Date: Wed, 21 Oct 2020 17:00:26 +0100 (BST) From: Peter Brown Subject: Last of the Line - Chapter 97 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 97 We must have dozed off - hardly surprising after such testosterone-fuelled sex - and when I woke it was only half past midnight. I'd been asleep for 40 minutes. Wilf was still lying on top of me though he had rolled to one side. There was enough light from the street lamps for me to see his cock - as I'd already discovered, a cock usefully larger than most 15-year-old's cocks - resting on my belly. The aroma of recent sex was powerful, so powerful that I was beginning to harden myself. I stroked Wilf's cheek and a smile appeared. "Are you awake?" I whispered softly. He gave a tiny shake of his head and his smile grew bigger. "I think I could persuade you," I whispered. He gave a tiny nod. I understood this game. "We'll play the 10% bit first then." Another nod. Then, a few seconds later he whispered, "90% after that if I'm good?" "You bet." Wilf got off me, but only so that he could reposition himself in 69 mode. It seemed an odd way for him to manifest himself, even temporarily, as a top by allowing me to suck his cock: it was hardly fucking my face, but as sucking his cock was something about which I was wholly content I didn't let semantics get in the way. An hour or two earlier I had spent quality time on Wilf's arse, and attractive as that part of him had been I focused my attention on his cock, still soft but beginning to fill. It took less than a minute for it to be clear that 69ing wasn't going to work. "This is no good, Wilf. Move so you're kneeling over my chest and let me get that thing where I need it." "On one condition." "Which is?" "You fuck me as soon as I've cum in your mouth." "We have a bargain, now shift." To my surprise he lasted a lot longer than I had expected. I plied my expert lips and tongue and he sighed and groaned, but he still managed to hold on for 10 minutes or so before a deeper groan signalled delivery. Hot jets fired onto my tongue. Within seconds of his orgasm ending he whipped his cock from my mouth. "Now, Bertie, I love being fucked while I'm still high from coming." "On your back then," I said, and less than 10 seconds later I was buried up his arse as far as I could get it. "Aaah!" he sighed as my cock bottomed out, "I love that. Now fuck me long and slow. Make me scream." I hoped it wouldn't come to that, but I did my best with the other part of his instruction. His legs locked ankles behind my head and his hands grasped each other behind my back. "Fuck me, or I'll never let you escape," he whispered. I had fucked countless arses, but never before had I fucked a boy - or a man - so willing to submit every part of him to my domination. It was as though he turned his body - arms, legs, belly - into agents with no part to play other than allowing - obliging - my cock to obey the demands of his arse, of the doorway to the only part of him that mattered, to him or to me, of the path to losing ourselves in the overwhelming climax of arrival at our destination. Sweat poured off both of us. Strangely we were both largely silent: this fuck was not accompanied by sighs or groans - not then anyway. We both knew that we were engaged on a long journey, and on a long journey you don't waste your breath unnecessarily. So when, after about a quarter of an hour, I whispered, "happy?" he opened his eyes - tightly closed until then - and merely whispered, "God, yes, Bertie," before closing his eyes and clasping me even more tightly. Quite the most extraordinary fuck I had ever had turned into a sprint when Wilf groaned "nearly" and I felt his whole body shake as his third orgasm erupted. I felt his belly contract four times, and I immediately plunged as fast as I could. I was less than half a minute behind him. I'd never fucked anyone before whose reaction to my filling his arse was to start laughing. "I'm sorry," he tried to say, "but I always ... I can't help laughing when the ... when I'm fucked so long and ... so well. Keep it in me, Bertie." As I had no plans to do anything with my cock except keep it where it was for a week I did my best. ***** Breakfast was fun too. After Wilf had swallowed what little protein I could produce for him we lay together for a while. "Can we do this again?" I said. "Mmm. You have to eat first though. They only let me play home games." Proper breakfast saw the four of us sitting together, all of us in dressing gowns. ("Put this on," Wilf had said, "Larry and Ken will wear them too.") Ken got up from time to time to bring in toast and coffee, and a 'Full Scottish' was laid before me. I couldn't help thinking that only a few hours before a full Scottish had been laid under me. "Well, Bertie," said a breezy Larry, "was everything to your liking?" I glanced at Wilf who seemed unconcerned that our night's pleasures were to be the breakfast topic. Oh well, if that's how they play it here, I