Date: Tue, 15 Oct 2019 22:36:08 +0000 (UTC)
From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com>
Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 8

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.  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 8

I went to find Dugald.  In the time since he'd said that he wouldn't mind
trying pissing - and Tom had been strongly against - my interests, always
capable of changing where I thought there would be an advantage in doing
so, had begun to move away from Tom Bottomley towards Dugald MacDonald.  At
least there there were horizons to be explored together, and boundaries to
be extended.  Dugald was in his Den.  "I've had a parcel, and you might be
interested."  Dugald leapt to his feet.  "What is it this time, Dab?  More
pictures?"  I shook my head.  "No, much more interesting.  Come on."

I took the parcel out of the drawer and laid it before Dugald.  His eyes
widened.  "Are these what I think they are?" he said, picking up the
smallest butt plug.  "Yeah.  They go up your arse, but only one at a time.
I asked him to get different sizes - apparently these are the smallest."
Dugald snorted.  "I don't know whether to be insulted or terrified," he
said, "here we are, a bunch of experienced lads and he gives us beginner's
things to stick up our arses.  On the other hand, this one" - he picked up
the short fat one - "is a lot thicker than any cock that's been up me so
far."  I would have liked to agree, but all four of the men who'd had their
cocks inside my arse had cocks at least as thick as the black plastic thing
in Dugald's hand.  "We can work up to it though.  There's lots of lube to
help it in."  I paused; I wanted Dugald to make the next move.  Dugald
picked up one of the cock straps - they were black leather with adjustable
poppers - and waved it about.  "What's this?"  I explained that I had
wearing instructions from Rivers, but I hadn't yet tried it.  "I've only
just opened it, and I came to share the fun with you."  Dugald grinned.
"Come on then, Dab, sharing time has arrived."

We dropped our trousers and our pants, freeing those parts to which the
straps would be applied.  I found the instructions.  "You put it under your
balls and fasten it so that your cock and balls stick out through the
done-up strap.  Apparently it should be as tight as you can get it."  This
proved trickier to do that it sounded, as one of my balls kept popping up
out of the way, but after a few goes I got it right.  Dugald watched
impatiently.  "If you were doing this as a prelude to a fuck your cock
would've gone soft ages ago."  I nodded, "yeah, but I'm only practising.
Once we get the hang of it ... " but both of us dissolved into giggles.
That was one of the nice things about Dugald - neither of us minded
giggling in each other's company like a pair of 9-year-olds.

After 15 minutes each of us had managed to fasten his strap in what seemed
the appropriate manner.  "It's bloody tight," said Dugald.  "It's meant to
be - not sure why though."  It was then around 3 o'clock.  "Let's keep them
on till before tea, that gives us almost three hours.  Come back here at
quarter to six and we'll compare notes."  "OK.  Can we piss in them?"  I
said that no information had been provided other than where to fasten them.
"I can't see why not though.  Let's just see what happens."

Dugald pulled his pants and trousers back up, but not before I had admired
the way in which his bits, as Rivers had put it, now stuck out in a
fetchingly pronounced manner.  "Nicer bits with that thing on," I murmured
before bending down and planting a chaste kiss on the most
forward-protruding part, its tip glistening.  Dugald smiled, and graciously
did my cock the same courtesy.  "See you again at quarter to six," he told
it.

