Date: Thu, 2 Jul 2020 07:37:41 +0000 (UTC)
From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com>
Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 72

Last of the Line by badboi666

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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 72

The next morning Hamish appeared out of breath a few minutes after 10.  The
track's uphill for a mile or so, which might have explained it.  We were
watching for him, and Billy went out to tell him to put his bike round the
back by the electro.  We weren't expecting anyone, but I thought McKenzie
might appear, and I didn't want any awkward questions.  Billy and Hamish
came in and I offered the boy a drink.  "You look hot, Hamish, and you look
as though you could use a drink.  Juice ... or maybe a beer?"  I received a
very strange look.  "I'm not old enough for beer.  I'm only 14.  Juice'll
be fine."  I got him a glass of orange, thinking it lucky that we had
bought such an unlikely thing the day before.  Had the Fates guided us to
such a purchase?  He drank it off in a oner.  "Phew.  That's better."  A
silence fell.  The three of us were sitting round the kitchen table - a
sunny room at that time of day.

"You're here because you're full of questions, Hamish," I said gently, "ask
away.  We shan't mind.  We're not your parents and we're not going to
gossip in the village."  He looked up.  "I don't even know your names," he
muttered.  "I'm Billy and he's Dab.  Now be brave, Hamish, we won't bite."

"The village has been talking all year about this house being opened up
again.  No-one's lived here for ages, and everyone's curious to know about
who's going to live here.  It's you two, isn't it?"  I explained that I
owned the house, and that it had been bought by my ancestors.  Billy and I
were here for a week, but we planned to stay much longer next year.  He
thought about that, then said "what about when you're not here?  Will other
people stay?"  "God Lord no," I said, surprised, "why did you think that?"
"Dunno," he muttered.  This conversation was proving difficult, so to ease
things along I asked him about himself.  By the time he had given us a
brief background he was much more relaxed, and we had learned that he was
an only child, that he would be 15 in August, that his mother ran the shop
(we knew that), that his father worked on the railway as a driver, that he
loved fishing, that he was bored by the lack of any form of interesting
things to do in Lairg (apart from fishing), and that he was - this became
apparent only at the end of his reply to my questioning - very keen to know
more about ... you know, what Billy and I ... did.

Billy smiled.  "How much do you know, Hamish?  Do they teach you about
people like us at school?"  Hamish blushed and shook his head.  Strange,
because I'd had sex education at school - both formal and the more usual
unofficial kind - but perhaps they did things differently in Scotland.
Hamish said that he knew about ... he hesitated, not knowing the right
word.  "We call ourselves queer," I said, "but `gay' will do just as well."
He gave me a grateful smile.  "Well, Dab, what do ... queers do?"  I
wondered quite how detailed I ought to be, but before I could answer Billy
asked Hamish why he was so curious.  "Do you think you might be queer?"
Another beautiful blush, and I thought that our ginger kinship allowed me
to give him a cuddle, though I managed to restrain myself.  Perhaps later.
Hamish nodded.  "The other boys at school all go on about the lassies and
what they want to do, but all I want to think about is the other boys.
When we're changing for games I like looking and I get all, I don't know,
uncomfy."  I laughed.  "I haven't heard it called that before.  You mean
you get hard?"  Hamish blushed even more and nodded.  I put my hand on his.
"Don't be embarrassed, Hamish.  In this house that's quite normal.  Billy
and I are hard most of the time."  It was Billy's turn to blush.

"So what is it you really want to know, Hamish?" I said, "you like watching
boys, your cock gets hard and you go somewhere quiet to enjoy it."  He
nodded, this time with a smile and a lot less blushing.  "Is that what you
do?" he whispered.  "Sometimes," said Billy, "but sometimes we go to bed.
Is there a boy you fancy, Hamish?"  Hamish shook his head.  "No."  "That's
a shame, I said, "but one day maybe you'll meet another boy you can do
things with."  "That's just it," he said, I don't know what `things' are.
What do queers do?  Not just wank, I mean."

