Date: Fri, 4 Sep 2020 10:09:04 +0100 (BST) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 87 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 87 We talked for a long time after we'd ... oh, dammit, Bertie, stop being mealy-mouthed ... after we'd made love. He lay, spunky and relaxed, in my arms and I inhaled every molecule of his scent, storing it unawares deep in my sub-conscious. By midnight we knew a great deal about each other, perhaps the most interesting thing being that we almost shared a birthday. I would be 23 on 6 December; he 15 two days later. I told him about David and he looked up at me. "Bertie, how awful," he whispered, "I'm so sorry for you." I had been in control in the telling of the tale up to that moment, but Matt's words unlocked my tears. He said nothing while I wept, merely holding me more tightly. When I managed to control myself he moved up and kissed my eyes. "There," he whispered, "I've tasted the two most special things about you, Bertie - your spunk and your tears." He told me about his sexual awakening which, were it not that it had taken place in an air-raid shelter, was not greatly different from the sexual awakening of boys of his class since time immemorial. He had been 10, the older boy 12. Neither had formed any attachment to the other beyond being wank-friends. Matt had passed the information so thrillingly divulged to him in the damp smelly dark to a wide circle of his class-mates, one or two of whom turned out to be aware of these matters already, and willing to show off their wisdom by showing Matt more things than he had learned in the air-raid shelter. One of these boys had the good fortune to be the only child of a couple where Papa was taking on the Hun somewhere (Matt's friend had been vague on the details) and Mama worked 'from morning till night to keep you from starving'. This employment meant that Roger's bedroom was available as a risk-free classroom for further studies. These had, many months after it was first used, included Matt's being fucked for the first time, though not altogether successfully. Not the first time anyway. Things improved considerably over the following few weeks, so much so that Roger was persuaded to accept 1/- to allow his bedroom to be used by Matt while he was fucked by older boys. I asked him how that worked. I was curious to know the economics of the affair. 1/- wasn't a negligible sum to a boy in those days. "Oh," he said airily, "Roger only got 1/-. I charged 2/6." I was impressed. "How did you find your ... customers?" "Easy. The first one was Roger's brother - he was 17 and a lot better at it than Roger. Not as good as you though," he added quickly. "And then?" "Henry - that's the brother - told his mates and I was never at a loose end after that." "And all those 1/6 profits are piled up nicely somewhere, I hope." He grinned. "In a jar in my bedroom. I'm saving up. Don't know what for. Can we do it again?" Reader, we did. ***** I really must get on. I went up to Fisher in January 1946 where, in addition to my studies, I spend time in activities the details of which would not surprise you. Boys were in plentiful supply thanks to the Fisher choir, but as an out-and-out atheist I did not frequent their haunt, and although Satan occasionally tempted me (not without irony) to attend I never did. They were a pretty bunch though, and it gladdened my heart (and many other hearts too, I've no doubt) to see them going about the college. Luckily there were among the undergraduate population a good supply of 18- and 19-year-olds who were almost as delightful, and whose companionship could be sought and enjoyed with little attendant risk. The details are unimportant: suffice it to say that my time at Fisher was not wasted. Matt and I became closer as each vacation arrived. Our first night after I returned home from the Lent term was somewhat tempestuous, but it was not the sex that I need to relate. As we lay exhausted after a prolonged session Matt said softly, "Bertie, can I ask you something?" This was unusual: Matt had never held back when something needed to be said, either related to his day-time duties or to his nocturnal ones. "Mmm?" "Don't be cross with me," he began. What had he done, I wondered. "I won't, Matt, but if you've done something stupid I'll tell you without getting cross." There was a prolonged pause during which I waited patiently, giving him a squeeze to indicate continuing fondness and reassurance. "When you've not been here I've been doing stuff with Richard." That wasn't too surprising: I'd been doing stuff with rather more than just one. "Where?" "Not in the house, Bertie, I'm not daft. Out in the grounds a long way from anywhere. After it's dark and before Richard has to be home." "And is he as keen as you are?" "You bet!" "Tell me move, you little sex fiend." His cock was hard again, a mere ten minutes after two enormous cums; "whatever you got up to it's turning you on again just thinking about it." He snuggled closer. "Do you want all the details?" "Just some of them. What do you do together?" "The first couple of times we just wanked each other, then the next time I sucked his cock and he just about died. After that there was no stopping him. He wanted me to fuck him, so I did: he loved it. I think I must have unlocked