Date: Mon, 31 Aug 2020 19:26:57 +0100 (BST) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - Chapter 86 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 86 He smiled. "I'd like that, Bertie," he said softly. I took his hand and let him to the bed. "This time we can take as long as we want," I murmured. "Mmm, good." We both took off our clothes and when we were naked we each gazed at the other's body. Matt, if he preferred older men, certainly took his time studying every detail before him. His eyes naturally went to my cock first (as did his fingers) but they didn't linger. My belly, my chest, my nipples, my face - all were studied carefully. While he was looking at me I was studying him. His eyes were hazel, his nose just tip-tilted enough to be sexy in its own right, his cheeks soft, his lips full and luscious, his skin flawless with the merest hint of fuzz. His body was taut and smooth, tanned where he'd worn short sleeves and an open neck during the summer months, but now fading. His belly had a treasure trail leading the eye inexorably down to where the treasure - no longer buried but pulsing gently with his heartbeat - throbbed invitingly. "On the bed," I whispered. He lay on his back, smiling wickedly. I parted his legs and knelt between them. I bent over him and took his cock into my mouth. He shuddered. "Time to explore," I said, "lift your arse." He took hold of his knees and raised them so that I could get access to him properly. "Are you going to put it in?" "Not yet. You need prepared, and preparing is part of the fun for both of us. Maybe you should be on all fours to start with. Turn over." He crouched down and wiggled his arse at me. "I need to be prepared, Bertie. I need it a lot." I knelt on the floor, my face only inches from his arse. Like the rest of him it was perfectly smooth and innocent-looking. I had no idea whether I was the first person - apart, no doubt, from his mother 12 or more years ago - to have looked as closely and as fondly at that part of him, and I had no desire to find out. Now was now, and any yesterdays were irrelevant. My tongue ran gently along his perineum; he shuddered again, "oh fuck, Bertie, that's so good." By the time my tongue had made the long journey from one end of his arse crack to the other a dozen times he seemed to have foregone speech, contenting himself with moaning softly. A boy moaning softly, especially when the moaning is being caused in the way his was, is one of the most enticing sounds I know. I moved closer and my tongue ceased its travels. Round and round his arse lips it went. I watched and was gratified to see him gradually open. I planted my lips on his, and pushed my tongue inside. Speech returned briefly, but I took his "oh, fuck," to be a comment rather than an instruction. All in good time, I thought. My tongue lapped at the inside of his arse as far as it could reach. I squirted some lube onto my fingers and, moving back, inserted one slowly. "Aah! yes ... another one." Another one was inserted and Matt began to squirm. "Can you take three?" I whispered. "Mmm, I think so." He could, to his and my considerable delight. I kept my fingers still - this first time would be memorable enough for him (for both of us) without any prostate action. That would happen another time. Soon. Maybe even later today ... yes, tonight, I decided. Right now I needed to fuck him, and right now he needed to be fucked. My fingers slowly slipped out. "On your back, Matt. I like to see a boy's face when I fuck him." He turned over and pulled his knees to his ears: this wasn't the first time. "At last," he whispered, "I need it so badly." I lubed my cock, though I didn't think it was needed, and drew my foreskin back. My glans, wet with juice, rubbed against his engorged lips. I pressed gently forward and my cock-head pushed into the heat. I paused, enjoying the moment. One's first fuck of a 14-year-old is not to be rushed. My cock-head was drawn in. He sighed deeply. "Fuck me, Bertie, make me your boy." It was time. I thrust in - not hard, but slowly all the way. His eyes were wide open, his mouth open too; every part of him was open, open to me, to the sensation of being fucked, to the sight of his chosen older man as he possessed him. When I was all the way in I put my arms under his shoulders and lifted him up so that we were embracing tightly as my cock sought an even deeper penetration. "Oh Christ," he moaned, and I felt his cock pulse squeezed between our bellies as he came gloriously, joyfully, copiously. I kissed his lips while he was coming and his mouth opened. His arms round me pulled me even closer and our tongues wrestled furiously, even as he was still pulsing his last drops. "Now," he sighed, "hard. Don't stop." My cock, still deep inside him, began the short sprint to where we both needed to be. There would be many occasions for a marathon. I fucked him hard, as he demanded. I lasted only a couple of minutes. I growled "nearly" and forced my cock another foot inside him as my balls fired a gallon of spunk out and into him ... again ... again ... seven big squirts. "Fuck, Bertie, that's got to be the biggest