Date: Sun, 6 Oct 2019 22:29:20 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 7 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 7 The next evening arrived at last. Tom and I were as excited as Archer and Aitken that new cocks would be available for us. Lights-out passed and we waited the necessary ten minutes. Tom and I got out of bed. "Enjoy Blair and Wilson," I whispered and we opened the door silently. The other two were just coming out of Goderich, so we exchanged brief grins as we went in. Dugald and Callaghan were waiting for us. There was enough light to see as an almost full moon was conveniently shining in. "Hello," said Tom, "this is Cunliffe, or Dab. I'm Tom. If we're going to fool around you might as well know our names. "Dugald." "Derek. Come on, Tom, let's get down to business." Tom got onto Derek Callaghan's bed and the two of them were soon holding each other's cock, feeling it grow harder. I got onto Dugald's bed - I was glad that it was his cock I would suck first, and I got straight into 69 mode. Dugald was no stranger to this, and we didn't hang about. While Tom and Derek were still feeling each other up Dugald's spunk was already shooting out of his cock onto my tongue. Mine was only a few seconds behind. When we'd both stopped squirting I got off and turned so that our faces were only inches apart. I didn't know whether Dugald kissed - I hoped so, because he had a cute kissable mouth, what with the teeth and the attendant freckles. Since it was his bed we were on it seemed right that he should set the pace. We looked at each other; each of us move half an inch closer; Dugald's lips parted and the decision was made. I'd kissed dozens of boys as well as a few men by that time, but I was blown away by Dugald's lips and tongue. We must have been glued together for getting on for half an hour. My jaw ached but it was worth it. We were both so engrossed in giving and receiving so much new and exciting stimulation that we were unaware of what the other two were doing. It wasn't until a deep groan came from Derek's bed that we broke apart to look over, and to see Derek deep inside Tom's arse as he came. Tom was on all fours and Derek had both arms round Tom's waist. Both of them were dripping with sweat. Derek started to wank Tom while his cock was still inside but Tom muttered that he wanted someone to suck him off. "I need a mouth on my cock, and I need it soon," he groaned. "On you go, Dugald," I whispered, "I can suck his cock any time." Dugald shot across and lay on his back under Tom, getting his mouth where it needed. Tom sighed deeply as his cock was engulfed. "Oh God, Dugald, yes ... ". Derek started to pull out and I beckoned him over to where I was lying. "Come on over, Derek, and let me clean you up." Derek seemed reluctant. "My cock's been up his arse." "Yes, I noticed, now do you want it cleaned or not?" Derek shrugged and presented himself for my attention. I knew that Tom's arse would not have had unwelcome matter up there when he knew he was going to be fucked - such thoughtful behaviour was second nature in Canning by that stage. I was surprised that the arses of Goderich were not also routinely cleaned out when party time approached. I didn't hurry. A new cock, redolent with the new spunk of its owner (to say nothing of the familiar taste of Tom's arse juices) was not to be rushed. "Fuck, you're a find and no mistake, Dab. You can come again." I wasn't sure whether an invitation to ejaculate was being issued, but I decided that that was how I was going to interpret what Derek had said. "Do you want it in your mouth, or up your arse, Derek? I can probably manage another." Derek sniggered. "That's not what I meant, but - hell, why not. MacDonald, no, sorry - Dugald - is his spunk tasty?" "Yes, sweet with a hint of saltiness. Rich as the perfumes of far Araby." "Fuck off, Dugald, it's his spunk I'm interested in, not his deodorant." I decided I ought to put my oar in. "Why don't you get me going by sucking my cock, Derek, and while you're doing that you can think about whether you want it up your arse or in your mouth." I believed from an early age that one should be clear about what was being offered. I did fuck him, but not that night. His lips, once closed round my cock, would not open again until his tongue had delivered the load my balls had brewed. Mine wasn't the only jaw that was aching. When the four of us had begun to breathe more regularly I asked whether we should stay or go back. "Stay," said Dugald quickly, "and you sleep in my bed, Dab." That was fine by me, and when Derek saw what we were doing