Date: Mon, 15 Jun 2020 07:48:59 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - chapter 68 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 68 When Micky, no longer reluctant, and I went upstairs to James's bedroom we found him sitting on the bed in his dressing gown. He must have stripped incredibly fast. I started to take my clothes off - it was what I did there, after all. "Come on, Micky, get yours off too," I said. Micky shrugged, all care gone. He was naked only seconds after I, and both members of the Cunliffe family were pleased to see that Micky, for all his reluctance, still had a fine erection. James beckoned; Micky, led by his erection, advanced towards his fate. Micky arrived at the side of the bed between James's legs, the dressing gown still concealing what lay (lay? surged, I fancy) within. Micky reached a tentative hand forward and, seeing a smile on James's face, allowed itself to seek something interesting within. Micky's hand found its target. "Fuck! it's huge!" James's smile broadened. "Thank you, Micky, but it's not that huge really. Bertie will tell you it's just the right size for an arse your age - as I hope you will agree. But first, why don't we get to know each other a bit better," and he stood up, allowing the dressing gown to slip from his shoulders. Micky's eyes beheld, for the first time, a man's cock, a man's cock hard and full of promise. Micky had sucked my cock - a miniature version of my father's, but still a cock worth sucking - often enough, and instinctively he dropped to his knees. "He's good, Bertie," murmured James, "you've trained him well." I heard a snigger from Micky, and I hoped that his teeth hadn't momentarily forgotten themselves, but in the absence of any complaint from James it seemed that Micky had not erred. James allowed Micky to remain where he was for only a couple of minutes. "Don't want me to come too soon, Micky. Let me get at you now." I sat on the bed, waiting patiently for my turn. At some point an arse or a cock would present itself for my attention. James lay back and patted his chest. "Up you get, Micky, Bertie tells me your arse is worth visiting, and if I'm to fuck you I need to get to know it." "Your dad's mad, Bertie," whispered Micky as he got into position. "Not mad, Micky, just unusual. I know what boys like, and I like giving boys what they like. Now squat over me and let's see what's what." Micky's arse was a few inches from James's face; Micky's face was several inches - too many - from James's cock. There was an opportunity for me to play a part. I climbed onto James and gently lowered myself onto his cock, thrilling as I always did as it slowly entered me. "Don't move, Papa," I murmured, "I know you'll be fucking Micky, but I want it up me, filling me while Micky sucks me off. Go on, Micky, get your mouth where it's needed." We made a pretty tableau that April afternoon. A boy a few weeks shy of his 14th birthday sucking the cock of his somewhat younger friend; the friend with his father's cock buried deep (satisfyingly, thrillingly deep) in his arse; the father's tongue lashing over the spit-roasted one's arse lips, lips familiar enough from being fucked by his friend to open reflexively at the touch of something warm and wet: now the tongue, feeling the gates opening, pressed on. Micky sighed and whispered "fingers". Fingers replaced tongue, fingers both more numerous and longer, fingers which unerringly sought and found a juvenile prostate (a thing of which both the boy and his friend had remarkably been ignorant), fingers which swiftly drew from the prostate its function ... "oh fuck! sorry sorry, I've come on you, oh God! sorry." James was quick to reassure Micky. "That's what I wanted you to do," he said softly, "I love it when Bertie does that. Micky shook his head. Too much information but ... aaah! James's fingers were back up there again ... oh God this is so fucking good ... my cock hasn't gone down - it's still hard as a poker lying in the cum it's just done on Bertie's dad's belly ... please, God, can it go on for ever ... "I think he's ready, Bertie. Off you get." Although I knew this would happen the emptiness was, as always, a little sadness. Sit on it, Micky, just like I did. Here, I'll help you." Micky squatted; I pulled his arse cheeks apart; Micky looked into James's eyes and seeing a grin, grinned back. "I like this game," he said and slowly, very slowly, lowered himself until James's wet cock head (which by then I was holding to assist entry) stroked his arsehole, tender with lust, agape with lust. James pushed up an inch and his cock head popped in. A gasp from Micky. "Fuck, it's big!" James smiled. "I'll keep it there while you get used to it, Micky, then you lower yourself as fast or as slowly as you like. I won't move until it's all the way in." I moved away, no longer needed. Micky didn't take long, and slowly, very slowly I saw James's cock being swallowed up in Micky's arse - an arse in which my cock had spunked so often - as he lowered himself. In less than a minute Micky's arse could go no lower; James's cock no deeper. "Well done, Micky," he said, ""is that the biggest you've had?" Micky, unable to speak, nodded. "Enjoy it then." He did, if the evidence of another come, this time onto James's chest, is anything to go