something in his head." "Or his arse," I murmured. "But that's not it, Bertie." Another lengthy pause. "Go on, I won't be cross. So far you haven't said anything that's bothered me. You haven't told him about us, have you?" "No, but listen. He said - it wasn't me, honestly - that he wanted to be fucked by a man, and the only man I could think of was you. I didn't say anything to him, and he hasn't said it again. Would you want to?" I had not expected that. "When did he say it?" "A week ago. We've done it since then. Are you cross?" "No," I said softly, "I'm not cross. But I'm not sure I want to get involved with another exhausting teenager. One's enough for an old man like me." And then it hit me. I knew another man who might just be interested, although whether that old man would be what Richard was looking for was another matter. "I may have an idea," I said, "say nothing to Richard when you see him. Give me 24 hours." He kissed me. "I'll give you all my life, Bertie." ***** You - if there is a 'you' reading this, which I seriously doubt - are no doubt way ahead of me. James, on being apprised of the presence on his land of a 15-year-old anxious to be fucked by an older man, was taken aback. "You don't mean your one ... Ashton, isn't it?" "No, James, another one, all of your very own, though whether his idea of an older man stretches as far as you is something that our pander - Ashton, naturally - doesn't know. And before you ask, Ashton doesn't know that you're a player. We're very discreet in bed." James made me explain what was going on. When I'd finished he smiled. "I shall be 60 soon. It will be a test of the boy's keenness, won't it." It wasn't a question. It was agreed that Matt would bring Richard to see me at 4 o'clock that afternoon. "Make up some convincing story with your boy." "I will, and I think today may be the day when you become officially aware of Matt." James's eyebrows rose. To a man of his generation my calling my valet by his Christian name was more startling that my fucking him. After breakfast I collared Matt on his return from Gill's laundry room. "I have a task for you. Go and find Richard and tell him I want to see him this afternoon. Bring him to my office at 4. Tell him he's not in trouble, but you have no idea why I want to see him. OK? You come too." Matt's grin indicated that, despite his having no idea what was going on he was entirely in agreement with it all. He clearly thought that I was putting myself in to bat, and it was interesting that he seemed not to be bothered by his having to share. "It's not what you think," I said, leaving him puzzled, which was exactly what I wanted. I told James what I was planning. He smiled. "How sure are you that we can contain this if the boy - what's his name? -" "Richard Lindsay." "- if Lindsay kicks up trouble?" I said I wasn't completely sure, but that by the time he met Lindsay he could be sure that all would be well. "Just be in your study from 4.15 onwards." ***** Matt knocked discreetly a moment or two after 4 o'clock, and came in, followed by a worried-looking Richard, still somewhat scruffy from his day's work in the grounds. "Thank you Ashton, Lindsay. Please sit down." I had arranged two upright chairs in front of my desk: I wanted them to be relaxed, but not too relaxed. "Lindsay, I am going to say things which must never be repeated outside this room. Will you give me your word that you will say nothing?" Lindsay didn't know what to say. I glanced at Matt and gave the tiniest nod. He turned to his friend. "Go on, Richard, do as his lordship asks. It'll be all right, I promise." Lindsay looked at me hoping for a sign of some kind. I smiled. Lindsay swallowed. "Yes, your lordship. I promise I won't tell anyone." "Good. Now listen carefully and don't interrupt. When I've finished you can ask any questions, but wait until I'm through." He nodded, looking very perplexed. Matt put his hand on his arm. "It's OK," he whispered. "Ashton and you were caught wanking with the older two. They've gone. Ashton is now my valet. He tells me that you and he enjoy more exciting activities now and again." Lindsay looked daggers at Ashton who smiled at him. I went on. "Ashton fucks you, Lindsay, and you love it. Ashton tells me you want to be fucked by a man, an older man, rather than a boy. Is that true?" Lindsay looked appalled. Matt whispered, "go on, Richard, it's OK. he knows. Just tell him the truth." "Perhaps I can make it easier for you, Lindsay. As well as being my valet Ashton sleeps with me and I fuck him when I'm not up in Cambridge. Now will you answer my question?" Lindsay gulped and nodded. "Out loud, Lindsay. Do you like the idea of being fucked by an older man?" Lindsay screwed up his courage, glanced at Matt and burst out, "yes, but if ... if you're fucking Ashton, why me?" I walked round my desk. "Not me, Lindsay, I'm busy with Ashton. But there's another man - quite a lot older than I am - who would be only too keen to do what you desire. Are you as keen as you were when you thought it was me who'd be offering to fuck you?" He had gone white. "Sir ... your lordship ... oh hell." I put my hand on his shoulder. "None of this will be repeated outside this room, Lindsay. Just pretend we're all friends with the same ideas about what our cocks