he merely pointed to the narrow space beside him, and Tom hopped in. This was more like it, I thought. I was therefore not amused when a few minutes later the door opened and Blair and Wilson crept in. "Time to go home, you two," whispered Callaghan. Tom and I were not pleased, and neither were Dugald and Derek. "Sort this out," I whispered as we left, "it's more fun our way." Luckily the four in Goderich had agreed that `our way' was their preferred way of concluding the weekly nocturnal visits, as Dugald informed me a couple of days later. Tom and I merely told Archer and Aitken that 6 of the 8 of us involved were going to stay overnight and that if they didn't like it they'd have to find a way round it. "You could sleep together," I said brightly, but neither Archer nor Aitken seemed thrilled by the prospect. I've no idea why, as both of them were fun on (and therefore presumably in) bed. The weekly visits became the norm, known only to the inhabitants of Canning and Goderich. As the end of our second term approached we still had no idea of what the occupants of Walpole got up to. They weren't Pups and they had no Trainers, and apart from occasional crossings of the paths in classes or on one of the sports fields we had little contact with them. Dugald and I decided we ought to investigate. The four members of our year who slept in Walpole weren't boys in any of Dugald's or my classes, so we knew very little about them. We'd all paraded at Pup selection time, but they, having not managed to attract the eye of any of the Prefects, were rather regarded as second-class citizens by the eight so chosen. We were frightful little snobs, I fear. As I say, Dugald and I wanted to find out more. We knew their names - Erridge, Quiggin, Stringham and Jenkins - but beyond that they were terra incognita. Jenkins was a keen and, according to Morry, very promising rugger player, so on the basis purely of my knowing something about him Dugald and I decided that it would be Jenkins we sought out. Morry, when asked one afternoon as we lay in his bed recovering, said that Jenkins would be playing in a match the next afternoon. "You should go and watch, Dab, it'll do you good." When pressed Morry said that Jenkins was a sexy-looking boy and that his arse - especially when cased in the tight shorts then prescribed - would give me a thrill. "If he's that sexy why isn't he a Pup?" "Not sure really, maybe it's just that you were sexier. Come and suck my cock again." It was an agreeable way of passing a cold afternoon. Dugald and I set off the following afternoon to watch Jenkins doing his stuff. Morry had not been wrong - he did look gorgeous in his tight short shorts. As the game ended and the muddied oafs trooped towards hot water Dugald and I walked alongside. "You were great, Jenkins. Cohen said you were going to be a star one day." Like all good lies it was what the hearer wanted to hear. "Really? Wow! You're his Pup, aren't you, Cunliffe?" I acknowledged that it was so. "Why aren't you anyone's Pup?" Jenkins looked sideways, uncertain about whether I was pulling his leg. "Do you really not know?" Dugald and I shook our heads. The hot water was near. "Tell you after I've had a shower - meet me by the fives court in 10 minutes." The fives court was on the way back to the House, so Dugald and I had to hang around while Jenkins sluiced off the mud. Jenkins, pink and shiny, met us by the fives court. "Bet the pair of you are keen to find out Walpole's secrets." "Yes, and if they're anything like Canning's secrets they'll be worth hearing about." "OK, gents, I will if you will." We agreed, and the three of us walked slowly back. "How may beds are there in Canning and Goderich?" "Four of course, there are four of us in each dorm. How may do you have?" Jenkins grinned. "Thought so. There are four of us, but there are six beds." "Who sleeps in the other two?" I asked. "Whoever's lucky enough that it's his turn to fuck one of us. Didn't you know? You Pups live sheltered lives. Cunliffe, who fucks you? I'm guessing it's just Cohen, right?" I nodded. "Well, we four are there to service any of the Seniors who aren't Prefects. There are 11 of them, so we enjoy a much more varied diet than you lot." I was astonished. I had no idea that all 12 of us were sex workers - unpaid, but not unwilling from the sound of it. "Are the four of you all happy with that?" asked Dugald, whose sessions with his Trainer kept him happy enough. "I was from the word go, and so was Erridge. Quiggin wasn't too keen, but he didn't have much option when it was explained to him what he was there for. Apparently