thought. "Marks out of 10," I said, "around 11, I'd say." Wilf grinned. "12 at least from where I'm sitting." I put my hand on his. "I want to do this again," I said, "what's the arrangement?" Larry explained that it was a private club and that membership was solely by recommendation. "Chris vouched for you when he made the booking. He and Rob have been members for a couple of years now. Rob used to work for us, you see," and he popped a piece of sausage into his mouth. "Wilf is his replacement," said Ken, "and we think he fits in very well." Only I could hear the merry tinkle of scales falling from my eyes. "How did you react to Spider - Chris - luring the help away?" Ken shrugged. "With stoicism, Bertie, and a degree of cunning. We told him that he and Rob would have to find a replacement, and if they did so to my satisfaction then everyone would be happy." "It took them some time," said Larry. Wilf could contain himself no longer. "Stop being difficult. Bertie wants to know." He turned to look at me. "Rob's my brother. When Larry says it took some time it actually took about 24 hours." "How do I become a member?" I said as the last forkful disappeared. "The three of us hold a vote," said Larry, "it's very democratic. Later I'll phone the bank and if your cheque hasn't bounced you get my vote." He must have seen my face because he immediately said, "I'm joking, Bertie, you're in. The junior voter has already decided on that." Wilf put his hand on mine. =============================================================================== This was moving too fast to take it all in. In the space of less than 10,000 words Bertie had married; fathered a son; been widowed and damn near killed in a car crash. Furthermore in the space of 48 hours Bertie had met an old RAF pal; had discovered that the pal - unknown to be queer throughout the War - was not only queer but living with a boy of 20; had himself enjoyed a night of unparalleled coupling with a boy still only 15 (but not for much longer); and clearly was about to enter upon a habit of fucking this particular boy as often as could be managed - not easy given that (to be crude about it) the cock was in Staffordshire and the arse in Inverness. It would be interesting to see how Bertie coped with this challenge. Meanwhile in Staffordshire Christmas was looming. I took the electro out with Billy to do some Christmas shopping, some of it from Seb and Dodo. Despite merely being nobility I was greeted like royalty, with a particularly warm kiss and hug from Seb. "What was that in aid of?" I said when he finally let me go. "That's to thank you for giving me the best present possible." I was none the wiser, and I looked at Billy. He shrugged, "I don't know know either. What's up, Seb?" Dodo finished dealing with the customer he'd been serving and came to join us. "Hi, Dab. Has he told you?" "Told me what, Dodo? You're both being mysterious." Seb couldn't contain himself. "I told you you gave me the best present ever. Him. You rescued him and now we're getting married." Billy laughed. "And all because of a bunch of jillies," he said, "when is the big day?" Once Christmas and the New Year were out of the way, it seemed. Much as it would have been nice to whisk them both off to a pub to celebrate it wasn't on: they had customers and I was driving. "When did this happen?" I asked. "At the weekend," said Seb, "all of 57 hours ago." "Oh God!" said Billy, "when do you stop counting it in hours? Even Dab only uses days." He turned to me. "You remember telling me we'd been together for 1,000 days?" Bloody Cunliffe hair! "Why not come and spend Christmas with us and have a proper celebration then?" They looked at each other: an instant decision was made. "Good," I said, "in that case we'll invite the Sapphists to join us." Billy looked askance. "Not your mother?" "Why not, Billy? She won't come, but she'll appreciate being invited." It was agreed that when the shop closed at lunchtime on Christmas Eve (Christmas was a Saturday that year) they would drive over and stay for a few days. I wondered whether Seb's family was any wiser about Dodo. There was certainly no feeling that Christmas with them was being sacrificed. Billy and I bought the things we needed. I imagine he managed to buy something for me, much as I did for him when he wasn't looking. "Are you getting anything for Jack?" he asked. "You wait and see. I have a plan for him. But if we're sharing the turkey with Pam and Hester we'd better get them something." "What, for goodness sake? Do you know what kinds of things they use?" "No, but I know a man who does. Dodo!" Dodo came over. "Dab has a tricky problem, Dodo, and he says you're the man to help him," said Billy, smirking. "I need something for Pam and Hester but if Billy knows what lesbian toys there are he's not telling me. What sort of things might be suitable?" Dodo grinned. "It's the first time I've ever seen you stuck for an answer, Dab. Seb will