and our arses are for, eh?" "Sir, I like the idea of a daddy fucking me. My dad was killed in the War and I ... " Matt, wise boy that he was, stood and put his arms round his friend until he regained control of himself. "Stay here, Ashton," I said. "Stand up, Lindsay. If you are really wanting a daddy to fuck you and make you his special boy I can arrange it. Is that what you want - what you really want?" He nodded, whispering "yes". "Come on then." I took him to James's study and introduced them, leaving James to do what was necessary. "Well done, Matt, you made all the difference." "Where's he gone, Bertie?" "The Earl is just as keen on fucking boys your age as I am, Matt, didn't you guess?" "Fuck!" he breathed, and I could hear the merry tinkle as the scales fell from his eyes. Then a mischievous grin appeared. "Foursome time?" "Certainly not. Not unless my father decides that you might be a worthy place for his cock to nestle. Let's give the two of them time to sort things out." ***** James was evidently pleased with whatever arrangement he and Richard made, but it wasn't until I came down for the Long Vac in June 1946 that he told me what had happened. By then almost three months had passed since Richard had gone into James's study. At some point during the Easter Term James had somehow found indoor work for his catamite, much as I had done for mine. Richard had been charged with helping my father sort out the mess in his study and the Library which years of neglect during the War had allowed to build up. "What on earth does that entail?" I asked. "Oh, filing, dusting, clearing stuff out, that sort of thing," James said airily. I inferred that Richard's duties had been largely illusory, designed purely - no, certainly not purely; ostensibly (that's better) - to provide an excuse, were one needed, for James and Richard to spend hours together behind closed doors. Further enquiry led to Richard's sleeping arrangements. "He goes home every night, Bertie, and no-one has any suspicion that when he does so he has spent a delightful afternoon with me." I was astonished. "Why haven't you imported him here? Don't you want to ravish him at night? Besides, he must reek by the time he gets home." "Bertie, you are a very indelicate soul. Naturally the dust we raise while we are busy going through the papers makes it necessary for him to wash before going home." A silence fell. "How could I arrange for him to live here? I think he'd jump at the chance if it could be made to look official." "He could be your valet, or he could be another indoor servant, but that would be awkward if you want him in your bed. Valet's the obvious answer. Can I help sort it out?" He shook his head. "No, I think I can manage, Bertie. He'll be 16 later this month. I think I'll give him a letter for his mother telling her that he can have a job here when he has his birthday. ***** I can't think why James hadn't moved earlier, but at least when Richard was 16 his mother was delighted that he would be bringing in a wage, and at the Big House too! At breakfast after Richard's first night on duty James looked his age. He would be 60 in a few weeks, but his demeanour was anything but elderly. "I think," he said, "given the satisfactory new arrangements, that your valet and mine should be put fully in the picture." "About all of us?" "Yes. Do you mind?" I shook my head. "Not at all, but we'll need to be careful." "Why the hell should I be careful, Bertie? I've been careful all my bloody life and never been caught yet. Nor have you, unless some choirboy has squealed." "The choirboys are only for looking at, James. My exercise is with other undergraduates." (At the time this was true, but it would not always remain so.) James was clear that he was not bothered by what the rest of the staff might think - there were still only 3 of them at that time - so I shrugged my shoulders. "Fine," I said, "what do you suggest?" "Get them both in your office this morning. 11. I'll join you." When I went upstairs I told Matt to bring Richard to my office at 11. "Why? What's up?" "Nothing bad, Matt, just be there - both of you." By 11.30 a new set of relationships had formed. Matt had known that James and Richard were up to no good most afternoons, but Richard had no inkling about Matt. James had asked Matt point blank whether "your arse is off-limits to an old man like me", and before the poor boy could think of an answer Richard had grinned and said that such an idea should be grabbed with both hands. "He's good, Matt." Matt gulped. "So's Bertie ... oh fuck, sorry Bertie, your lordship, oh hell." That little matter was quickly sorted out, and from then on the four of us eschewed formality. Except when there was a witness of course. Richard was fun in bed on those few occasions when he joined me, but never as much fun as Matt. Matt murmured one night that he was glad Richard was so set on James. "Why?" "Don't get me wrong, Bertie, your father's a bloody good fucker. It's just that ... well, you're even better. Besides, you're special." While the boys occasionally played away and once or twice my bed was host to a threesome we never had the foursome that Matt had mentioned. ***** My second year at Fisher was unremarkable. A new intake of lads fresh from their VIth form provided a good range of possible companions, and by the end of October 1946 two were frequent visitors to my set. Neither of them stirred any emotion beyond lust, and their feelings were the same. Guilt-free fucking kept us from freezing to death during the appalling early months of 1947, but the details are of no great interest. However all of my partners were 18 or 19. In my final year I had a very fine set in Chapel Court, one advantage of which was that choristers were in easy view as they entered and left their place of work. Equipped with a small pair of binoculars I was as regular in my chapel-going as they were. After an absence of younger flesh from my diet I began to yearn for veal as a change from beef. But not veal that young. 