he'd been a very busy little whore at his prep school and had suffered some kind of religious conversion before he came here - that's what he said anyway. It took ten days for him to have a second religious conversion which seems to have undone the first." He smiled, evidently in recollection of Quiggin's spiritual manifestations. "What about Stringham?" "Ah, Stringham. Walpole's mystery boy. Not sure about Stringham. He joins in happily enough, but he manages to keep his distance. Erridge and I think he's writing it all down in a book, and is going to publish an exposé of the English Public School and make his fortune." We were nearly back at the House. "There's only a week to go until the end of term. Why don't you four sneak along to Canning one night for a bit of fun with us? We would welcome a change from Goderich." "Do you and they mess around?" "Yes, but only once a week. Two of us go in there and two of them come to us. You could come on a different night - how about two nights from now?" "OK. I'll talk to the others." "Nice arse, by the way," I said, "Cohen told me to look out for it." Jenkins blushed - always a good sign. When he'd gone into his Den I invited Dugald into mine. No sooner was the door shut than Dugald and I were lip-locked, each of us feeling for the stiff cock he knew he'd find in the other's trousers. "I think we've got a date," I said. "Not now," he muttered, "there's no bloody room in these Dens. In bed tonight." I nodded. It was only five hours away. ***** Two nights later Jenkins tapped on Canning's door 15 minutes after lights-out. The door opened and three shadows came in. "No Stringham?" I whispered. Jenkins shook his head. "No. He was planning to come but five minutes ago two of his favourite Seniors came in, and there was no way he was going to give them up, especially when they got a great deal keener when we said we were coming in here. `Two of us to pleasure little you, Stringham,' said one of them, `that'll be a whole chapter for you. Fuck off, the rest of you, Stringham can cope on his own.' We'll hear all about it tomorrow, I don't doubt." Archer had listened to all this. "For God's sake, Cunliffe, stop bellyaching and let these buggers get down to it." "What my friend means," said Aitken, putting on his languid voice, "is that you are welcome here, and should make a choice of which of us you wish to pass a happy hour or two with." Lust had filled Archer, so Aitken's grammatical infelicity passed uncorrected. Thirty seconds later Archer and Quiggin were paired up, as were Aitken and Erridge. "You admired my arse, Cunliffe," said Jenkins, "so I choose to share my body with you and Bottomley." Tom and I very carefully lifted his bed and moved it a 18 inches or so nearer mine, making what was effectively a double bed into which he and I climbed. Jenkins climbed over me and lay between us. "Well," he said, "this is cosy and no mistake." Jenkins's cock was just as nice as his arse, Tom and I agreed after a certain amount of feeling around. Archer and Aitken were enthusiastically showing intimate hospitality to their guests, hospitality which was reciprocated half an hour later. By that stage of our Pupdom fucking, and being fucked, were second nature, and this seemed to apply to Quiggin and Erridge. I heard Erridge say to Aitken that the occupants of Walpole referred to themselves as the Village Whores, rather indicating that fucking happened there too. By midnight the double bed had shuddered under much activity. Jenkins's arse had come in for a thorough rimming and fingering from me. Tom had fucked him while I sucked his cock. I would come to know this as spit-roasting, but at that innocent time the term was unknown, as had the activity until Jenkins had told us that he liked it and that at that moment that was probably what was happening to Stringham. "It's what the Village Whores are good at." Tom and I hoped that Canning would be good at it too. After Tom had come up Jenkins's arse I was in there too, adding (after an interval of almost 20 minutes, of which I was rather proud) my own few gallons. Well, it certainly felt like gallons to Jenkins who - perhaps he was just being a good guest - said that if I'd come any more it would have shot out of his nose. I decided I liked Jenkins, and regretted that we hadn't come across him before. "Don't let the gallons go to waste," I whispered, "lie on your back and get your knees by your ears." Jenkins obliged - it was clearly a familiar position - and as Tom busied himself on Jenkins's cock I went for the big prize - the leaking gallons. What Jenkins was experiencing