Date: Thu, 21 May 2020 07:39:58 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 62 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 62 I will never forget a day in October 1930. I was nearly 8. Seth's funeral had been two or three weeks earlier. During those few weeks there had been changes, although I don't think I was aware of them at the time. Some of the servants disappeared, not least my nemesis, the Butler. One Sunday morning James sent one of the remaining staff - the under-footman upon whose shoulders I had been wont to ride as a little boy - to fetch me from wherever I was. Playing in my bedroom, probably, for as I've said I was a solitary child. James - whom I called 'Papa' of course - told me that we would be going to live in America. "When, Papa?" I asked, having no idea where America was. From the way in which he was explaining it to me it sounded as though it was a lot further away than Stoke. We would be leaving in a few weeks, he told me. Much later I found out that he was being appointed to a position in Ottawa, although what he did there was not something I discovered until after his death in 1949. Lest you become interested in the detail let me put your mind at rest. It had nothing to do with those matters which have formed, and will continue to form, the burden of the narrative of this family history. It was a diplomatic posting which, at a time of growing anxiety about political trouble in Europe, was felt important in strengthening the ties of what was still the British Empire. Canada, having a mighty neighbour, would be important in forging and maintaining close co-operation in the event of another War. He and Bennett had a close working relationship despite the enormous differences in their backgrounds. James told me - years later - that he had been extremely careful to keep his sexuality hidden from the PM, knowing him to be a bachelor. At that time, naturally, James had no idea that 'his' sexuality was also mine. "Who will look after the house and the Estate?" I asked, for even at that age I was aware that things needed looking after. "The house will be closed, Bertie, and two of the staff will live in to make sure it doesn't fall down. The farms and the other land all have families who live there and do all that's needed. You didn't think you and I were going to do the ploughing, did you?" and he ruffled my hair, the way I liked. "Who will come with us?" "Just you and me and Nicholas, Bertie, we shall be very cosy." His use of such a word should have alerted me to what was planned, but I paid it no heed. Nicholas was James's valet, and in my childhood innocence I was unaware that a gentleman's valet was not usually a boy of 16. I liked Nicholas: he used to hide things for me to find - an apple or a sweet, often hidden in the most unlikely places, but never impossible for a curious 7-year-old to seek out. I was blissfully unaware of the duties of my father's valet, apart, that is, from hiding apples. All that was to be come much clearer once the three of us left Uttoxeter. Unknown to me at the time we were following in Joel's and Amos's footsteps over 80 years before as we travelled to Liverpool to board RMS Empress of Canada for Montreal. To a boy of almost 8 every part of the journey was exciting, and the stateroom on the Empress seemed vast. "Where is my room?" I asked. James laughed. "We all sleep in here, Bertie." I imagine you will have formed a conclusion about what was to happen, but this innocent (though for very little longer) boy had no inking of the voyage he was about to undertake - metaphorically as well as upon the ocean. James instructed Nicholas to unpack the trunks. "Bertie, I have business with the Purser, will you help Nicholas please? Put your own things away where you would like them." And away he went, leaving Nicholas and me to our tasks. What I did not know was that Nicholas has another task, already given to him by James. Nicholas knew that James would not return for two hours. Nicholas knew that unpacking the trunks could be accomplished in 30 minutes at most. My seduction would occupy the rest of the two hours. "Come on, Bertie, let's get down to work," said Nicholas cheerfully, and we both worked happily. My clothes were put away quickly, and I went to help with James's trunks. "God, it's hot in here," muttered Nicholas, "I'm going to take my shirt off." He did so, and I saw for the first time a half-naked male. And what I saw had a strange effect on me. I had a great urge to touch his chest, to run my fingers along the little lines of perspiration running down. He had no hairs - none that I could see anyway, and the playground upon which I longed to exercise my fingers was - out of reach. A boy of almost 8 does not know the signs, cannot read the invitation that a naked 16-year-old chest only a foot or two from him is being deliberately displayed, cannot understand why his willy is suddenly hard in his pants, cannot - can, but only just, resist reaching out. Nicholas smiled. "Go on, Bertie, it's OK," he whispered, "you can touch." My fingers crept forward ... the tip of my right index finger touched a bead of sweat ... Nicholas sighed (I looked at his face, alarmed that I might have done the wrong thing, but his eyes were shut and his smile gave no indication that he wished me to stop) ... my left index finger found