12-year-olds were a delight to look at, and might very well be a delight to have in bed, but the risks were far too great. At 14 a boy had much more to offer - to me, certainly - than he might have had at 12. A lot more spunk, for one thing. So it was very welcome when my gyp told me, early in my last Michaelmas Term, that he was training an assistant, and would I please be patient if the boy made mistakes, or was slow. A boy was in tow. No, that does him no justice. An angel was in tow, straight from Botticelli. It took me a second or two to reply. "Of course, Hampton. What's your name, lad?" "Thomas, sir." "Well, Thomas, I'm sure you'll do well. Mr Hampton will make sure of that." Would the angel be a devil? It would be my business to find out. Thomas followed everything that Hampton did for the first ten days or so. I didn't pay a great deal of attention to the details of his training but I found myself hoping that Hampton would let the boy loose to make all the mistakes about which my tolerance had been sought. On morning Hampton shooed him out after they had cleaned my room and made the bed. "May I have a word, your lordship?" "Of course, Hampton. He seems a bright boy - is he up to snuff, do you think?" "Oh yes, sir, that he is. Would you be willing to allow him to be responsible for your set for a few days? I will look in next Tuesday to see how he has done, but if there is anything severely lacking perhaps you will let me know yourself?" I assured him that the arrangement seemed entirely satisfactory. "I'm very happy for him to practice on me, Hampton, and I'll be sure to let you know of any problem. But I'm sure he'll do fine." Hampton thanked me and went off, no doubt to give the same message to one of my neighbours. I decided that the matter of getting Thomas (was that his surname or his Christian name?) into my bed, or his cock into my mouth (other activities were also possible), needed a subtle approach. "Fancy a fuck?" would not be likely to succeed, not without the ground being carefully prepared. Luckily I already had the necessary bait. When I went to breakfast the next morning after Thomas had wakened me with the customary loud knock on the bedroom door ("thanks, Thomas," I groaned) there was a somewhat tattered copy of an illustrated magazine under my pillow. Beside it was a crumpled hanky which I had used only a few minutes before. Three very small pieces of paper were contained between different pages of the magazine, and I had added a couple to my morning effusion (somewhat more copious than usual, no doubt because of the hoped-for success of my ruse). When I gat back from breakfast there was no sign of Thomas. The sitting-room was tidy and my bed was made. The magazine was still under the pillow, but the small pieces of paper were on the floor. The hanky had disappeared completely. The bait had evidently been taken - literally. The following morning I had only a piece of toast and a quick cup of coffee. "You're in a hurry, Bertie," said my neighbour. "Yes, got an early thing on," I said and was back in my room in food time to find Thomas sitting on the floor in my bedroom, the magazine in one hand and my hanky - a different one equally doused - in the other. "Ah," I said. He scrambled to his feet. "Sorry, sorry, don't beat me," he stammered. I pointed to the bed. "Sit down, Thomas, no-one's going to beat you. Listen to me." I told him several things he ought to know about me, and about the discoveries I had made about him consequent upon his being discovered inhaling a hanky full of recently-ejaculated semen. Had he wanked into yesterday's hanky? He had ... twice. I was surprised. "Once here and once in bed last night. You won't tell, will you sir?" I assured him that my lips were sealed, though I did not at that time make it clear quite where. Ten minutes later Thomas had relaxed enough to know that far from being likely to tell I was keen to spend time with him putting into practice the activities he had been caught studying in my magazine. He agreed willingly to return to my set once his other duties had been taken care of. "I'm finished by 11, sir, and I go off then. I'm not needed again until 12 in the kitchen." Between 11.01 and 11.50 he would be here sinning as only a randy teenager knew how. "Are you going to do me?" "Would you like me to?" "Dunno. It looks as though it hurts. Still, the kids in the pictures look happy enough." =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 88 as Thomas comes a-visiting. Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================