was not what the Village Whores routinely experienced: his constant soft moans making it clear that Tom and I were doing something rich and rare. When we'd got up all the spunk we were going to Jenkins still had a raging erection. I took it in my hand. "Where d'you want thus thing to squirt, Jenkins? What's your name anyway? He's Tom and I'm Dab and if you're going to fuck one of us, as we're sure you are, we ought to know who's doing the deed." "Nick. And I'm going to fuck you, Dab." I grinned. This was going to be good. I got on my back and pulled my arse cheeks apart, trying to get my arse as like the gateway to Paradise as I could. It was a memorable fuck. I resolved that Nick Jenkins would be given every opportunity of repeating it as often as possible while we both remained at school. He came hard, deep inside me, and to my - and doubtless, his - delight his cock stayed hard after it had unloaded for a good ten minutes. We held each other, oblivious of poor Tom. His turn would come, but not that night. The other four were asleep in pairs. We three slept where we were. ***** These delightful boys continued to share my bed, and I theirs, for the rest of our Pup year. When we all returned in September 2033 there was a new generation of Pups and until we rose to the height of Senior (never mind Prefect) there would be no more luscious 13-year-olds to fuck. Not at school anyway. Archer, Wilson, Callaghan and Blair were no longer people with whom I had any sexual contact, but I'm glad to say that both Tom and Dugald were keen, when we foregathered as Seconds, to carry on as we had so shamelessly done as Pups. The domestic arrangements were slightly more helpful by day as our Dens now had room to swing a cat. When not swinging cats there was room to put the cushions on the floor to form a makeshift couch upon which to have a snatched hour with the object of one's passion that day. We were thoroughly promiscuous, naturally, and the object of one's passion was rarely the Tome boy as it had been the day before. I found myself in a new dorm - Rosebery - with five others: Aitken, Nick Jenkins, Erridge (by then, for reasons we never discovered, Sid ("but Sydney's not my real name, Tom and Dugald. As you can imagine I had a lot of sexual encounters with 14-year-olds during my Seconds year - as did the rest of Rosebery. While it would be rewarding for both of us to recount these engagements it would take too long, and I have much to tell. Let two episodes suffice - they were not typical, alas, but they will give you a flavour of what we got up to. I had reached my 14th birthday on 3 September 2033 as you know, and Tom and Nick were both a month or two older than I. It was agreed that each succeeding 14th birthday should be marked by an orgy of more than usual vigour. We used the term 'orgy' rather loosely, and in normal non-birthday usage it merely meant more than a pair doing whatever it was. I wouldn't encounter proper orgies until much later. The next birthday was Tom's on 20 October, with Aitken's four days later. As Dugald had the misfortune to be born on 26 December the compromise seemed to have a rather bigger orgy on 22 October. Tom and Aitken, who by then had metamorphosed into Nigger, were appointed to make the necessary arrangements. You will have been horrified, no doubt, about 'Nigger'. I am aware that 100 years earlier this term, used casually to refer to black people, became taboo. Certainly there was, and for centuries had been, appalling treatment of Africans, and many people, especially in America, used the term pejoratively. By 2030 or so with the Moral Crusade and all its prudishness and over-sensitivity being swept away, Aitken, whose given name was Nigel, decided as an act of rebellion that instead of being 'Nige' (to rhyme with oblige, as he helpfully explained) as he had been he was going to be 'Nigger' to annoy people and, as he put it, "if anyone doesn't like it they can fuck themselves." So Nigger he was. We all enjoyed the tiny act of rebellion as well. Tom came to my Den one day shortly after the Great Orgy was first mooted. "No," he said when I began to head for the cushions, "this is serious." I feigned hurt. "But sex with you is always serious, my little buttercup." "Oh fuck off, Dab, I mean it." Tom sat down - Seconds were allowed a visitor's chair - and made his request. "You've always been able to get stuff to make a party swing," he said, "lube and so on." It was true - even in the Moral Crusade time Rivers had been able to acquire supplies from Amsterdam along with his interesting literature - and I had received regular