Date: Mon, 6 Jul 2020 13:00:22 +0000 (UTC)
From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com>
Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 73

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
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Chapter 73

After Hamish cycled off Billy and I sat in the kitchen, nourishing a beer
each.  "Are we moving too fast, do you think?" Billy said.  I shook my
head.  "No, not really.  He knows the questions he wants to ask, and
everything we've done with him had made him happy.  He's too young to know
for sure, but isn't his attitude at his age like ours was?  I know I was
certain I was queer by the time I was 14 - long before, actually."  "Yes,
but I wanted to make sure.  What will we do tomorrow?"  I shrugged my
shoulders.  "You heard him - he wants to be fucked.  Exactly how and who by
isn't something we need to plan.  We've done it before, after all."  Billy
grinned. We finished our beer: it was just after 4, far too late to get to
Inverness before the shops shut.  It would be light for another six hours.
Come on," I said, "let's explore the wet room upstairs."

In the year since we were last here some things had changed in the big
triple room at the back.  The two bedroom ends had carpet reaching a couple
of feet beyond the beds, but in between there was new tiling on the cement
floor.  Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep the slope towards the
drain smooth.  The work must have been done several months ago for the
whole room was dusty and needed a damn good clean.  "We can get this place
fit for what we want to do if we both set to," I said, and we went down to
the kitchen to fetch what we needed.  The ancient vacuum cleaner would be
replaced when we got to Inverness, but its last outing at least got the
carpets back to a reasonable state.  Billy shook the dustcovers off the
beds and took them down to the washing machine.  We examined the bedding
and decided it might be wise to keep it - you never know when old sheets
might be needed in such a room.  Between us we lugged the mattress and
bedclothes off the bed we'd slept in last night and made up the bed in one
end.  "I'm looking forward to bedtime already," murmured Billy, "here in
this special bed in this special room with my special lover."  I kissed
him.  "Me too, Billy, but we have to earn it.  Come on, let's get cracking
on the middle bit."

The middle bit took a good two hours of wiping down and polishing.  The
wetwall was a real bugger as it didn't appear to have been given any
attention for decades, and the dust sticking to it was hard to get off.  I
added squeegees and window blades to the shopping list for Inverness.  When
we'd got the dirt off I ran the showers, delivering a lot of rusty water
before they ran clear.  It was a pity we'd agreed that Hamish shouldn't
shower, because if he had he'd have told us that it was peaty water, not
rusty.  As it was he couldn't stop laughing the next morning when we said
the water was dirty.  "It's fine water, Dab, straight off the hill.  I've
been drinking it all my life."  Billy and I exchanged a look - this boy had
as much to teach us as we had him.

By the back of 7 the room was ready to be occupied; the ancient hoover
retired from active service; the shopping list longer; the Laird and his
lover whacked and hungry.  Neither of us could be bothered cooking so we
took the electro carefully down the track and drove into Lairg.  There we
found a small bar where they were happy to knock up a couple of plates for
us.  A girl of about 17 brought us two pints.  "You'll be the new laird,
I'm thinking."  I nodded and, thinking it no bad thing if we became
familiar faces, I stood up and shook her hand.  "I'm Dab Cunliffe, and this
is Billy Wilkins."  Billy stood up and solemnly shook her hand.  "Morag,"
she said softly, "Morag Gillespie."  She was a pretty lass and no doubt
hoped that the laird or this Billy person might wish to form some kind of
relationship, for she smiled nicely before she scurried off back to the
safety of the bar.  Ten minutes later a large jolly man came to the table
with two plates.  "Here you are, gentlemen.  Welcome to Tigh-na-dealachadh.
My name is Ruaridh Gillespie."  We thanked him and he went off.

"What on earth did he say?" whispered Billy after he'd gone.  "No idea, but
it's the name of the place, although what's written on the sign doesn't
look like what he said.  'China jally-something', it sounded like.  Maybe
we can get Morag to explain.  She's obviously told him - her father
presumably - who we are, so they'll want us to become regulars."  The fish
was splendid and the chips the kind that wouldn't have sagged if held by
one end.  Billy and I like our chips like we like cocks - firm and
upstanding.  China jally-something would see us again.