This was turning into a big subject and I thought that Billy and I needed
beer to keep us going.  Hamish accepted another orange juice and the three
if us settled down to a grown-up conversation.  Billy told us that he had
found out about wanking from another boy when they were both 11, but that
boy no longer lived in Lairg.  Since his going away two years ago Hamish
had had no-one with who to share his sexual development.  Until now.  In
order to help matters along I told him that I had made that discovery at
the age of 8.  Billy added that he had been 10, so we were all much of a
muchness.  Spunk had appeared - sex education had at least gone as far as
giving him warning that such a thing would happen and, like all the other
boys, its arrival had been widely discussed, but only discussed, never
shared.  The other boys were all apparently devoted heterosexuals intent on
keeping themselves pure, at least until a complaisant lassie appeared.
Poor Hamish saw cocks only fleetingly as their owners stepped into or out
of football shorts.  The long-awaited spunk had appeared shortly after his
13th birthday, and had kept on appearing frequently ever since, often many
times a day.

"You had a big wank yesterday, didn't you?" I said.  "How did you know?"
accompanied by a resumption of blushing.  "After Billy got back and told me
what the two of you talked about in the electro it seemed obvious.  I would
have done in your shoes."  Hamish grinned.  "Yes," he said simply, "it was
huge, but I didn't do it in my shoes.  Do you really do it in yours?"  I
loved the way he looked slyly at me when he made this outrageous suggestion
- he was beginning to relax enough in this nest of queers to start to tease
us.  "And you loved every second if it, I bet."  "Yes Dab," he said
seriously, "now will you tell me what queers do."  Billy leant over the
table.  "Hamish," he whispered, "do you want him to tell you, or do you
want him to show you?"

Hamish didn't look up, but he nodded slowly.  I was worried: I thought
Billy was going too fast.  We had no idea how Hamish would react to his
eyes being opened to matters of which he had no inkling.  On the other hand
the reward, were Hamish to turn out to be as keen on the sort of bedroom
activities he wanted to understand as I had been at his age, the pleasure
all three of us would enjoy would be considerable.  But speed wasn't the
best way of getting there.  "OK, Hamish," I said, getting up, "why don't we
explore upstairs."  He got up quickly and the three of us went into the
bedroom Billy and I were living in.  I was glad it wasn't one end of the
big wet room at the rear - that would have been far too bog an introduction
to things.  A bed was enough to deal with in Lesson One.

As well as a bed - roughly made, luckily - the room had a small sofa, a
relic from much grander days in Inverthrum.  We sat on in, Hamish in the
middle.  "Billy and I will tell you everything you want to know, Hamish,
and answer every question if we can.  But in return you have to answer
ours.  We know nothing about you, after all, just as you know nothing about
us.  So since there's two of us and only one of you, we'll go first.  My
name's Dab, and that's what you call me.  But my real name's the Earl of
Inchkeith.  Billy and I are what you call boy-friends, and we have been in
love with each other since I was about your age.  He works in the big house
we both live in down south in England.  I'm at university; I'm nearly 19
and Billy's 20.  We both like boys your age."  Hamish drank all this in.
Billy chipped in.  "That means we're the kind of men they warn you to steer
clear of, Hamish.  Does that bother you?"  Hamish shook his head.  "No,
Billy.  You don't seem dangerous to me, and if you teach me what I want to
know then I'll be able to work out who's dangerous and who isn't.  Besides
I'm nearly 15 and I'm not scared of a bit of danger."  Billy smiled.  "It's
your turn to ask questions now."

By this time Hamish had had time to think.  "Can we take our clothes off
now?"  "Yes, but before we do let's agree something really important," I
said.  "Nothing that happens in here gets even whispered about outside this
house, and nobody does anything the other people don't want him to do.  If
something happens that you don't like you say so at once, and it stops.
OK?"  "Yes, Dab, I understand.  I won't tell a soul.  Now can we take our
clothes off?"

