Date: Sun, 23 Aug 2020 21:06:34 +0100 (BST) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - Chapter 84 Last of the Line by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. NOTE to the reader: "Peter Brown" aka badboi666 is, as you might guess, not in the first flush of youth: indeed he is well into the you'll-die-if-you-get-this-fucking-thing age cohort. It has been his habit in all his stories published here to be two or three chapters ahead of publication. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post all outstanding chapters together with a synopsis of what is still to come. Then, if he snuffs it, you can at least have some idea of what befell Dab in the end. A bit like Edwin Dro Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 84 At breakfast the next morning we were all rather sleepy, but getting coffee down four throats (not the first thing there, I imagined - certainly not for Billy and me) soon restored us to real life. "I'm off to the school to see this Ogilvie. Anything I need to know, Hamish?" He shook his head. "No, he knows that you and Jack are here. He's nice." "And I'll call in at the shop to pay my respects to your mother." Hamish looked alarmed. "What do you mean?" "Don't worry, I'll just say 'hello' and tell her her son's wonderful in bed. Nothing strange." Jack put his hand on Hamish's hand. "Don't worry, he's just teasing. You'll get used to it." Hamish relaxed. "We'll be out back as soon as we've done the washing-up," said Jack, "don't worry about us." I looked at Billy. "What plans have you got?" "Nothing. I'm just here to make up the numbers. If you have a job for me though ... ?" I shook my head. "Not this morning. I'll be back with something for lunch, but afterwards we'll go out and get supplies in for the week. Besides, there's something I want you to see." I decided that Ogilvie was best approached by the Earl of Inchkeith, rather than Dab Cunliffe, so that was how I presented myself at the school. "I know it's an imposition to turn up unannounced, but I should be very grateful to have five minutes of his time if that's possible." The school receptionist was duly impressed and a message was despatched to Mr Ogilvie's classroom. Two minutes later a boy appeared with a note. I was looked at with a mixture of interest and awe: he can't have been more than about 11 and maybe he hadn't seen an earl except in pictures, and they'd all been ancient and painted in full Highland rig. The note said that if I cared to wait Mr Ogilvie would be free in ten minutes. I waited. The receptionist kept glancing at me: she was only about 20 herself and doubtless equally unfamiliar with the peerage. Ten minutes later a man appeared, hand outstretched. "I'm sorry to have kept you. Come into the office." I said I wouldn't keep him long, but that I just wanted to introduce myself. "My steward has written to you about Hamish Gunn, and I'm grateful to you for releasing him for a week. He and my under-gardener are at Inverthrum now, and he is being instructed on what we need him to do over the coming months. I will be going back to Cambridge - I'm in my second year reading Maths - in a few weeks and Jack - he's the under-gardener - will be up from time to time to keep an eye on things. You probably know that Inverthrum's been empty for years and the ground had been completely overgrown. Well, it was until Jack and Hamish spent two weeks ploughing and planting in July. He's a hard worker, and when he starts proper land-service next year he'll be responsible for Inverthrum on a day-to-day basis. My steward's plan had been to seek a man to have oversight, but I'm satisfied that Hamish needs no supervision other than an occasional visit from Jack or me." Ogilvie said that he wasn't at all surprised that Hamish was giving satisfaction. "He's not academically gifted, but he's very thorough and, as you've discovered, he's a hard worker. His parents are very supportive, and that's not always the case, sadly. He's an only child, of course, which helps." I asked if he was interested in seeing what Hamish had accomplished, and he jumped at the chance. We agreed that he should come up after school in two days' time. "Shall we say 4?" Rose was tickled pink with how things had developed. "Six weeks ago we were all expecting the poor boy to be sent into the army, and then out of the blue you come along and ... oh, I know I'm being silly, but you've no idea what a difference there's been in Hamish. He's grown up so much in just a few weeks." I kept a straight face with some difficulty. "He's fitted in very well, Rose. He and Jack work well together and Hamish has no difficulty taking orders, not that Jack gives orders in that way." "He seems a nice boy," she said, "we don't see many black people up here, and one or two of the villagers have muttered about him, but Rob soon put a stop to that. "If he's good enough to work for the Laird he's good enough to teach Hamish what's what," he said. Amen to that, I thought. I bought some bits and pieces for lunch and said that Billy and I would be in later to stock up. "We're here until Saturday, four of us including Hamish." She nodded, but I got the impression she wanted to say more. I kept silent - there