boy's arse that I was buying (and his cock, of course) rather than his mouth. I held him close and began to let my bladder ease its discomfort. As it flowed Peter gasped, "oh fuck, Seth, that is so ... oooh! ... hot and wicked." His grin was a delight to see. It flowed over his cock - hard already - and down his legs. I stopped. "The rest goes inside, Peter, so on your knees." He needed no further encouragement and his arse was there for me to feast my eyes upon. I drew his arse cheeks apart and allowed a jet of piss to wet the entrance. He shuddered, "oh yes, yes Seth, I want it in me." I placed the tip at the doorway. He sighed. "You can push hard, Seth, I am prepared." In I went, slowly getting further and further into this delicious boy. When my belly was hard against him I reached round for the hard cock I knew was waiting for me. I lowered my fingers to feel his balls and as I did so I began to piss. A few seconds passed, then he started to moan. "Oh Jesus, Seth, your piss is like fire in me. I've never felt that before ... aah!" and at that moment my piss began to burst forth out of his arse and deluge my belly and my thighs. I pissed harder, forcing my jet into him as fiercely as I could. His moaning continued. At length my piss finished and I withdrew slightly. "No, no, keep it in, fuck me," he whispered, "I need it Seth, I need you in me. I want to feel you spunk in me." "I will, lad," I whispered, still clutching him, "but some of that piss has to get out first. Push, and it will come out faster." He pushed - luckily (or perhaps because the Master told his workers to avoid anything unpleasant up their arses while at work) there was nothing in the outburst which followed apart from my piss - and when the contents had subsided I thrust myself back in with great vigour. "Ah yes, yes," he sighed. I had two hours with the boy. This first fuck would be fast as we both urgently needed it; there was ample time for a more prolonged session well before my time was up. I fucked him hard, wanking him at the same time. We both made a considerable noise as we reached our climaxes - his several seconds before mine, but both very thrilling. I was able to catch much of his spunk in my hand and held it there while I came - several spurts deep inside him - before bringing my spunky hand to my mouth and licking my hand clean. Did I feel guilt that I was deceiving Mary? Not at that moment, no. Did I feel that the orgasm I had achieved inside Peter was more deeply satisfying than the orgasms I had had with Mary? I did not - do not - know. They are very different, but beyond that I cannot offer a view. I knew there, in Room 1 of a brothel in Stafford with my cock wilting after a powerful spunking up a 14-year-old's arse, that I was happy. I knew also that having abstained from sex with boys since John I would abstain no longer. My cock slipped out, as did a large quantity of my spunk. Peter turned quickly onto his back, lying in a pool of our piss. "That was good, Seth, you made me see stars." I took leave to doubt the veracity of this, but I was glad that it had been special. "Look," he said, and to my astonishment he drew his knees beside his head till they touched the bottom of the bath. He stretched his head forward and too at least two inches of his cock into his mouth. I had heard of such suppleness, but had never thought to see it with my own eyes. He relaxed and grinned up at me. "I'm the only one here who can do that Seth. I have an idea." He stood up and took my hand. "Let us wash ourselves and get to bed." Five quick minutes later the piss was off us and we were dry and lying side by side on the bed. I say side by side, but we were head to toe, or more precisely mouth to cock. Peter was quite a bit shorter than I, so while he was comfortably sucking my cock my tongue was able to reach somewhat further round to his arse. "Mmm, that's nice," he murmured, "soon you'll be ready to fuck me again, I hope." I hoped so too, but before I began I wanted to treat him to several minutes of being rimmed. He squirmed happily while my tongue and lips (and occasionally fingers) played at his arsehole. Then suddenly he turned onto his back and adopted the position he had in the bath, his body bent almost in two and his cock - hard again, its foreskin withdrawn and its purple tip almost waving a flag of urgent need. "You fuck me nice and slow, Seth, while I suck myself off," said this innocent-looking child, a grin of great delight and sinfulness playing about his lips - lips which enfolded his cock and slowly drew it out of sight. And while he was sucking himself off I was to fuck him! Had the Master known that I would willingly have parted with double the sum he asked ... but happily he did not, and I set to the task Peter had demanded. In I went - he was still very wet