Three hours later my cock was aching.  It had been half-hard ever since I'd
fastened the strap on.  Dugald knocked and came quickly in.  "Bugger!" he
said, "these straps are powerful.  Is yours aching too?"  I nodded.  "I
expect that's what they're supposed to do.  I need to come.  It's been
boiling up for ages."  Dugald grinned, "me too."  We both stripped,
displaying cocks no longer merely half hard.  Full mast they were, their
stiffness exaggerated by the leather straps pushing everything forward.
"You look really hot," I breathed.  It was true.  Dugald was hot at the
best of times, but naked and with an erection as purple and swollen as the
one now staring at me he was red-hot.  "You too, Dab.  I like what I see."
"Come on then.  Let's just do ourselves this time.  We can fool about
later."  Dugald nodded, grabbing his cock and starting on what would prove
to be a very brief journey.  He was there first, cum shooting out of his
cock after less than half a minute.  And by `shooting' I mean just
that. Dugald was a brisk comer at any time, but this one saw spunk flying
at least three feet onto the floor.  "Oh fuck," he breathed, "that's the
hardest ever."  A few seconds later mine was pretty impressive too.  We
looked at each other, our faces red and moist with sweat.  "These things
are going to be popular, Dab," he said.  I agreed.  "We'll have fun tonight
when we tell the other four."  "Should we put them back on, do you think?"
said Dugald.  I shook my head.  "No, for one thing my cock needs to lie
down and rest, and for another if we keep them on the feeling might wear
off, and that's the last thing we want."  We still had ten minutes before
tea, so we spent five of them making sure that the soft cock on the other
was nice and clean before getting dressed again.  We grinned happily, a
shared crossing of a boundary bonding us a little bit closer.

That night instruction was given to a very interested audience in the
matter of cock straps, how they should be fitted, and the benefits
conferred by wearing one.  Nigger was all for wearing one all night, but
Dugald persuaded him that his balls might explode if he did.  "What d'you
mean?"  I told him that Dugald and I had worn one for three hours and that
the wanks we'd had were fierce.  "Just think what might happen if you had
one on for three times as long, Nigger.  Your balls might blow your cock
off when you finally came, and that would be a shame."  "Worth seeing,
though," said Sid, "but not much fun for you."  Nigger saw the sense in
preserving his cock for continuing action.  "Let's get one on now, and see
how it works."

As Dugald and I had discovered, they took a while to get things just so,
even with willing hands to help.  After quarter of an hour all six of us
were strapped in.  "It's bloody tight," grumbled Tom.  "It's meant to be,"
I said, "but if it's really uncomfortable undo it one popper."  "Christ
no," said Tom, "it was a bloody struggle getting it on in the first place.
I'm not going through that again."  He paused.  "How long do we keep them
on anyway?  Not for three hours like you did?"  Dugald said that half an
hour ought to be enough, but I wanted results sooner than that.  I reckoned
that if there was action the straps should show an increased degree of
vigour much more quickly.  After all, during the three hours of the earlier
experiment the affected parts had lain quietly in the dark.  "Dugald, get
in a 69 with Tom, and Sid and Nigger too."  I got onto Nick's bed and
applied my mouth to his cock.  As you haven't had the pleasure if having it
described to you I shall remedy that.

It was larger than usual because of the strap - we all were - but even
without artificial aids it was longer and fatter than most of the cocks in
Rosebery.  One of the interesting thing about Nick's cock was that when it
was hard it poked through his foreskin by itself.  When we first had the
pleasure of seeing him naked we were fascinated by the way it erected -
fascinated in the same way that a rabbit is supposed to be by a snake, not
that any of us had actually witnessed such a thing.  One minute it was soft
and decorously shrouded; the next it was pointing at the ceiling, three
inches longer, a good inch fatter, its red moist head out in the open air,
raring to go, and all without being touched by human hands.  It was a
performance we never tired of seeing, and one which Nick never tired of
trotting out.  On this occasion no-one saw the culmination as the thing was
in my mouth.  Nick was a good 69er, and together we rose quickly to the
peak we both sought.

He was there first, and shot hard, a lot harder than he usually did.  I
prided myself back then that if I had been blindfolded and a cock placed
between my lips I could tell whose it was.  This wasn't a hugely impressive
feat as there were only a few boys likely to offer the test, but even so.
Nick had come in my mouth half a dozen times by then, but never anything
like as vigorously.  When we'd both finished I told him how hard it had
felt.  "You too, Dab.  They're great things you've found.  Can we keep
them?"  "That's the idea," I said, "we experiment.  Dugald and I had ours
on for three hours this afternoon and we both came buckets."  "Hell, that's
only three hours ago," said Tom, who had been impressed by what Dugald had
deposited in his mouth.