another bead of sweat, this one just above his right nipple ... Nicholas, his eyes still shut, reached out and took my left hand in his right, and traced a circle round his nipple with my sweaty finger ... my willy was really hard, harder than it had ever been before (I liked it when it was hard, but had not yet progressed beyond 'liking it') ... "take your shirt off too, Bertie" ... I saw no reason not to - it was fun what we were doing, after all ... I was out of my shirt in no time and my fingers - several - were back on his chest ... my eyes were shut ...he was murmuring how nice it was ... the suddenly there was a hand on my trousers feeling my willy ... I jumped, but he had tight hold ... "you're enjoying this, Bertie, aren't you?" ... I nodded, mute lest the spell be broken ... I had no idea what was happening, but I knew it was wonderful and magical and I knew that there was a danger of the spell being broken if I said a word ... Nicholas moved away for a few seconds then he was kneeling in front of me ... I opened my eyes: he was naked ... my eyes fastened on his willy ... it was huge! and hard, just like mine ... "let me see yours, Bertie, I bet it's nice" ... I got up and wriggled out of my shorts and pants, my willy, all three inches of it, pointing proudly to the ceiling ... "Bertie, that's a beauty, and you're not even 8 yet" ... my eyes closed: the spell must not be broken ... then I felt him licking it, kissing it, sucking it into his mouth! ... I think I was dying with delight ... I felt his hands behind me, holding my bum, lifting me up, my willy still in his mouth, his hot mouth, his wonderful mouth full of intense indescribable doing-all-kinds-of-things ... AAAH! AAAH! The Second Viscount St Kilda's first orgasm occurred in the mouth of Nicholas Jones, valet to the Second Earl of Inchkeith, at around 4.30pm in Stateroom 603 on RMS Empress of Canada still tied up in Liverpool on Monday 3 November 1930. Some 20 minutes later, after many questions were asked and answered, the viscount agreed, after remarkably little persuasion, to experience, in his mouth, a similar occurrence from the valet. "When you're a few years older, Bertie, spunk will come out of it - it's best to call it a 'cock' not a willy, it's more grown-up - and you'll feel spunk come out of mine in your mouth. It's OK to swallow it." Anything 'grown-up' was naturally highly desirable, and permission to swallow this spunk stuff, whatever it was, was music to my ears. And, as you are now well aware, music to every fibre of my being. The queer strain in the Cunliffes was alive and well in me. Nicholas's cock felt so right when I got it in my mouth. He very wisely only allowed the first couple of inches to seek a warm haven, but such was his heat that my inexperience in the tongue and lip department did not hinder his orgasm. Barely two minutes passed between my getting the first cock to enter my mouth past my lips and the first pouring of spunk onto my tongue ... several pourings, in fact, so substantial in vigour and quantity that, swallow as I might, much of it escaped from my lips and ran down my chin. When he had finished - his loss of control was a bit alarming, but then I remembered that I too had had a few seconds of incoherence when I had 'done it' - he withdrew and - to my utter astonishment, bent and licked up the spunk which had dripped onto my chin. To my even greater astonishment - but everything was so new and so exciting that I could not resist - he put his lips on mine and kissed me. KISSED ME! Clever Nicholas must have known that the reflex action of somebody being unexpectedly kissed is for his mouth to open in order to cry 'ah!', for clever Nicholas's clever tongue sought - and rapidly found - a companion in my mouth. Our lips and tongues played their ancient game; his right hand felt for my willy - no, my cock - hard again. The viscount's second orgasm was brought about by the skilled fingers of the valet, following which the viscount and the valet, both sweaty, both naked, lay on the big bed, the boy in the valet's arms. He stroked the boy's hair. The boy snuggled into his neck. He smelt wonderful - musky, manly, appetising, sexy (though I could not have expressed it in those terms). "Can we do it again, Nicholas? Please?" He kissed the top of my head. "Oh yes, Bertie, indeed we can. But not today." We lay there for what seemed like ages. Apart from my Nanny no-one had cuddled me before, and even Nanny hadn't cuddled me quite as intimately as Nicholas was doing. It felt so right I was in no doubt that this was how I wanted life to be. "Come on, Bertie," he said at last, "time we got dressed again. Your father will be back soon." I scrambled up - the last thing I wanted was for James to know what fun Nicholas and I had been having - he might put a stop to it. Foolish boy, Bertie! With the benefit of adult wisdom I can see that James's technique had been spot-on. Get the boy aware that his cock could be the source of great fun, get him happy to play cock-related games with an older boy who could pretend it was all a big secret while teaching him new exciting things, get him gagging for more stolen hours with the older boy ... James and I went out on deck to see the ship slip away from the quayside. We watched as Liverpool grew smaller. "The next land we see will be Canada," said James, "and