cum ever." "That's because you're the sexiest boy I've fucked," I whispered, spent, still inside him but wilting rapidly. We lay there, each of us wondering what the future would hold. I was in no doubt that the joy I had rediscovered after so many long years was something I never wished to relinquish - though I didn't fool myself that Matt would always be the source of joy for more than a few years. I remembered Patrick and Tim - how much that day had stuck in my memory; how much I needed young boys of that age to give me what I needed. I had been that age when Francis and Nicholas had filled my mind (and my arse) - was that why I needed 14-year-old boys? If Matt and I made the sort of magic we'd just made for the next year or two would I still find his body, his cock, his mouth, his arse as much of a turn-on when he was 18? 25? I looked over at him - we were side by side on our backs - he was smiling, his eyes closed. I leant over and kissed his lips. His smile widened but his eyes remained closed. "Penny for them," I whispered. He shook his head. "No, if I say it out loud it will spoil the magic." His thoughts, unspoken, were suddenly crystal clear. I said nothing: it was his secret, and I had little doubt that, while it might have been true in my bed that morning, and might well remain true for some time afterwards, it was not really true at all. It was the kind of truth that Matt, as a middle-aged man - with a wife and family perhaps - might look back on and smile indulgently. "Next time it will last a great deal longer," I said, "and next time we shall allow ourselves time afterwards." He looked at me. "What do you mean, Bertie?" "My cock is all cummy and your arse is still leaking. There isn't time to do what's best right now, but tonight - tonight we shall have all the time we need. Now up you get and have a quick shower. It's through there." As he got out I handed him a towel. Adonis stood dripping before me. How blind lust makes us! When he was dry I kissed him again. "Happy?" He nodded. "I couldn't be happier, Bertie. You make me ... tingle." I wouldn't mind that on my gravestone, I though. 'He made people tingle' "Remember, it's 'your lordship' once you're outside that door. Off you go outside. Try not to look too overjoyed - it's a bit of a give-away. After you've had your evening meal with the rest of them come up here and help me dress for dinner. Half past six all right?" "Yes, your lordship." "Good boy," and his lordship gave his valet a gentle pat on the arse. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ That was all very sudden, I thought. Bertie had been a fast mover when he felt like it. Matt would have his work cut out, what with the hard work in the garden - harder probably now that the older pair had been sent packing - as well as tiring duties in the bedchamber. Still, they're resilient at 14. I read on. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ I showered and went downstairs to find James. "Things are going well," I said, "and he's as happy as Larry." "Sure, Bertie?" I nodded. "Good," said my father, "you've been a long time in the shadows. I've felt helpless, but then so have millions of other fathers, mothers too, in this bloody war." He stood and put his arms round me - not a thing he was wont to do in the normal run of things. "Welcome back to the land of the living." He paused, still hugging me. I found it strangely comforting to be hugged in a non-sexual way. David had been a keen hugger too. "Do you love him?" he asked softly. "Good God no," I said, "though I think it's quite possible he loves me. I'll need to be careful." James nodded. "We need to talk about the future," he said as we sat in his study, our intimate moment over, "do you have plans?" "Plans?" "I meant about what you want to do. The RAF have kissed you good-bye. Do you plan to find a job?" "Of course not, James. The Estate's been neglected during the War, like all estates, and we need to revive it, bring it back to where it was in the Thirties. I've been in touch with Fisher and confirmed my place. They said I could go up in January if it suited me and I told them I'd let them know this week. If the War hadn't fucked things up I'd have read English, but now that seems a bit of a luxury. There is a degree course with a lot of Land Management in it, and I can bring much more to helping to run the Estate with that under my belt. I haven't decided yet, but I'm thinking that going up next term and getting on with it is the wisest course. If I can do the thing in 8 terms I'll have my degree in June 1948 and by July you'll be able to put your feet up." James chuckled. "I fancy it may take you a month or two longer." "You think that's wise then?" "It's your decision, Bertie, but in your shoes I think I should do the same. ***** I fear this tale will drag dreadfully if I am to record every conversation with James, but in order that a reader, should there ever be one, understands why certain important decisions were made I have felt it necessary to record the more important ones. I shall use a similar practice with Matt, at least as far as our sexual dealings are