Morag appeared to clear away.  Would we be wanting a dessert?  We would.
Cranachan was described and duly plumped for.  Cranachan arrived and was
delicious.  Morag appeared bearing coffee.  I told her that the meal had
been all we could have wished for, and she said she would tell Flora.
"Before you do," I said, "tell us the name of this place again.  Your
father said it too quickly for us to learn it."  She said it three times,
and we repeated it after each occasion, earning a wide grin from our
teacher.  "Ach, that's no bad," she said after made a reasonable fist of it
at last.  "What does it mean?" asked Billy.  "'House of the parting.'
There were terrible partings here 200 years ago.  It's an awful sad name,
but it's not been a sad place, Lairg, for ages now.  You'll be having
parties at Inverthrum I expect," and off she went to Flora.

Ten minutes later Ruaridh appeared with the bill.  "Flora is tickled pink
that you liked her food," he said, "the locals don't bother telling her,
but it's much appreciated."  He asked if he could join us ("a glass of
something on the house?") and we agreed readily.  By the time we settled up
we knew the entire history of Mr Gillespie and his family, as well as that
of Tigh-na-dealachadh ("you've mastered the Gaelic very swiftly, I can
see") in the black history of the Clearances.  The house had been the
headquarters, apparently, of the landlord's Factor in overseeing the
population being thrown off the land and sent to Canada.  I asked if the
landlord in question had been the Laird of Inverthrum and was pleased to
hear that Inverthrum had not been built until 1844, and by a man who had
had no part in the Clearances.  "He was a lowlander, a lawyer from
Edinburgh.  Name of d'Abernon."  I smiled.  "I told Morag my name was Dab
Cunliffe, and so it is, but on my Birth Certificate it says Bertram
d'Abernon.  My great-great-grandmother was a d'Abernon, and she must have
been your man's descendant."  I passed over my credit card.  "I'm that
too," I said, pointing to where it said 'Earl of Inchkeith', "but Dab
Cunliffe is what I prefer."

Luckily the constabulary were not in attendance as I drove back up the
track.  "We must get something better tomorrow," said Billy.  "What about
Hamish?"  "He'll have to go fishing for real after lunch.  Three hours will
be more than enough to keep him happy, and we don't want his family to
smell a rat."  "Or anything else."

We went upstairs to our new bedroom.  The only light came from two small
fanlight-like windows in either end high above the beds.  Sun was streaming
in from the north west.  It was just on 10 o'clock.  "This must be the only
time of year that sun gets in here," said Billy, "it must be gloomy in the
winter."  I agreed - but it wasn't winter then.  We hadn't looked in the
wardrobes earlier when we were polishing the mirrors on them.  The one at
our end was empty and it wouldn't take more than ten minutes to get the
dust out and put our stuff in there.  The one at the other end had a big
chest of drawers.  Billy's eyes glittered.  "Treasure!" he cried.  I do
love Billy when he regresses to being about 6 again.

Drawers were opened, but none yielded treasure: indeed none yielded
anything apart from more bloody dust.  Billy pushed in the last drawer,
disappointed to have found nothing, but it stuck.  He gave it a wiggle, but
it still wouldn't budge.  "Help me, Dab," he said, "you hold it steady and
I'll push."  Together we strained, but we couldn't get it to close.  "Let's
get the whole thing out," I said, "it's ugly anyway and we might as well
chuck it out."  We manhandled it a foot or so forward in order to pull it
clear of the wardrobe when I saw something on the wall behind it.  I bent
down to pick it up.

"What have you found?" asked Billy.  "An envelope, been there for ever from
the look of it.  Taped to the wall right down by the floor."  "So maybe
it's treasure after all.  X marks the spot!" cried my 6-year-old companion.
We sat on the bed while I opened the envelope.  Inside was a sheet of paper
and a playing card.