The straps had been a success, I felt.  The butt plugs could remain a
secret for a few more days.  The birthday orgy was still over a week away.
I decided to spread my favours a bit.  Dugald had had his treat, and I
thought Nigger was the right person with whom to share the next little
excitement.  After all, he was one of the birthday boys.

(You mustn't think, since I seem to be spending a great deal of time in
describing my nocturnal adventures with the rest of the Rosebery sinners,
that my sex life with Masters had not been continuing.  I was no longer
taught by Prendergast, although I knew that I would encounter him again in
the VIth form: would I still be as lusciously attractive to him when I was
16 as I had been as a smooth-bodied catamite of a mere 13 summers?  Time
would tell, and I had enough on my plate not to spend too much time
wondering.  Fagan, happily, was encountered only in the Chapel, and it was
clear that Trebles were his delight, broken voices being no treat.  Grimes,
on the other hand - he who had set Morry the essay - was now my English
master, and Grimes was assuredly interested in anything which came his way.
I shouldn't have phrased it quite like that, for 'came his way' had a
specific meaning for Grimes.  Grimes was not possessed of a full set of
lower limbs.  His right leg had suffered some fatal misfortune just above
the knee (it was rumoured to have been a crocodile's snack, but there was
no corroboration from Grimes - nor any tale-telling teeth marks, sadly).
This had happened long ago when the mists of time had not yet gathered.  It
was Grimes's pleasure, for those of us privileged to be admitted to his
(large) circle of willing lads, to have the remaining stump massaged by
'sweet boys', as he called us (somewhat indiscriminately).  As this was
carried out when Grimes and the sweet boy of the moment were both naked it
didn't seem strange when Grimes murmured, on the first occasion that that
particular sweet boy had been about to perform the service, that the
massage would be so much nicer if it were concluded by a final few moments
when the freshly ejaculated spunk of the sweet boy might be gently massaged
into the stump.  That this strange request met with no surprise from the
boy is testament to the efficiency with which details of Grimes's
requirements were made known by each generation to its successor.  On the
first occasion when I was pressed into service - the invitation being made
simply by the appending of a peremptory 'See Me After' to an essay about
"Why Mary Shelley is less widely read than her brother" - the hour I passed
was more delightful than Grimes had expected.  "You're a find, Cunliffe,
and I should be glad to have you visit regularly".  I simpered in what I
hoped was a fetching manner. "Don't be silly, boy.  Are you fuckable?"  My
simper disappeared on the instant, replaced by what I hoped was not too
keenly expressed desire.  Grimes, I should tell you, made up for the lack
of leg with a usefully large cock.  When, a week later, he planted it where
both of us were keen for it to be planted it did wonders for both of us.
Maybe it was the stump - I don't know - but he fucked with greater skill
than any of his colleagues in either school I had attended.  Only Rivers
was more satisfying to my arse.  (And only Billy was more satisfying to my
heart.  I missed him more than you would guess while I was away from him
each term.)  But I must return to Nigger and the butt plugs.)

I got high marks for the essay, by the way, managing to contrast prose with
poetry, and noting the way in which females were accorded so little
attention 220 years earlier.  I don't suppose anyone still reads either of
them now.

I tapped on Nigger's Den door a couple of days after the straps adventure.
"Busy?"  He shook his head.  "Come with me then."  He was amused to see the
cushions already on the floor. "Is this an afternoon fuck session, Dab?
I've not had one with you before."  I smiled.  "It could become that,
Nigger, but the reason I invited you was to show you something for the
orgy.  You've got a cock strap, but there's more."  Nigger's eyes lit up.
"Do I strip?"  I nodded and less than a minute later we were ready for
action.  Nigger was uncut, like the rest of us, and his cock was still
soft.  I was amused to see that he was wearing a strap.  "How long have you
had that on?" I said.  "Since just after lunch, an hour ago.  I keep it on
each day a bit longer than the day before.  I'm working up to 6 hours in
time for the orgy."  "Do you come harder after it's been on?"  Nigger
nodded vigorously.  "Yeah.  Yesterday it went nearly four feet."
Impressive, I thought, making a note to zip Rivers to thank him, adding
some arousing details.  "So what have you got, Dab?"