I made him stand in front of me.  "Put your hands on your head, Hamish, and
let me do the work.  It's more fun that way."  It was hot, and all he had
on was a t-shirt.  That came off quickly, revealing a nice smooth chest
with the beginning of a six-pack.  "You do keep fit stuff, I see," murmured
Billy.  Hamish nodded, "they used to call me weedy when I was wee, but not
any more."  There was a hint of the beginning of a treasure train above the
waistband of his shorts, but I was in no hurry.  "Lean on Billy while I
take your trainers off."  Socks followed.  Hamish had neat feet.  What
remained was unable to disguise what was within, but I paid it no
attention.  I undid his belt and the buttons of his shorts.  I do like a
boy who has buttons rather than a zip.  You can open the bottom buttons if
the occasion presents itself, but a zip doesn't accommodate such an entry.
The shorts fell to the ground and he stepped carefully out.  "My, Hamish,
you're a fine big boy," I said softly.  The blush returned.  "Aye."  I
stroked the tent in his briefs; Hamish shuddered; Billy reached his hand
out to stroke the tent; Hamish moaned; I felt the tent in his briefs and
Hamish groaned "oh no!" as his body convulsed and a large wet patch
appeared, and grew and grew.  I put my arms round him.  "Sssh! don't worry,
Hamish, it often happens like that the first time."  Hamish went limp and I
held him tight.  At least he wasn't sobbing.  After a minute or two I
released him.  "Stand up, Hamish," I whispered.  His briefs were sopping
with spunk and I carefully lowered them to his ankles.  Billy held his
shoulders while he stepped gingerly out.  Then Lesson One got under way
properly.

I knelt and took his soft spunky cock between my lips.  Hamish shuddered
but stood still.  "That's one of the things queers do, Hamish," whispered
Billy, "they suck each other's cocks."  "But I'm all spunky."  "Yes,
Hamish, that's the point.  Have you never tasted your own spunk?"  Hamish
shook his head.  Then, after a few seconds, "can I?"  I thought that Lesson
Two ('Kissing') ought to be delayed a little longer, so I scooped up a
little on my finger and offered it to him.  His tongue emerged pinkly,
carefully, and sampled it.  He thought a bit, then my finger was in his
mouth and, for the first time, Hamish's tongue tasted his own cum.  "Not
nasty at all," he said.  "Nothing which comes out of a boy's cock is
nasty," said Billy, paving the way at some future date for Lesson Ten or
thereabouts.  He accepted a second helping, somewhat more generous than the
first.

When I had removed everything from the outside, as it were, I allowed my
lips and tongue to venture within, bringing on another shudder and - for
the first time - language he would not have used at home.  "Oh fuck, Dab,
that's so -", but the sentence was never completed.  Still, I got the
picture.  When all was cleaned up I leant back on my heels.  "Well, Hamish,
how did you enjoy having your cock sucked?"  His smile told all. "Is that
it?"  Billy laughed and ruffled the boy's hair.  "No, Hamish, that's just
for starters.  Do you want more?"

"Before you answer, Hamish," I said, still kneeling in front of him, "when
are you expected back home?"  "Och, not till tea-time.  I've sandwiches and
they think I'm away fishing or something.  What's 'more'?"

"Go and sit on the bed while Billy and I get our clothes off."  "Can't I
help?  You did mine."  Billy and I exchanged a look - this was going faster
than either of us had anticipated.  "After you, your lordship," said Billy.
Hamish's eyes opened more widely.  "You don't really call him that, do you,
Billy?"  It was my turn to ruffle his hair.  "No Hamish, he's pulling your
leg.  And mine," I added, "come on then, Hamish, I'm all yours."

Hamish made a good fist of getting clothes off from the outside, and when
it came to trouser time he didn't hesitate.  Off with the belt, down with
the zip (it's difficult to buy adult trousers with fly buttons) and a quick
wiggle: trousers at ankles ... trousers off in a heap ... what would he do
now, faced with a very clear indication that there lurked promise in front
of him.  Hamish, to my delight, did exactly what I had done to him.  "Fuck,
it's hard, Dab!" he whispered.  He had correctly worked out that the
absence of any rebuke for his using the F-word earlier gave him tacit
permission to continue to do so, and since he was probably well aware that
'fucking' was something which would be discussed at some point he didn't
hang back.  "And it's waiting to be let out," said Billy, who had stripped
to his pants which Hamish's attention was elsewhere.