concerned. Matt and I slept together for more years than I had expected when we first fucked that day in late 1945. I have described our first fuck. I shall describe our first night together, and leave you to imagine the great number of subsequent nights. ***** He appeared, as instructed, just after 6.30 that first evening. James and I had agreed from the second day of my return that we would keep our end up by dressing for Dinner. I'm not really sure whose idea it was, but I think we both had a feeling that the War had ruined so many things that allowing a decent tradition to be forgotten was somehow letting the side down. Setting it down in those words so many years later makes it seem ineffably pompous, but in late 1945 clinging to a semblance of tradition still seemed the proper thing to do. At all events, we dressed for Dinner. I was, of course, perfectly capable of dressing myself. You learn many things in war, and one of the more useful ones I picked up pretty quickly was the ability to tie a bow tie. (And since this is, after all, a memoir detailing achievements I might as well say that I could do white tie and not leave a trace of finger-marks. Such skill marked me out as an officer to watch!) Despite my self-dressing skill I still allowed myself the luxury of the attentions of my valet. He hadn't the first idea of what was needed, but I made it clear that what he was learning was serious, and not fun. "Fun comes later, Matt, this is stuff you need to know. One day when you're past it - 30, say - you'll need to be a real valet if you're not to starve." "Yes, your lordship. Bertie, I want to learn these things. I know it's real - it's more real than buggering about outside." We had, in two short minutes, established the working relationship we would have for a long time. I told him what he had to do, where things were, what I needed, how to keep everything spick and span. I was impressed by the seriousness which he brought to a completely unfamiliar task. I showed him how to lay out my dress shirt, my studs, my dinner suit. Shoes were a surprise to him: patent leather was unfamiliar. By the time I'd showered and dressed he had picked up a lot of how things had to be. He watched as I tied my tie. "Before the War a valet had to tie his master's tie," I said, "but I have a little more practice now." I smiled at him - his eagerness to please was attractive. "I want to learn it then, Bertie," he said, "will you teach me?" I nodded. It was almost 7.15. 7.15 was, by James's decree, 'a civilized time for a drink before Dinner', and my attendance was obligatory. "Thank you, Ashton," I said. "Your lordship." "Good boy, Matt," I whispered, "you're free until I get back. Stay in your room - do you a book to read or something?" He shook his head. Bugger! I should have thought of warning him he'd have a couple of hours each evening with nothing to do. "Wait here." I ran down to the Library and picked out a couple of books which might appeal to a boy his age. I ran back up and tossed them onto my bed. "Here's some you might like. I'll be back around half past nine." ***** Dinner was over much earlier than I had expected, for James had looked at me over the cheese and chuckled. "I imagine you would rather be upstairs with him than sitting over port with me. Don't blush, Bertie, I'd be the same with a little cutie like him." I had never heard James use the word 'cutie' before, even when we were on the other side of the Atlantic from where such an expression must have originated. My blush must have faded, for James pressed me again on when he 'would be allowed to meet this faun'. I had to get this sorted out once and for all. "James, do you or do you not want to fuck this boy" "Would you mind if I did?" I would, and I knew I would, but I couldn't bring myself to say so. However James, no fool, was quicker than I. "Your hesitation tells me that you would prefer me not to - no, don't say anything. I respect your preference. I'm an old man and what's-his-name would doubtless find me an unwanted complication." I nodded. "As far as you are concerned, what's-his-name's name is Ashton. One day I will make everything clear to both of you, I promise. He says he likes older men, and if his taste runs to real antiques you'll be the first to know. If he doesn't, do you have anyone else in mind to warm your bed?" I was sailing close to the wind, but since we had shared so much before the War in the way of sex I didn't feel he would resent my enquiry. "My bed has not had anyone in it apart from me since before the War, Bertie, and I have no plans to fill it. If some comely boy should chance along, however ... no, I'm pulling your leg. Go up and do what you're itching to do." I got up. "Thank you, James, good night." "Good night, my boy." There had been the tiniest emphasis on his first word. I determined that it would be so. I found my pyjamas neatly laid out on my bed and the sheet turned down. There was no sign of Matt in either my room or his. I sat on the bed wondering where he had gone. I found, to my surprise, that I was deeply disappointed not to find him waiting for me - a reaction which I had certainly