by. It occurred five minutes before James came, less noisily than usual (was that because we were entertaining a guest?), which meant that for five minutes Micky, having shot twice in under 20 minutes, was being fucked hard (for by that stage it was indeed hard - at Micky's insistent urging) while every nerve in his body (his arse, his guts, his cock, his balls) was signalling ecstasy. Only boys of our sort of age can cope with this, I've learned. Certainly by the time I was 20 or so I found it hard to enjoy being fucked so long after I had come myself. But 13 - ah! 13, bliss on toast. A well-mannered host (Micky was my guest, after all, not James's) waits until the performance is over before doing what he has been longing to do ever since he watched it shoot out of his friend onto his father's chest. As James stopped firing up Micky's arse I shot over and hoovered up the still-warm spunk. James murmured lazily to Micky that I might wish to nourish myself more fully. "What's he mean, Bertie," muttered Micky, unused to James's circumlocutions. "He wants you to get off so that I can get at your arse." "Don't forget my cock, Bertie, will you," added my father. How could I! Fifteen minutes later James, as fresh as I could get him, went off to his bathroom for a shower, leaving Micky and me coiled together on his bed. "Wow!" whispered Micky. Wow indeed, I thought. "Does he ... does he fuck you a lot?" I nodded. "But he's not the only one. There's Nicholas and Francis too." "Who are they? Do they fuck you as well?" Nicholas is Papa's valet - he's 22 - and Francis is the cook - he's 23 and both of them have been fucking me and Papa since we got here." I paused long enough for these morsels to be digested. "They'll fuck you if you like. And you asked if they fucked me as well. Francis doesn't fuck me as well - he fucks me better, a lot better. He's the best, Micky." I was no longer in love with Francis by then, but the after-memory of a love affair, even a one-sided one (particularly a one-sided one perhaps) never wholly disappears. For whatever reason I still felt that sex with Francis was the best I had in Canada - and there was a lot of sex I had in Canada, so my choice was a wide one. Micky didn't take long to make up his mind. "Would you mind if they fucked me?" I kissed his nose. "Of course not, Micky, as I told you, they like fucking sexy boys like us." ***** That conversation took place in James's bedroom in the spring of 1936. I wished then, as I wish now, that it had taken place years earlier. Had that wish been granted there would have been so many more days when the two of us could - would - have enjoyed Nicholas and Francis. Much as I enjoyed what James and I did I was aware that what I - we - did with younger men was more exciting. In the event Micky had to wait three days before his horizons were further expanded, and his arse, keen for it as he was, stretched also. Nicholas was first to the gate, and the three of us passed a very juicy two hours in his bed when Saturday came. Micky had been granted permission to spend the weekend with me - what would now be called a sleep-over, though what it was called back then I can't remember, if I ever knew. Two days of fuck-time was how Micky and I thought of it. And not a lot of sleeping. Francis's bed was really too small for three, but we managed - oh my! how we managed! Breakfast on the Sunday was taken somewhat later than usual that weekend. Everyone in the house knew why, though that was the first weekend when I had been lucky enough to have a house guest. As we crept wearily downstairs at an hour approaching noon James was sitting in the dining room, signs of his breakfast long since cleared up. "Good morning, boys. I trust you had a pleasant night, Micky?" Micky vied with a Cunliffe in the brilliance of his blush. "Come on, Micky," I said, "he knows what we've been doing. Where do you think Nicholas was all night?" Micky gulped - there is no other word. "You mean ... they fuck too?" "Of course, Micky, I thought you'd worked that out. Pass the milk." James put down his newspaper. "Would you like to come here again, Micky, maybe in a couple of weeks?" Micky nodded vigorously. "I need to hear you, Micky," said James mock-severely. "Yes, sir, I should indeed." "Good boy. Bertie, tell him about saving it up properly, will you." It wasn't a question. Micky looked puzzled. "I'll explain," I whispered. At that point Francis came in with bacon and eggs. "Here you are, boys, you need a refill, I expect." Francis had risen from our - his - bed at the usual time, though neither Micky nor I had been aware of it, being somewhat tired by the night's activities. "Francis, we'll need the equipment for Micky and Bertie in a couple of weeks. We will be entertaining our guest for the weekend again." "Very good, sir. Shall I explain matters to them?" "No, not now. Make sure Bertie knows so that he can brief Micky." Micky wasn't the only one in the dark. After breakfast Micky and I sought solace in my room. "What the hell was that all about, Bertie?" "Fucked if I know, Micky." "Fucked if you do too, you lucky bugger," said Micky, giggling, "you get fucked all the time." It was true, and I loved every minute of it. "Do you realise what we've racked up in the last 26 hours?" I said. "Yeah, but why not tell