Hamish hesitated.  "Can I?  Can I really?"  I nodded.  Five seconds later
Hamish got his first sight of an erect adult cock.  "You've not got any
hair!"  "We shave it off, it makes our cocks look bigger and a lot nicer to
suck," I said.  Hamish took the hint, and shortly before 11 o'clock on the
morning of Tuesday 29 June 2038 a cock entered his mouth for the first
time.  "Just be careful with your teeth," advised Billy, "lips and tongue
only."

I let him nuzzle for a few minutes - it's always nice when a boy his age
sucks you, even when his skills (apart from being 14) haven't been
developed yet.  I lifted his head off.  "That was nice, Hamish," I
whispered, and gave his lips a closed-lip quick kiss.  He made no objection
to that.  "Try Billy's now."  Billy was lying on the bed still with his
pants on, but with a very vertical pole holding the tent up.  "It's big,
Billy," whispered Hamish.  "All the better to suck then," I murmured, "see
what you can find in there.  You can use your fingers to pull his foreskin
back."  Billy's tent was removed; the pole quivered; fingers did as they
had been invited to do, and Hamish, naked, excited, delighted, bent over
Billy's glistening cock-head awash with precum.  "Mine leaks like that," he
said.  "It's tasty, Hamish, go on."

Billy wisely stopped him before there was any danger of a mouthful.  Billy
knew, as did I, that the mouthfuls were very likely to be available later,
particularly as we had six hours of fishing time before us.  Hamish lay
back on the bed between us.  "I liked that," he said, "am I a queer boy
now?"  I leant over and kissed his lips again, this time lingering a second
or two.  He didn't pull away so I allowed the tip of my tongue to lick his
lips.  "Mmm."  "You like that, Hamish?" whispered Billy.  "Mmm."  My tongue
sought entry; entry was permitted and the tip of his tongue greeted the tip
of my tongue.  Introductions have been effected our tongues engaged in
forming a lasting relationship.  When I broke off after about three minutes
he was breathing heavily and - I was pleased to feel against my belly -
hard again.  "Queers kiss too," said Billy, "but then so do straights.  If
you kneel on top of Dab and he kisses you some more I can teach you
something else queers do with their tongues."

The clash of teeth as Hamish reacted to a tongue lapping at his arsehole
was unfortunate, but having assured ourselves that no teeth had been broken
off Hamish lay down again.  "Isn't it all stinky, Billy?"  "No, well not in
the way you mean.  It smells of all the healthy things it should smell of.
Boy, a boy who's come not long ago and is sweaty, a boy who's dying to come
again and his skin makes a nice smell.  You're good to taste, Hamish, your
arse just as much as your spunk."  And Billy got back down there and Hamish
ascended into the heavens.  "Scoot forward a bit and let me get your cock
in my mouth," I whispered, "Billy will follow, I promise."

This time Hamish lasted longer - almost two minutes - before he started to
wriggle.  "I'll come in your mouth, dab, stop."  Oh, the innocence of
youth!  "Oh oh oh oh ... aaaah!"  I sucked and swirled my tongue round the
uncontrolled serpent that was thrashing about in my mouth.  "Kiss him,
Hamish," said Billy, "share - it's what queers do."

*****

We had an early lunch.  Hamish produced his sandwiches and Billy knocked up
some salad for us oldies.  Beer appeared and, as I'd expected, was eyed
with interest by a still naked Hamish.  He looked at me with a twinkle in
his eye.  "Do queer boys drink beer?"  I poured him half a tumblerful.  He
took one sip and pulled the sort of face we all pulled the first time we
tasted beer.  It took only a few minutes before a second and a third
cautious sip had persuaded him that beer, while tasting very strange, was
just as pleasing a liquid as the other of which he had had his first
experience that day.  "That's all you're getting," said Billy, "'cos
they'll smell it when you get home and then you'll have to fib about where
you got it."  Hamish looked disappointed.  "I know!" I said brightly, "you
can try something else if you like."  Hamish was on the ball immediately.
"Won't that smell too?"  Billy laughed.  "Not if you drink squash after,
and we've plenty of that."  Hamish shook his head.  "That won't do, 'cos I
don't have any orange juice - but I do have Irn-Bru," and he produced a
bottle of a bright orange liquid.  "Made in Scotland from girders," he
said, "well, that's what the advert says.  I don't believe it though."  He
offered us the bottle and I took a swig.  It was very sweet and iron-y."
"That'll put hairs on your chest, Hamish."  "Aye, and on my cock and then
I'll have to shave it all off again.  What else do queers do?"  This time
the question was asked with a very broad grin.