not expected. I took off my jacket and hung it in the wardrobe. Just then the inter-connecting door opened. "Oh, you're much earlier that you said. I've been talking to Gill. She told me about turning the bed down. Have I done it right?" My relief must have communicated itself to the boy. "It's fine. The pyjamas are a nice touch in case anyone comes along." Not that anyone would come along: James wouldn't and Gill - the only servant with any reason to enter any bedroom - would not do so now that I had a valet, not until I had been seen eating breakfast at which point my bed could be made. I made a mental note to warn Matt about mornings. It wouldn't do for stains to be visible to whomever made the bed, and stains there most certainly would be. "Tomorrow I'll tell you about your duties after Dinner, but right now we have better things to do, Matt. Come here." I took him in my arms and held him tight. I breathed in his smell, the smell of a boy hot for bed. "I showered while you were eating," he whispered, "is that OK?" "Of course it's OK. I'll tell you a secret." "Mmm." "We'll shower again in the morning." "Together?" "Mmm." "Mmm." Ninety seconds later we were naked, our clothes on the settee by the window. "Tonight will be special," I whispered, my tongue licking the inside of his ear. "Every minute's special, Bertie," he whispered, "will you fuck me properly now?" He was on his back on the bed, his legs apart, his arms by his side. I knelt over him. "Yes, Matt, but not just yet." He sighed - by now he had worked out that the time which would elapse before he was fucked would be filled with sensations he would treasure. I knelt and took a big toe in my mouth. "Toes aren't sexy, Bertie," he murmured. "Just you wait." It must have been a good 20 minutes before I finished sucking his tenth toe, 20 minutes during most of which his eyes had been shut and a beatific smile graced his lips. "So toes aren't sexy?" I said. He opened his eyes. "What d'you mean?" "Look at your cock." He glanced down to see a silken string of pre-cum joining his cock-head to a small glistening pool on his belly. He grinned. "Toes aren't sexy, Bertie, but what you do to them is. If that's what happens when all you do is suck my toes I can't wait for the next bit of me." He closed his eyes again. His smile deepened. He managed to keep still while I licked up the outside of his leg until I got to just above his hip when he giggled. "Stop, I'm tickly there." I by-passed the affected part - tickling was no part of what I had planned - and moved quickly to the nearest nipple. "Oh fuck," he moaned. It was reasonable to infer that 'oh fuck' did not mean 'I'm tickly there', so I allowed my lips and tongue and - so gently it was hardly perceptible - my teeth to greet his nipple. The moaning increased, as it did when the other nipple was similarly treated. I looked down: the small lake on his belly was constantly being replenished. If I made him come soon he'd certainly be ready for a second when I finally fucked him. I got up and gently pulled him down the bed so that I could kneel on the floor and rim him. "Put your knees by your ears," I whispered, "let me see what I'm doing." There is something wonderfully trusting about a boy when he opens his arse so willingly. I lapped away all along his perineum as I had done earlier, only for him to say urgently 'fingers, please Bertie'. OK, I thought, fingers it is. My tongue ran round and round his lips, and I saw them open ready for me. I went two fingers which I moved as far apart as I could once they were right in. "Aaah! Christ, Bertie ..." I thought he might be about to come, so I kept completely still ... but nothing happened. "Three?" "Mmm." In went a third which unerringly found a 14-year-old prostate in its path. Matt twitched. "Fuck! What's that ... aaah!" and the delayed orgasm poured out. I kept up the torment while pulse after pulse flew out. After his cock had no more to deliver I slowly took my fingers out. "I've never cum as far as my face before." He certainly had that time. It was only fair to the boy that when I knelt over him to lick up his spunk I did so with my cock close to his mouth. That way I was licking from his left cheek - the furthest range of his ejaculation - over his left shoulder, his left nipple, his belly (where four separate lines were pointing back to his cock, his gorgeous soft spunky cock). I felt his lips on my cock and his tongue seeking my pre-cum. I kept still, letting him suckle on me. Then, a few moments later, I fucked him slow long and deep. It must have been a good half hour before I came deep deep inside the 14-year-old. He had come again a short while before me, and as always the tightening of a boy's arse when he comes pulled my to the tape, pulled me deeper into him, pulled spunk out of me up up up into him. Into the boy I would share my bed with. Into the boy who, as he had come for the second time, uttered the potentially magic-spoiling words. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 87 as I deal with the words in question, and life moves on. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================