"Listen to this," I said.

	"This room was created for Bertie Cunliffe in 1972 and we placed
this envelope here
	on 22 June 1972.  You are the first person to see it, and we hope
you have as much fun
	here as Bertie and his friends had.  When we do these conversions
we like to be present
	on the first occasion when they are put to use.  We hope that many
future occasions will
	bring as much delight as we experienced in this room yesterday.
With our love to you,
	whoever you are,

						"Ace and Jack"

The playing card turned out to be half of an Ace of Hearts and half of a
Jack of Hearts cut across and taped together.  "I wonder who they were,"
said Billy, "maybe Bertie's papers will tell us more."  "He and James are
about to board Queen Mary in New York on their way back to England.  As
soon as we get home I'll catch up."

We were both too tired to put the central part of our new bedroom to any
use beyond that of pissing decorously (and separately into the two loos)
and cleaning our teeth in the small basin.  "Tomorrow perhaps," I whispered
as we snuggled together, "after Hamish and Inverness."  "Mmm."

We had a good breakfast as we knew we would need our strength for the day's
varied activities.  Billy wondered where we were going to entertain Hamish.
"In our bed, of course, or on it, if you want absolute precision."  "What
about the wet room?"  I shrugged.  "If he asks questions we can tell him.
It's not as though he's shown any signs of reticence so far.  My guess is
that he'll just piss there and it will gradually seep into his mind while
he's at home thinking sexy thoughts while he's wanking that what we might
get up to in such a place would be fun to try.  But by then we may have
gone back south and he'll have to wait until our next visit.  If I'm right
there'll be no stopping him."  Billy grinned.  "When are you planning to
come again?"  Term would start at Fisher in early October - more than three
months away - and it wouldn't be possible after that.  "September maybe?"
Billy rubbed his hands gleefully.  "Will you tell him?"  "Oh, I think so,
don't you?  That'll give him some splendid wank material.  I'll have to
tell the rest of the village though, or folk will wonder why Hamish knows."

While Billy was clearing breakfast up I went outside to smell the air, and
to my dismay I saw McKenzie driving up.  Blast!  Hamish would appear in 20
minutes - less, if I knew the excitement he must have about the morning's
discoveries - and I didn't want McKenzie to see him here.  I waited until
the ancient Land Rover wheezed to a halt and McKenzie got out.  "Come into
the office, Archie," I said.  He followed me and I sat him down in the
un-office-like room away from the kitchen.  "Let me get you a coffee - I'm
just about to get one myself."  In the kitchen I quickly told Billy of
McKenzie's arrival.  "I've no idea what he wants, or how long he'll be.
Will you go down the track and meet Hamish.  Take him quietly into the
bedroom and keep him happy.  I'll be in the office and that window doesn't
look out on the front."  "Bugger."  "Indeed.  Now I need coffee for the two
of us.  You go and deal with Hamish."

McKenzie wanted to be sure that all the works that had been done during the
winter were satisfactory.  I assured him that they were.  "We've been round
making a list of furniture and so on that we need to buy - we plan to go to
Inverness this afternoon.  There are a few things that still need to be
done, but that list isn't finished yet.  I will bring it to you the day
after tomorrow if I may, and you can get workmen in to do them.  There's
nothing big."  He grunted.  "Will we not go round now?"  "No," I said, "I'm
busy this morning and I don't want to rush things.  The work that's been
done is excellent - the tradesmen have done a good job, and the place has
been left neat and tidy."  He beamed - well, 'beamed' is a bit strong, but
he certainly showed a flickering of pleasure.  "That's good to know, sir."
We drank our coffee in silence for a minute or two.  Then he made an effort
to say what he'd really come to say.