it won't be for nearly a week." As I was only not quite 8 I was put to bed before James and Nicholas went for Dinner. "You may read, Bertie, but put the light out by 9 o'clock. Promise?" "Yes, Papa." 9 o'clock was well past my usual bed-time, so I had no difficulty in agreeing. I got into the small bed and James bent over and kissed me good-night. I wasn't accustomed to sharing a bedroom - even one as huge as our stateroom, so I was awakened by strange noises in the middle of the night. It was dark, so I had only my ears to tell me what I was hearing. Snuffling sounds, little gasps ... then silence for a few moments ... then more gasps ... then a soft groan ... "sssh! you'll wake him." I could not work it out, but it didn't sound alarming, and I had recognised James's whispered voice. Who could he be talking to? And as I wasn't supposed to be awake I allowed myself to fall asleep again. The following morning it had escaped my mind - perhaps it had been a dream. For the last few months my cock had been hard when I woke up, and until that morning it had never either interested me or bothered me. At home by the time I wandered as far as the bathroom it had gone down again and I could piss without hitting the wall. But that morning I had in effect eaten of the forbidden fruit: not only was I embarrassed by my cock but when I got out of bed they would see it and know that I was ... what, exactly? I had no idea, but I was very sure that my erection was to be kept secret. I know now that my cock was fired up even more than usual by the hope it - and I - had that exercise with Nicholas might be on the cards. James was up and dressed before I felt it safe to throw off the bedclothes. "Come on, Bertie, you'll miss breakfast," he breezed. There was no sign of Nicholas, and it didn't cross my mind that he wasn't in another room somewhere. As we were finishing lunch - the three of us at the same table did not seem odd on the ship, though it would have been very much against the rules at home - James said that he was going to attend a lecture at 2 o'clock and would be there until after 4. "I hope you'll find someone to play with, Bertie. We must find another family with a boy your age." I nodded; I knew just what I wanted to play with during those magical two hours. I avoided looking at Nicholas, fearing that I might blush if I did. I have always had a problem with blushing - I think my red hair has a lot to do with it. James's hair was red too, but he didn't seem to blush very much. We got up and James went off into parts of the ship I had not yet explored. Nicholas and I dawdled until he was out of sight. Then the magic words "come on, Bertie," were whispered. That afternoon on the big bed I discovered more nice things - things which would have horrified me a week earlier if someone had told me they were going to be done to me. Nicholas licked my bottom! And I mean really licked it! He made me kneel and got behind me, then he gently pulled my bum cheeks apart and I felt him blow a cold draught on my hole. I tensed, but he laughed and went on blowing. I stopped tensing and the next thing I could feel his tongue licking. At the same time his hand came round and took hold of my hot hard cock, giving its best imitation of a six-inch nail. True, it was only half that size, but it felt enormous. "Like that, Bertie?" he murmured. "Mmm, but isn't it all nasty with poo?" "No, it's just perfect, Bertie," and he went on licking, his tongue seeming to want to get inside me. "Push," he whispered. "I can't - I'll poo." "No you won't, just push. Go on." Naturally I pushed, and I didn't poo. His tongue popped inside; he started to rub my cock; the big feeling came again after a few minutes. It was so intense that I toppled onto my side. Nicholas chucked. "You liked that, Bertie. That's three now." He cuddled me again. "Can I do you again, Nicholas?" I whispered. "Soon, Bertie, but we have to talk first." I liked it when Nicholas talked to me - he made me feel like a grown-up, and the conversation we had then was most instructive. By the time ten minutes had passed I had learned that the baby words I had been using were not the words that big boys - and men! - used. I had learned that I had an arse, and that what came out of it was shit; that the magic feeling I had had three times was called coming and that the process by which it had been induced that day was wanking; that the white stuff which shot out of Nicholas's cock was spunk; that one day ("but not soon, Bertie, when you're 12 or 13") spunk would fly out of my cock too - so much to learn! "Are we the only ones who know about this?" I asked softly. I could feel Nicholas's cock pressing hard against my belly, for I was lying on top of him as he stroked my back. "No, Bertie, all boys know these things, and because all men were boys once they remember them." "Can I ask you something?" "Yes, Bertie, ask me anything." "Why have you got hair on your ... things." "Balls." "Yes, why have you got hairs? Will I get hairs when I - what was it? - do spunk?" Nicholas did his best to enlighten me, but the urgency of his cock meant that both pupil and teacher had more important things with which to concern themselves. I rolled off and put my hand on his cock. "Can I see it this time?" He nodded. My experience so far had been that oral stimulation was an essential precursor