and juicy - and as I slowly pushed myself further in the weight of my body must have so pressed upon him that even more of his cock disappeared between his full lips. When I was full in I swear that only two inches of his cock lay between his lips and his balls. I could see the muscles of his throat working as he milked his cock. "Don't come in your mouth," I whispered, "shoot it onto your face." His grin widened and he signified his willingness to do as I had asked by winking. He came long before I did, groaning "here it comes" before leaning his head back away from his cock. I watched as several ropes of cum streaked out onto his cheeks, one line lying across his lips. It did not remain there long as his tongue reached for what lay within its range and his fingers scooped up the rest from his face. He offered spunky fingers to me - a gift I was most happy to accept! Had I been able to come so copiously a second time at his age? I could not remember, but I thought it unlikely. It was nigh on half an hour of fucking - varying my pace and occasionally bending forward to kiss him (his cock no longer in his mouth) - before I sensed that my second spunking was no longer to be delayed. He squirmed under me. "You are near, Seth?" I nodded, sweat pouring from me. "Then pull out as you come and cover me with it, Seth, I love to see spunk shooting out onto me." I had expected to come inside him, but I was so urgent with the imminence of it that I did not argue. One final thrust as deep in as I had been able to achieve and my balls started to pump. I withdrew and held my cock as it spurted over and over again onto the unblemished body of the eager boy, sweating as heavily as I, beneath me. "Ah, yes, Seth ... my God! ... you are so full of spunk ..." and more of an equally encouraging sort. At last - ages later - my cock ceased to pour out its benison. I looked down, half-expecting to see the boy covered in it. What I saw was a beautiful smile on a beautiful boy lying under me with several strands of spunk criss-crossing his belly, his hands busily engaged in attempting to smear it all into his cock - hard again! - and balls. "Clean me, Seth, clean my cock," he whispered. I had no hesitation in doing as he so keenly urged me. ***** Let me say that throughout the rest of Mary's life she had no inkling of my visits to the Stafford house - for the night I have just described was the first of very many - and my unfaithfulness, to which she never alluded having once tacitly permitted it, never led to any loss of love and devotion between us. It may seem very strange, but I cannot think that such an arrangement was uncommon, certainly among people of my sort, although the sex of the person providing the comfort would more often not be as I had chosen. I was to visit Stafford - the brewery being the official occasion - every six or eight weeks, always seeking solace with Peter. When the years passed and he grew older than my preferred companion in such activities his willingness (and suppleness) made me still hire him even into his early twenties. By then, he was pleased to tell me one night in 1898, the Master had acquired a new lad in whom, Peter was sure, I would be interested. At the time he told me we were lying on the bed having put the bath to its accustomed use. I expressed an interest in this new boy. "What is his name and what does he do? Things you know I like, I fancy." Peter smiled. "His name is Tony and he is 14, just as I was when you first had me. Should you like to meet him, Seth?" "Indeed I should," I said, little thinking that I might be granted that pleasure within 30 seconds. Peter rang a little bell by the bed and the door immediately opened. An elf crept in. "Hello, sir, I am Tony and Peter wants me to meet you." He had apparently been waiting quietly outside the door for some time. "Here he is," said Peter, "take your clothes off, Tony and let Seth see the joys you and he will share." "Peter, does the Master know of this? I have not paid for two tonight." Peter put his hand on my cock, already hardening - such is the power of a willing 14-year-old removing his clothes - "the Master knows, Seth. You are a good and regular patron and an hour with Tony is our gift to you." Peter rose from the bed. "Tony will take my place from now, Seth. Tony, you know what to do," and without any further ado he dressed in a robe, leaned over the bed to kiss me - "thank you, Seth, it was always good, but I'm too old for you" - and was gone. Before me stood Tony, new, naked, eager. An hour later I had formed the strong opinion that the brewery would need me to continue to visit it as frequently as I had been in the habit of doing. Tony lacked the extreme flexibility of Peter's spine, but that aside his willingness to be subjected to the sexual demands of a man of 47, and