was no-one else in the shop - and waited. "Dab," she said, "I can call you that?" "Of course you can - it's my name, Rose." "Well, Rob's worried in case Hamish is getting what he calls airs and graces." I burst out laughing. "There's no airs and graces at Inverthrum, nor down south. I may be the laird and an earl and so on, but I'm just another boy, lad, man, whatever. I'll be 19 next month. Time enough for airs and graces when I've a long grey beard. Hamish fits in up there, believe me. We don't stand on ceremony, as you saw." She smiled. "I know, but Rob's always been twitchy about what his father always called `us and them'. He was a dyed-in-the-wool socialist, Rob's father that is, and some of that rubbed off on Rob. I'm sure he'll get over it. Having us to dinner made a big impression, and I'm very grateful." "Don't give it a moment's thought," I said. "I value Hamish's contribution, even at this early stage. When he's 19 after three years of land-service he will be at the front of the queue for a permanent job here if he wants it." I don't know what made me say that. I wasn't worried that Hamish might disappoint once push came to shove, but Hamish's future depended rather more on Jack than it did on me. After lunch I took Billy to a special place by the burn where I described how Hamish and I spent a magical hour. Billy and I spent a magical hour there too, doing much the same things, albeit not in a thunderstorm. "Do you do this often with the paid help?" "Never more than once so far with any of them. I won't bring Jack though. That has to be Hamish's treat. Don't let on." "Don't be daft, Dab. Can you get off me now, there's a pebble under my arse." Rose greeted Billy like an old friend. "I seem to be meeting all the family," she said as we piled our shopping on the counter. As we drove back Billy and I wondered whether her use of that word meant she had worked out that Billy and I were more than just pals. We reached no useful conclusion. There was no sign of life when we got back. We unloaded the van and put everything away except what we planned to have that evening. I looked out of the kitchen window, but neither Jack nor Hamish was at the back. The house was eerily quiet, so much so that when I said something to Billy it came out in a whisper, almost as though we were in a horror film. "Do you think they've gone off somewhere?" "Where to?" said Billy in his ordinary voice, making me jump. "It's nearly five," he went on, "and we've been out for over two hours. They've been working at least six hours - maybe they've gone for a walk somewhere quiet. It wouldn't be unreasonable. Remember how we used to go somewhere to just be together and talk." I smiled: I remembered only too well, and I resolved that that was a habit we should resurrect. - the afternoon's time by the burn had been like that before we'd made love. I got up to go upstairs - I needed a piss and a shower. "Coming?" Billy nodded. We soon found out why the house was so quiet. Jack and Hamish were fast asleep in each other's arms in the bed at the other end of the big room - a room which, from the heady aroma, had witnessed a considerable number of orgasms. When Billy and I stripped for our showers the scent of our afternoon's fun and games added to the bouquet. "Not a day for Ogilvie to appear," I said softly. Billy looked a question. "He's coming in a couple of days to see Hamish's achievements - that way I hope he'll be willing to release him again when Jack and you come in October. I'll brief the two of them when they're up and about." There was little sign of any advancing towards such a state while we showered, making no effort to do so quietly. As our ablutions on that occasion were primarily for cleansing purposes we occupied separate showers, but when Billy stretched out his hand I - now clean - sensed that the slumbering pair had put ideas into Billy's mind. I crossed over to the other shower and we stood, embracing and kissing while the water played on us. It was very romantic. "You two look like a fucking statue." That rather fractured the magic. "Had a good day, Jack?" said Billy. He nodded. "I thought we'd done enough so ... well, you know what it's like when it's new." "Yes," said Billy and I in unison. "I hope it stays as though it's new for ever," said Jack quietly, "he's so ... gorgeous." "Ginger hair must help," I said modestly, "Billy says it seems to fire him up nicely." Billy can be a real bastard sometimes and my playful sally at his expense made him turn the water to cold while he leapt nimbly out from its malign flow. My yell sadly woke the gorgeous ginger one from his slumbers. He sat up in bed looking as though the afternoon's activities had been more than usually draining. ***** That evening the four of us sat chewing the fat after dinner. I told Hamish that Ogilvie was coming, and explained why. "It's up to you two to make sure that he's impressed - that won't be difficult - and to persuade him that, as you'll be doing land-service next year, he should look kindly on further requests for time off school. Jack, you're in charge - I won't be around." "Where will you be?" said Jack. "Nowhere special, just not here. Ogilvie has to see that you are going to be Hamish's