"Guess," said Billy, "you seem a bright lad."  "You said he'd show me,"
came a whisper, "and I'd fine like to see that."  There was a pause, then
"if it's fucking, that is.  Will you fuck each other and I can watch?
Please?"

We had arrived at the crux of Hamish's enquiries.  I took hold of his hand
and made him face me.  "Are you sure?"  He nodded.  "I want to know what to
do when it's my turn," then his blush returned in spades - or perhaps
diamonds.  "I mean if I get to ... or ..." he stammered.  "Hamish, no-one
is going to do anything you don't want.  If I guess right you think you
might want one of us to fuck you.  And since Billy's cock is quite a bit
bigger than mine I guess you'll want to start with me, just in case you
don't like it.  Am I right so far?"  The orange beacon nodded.  "And maybe
you'd like to fuck Dab as well," said Billy.  Hamish looked at Billy.  "Can
I?  Really?"  I pulled his face round to me again.  "One thing at a time,
Hamish.  We're here for a week.  Today Billy will fuck me and you can
watch, or join in if you like.  Then you can clean up and we'll talk about
whatever you like, and then you can get on your bike and go home.  Tomorrow
if you still want to come back for more, after you've slept on it, we'll
still be here.  OK?"  "OK, Dab."

"On yer back then my lord, let's be gettin' at yer," said my lover.
"Hamish, you stay that side and keep your eyes peeled.  Ask what you want
to know and join in if you want," he went on.  "Join in?"  "Use your lips
or your fingers on whatever you want to explore.  If one of us doesn't like
it he'll tell you, and you have to stop.  That's how it works - remember?"
"OK, Billy."

Billy's lesson was a very thorough one, and a voyeur in a seedy club in
Soho would have been forced to pay at least £200 to witness such a
wide-ranging display of erotic techniques.  Hamish saw my arse being
rimmed, fingers being greased and inserted (and he saw the inevitable
effect such a visitation had on my cock as it twitched and shook "and you
didn't even touch it!" he exclaimed); he saw fingers removed and how my
arse remained open, my lips puffy and engorged as they silently willed
Billy's cock in to where it belonged; he saw Billy's cock in full close up
(he was asked to apply grease to it - a task which he approached with
delicacy, allowing himself the chance to feel Billy's balls while he did so
("wow! they're heavy!"); he saw Billy's cock as it touched my lips, as they
expanded, as it inched its way in ... further ... further; he heard my
moans as my lover's cock boiled the juices in my insides; he saw Billy at
last fucking - not too hard or fast, but not too slow either; he saw the
sweat on both of us running off our bodies; he leaned forward to kiss me
(my eyes had been shut); he felt my arms holding onto him as Billy ... yes
... yes ...

Afterwards as Billy slipped out Hamish didn't ask.  His lips found Billy's
cock and latched onto it as a calf to its mother.

"Is it always like that?  Do you always spunk when Billy puts his finger in
your arse?  Why didn't Billy's cock taste of shit?"  We did our best to
answer and he soon ran out of things to ask.  Billy muttered that Hamish
ought to shower but I said that was not clever.  "He's been out fishing in
the sun all day - he's bound to be hot and sweaty."  "But he smells of
sex."  "So?  A wise parent of a 14-year-old has more sense than to ask if
the boy's been a-wanking in the woods.  Such smells are best ignored, or
even better banish the boy to the shower saying something along the lines
of 'you stink'.  You must have been hot out all day.  Mothers aren't
fools."

Hamish dressed.  Hamish kissed us both.  We accompanied Hamish downstairs.
Hamish agreed to come fishing again tomorrow (putting our trip to Inverness
off for another day).  "Will you fuck me then, Dab?  Please?"

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The fun continues in Chapter 73 as Hamish's request is met.

Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped
nifty a few quid.
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