me - I might have forgotten some of them." "You've been fucked six times, once by me, twice by Nicholas and three times by Francis. I've been fucked five times, two each by you and Nicholas and only one, bugger it, by Francis." "Why 'bugger it'?" "Isn't it obvious? He's the best fucker in this house, Micky, present company included, I'm afraid." Micky punched my arm - it was not unexpected - that was the kind of relationship we had, and I took it in good part. "Yeah, well, I'm still young. I expect I'll be the best fucker in Ottawa by the time I'm their age." "You'll get enough practice." "Shall I go on? Sucking?" "Yeah." "You sucked everyone off lots of times, but I couldn't see how often some guy came in your mouth. "4." "Me too. Whose was the tastiest?" "D'you really not know, Bertie? Honestly?" "I shook my head." Micky moved to cuddle me. "Yours, you silly prick. Yours has always been the sweetest," he whispered. A prolonged smooch-fest ensued. A smooch-fest during which it became evident that each of us had recovered sufficiently from a busy - a very busy - night to feel that another orgasm was entirely within the bounds of possibility. "C'mon, Bertie, get 'em off," said my guest, "I want more of your sweet jizz." I sighed deeply. "If you insist, my friend, but only if I get yours too." "69?" I nodded. "No, I need to hear you, Bertie." "Yes, Micky, I think that's a good idea." Giggles from both of us prevented further converse, and seconds later each of us was back to being tiny infants, guzzling greedily at the offered teat. ***** Nine days later Francis had explained to me what would be happening at the following week-end. I was then able to tell Micky what James had instructed me to tell him. At recess on the Wednesday morning I collared Micky. "We have to talk, and it's good news and bad news." "Tell me the bad news first, Bertie, get it over with." "The bad news is that you are not allowed to come from this minute until you're in my house on Saturday. I'm not either, so we both have to grit our teeth." "No wanking for four days? You must be mad." "Well, that's what we've got to do. I guess it's so that we come like fucking fountains when we finally get to." micky grinned. "Could be spectacular. What's the good news?" "On Friday I'll bring in things we have to stick up our arses. They're called butt plugs." "What do they do, for God's sake?" "No idea, but I'm to get one tonight and I'll let you know tomorrow. It's supposed to make us feel good, so Francis says." Micky said nothing for a while. Then he looked at me. "Have you ever had anything up yours ass, Bertie, apart from fingers and a cock?" (I was always tickled that Micky called an arse an ass; doubtless he was equally tickled by my strange British pronunciation.) I shook my head: my arse had been so used to having what it and I regarded as the proper things up there that I had never felt the need for experimentation. "Have you?" He nodded. "Yup. A cucumber and a zucchini. Not at the same time though." "And?" He shrugged. "They were hard, which was nice, and slipped in OK, but they were cold. I like hot cock up my ass, Bertie, you know that." "Indeed I do, my friend, but don't even think about it for four days. Remember what Papa wants." "I still can't get my head round you being fucked by your father, and him knowing everything that goes on." It was my turn to shrug. "That's how it is, Micky. You should be glad you get to come and play in such a far-sighted household." The famous Micky grin returned. "Yeah," he whispered. He bent down so that his head was near his balls. "You buggers are getting a few days' furlough, but come Saturday you'll be back on parade, my friends, jizzing for Canada." "And the Empire," I added solemnly. ***** The following morning at recess the matter of butt plugs was covered in some detail. As there was no-one nearby I allowed him to feel the hard end of the thing through the seat of my trousers. "And it's been up there since yesterday." "Apart from when I had to shit, yes." "Doesn't it hurt?" "No," I said putting on a lustful leer, "it's as though your six inches of hot steely cock are up there, Micky, warming my guts and getting them all twitchy for gallons of lovely boy-jizz." "Oh fuck off, Bertie." "Love to, old chum, but I'm off games until Saturday. I'm to bring yours in tomorrow. If I were you I'd have a good shit before you stick it in." "How long does it have to stay up you?" "Dunno. They haven't told me. Till Saturday I expect." "Fuck!" "Yes." ***** At Friday's recess I gave him six inches of black rubber. He examined it carefully. "What keeps it in?" "There's a fat bit. Once that's in your arse lips will snap shut behind it and if you think it's trying to get out - you have had a shit, haven't you? -" (he nodded) -"- well, if it feels like it's coming out just pinch your arse shut. It took me a few hours, but you get used to it. If you need a shit take it out - it'll be all shitty, so you'll need to wash it and grease it before you put it back up." "What do I grease it with?" "This," and I handed him a small tube of lubricative stuff - oil of some kind, "rub a little of this all over it - not too much, enough to cover a penny." He stuck both items in his pocket. "Very good, my lord." "Fuck off, commoner boy." ***** I was impressed