I produced the three butt plugs and Nigger grinned.  "I take it these go up
inside."  I nodded, "they're on the small side, but I didn't know whether
any of us had had plugs up our arses before.  I haven't."  "Nor me," said
the uncorrected Nigger, "but I hope to put that right.  What do we do?"  I
told him I had lots of lube, and that it would be fun, as it had been with
the cock straps, to put each other's in, at least the first few times.
"You are the kinkiest bugger I know," said Nigger happily.  I basked in his
praise.  "Choose one," I said, "and I'll put it in."  Nigger regarded the
three plugs as a connoisseur might regard three silver spoons, picking each
up and examining it carefully.  "I think the shorter one, but not the fat
one," he said, It was what I'd expected: after all it would be fun to work
up to bigger things.  "OK.  How do you like to be fucked?"  "Sometimes on
my back, sometimes like a dog.  Why?"  I pointed out that sticking a butt
plug up his arse would be like being fucked.  "Oh, yeah, I see what you
mean.  Doggy-fashion, I think."  He got in position, showing a very nice
arse to me.  At a few days short of his 14th birthday his arse was, like
the rest of him, hairless and eminently kissable.  I saw no reason to
resist.  "Oh fuck, Dab," he breathed as my wicked tongue trespassed on
private property.  "Got to get you all hot and steamy," I said
unnecessarily, for his cock was signalling alert readiness.

I got two fingers well-lubed and did what was necessary with them.  I'd not
had fingers up inside him before - I'm not sure why; it just hadn't
happened yet - but others clearly had and he squirmed happily as I rubbed
his prostate.  "Mmm."  I whipped my fingers out: I didn't want him coming
too soon, and I had no idea how close the cock strap had made him.  I lubed
the smaller plug and touched the tip to his engorged arse lips.  "Push," I
whispered.  They opened - pink, moist, irresistible - and the black rubber
was sucked in.  I pressed it as far as I could.  "Oh God," he shuddered,
"that's so fucking good."  It's always amused me that six words so bereft
of intelligent meaning can actually convey so much.  I felt round and was
delighted by the two feet of steel sticking out of his belly.  "Oh yeah,
wank me, Dab."  There was no way I was about to accede: there was much more
fun to be had before release was to be permitted.  I tapped firmly on the
plug's base, causing another great shudder as the vibration pulsed onto his
prostate.  "Aaah!" but happily no orgasm.

Out came the beginner's plug.  I showed him the longer one and his glazed
eyes indicated acceptance.  Well-lubed it shot in.  The last inch
occasioned a growl which I chose to interpret as a manful acceptance of
mild temporary discomfort.  The two feet were still steely.  I tapped
again.  He shuddered again. I was looking forward to having one of these up
me at an early opportunity, but I still had one more with which to invade
the warm accommodating darkness of Nigger's arse.  Out came Number Two.  I
showed him the short fat one.  He nodded, adding, "please let me come when
it's in, Dab.  I'll do you after, OK?"  I signalled my agreement by
planting a series of kisses on his gaping arsehole, whispering "OK" as I
did so.

The fat plug took a bit more pushing, and brought forth a louder growl.
Ten seconds after the growl subsided Nigger began to shake.  "Oh God, Dab,
I think I'm coming."  My hand whipped round to the two feet - three by now,
or so it felt - and was able to wank him for a few seconds before he
erupted, and went on erupting.  I've witnessed - indeed I've had - many
orgasms of greater ferocity and volume than the one Nigger Aitken had on my
cushions that October afternoon, but his was the first of the gigantic
ones, and he still wasn't 14.  I felt seven strong pulses of his cock - now
reduced to seven inches of hard flesh: no longer steel - and when he got up
some minutes later the spunk trails were over three feet long. I suppose if
you laid all seven end to end they might have reached ten or twelve feet -
but who lays spunk trails end to end when they are lying there, glistening
enticingly?  I consumed twelve feet of Nigger's best before turning him
onto his back, forcing his knees to his ears and plunging in to give him
the fuck of his life - well, of the afternoon, certainly.