"Shall you be living here, sir?"  I told him that we planned to spend time
in Inverthrum each year, but that we would not be living there permanently.
He shuffled about: clearly more was required of me.  "We won't be letting
it," I said, and he relaxed immediately, "it's far too much trouble both
for us as well as anybody involved in the lettings.  One of the things I'll
need to talk to you about when I give you the list will be keeping an eye
on the place and cleaning it before we come north.  Now that it's going to
have furniture and so on it will need more looking after than it's had for
donkey's years."  He nodded.  "Aye."  It was catching.  He finished his
coffee and got up to go.  "I'll be off then."  I thought it only right to
reply in the vernacular.  "Aye."  I hoped that Hamish had arrived and that
the two of them didn't meet on the track - but as it was ten past ten I was
confident that Hamish and Billy would be happily engaged upstairs.

I watched McKenzie drive away in a cloud of exhaust and dust.  Once he was
out of sight I ran upstairs.  I was greeted with the spectacle of two naked
males on our bed.  Naked, but not yet connected.  "Come on Dab, we're
ready," said Billy in a fine statement of the obvious, "you got rid of him
all right?"  "Aye."  Hamish giggled, "you're picking up the language just
fine, Dab."

As I stripped I asked whether any decision had been made about how the
morning would proceed.  "You mean who's going to fuck me?" said Hamish,
"no.  Billy said we ought to wait for you."  "Well, here I am, Hamish.  Now
tell me, are you still as keen on the terrible ordeal as you were
yesterday?"  He nodded, and it was cheering to see no evidence of a blush.
"I'm ready, Dab, and I want you to do it.  Then maybe Billy after if I
don't faint away."  "I'll try to get it just right, Hamish, so that you
sail over the Moon with lusty delight, but not quite enough to make you
pass out," I said softly, as I stroked his cock - a cock already
overflowing with precum.  Tasty precum, as Billy and I knew from sharing a
sample.  "I haven't a notion of what I have to do," confessed Hamish, "so
you'll have to tell me."

The three of us lay on the bed, our hands active on the body of the
sacrificial victim who lay in the middle.  Billy explained that there were
many positions, and that the best one for a beginner was on his knees.
"That way whoever's fucking you can reach round and hold your cock.  It
doesn't go as far in that way either, and though you can probably take
everything either of us has got it's sensible to get used to it gradually.
It's not as though you won't be coming back for more, is it, Hamish?"
Hamish, his cock in my hand and his hairless balls in Billy's, sighed
happily, "I hope so, Billy.  Can we do it now, Dab?"

I sighed.  The impetuosity of youth!  "As you ask so nicely, I will start
the process, Hamish, but you won't be fucked for some time.  You've got to
be got ready."  "But I am ready - I've been ready for ages!"  "Is he ready,
Billy?  Will you check?"  Billy made Hamish turn over and kneel in the
middle.  He bent forward to lick the boy's perineum (Hamish wriggled
happily) and told me that it was dry.  "As I thought, Hamish, you need to
be all nice and slippery back there.  Out of the way, Billy, let the Master
get down to business."  Hamish's snort was almost as big as Billy's.

You've heard me describe what happened in the next quarter of an hour often
enough for me not to have to tell you again.  However it was new to Hamish
- every second of it - and he didn't hold back from letting me know how
much he was enjoying what I was doing; how unexpected certain aspects were
(the insertion of greased fingers once I'd got him good and wet) -
unexpected but very welcome; how he wished the fucking to start before he
died of whatever it was that was frying his insides.  Billy, who was
sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed with Billy's head not far from
him, stroked the ginger hair, murmuring encouraging things.  The other
great advantage of a boy's first fuck being on his hands and knees is that
he can't get a hand on his cock - aching as it is to be delivered.
Hamish's frustration reached a level at which it was only fair for me to
proceed.  "Your wish is about to be fulfilled," I whispered as I ran my
cock head round his lips, engorged and eager.