that Micky managed to arrive on his bike on Saturday. Cycling with six inches up your arse couldn't have been easy. "Thank Christ that's over," he muttered as he left his bike in the shed, "my ass hurts like buggery." An apt simile, but neither Micky nor I remarked upon it; besides, we were used to, and enthusiastic receivers of, buggery but neither of us had previously combined it with cycling. "Come on. I can't wait to unload oceans of spunk and I don't suppose you can either. I've no idea what going to happen though." "I sure hope it's soon." Amen to that, I thought. Francis was waiting for us. "Hi, Micky, how's the ass?" "Full, just how I like it. Are these things your idea?" Francis shook his head. "No, I don't get involved in the plumbing. Let's go - I was told to take you up to his lordship when you got here." We went through the kitchen, redolent with enticing smells, and up two flights. Evidently James was to entertain us in his bedroom. Francis knocked and the three of us went in to find James in an armchair and Nicholas sitting (in an ordinary chair) beside him. "Well now, Micky, how are you, my boy?" said James. Micky, tongue-tied as usual, said nothing. I poked him. "Say something, Micky, or we'll be here all day." Micky swallowed. "I'm fine, sir, I mean ... I'm not fine really ... I ... oh fuck it, I need to bust a nut real bad, sir. I've never gone four days without jizzing since I learned how to do it." "That's what I like to hear, Micky," said my father, wishing, as all diplomats do, to put his guest at his ease. "You shall enjoy a fine jizzing very soon, Micky, and lots more after that one, I've no doubt. Now, we five all know why we are here. The house is empty apart from us. It is now just on 11 o'clock. Francis tells me that lunch will be ready at 1, so we must let him tear himself away from our fun in good time to prepare it. 12.30 be enough?" "Yes, sir," said Francis, "Good. Then why don't we get on with it. Francis, Nicholas, each of you will choose a boy and he will remain yours until lunch. Everything happens in this room. All right?" Four voices assented, some saying 'sir' and one saying 'Papa'. To my delight Francis beckoned to me. I went to him and he held me in his arms. "Not long now, Bertie," he said softly, "your father wants to see you and Micky jizz, so it'll have to be on me, not in my mouth this time, or up your ass. But after lunch, who knows?" and he began to take my jersey off. I was all for stripping quickly, but he stopped me. "Nice and slow, Bertie, let me do it. I'm sure you can wait a bit longer." I looked over to where Nicholas was undoing Micky's belt. I decided that the two (three?) of them had choreographed the whole thing. Still, I wasn't complaining. Three languorous minutes later Micky and I were naked - naked and urgently hard. Each of us had begun to sprout hairs - Micky more than I, despite being younger (and neither of us anything like as much as Pierre, who was already blessed with a dark mat or, as I was soon to feel, cursed with it - but that's another story). Neither of us, once we had our clothes off, was reticent: Micky's being tongue-tied was shed along with his pants. I know that Francis liked looking at me, so I just stood there. "Me now, Bertie," he whispered as he stood up, "take mine off." I'd never taken Francis's clothes off (or anyone else's, come to that, apart from mine) so I fumbled at his trousers. Micky, I noticed, was more adept with Nicholas, but it took only two minutes for there to be four naked males for James (still fully clothed in his armchair) to enjoy. "What a fine spectacle," he said, "the Empire should be proud of its young manhood. Set to, then, lads. You know what I wish to see." I assumed that Nicholas had told Micky where the jizz was to erupt. "After we do it on someone's belly can we lick each other's up?" I asked my father. "Yes, Bertie, that would be nice for all of us." Francis lay on his back. "Climb on, Bertie, ass to my face, mouth on my cock." Few instructions could have been as welcome, and I looked across to where a mirror-image of us was being enacted by Micky on Nicholas. Francis tapped the end of the butt plug and I shuddered. "Good, isn't it," he said softly, "I think I could make you jizz just by tapping, but I won't. Not this time. Maybe tomorrow." Words abandoned me. My lips sought my favourite cock, sought its heat, its juices, its infinite promise. I don't know whether I wept, but it would not have surprised me: I was so happy. My tongue caressed Francis's cock (he kept on tapping the butt plug) and I put my hands under his buttocks. He knew the signal, and raised his arse enough for me to get fingers into his crack. Two finger-tips rolled round his arse lips: he tapped: my tongue lashed: I could have stayed like that until I was his age, but things were beginning to boil in my balls. I raised my head. "Gonna shoot soon." "Turn round then, and kneel either side of my thighs. Now when you jizz do it all over my belly. If you can get any on my face I'll give you $5." "It'll be better if you do me, Francis," I whispered, "that way I'm bound to get $5." =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 69 as Francis does as he is asked, with spectacular results. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================