parcels from Rivers during my time in Canning, and now in Rosebery. "What do you need?" I asked, "and if he can get it will be here in time." (This conversation took place a fortnight or so before the goodies, whatever they were, would be needed.) After some thought I decided that the best thing was to zip Rivers to seek his advice. He would know what he could get hold of and send to me in time for the birthdays. It will seem strange to you that back then everyone had a tiny device, easily concealed (thus ideal for clandestine purposes) which could send written messages to another such device. I had been given my first one one my 8th birthday, and I think that was normal at the time. It was called zipping, no doubt because the message was transmitted instantaneously. They became useless after the Electric War, and people had to revert to writing their messages on paper. However that was still well in the future in 2033. I zipped Rivers to say that six of us, all 14, wanted to celebrate a birthday using things that only he could supply, and did he have any suggestions. To my surprise he zipped back only an hour later. "Lube. Do you fuck with them?" I zipped back in the affirmative. Immediately back he came with "butt plugs? How big?" He'd got a few in his room, and he'd shown them to me one afternoon just after Christmas, but we'd never used them. The birthday party seemed a good time to try as all of us would be new to the idea. I zipped back, "3, smallish" "OK. They'll be with you in a week." There was nothing unusual in any of us receiving parcels, although I tended to receive more than most of the boys in the House. Tom and Dugald were allowed to know when a particularly interesting delivery was about to be opened as most of them were illustrated material of an arousing nature. I was amused that in each collection - they arrived at roughly monthly intervals - Rivers always added a single copy of something more exotic among the regular fare of boy-on-boy or man-on-boy stuff. While these made excellent wank material it was the exotic stuff which piqued my interest, not so much what they did to my cock (got it hard usually) but which of my fellow Seconds found which activity arousing. In the first parcel there had been a series of close-ups of one boy - a pretty little thing of about 10 or so - being pissed on, all over, and evidently enjoying it, by a boy of 14 or so. No Second found this distasteful, at least as far as looking at the pictures and wanking while doing so. A month later the same 10-year-old was lying on his back while the older boy squatted over him. There was a note from Rivers in pencil which said that the next 6 pictures were explicit, and did I want him to send them with the next package. Those admitted to the reading circle discussed this one night. "He's got to be shitting, hasn't he," said Tom. This was obvious to all, and after a certain amount of hesitation a majority for seeing the outcome was obtained. The consensus was that it was utterly disgusting, but nevertheless worth seeing. I wondered whether, once the pissing and the shitting were displayed for all to see, there would emerge any move to sample such esoterica. The shit pictures arrived and were studied critically. No-one voiced any desire to emulate either the 14-year-old or the 10-year-old. "Mind you," said Dugald, "I wouldn't mind trying pissing." Two Seconds took a negative view of such over-stepping of the boundaries while I, who shared Dugald's sense of adventure, noted that the other two were at least neutral. I ought just to finish the saga of Rivers's additions to the routine stuff by telling you that the 10-year-old being fucked by an Alsatian was universally regarded as several steps too far. I zipped Rivers with a cryptic message, "no horses, for God's sake". Ten days later a parcel arrived. I opened it alone in my Den. Two large bottles of lube, three black butt plugs - 4 inches, 6 inches and a short, but quite a bit thicker, one. There were also six leather cock straps. I'd not seen one before, but there was a helpful note which instructed the wearer to fasten it behind his bits and make it as tight as was comfortable. Rivers had pencilled, "and then a bit tighter still. I like it to be uncomfortable, but you should experiment, Dab." I decided that any experimentation should be tonight, or when there was next a visitation. The butt plugs were to be a birthday surprise. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 8 as we celebrate the birthdays. The story is, of course, fiction. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================