"Oh yes, Dab, put it in," he moaned.  "It might hurt at first," I said,
"but it won't last long.  I'll stop if you tell me."  "Go on then."  In
went my cock head; Hamish gasped; I kept completely still; he kept
completely silent.  "More?" I whispered.  He nodded.  "Push then, as hard
as though you were shitting."  Most boys at that point express some concern
lest they might actually shit, but not Hamish.  Hamish couldn't have cared
less at that moment.  I moved another half inch in; Hamish pushed, and to
my surprise the rest of my cock slid in as easily as it does into the more
experienced arses I had encountered in Fisher.  "Is this really your first
fuck?" I breathed.  "Mmm, why?"  "Because your arse is really good at
this," I whispered, "you're a natural, Hamish."  "In that case you can get
going, Dab."

As it was his debut and he'd been teetering on the brink for so long I
didn't torture him by giving him a 40-minute special.  There was plenty of
time for that another day, and that there would be another day was no
longer in any doubt.  I fucked him gently and rhythmically for three or
four minutes before my balls started to send messages.  14-year-old arses
have this capacity to convey messages to balls, don't they.  I started to
speed up.  "He's nearly there," whispered Billy helpfully.  My last dew
strokes were harder and deeper than anything Hamish had encountered before.
"Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I've ... fucking come on your ... aaah!"  Two
seconds after Hamish had come onto the bed I was coming up his arse.
Hamish gasped, his cum ended, that he could feel my cock swelling inside
him as it pulsed over and over again.  "Jesus, Dab ... it's so ... fucking
aaah! ... so much cum ... oh fuck," and he subsided into silence - silence
apart from deep gasps from both of us.

I looked up at Billy.  He winked.  "I think he might fancy seconds, don't
you, love?"  I grinned - laughter would have been too risky as my cock (or
what was left of it) was still inside the boy.  I pulled back and Hamish
dropped into the pool of cum.  Billy leaned over him.  "You enjoyed that, I
think, Hamish, but the fuck isn't finished yet."  There being no response
from the prone victim Billy elaborated.  "Dab's cock is covered in cum and
the juices you keep up your arse to make it all nice for visiting cocks,
and your arse is full of Dab's cum.  They both need cleaning, but you can't
clean your own arse.  What usually happens is that the one being fucked has
first choice of whether to taste his own arse juices by cleaning the cock
that just filled him.  Since there's three of us, and since it's your first
time - congratulations, by the way - you can choose who does what."  Hamish
raised his head.  "I'll get Dab all ready for next time.  Will you do me?"
"It will be a pleasure," said Billy, bending low to kiss the boy, "on your
back and knees up by your ears."

As it was his first time we wanted - all three of us without a word of
discussion - to be completely sure that all traces of cum and arse juice
were dealt with properly.  It was only as Billy began to harvest my
offering that Hamish remembered that arses had another purpose.  "Am I not
shitty back there?" he said.  "No idea, Hamish, but if you are it'll show
up on my cock."  As my cock was right in front of him (I was kneeling over
his belly preparatory to his cleaning it) he peered cautiously.  "It's all
cummy, but I don't see anything else."  "Sniff."  He sniffed daintily.
"Cum, and faint arsey smells."  "If it's only faint you're getting arse
juice," said Billy, "and it doesn't taste nasty.  If there's shit you'll
know about it."  Reassured Hamish applied himself to the task before him.

Ten minutes later all traces of Hamish's first fuck had gone.

Half an hour later Hamish enjoyed his second fuck.  Billy had been asked to
make it last longer.  Billy had been asked to "do it a different way".
When Hamish enjoyed his first fuck on his back it lasted well over half an
hour.  Hamish was pleased to let us both know that he preferred it that
way, "but until Dab fucks me that way I won't really be certain."  After a
second round of cleaning we sent him on his way.  It was agreed that he
would come again in two days' time in the afternoon.  "On one condition," I
said, "you mustn't wank at all between now and then."  "Why not, Dab?  I
wank every day."  "Think what a fountain you'll produce then if there's all
those wanks built up in your pretty little balls."  Hamish grunted.  "OK if
you insist.  But only if you two don't come either."  Billy laughed.  "He's
got you there, Dab, but it's only fair."  I had to agree. "Could be
dramatic," I said.

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The fun continues in Chapter 74 as we discover just how dramatic.

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