to inflict - surely not the right word - his demands on that gentleman, was as well-developed as Peter's had been. However I must get on with my story. My hours spent with Tony as he grew though adolescence were, now that I look back on them, the last hours during which a carefree enjoyment of a young boy and all the innocent wickedness he could bring to bed (or bath) were possible. By the time Tony was a man, rather than a boy, I was well into my 50s and no longer able to perform as I had. My brain still urged me, but my cock, alas, had given up the chase. (I consulted my doctor on this matter, and he assured me that the unwillingness might be only temporary. I forbore from advising him that the willingness had never left me, but that it was the ability which was lacking. It did recur, but never in a manner or at a time when it could be used for the mutual pleasuring of man and boy. Curiously this coincided roughly with my elevation in another context entirely. Perhaps God has a sense of irony.) ***** When George Blake's letter arrived out of the blue Mary was astonished. "What can it mean, Seth?" she said, "what service have you done the King?" I was at a loss. I could not tell her, not least for she knew nothing of my sexual preferences, but also because I had vowed to Edward to keep the matter secret. I thought quickly. "Years ago, it must have been nearly 20 years now, I performed a diplomatic service for the Crown in circumstances where I still may not reveal anything. I am sorry, my dear, for it places me in an embarrassing position. If I tell you I defy the King; if I do as I vowed not to do then I defy you." "Don't be foolish, Seth. You must honour your king. It was so long ago it cannot now matter anyway." I was glad to leave the subject unaddressed. "What title will you choose?" I had given it no thought, but out of nowhere a name came to me. "I shall call you the Countess of Inchkeith," I said, "and I shall be the Earl." "Inchkeith? Where is that? Do you own land there?" "No," I said, "I have never been there, but it is a rocky island with nothing on it but a lighthouse. I have seen it from the train. It looks lonely and beautiful, and if I can give it a presence in the House of Lords I shall do so." "You are foolish, my dear," said the Countess-to-be fondly. The train journey from which I had seen Inchkeith had been made many years before when I had been invited by a neighbouring landowner in Lincolnshire to shoot on his estate in Scotland. It had not been a great success as far as my shooting prowess was concerned, but it proved invaluable later when he encountered a severe business failure and was obliged to sell his land quickly. I gave him what I thought was a fair price though. As a result our acreage increased by around 15%. I had no love of Scotland, for during my visit the Sun decided not to shine, nor the rain to cease. Until, that is, the weather miraculously cleared as the train was passing the Forth and there, lit like a jewel in the blue sea, stood Inchkeith. In the Summer of 1903 it seemed, in retrospect, like an omen. The private audience with the King was very grand, as was my introduction to the House of Lords. Mary, already then, though we did not know it, beginning to suffer from her illness, was most excited by London Society, and her few words with the Queen while the King was conversing with me were treasured moments. The King was rather gruff: I think he was still embarrassed by the matter of which we were both aware, but which could not be named. "My son died with his honour unsullied, Inchkeith," he said, "and ..." He faltered. "Thank you, Sire," I said to save his embarrassment, and I bowed myself away leaving him a few seconds to regain himself before the next in line for his bestowal of honours. I recognised Blake and we nodded to each other. No more was ever said. ***** As I have already said, Amos died in February of the following year. His last few months saw him slip slowly away, and for the last ten days he was unconscious. Arthur and I kept vigil by his bedside. Mary and James sat too, but the burden of waiting fell upon his lover and his son, as was right. The funeral saw a great gathering of Staffordshire society, and it was heart-warming to see so many from the surrounding district who made the journey in terrible weather to pay their respects. His had been an extraordinary life, the details of which were known - thankfully - to none who attended outside the family. A few days after the funeral Arthur suggested that he and I had a long talk. "You and Mary will wish to move into this house," he said, "and it will be wisest if I were to move elsewhere. You won't want me around now that Amos is gone." "Nonsense, Arthur, you are part of the family - you always have been. You must move into our house when we