of coming, so I got my mouth where we both wanted it and set to work. "Careful with your teeth," he muttered, "use your tongue ... yes, that's it. I'll tell you when I'm near, then you'll see it shoot." Such instruction was music to my ears. I knew that Nicholas was enjoying what I was doing, and that made me happy. "Stop," he groaned a few minutes later. I knelt, my eyes fastened on the hard thing in front of me. It was wet with spit and the skin at the end was peeled back. "Go on, wank me," he panted, "do it as fast as you can." What greater pleasure could a not-quite-8-year-old be given than an invitation to wank his first full-size cock and watch the ensuing eruption. Nicholas's groans became moans. "Oh Christ, Bertie ... yes ... nearly ... AAAH!" When the three of us visited Niagara Falls the following spring I knew that the spectacle was familiar to me. Foaming gushes of white liquid cascading, tumbling, uncontrolled, vast, propelled by some invisible force. When his breath had returned to normal Nicholas whispered that if I wanted I could lick it up "just like when I came in your mouth yesterday." It seemed a shame to spoil the artistic effect, for six lines of white spunk lay like the ribs of a fan emerging from his cock, now less long and angry and retreated back into its skin. I wondered if I had a proper cock inside my skin, and resolved to discover for myself. I licked keenly. "Share, Bertie," he whispered. And as well as licking up his spunk I got to kiss him - kissing with tongues again! After a few minutes I broke off. "Nicholas, why does my cock get hard when we kiss? Yours doesn't." He cuddled me. "That's because I just came, and cocks need to rest. You came half an hour ago. Spunk is made in my balls, and it takes time to fill up. I can come after 15 minutes, but James takes half an hour." I was so engrossed in learning all the new stuff that Nicholas was teaching me that that particular nugget made no particular impression on me. After all, it ranked alongside a remark, say, that while Nicholas was 16 James was 44: arithmetically true, but hardly startling. It never crossed my mind to wonder how Nicholas knew that my father's powers of recuperation were less than his valet's. Now, of course, I realise that Nicholas had been quite deliberate in beginning to lay the trail that would eventually connect me to James's cock - or, since we all know where this is going to end up, James's cock with my arse. The process of seduction which James had instructed Nicholas to carry out went from strength to strength as the Atlantic slipped by underneath us. On Day 2 Nicholas had introduced me to "something very special that some boys do", but he merely told me that there was such a thing and maybe, just maybe, he would tell me what it was if I asked him really nicely. Like any boy my age I gave him no peace, and after an hour or so (during which activities already enjoyed earlier in the voyage were repeated) he relented and told me how special it was to have a cock in my arse, not just a tongue. Very wisely he refused to show me, which meant that the next day I was insistent that I be treated as fully ready to enjoy this new grown-up sort of pleasure. "It hurts, Bertie, hurts like hell at first. Not for long, but -" "I don't care, Nicholas. I'm a big boy and if it hurts I'll just screw my eyes up till it stops. Will it hurt so much I cry?" "I don't know, Bertie, but if it does no-one'll know and I'll cuddle you. I promise I'll stop if you tell me." I nodded: I trusted Nicholas. How could I not when he had given me so much thrilling pleasure and taught me so much? Half an hour later I was a wiser boy. It had indeed hurt like hell, and I had cried. He had put some oil on his cock - cold and tickly as it rolled down my arse crack (I was kneeling on all fours). He had indeed stopped as soon as I yelled. "I'll keep it where it is until you tell me, Bertie. You're being very brave." I felt him reach round for my cock, but there was no 6-inch nail: merely a forlorn shrimp. As he had promised the pain eased after only a minute or two ("push out," he had said, and as his cock was blocking anything which might have come out I had no fear of shitting). "Go on," I whispered," but be careful. As I say, half an hour later I was no virgin. For the first time in my life I enjoyed the indescribable feeling of a cock shooting hard inside me, coating my guts with the Niagara I'd helped produce each afternoon. For the first time I had endured the little death when the cock - no longer the bringer of pain - slipped out having finished its joy-bringing. For the first time I had felt a greedy mouth harvesting spunk from my arse. When he cuddled me I cried again. But he knew and I knew that those tears were different. Since this is a document of record I should say that, though I did not know the latitude or longitude, I can state that my first fuck occurred at around 3.30 (though that was ship's time) on Friday 7 November 1930. As that was the last barrier of that type which I crossed I shall not bother to record the dates of others still to come. Not least of these was my first fuck with James, of which you shall hear very soon. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 63 as James finds out about this sea-borne wickedness. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================