We were both drained.  I collapsed on top of him, and his arms went round
me.  We kissed madly, my cock slipping out as we did so.  "I don't want
that wasted," he whispered, so I got back down an redeemed the pledge I had
so recently lodged in the warm wet dark.  He pulled my head to his before I
could swallow.  As he was my guest I did the honourable thing.  The spunk
of peers, even courtesy ones, is so invigorating, isn't it.

Nigger undid the cock strap.  "These things work, don't they?" he muttered.
One could not but agree.

Half an hour later all three butt plugs has been tested up my arse as well.
I decided I would zip Rivers with a simple message.  "Plugs great.
Bigger?"  "OK. 3 on their way."  They arrived on the morning of the orgy.

I must get on, so let me just say that the orgy was a great success.  Tom
and Nigger, as the stars of the show, decided that each would insert a butt
plug in the other for the delectation of all.  Nigger, being expert in
these matters, went first and Tom's arse was carefully examined as objects
of increasing size disappeared up it.  The smallest of Rivers's second
consignment was Tom's limit (as it was to be for Sid and Nick as the
evening progressed).  Nigger and I went one stage further, not without a
well-concealed amount of discomfort.  Only the biggest - all of nine inches
and of a commensurate thickness - remained virgin, as it were.  Each of us
has come while the butt plugs were in, and the sheet we'd put on the bed -
mine, as it happened - was well-soaked.  When everyone had been plugged Tom
and Nigger had had well over an hour to recover.  Nick suggested that as he
and Sid had reached the dizzying age of 14 during the summer holidays that
the two of them should have a belated private orgy of their own.  Sid
bounded over.  "69?"  "Yeah."  Seeing this Tom and Nigger saw no reason not
to celebrate the fact that their newly-14 balls had had plenty of time to
cook up more of the goodies, and they were soon clamped in a 69 on Nigger's
bed.  I looked at Dugald and he looked at me.  He came over to the
spunk-soaked sheet where my body awaited him.  "Fuck me, Dugald," I
whispered.  But he didn't.  Instead he whispered something to me.  I looked
at him. "Sure?  Now?"  He nodded.

While 69ing was going on all around Dugald and I went quietly out of
Rosebery to the upstairs bogs a few doors away.  It was a lot bigger than
just bogs actually, being a big room with four shower heads (bereft of any
attempt at modesty, naturally), four baths and six cubicles where a degree
of modesty was afforded.  When we got there the only light was moonlight,
just enough to see by.  "Kneel." whispered Dugald.  The hard floor in the
showers was a price worth paying for what he was going to do to me.  As my
arse was still lubed his cock, only half hard, slipped in easily. He
clasped me tightly round the waist and we waited.  "Won't be long," he
whispered.  Half a minute later I felt the oddest sensation as his cock
started to piss deep inside me.  "Aaah," I moaned.  It's not a sensation I
can describe: if you've been pissfucked you'll know it only too well, and
if you haven't - well it's probably too late.  Take it from me that having
warm liquid filling your arse is an erotic experience.  If the warm liquid
is piss it's highly erotic.  And if the piss is coming straight from the
tap and the tap is as far up your arse as it can go then (provided the tap
is still only 13) the experience is unbelievably mind-blowingly
so-fucking-fantastically erotic that mere words won't do.

He finished.  "Keep it in," he whispered, "and let it out on me in a sec."
He pulled out - piss dribbled down my crack - he got on his back.  "Now,"
he whispered," push it all out on me."

That night Dugald and I crossed a line into erotically-charged territory
that I would never leave.  We would explore that territory with great
pleasure over the next few years, taking others with us.  We would explore
the boundaries of that territory too, but that's a story for another time.

We showered quietly, hoping that the sound of running water would not
attract official attention.  By the time we got back to Rosebery all
evidence of 69ing, or of the orgy itself, had gone.  I cleaned the butt
plugs early the next morning.

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Sorry about the delay in posting this Chapter.  We should be back to normal
now.  The fun continues in Chapter 9 as all six of us Rosebery-ites attempt
something tricky.  The story is, of course, fiction.

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