move in here. Besides, I need your advice as much now as I did a year ago. The Estate will need two pairs of eyes, just as it always has. Maybe in three years when James leaves Cambridge you will be even more important in helping me teach him what he needs to know about running things when we're gone." (Arthur was 67 at this time.) He agreed immediately and that was the arrangement from then on. ***** I must finish this part of the story. In the Summer of 1905 another letter from Blake arrived, this time addressed to Mary. She looked astonished to see the royal crest and checked to see that it was indeed for her. Mary, Countess of Inchkeith, it said. She opened it and gave a little cry. "Seth, the King wishes to take luncheon with us ..." (she read on) "he and the Queen will be visiting the county in September and beg to ...what can it mean?" "It means that we are being given a great honour, my dear, and the fact that we have seven weeks to prepare for it means that you will not have to panic for more than seven weeks. What does the letter say?" She passed it over to me. "Dear Countess "I am commanded by Their Majesties to ask if you will be gracious enough to entertain them to luncheon on Tuesday 17th October. They will have engagements in Staffordshire that morning and it will be convenient if you were able to receive then at 12.30. They will depart at 2.30 promptly. The party will be only Their Majesties, and I am asked to ensure that no other guest will be there, either at luncheon or in your house. "Please let me have sight of the menu you intend to provide not later than 14 days before the luncheon. Neither of Their Majesties has any specific dietary requirement. "I am your obedient servant, Madam; George Blake, Equerry" Lunch was a formal affair, with footmen standing stiffly against the wall. When the meal was over the Queen rose and she and Mary left His Majesty and the Earl of Inchkeith alone with the port. "You own a brewery, I'm told," were the King's first words. (Conversation while we were eating had been restricted to generalities, and had largely been conducted by the Queen, the King being more engrossed in his food.) "I do, Sir, in Stafford." "Odd thing for a nobleman." "I fear it was bought from two widows before you elevated me, sir, and having once sullied my hands with beer it would be foolish to sell now." He gave me an old-fashioned look. "Beer will never go out of fashion. Keeps the working man in his place if he can get a bellyful of beer." I had no reply, but I doubted if His Majesty's view of his subjects was far wide of the mark. "Fine woman your countess. Given you an heir yet?" I said that our son James was 19 and starting his second year at Cambridge. He grunted then said what he must have been planning to say all the time - indeed it must have been the reason for the lunch. "Blake had told me what happened when you saved my boy. I cannot understand why he was in such a place, nor you, Inchkeith, for here you are with a fine wife and a grown son. God knows I am no prude, and there are plenty of women who can testify to that, but that place was unnatural. Were there no women there? I know that some men seek such places, but my boy ..." I knew I had to help him. "Sir, I cannot know what drew the Prince to such a place - a wager, perhaps, entered into in a moment of madness out of which he might have thought it dishonourable to seek to escape. His equerry was very discreet, and I am sure that only I knew who he was." I paused, and went on. "May I offer my sincere condolences on your loss, Sir. I have lost someone I loved dearly and I know that the pain never leaves." He grunted again. "Well, whatever the truth of it he promised it would not happen again. I try to believe that he kept his promise, but ... Inchkeith, I wrote to you at the time, and I remain as I was then, eternally grateful. My own life has not been untinged with scandal - damn these newspapermen - but at least mine was of a sort that any red-blooded Englishman would understand. If my son was of that other kind I am glad that the newspapers never got hold of it. And if you are of that kind, Inchkeith, you're damn good at hiding it," and to my astonishment he dug me in the ribs, "not like that fool Wilde. Should have run, but he didn't." Thank God the ladies came in then. As the enormous motor drove them away Mary asked if my chat with the King had been a strain. "Not at all, my dear, he said some very interesting things." ***** I really am a dreadful teller of this story. Here I am, telling the King that James is up at Trinity, and I have hardly mentioned the boy. I shall put that right. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 60 as Seth's story concludes and I receive unexpected news. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================