boss." This brought a giggle from Hamish: a happy sound, I felt. I asked how the apple trees had fared. Jack had examined each one closely, he said, and had pointed out what Hamish should look for in monitoring their continued health. All were healthy, it appeared, and I was not to worry. The state of the cabbages was less easy to determine, I was assured solemnly, as they did their thing underground. "I'm to tell him when they're ready to be picked," said Hamish, "probably early next year. They're winter cabbages." They seemed to have everything under control. "Well done, the two of you. I'll let Hester know. I know you'll tell her yourself, Jack, but it does no harm for her to hear it from me as well." Jack had obviously told Hamish about Hester, because he - Hamish - asked whether "she knows about us." Jack nodded, "yes, and she likes the idea. She and Pam are in love, just like Dab and Billy, and us." He said it so matter-of-factly that even Hamish began to allow himself to think that, parents apart, what was happening to him wasn't as unusual as he had thought. It had been a busy day, what with one thing and another, and after we'd sat for an hour with our beers it was generally agreed that bed was a good idea. "Where are you two sleeping tonight?" said Billy. "With you, or at least in the same room," said Jack, "you saw us in bed earlier, and it's a nice bed." "Last night we wanted to be just the two of us," said Hamish, "and that was special." A smile appeared on both their faces and they moved together to kiss gently. "Tonight the sling might be fun," he added. Billy and Hamish were the first to get up. Jack put his hand on my arm to keep me back. When the other two were upstairs he said, "just because we're in love it doesn't mean we don't want to do it with you and Billy, just like we did before. He and I have talked about it and he's as red hot for it with you two as he ever was - more probably, because he and I ... well, you know." I put my arms round him. "I love you, Jack, nearly as much as I love Billy. You're a joy to be with. You've grown up so much since the jillies, and Hamish is really lucky to have you to love him." He grinned. "Thanks, Dab," he whispered, "you know what I feel for you." Upstairs there was evidence that Hamish indeed still felt that he was free to spread his favours further than his boyfriend. Jack and I had been alone for barely two minutes, but that was long enough for Hamish to get into the sling where Billy was preparing to enjoy the prospect. "Is this going to be a beery session?" asked Jack, "or should I lose it politely?" ***** Not for the first time I marvelled at the resilience of 15-year-olds. The pair of them had had sex sufficiently exhausting for sleep to have overtaken them soon afterwards, yet not eight hours later they managed - each of them (though not with each other) - a further two orgasms before we called it a night. Billy and I kept up with them, but we hadn't been energetic during the afternoon. Hamish's eyes were wide as Billy pissfucked him. "God, I love the feeling as it fills me and just goes on filling me, even when I'm full." When Billy had finished pissing, and pulled out, instead of sticking his cock back in he put three fingers in. Hamish growled happily. Billy found his target and Hamish's growl became more high-pitched as 8 hours'-worth of spunk shot out of his cock and as far as his chin. "Aaah! fuck me, Billy, fuck me hard." Billy obliged, coming himself unusually quickly. "Oh God, I can feel every fucking squirt," moaned a spent Hamish, who allowed his bladder to empty itself onto the spunky mess on his chest. "I'm not licking that up," protested Jack. I had to agree, though why a mixture of piss and spunk is not attractive, whereas each separately is fine (whether taken from the tap or otherwise), eluded me, and continues to do so. Hamish climbed out and I got in. Jack approached and did what we both needed. The only difference between Billy's servicing of Hamish and Jack's of me was that Jack used more of his right arm that a mere three fingers. Hamish watched, fascinated. "I can't get over how this looks," he said softly. Billy whispered that Dab can't get over how it feels either. And afterwards we slept in our bed, and they slept in theirs. A pattern was set, never to be changed. The next morning there was nothing that needed to be done. Ogilvie would come the following afternoon, but until then the four of us had a day and a half free - Jack hadn't expected that a single day would have been enough for him and Hamish to do whatever needed to be done. Still, if I'm honest, I don't think I was too surprised - after all, the main reason for Jack's being here wasn't the garden, but the gardener. I was keen to get back to Bertie, so I suggested that Billy took the van, loaded with 15-year-olds, and went exploring. "Hamish must know some interesting places where he won't be seen skiving," I said. Hamish grinned. "Let's go to Durness, where my Grandad comes from. It's really wild up there." "Are you happy with that?" I asked Billy. "How far is it, Hamish?" asked Billy. "I'm not sure, but it takes less than two hours. There's a good place to eat there, so we could make a day of it." Billy said that was fine, so the three of them set off soon after 10 o'clock, and I settled down with Bertie. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Like most ex-servicemen I found being demobbed a let-down. While I was no longer in imminent danger of being killed there was no longer the excitement of flying, nor the comradeship of the rest of my crew. Life back on the Estate with James was safe, but dull, when I got home in November 1945. I was a few weeks short of my 23rd birthday and James was 59. The household contained three servants and we rattled about like peas on a drum. The grounds were the only well-equipped part of the Estate as James had turned every available acre to food crops of various kinds, and there was a sufficient number of Land Girls to keep on top of everything. Luckily the Land Girls were assisted by a few local lads still far too young to be liable for service, one or two of whom were, to someone as queer as I was but who had been celibate for many years, worth a second look. One evening just before Christmas I mentioned this to James. Had he been up to no good with them, I asked. "Good God no, Bertie. I'm far too old for that sort of caper. Besides, I've hardly been here for most of the War. They needed me in Whitehall." "But you're back now, and so am I. Are you saying that you're not interested?" "Not in the least, alas, so you have a clear run - but be careful. It doesn't pay to shit on your own doorstep." I laughed. The Luftwaffe had put me in sufficient peril that getting caught rogering a local lad didn't seem too terrible. I voiced this thought. "Just be careful, Bertie, that's all." I decided that I would keep James uninformed, as far as was possible, about any progress I might make. The following morning I sought out the woman in charge, whom I found very sensibly keeping warm in what had been the Head Gardener's cottage before the War. She was a large woman of 50 or so with a face that spoke of a life spent outdoors. I'd spoken to her a few times since coming home, but this was the first conversation I'd had with her. "I'm beginning to find my feet," I began, "and I want to take more of the Estate's day-to-day affairs over from my father. Can you explain to me what we are growing, and how the staff are organised?" She would be delighted, she said, not least because she was aware that many of the Land Girls were anxious to leave now that their menfolk were returning. Mugs of cocoa were set on the table in front of the fire and she began to talk. An hour later I was aware of where we stood, and of what we needed to plan for. The East Anglian farms - not her responsibility, she said - were still growing what they had always grown, and the tenant farmers remained responsible. "I can't see that they can possibly grow more than they do, but you should go and see for yourself when you can." Here what had been lawns and ornamental flower beds had all been devoted to vegetables, all apart from a small patch of lawn about ten yards square in front of the house. "They let us keep that," she said, "because your father told them that the King's grandfather had stood there forty years ago." It seemed a small relic of a long-gone time in the cold dark of 1945. She had five Land Girls, and boys from the village who had left school were drafted in from time to time to earn a few shillings. "At the moment we have four boys. There's not much for them to do in the middle of winter, but come February we'll be starting to prepare for sowing." I asked about dormitory arrangements. The Land Girls lived in rigged-up accommodation in what had been the stables ("it's a bit cramped, but at least it's warm, and there's a kitchen for late-night snacks. We all eat in the house, of course"), and the boys went home each night. I asked her what she set the boys to doing, as they seemed to be little more than casual labour. "Weeding, keeping the place tidy. You'd be surprised how much stuff blows in when there's a storm. Crops don't take kindly to paper and rubbish blowing about. Two of the boys are 17 and expect to be called up in the spring but the other two are only 15. We don't plan to replace the older ones unless the Ministry orders us to intensify what we grow." "Is that likely?" "No, I shouldn't think so. We always exceed our quota. In the last period we were almost 10% over what we produced a year earlier, and so they keep off our backs." I hadn't realised what had been going on here while I was away killing people. It was a sobering thought. I thanked her and wandered out. If there were four boys it shouldn't be hard to find them. In their shoes on a day like that I would be out of sight somewhere warm. Before the War I remembered greenhouses. I doubted if they were still growing exotic flowers there, but at least they wouldn't have torn them down. My guess was right. The small greenhouse contained four boys - four boys who were greatly alarmed when I walked in: four boys who were most certainly up to no good. "Oh fuck," said one of the older ones. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 85 as we discover what Bertie's boys were up to, and Bertie makes progress. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================