know." Seb was wheeled in to provide his extensive knowledge of matters lesbian. "Normally I couldn't possibly tell you what other clients have purchased -" "Oh, don't be so fucking pompous, Seb, you know perfectly well you're going to tell them." "As I was saying before my husband-to-be put his oar in, normally such matters are confidential, but since it's you asking, Dab, I think I can break the rules just this once." Dodo's eyes rolled but he kept his mouth shut. "Ladies, it may surprise you to know, Dab, are just as keen to have things up their arses as we are - well, perhaps not quite as keen as I am, but you know what I mean. However these are not the only places where ladies like things to be stuck. Come with me," and he led us to a part of the shop which neither Billy nor I had explored before. There was a cabinet in which were all manner of dildos, some frighteningly large. "This one has tickled their fancy - at least, it was looked at hungrily by Pam a few months ago. She didn't buy it though." "It's huge," said Billy. "Yes, Billy, but if you look carefully you'll see it's shaped at both ends. It's used by both players. Very popular with the ladies. Or you could buy a couple of these. We call them Barnsley Chops." I could see why. "One lady, filled twice?" Seb nodded. "Wondrous are the ways of women, Dab." "What do you think, Billy?" I said. "Don't look at me, this is your idea, my lord. It's all too much for a queer boy like me." I made a decision. "One present, two ladies, and if either of them comes in to buy one you make sure you've sold out, OK?" Seb nodded. "What happens if your mother joins us?" "I'll get something somewhere else, Billy, don't worry." Jack was with his driving instructor when we got back, as he had been for a few days. I'd asked how it was going, but he was non-committal, merely shrugging his shoulders. Further enquiry was evidently unwelcome - it was unlike him: he was normally very open about things. Perhaps the lessons weren't going well. I decided not to invite my mother until the next morning - that way a sensible response might be possible. I was aware that her condition was getting worse. Alice kept me in touch, and had warned me a few weeks earlier that arrangements might need to be made for proper care some time soon. I was worried, but since her addiction had been a fact of life for as long as I could remember her deterioration didn't really hit me until Alice's warning. As it happened this would be her last Christmas living in the house she hadn't left for over 15 years. When I knocked on her door after breakfast Alice answered, looking glum. "I was going to call you," she said, "I can't wake her." "Is that unusual?" She shook her head. "No, but ... she seems further away than usual. I think we should call the doctor. He knows about her condition, and he warned me - us - that something like this could happen." I nodded, and went down to phone him. When I went back up a few minutes later Alice was in their bedroom - not a place I had been in since I was a little boy. My mother was lying motionless in bed and Alice was sitting on the side of the bed looking forlorn. "He said he'd be here in an hour or so." She nodded. I sat beside her on the bed. "Do you know what's happened?" She nodded slowly. "She's been getting worse even since I wrote to you. She's getting through nearly two bottles a day and though she's never been violent, or even shouty, she gets very weepy and withdrawn. The doctor told me that was a bad sign." I didn't want to be part of the doctor's visit, but I asked Alice to ask him to talk to me before he left. "I'll be in the Office." Suddenly all the plans looked up in the air. I went to tell Billy what was happening. "How is she?" "Out for the count. Alice can't rouse her and I've phoned for the doctor. We'll know more after he's examined her." Billy put his arms round me. "I know you like to seem a flinty-hearted bugger sometimes, but now and again I see a nice kind man peeping through." "Fuck off, Billy, but thanks," I said, allowing him to comfort me. "I need to be busy. Jack's off learning to drive so we have the house to ourselves." Billy's eyes lit up. "Not a mid-morning fuck, Dab?" "No, Billy, I haven't recovered from last night yet. I thought we might wrap our presents." When the doctor was brought in by Alice he found us in the middle of a pile of wrapped presents on one side and (luckily boxed and unknowable) a variety of oddly-shaped gifts on the other. Billy tactfully offered to get coffee, gladly accepted by the doctor and me. "It's not good news, I'm afraid, but it's not unexpected. Both your mother and Ms Norman have been aware of the likely path for some time, but until now your mother has forbidden me from speaking to you about it. She is not in a state to allow me to do so, but Ms Norman and I have agreed that, despite that, it is no longer in your mother's best interest that you remain in the dark." This was worrying: I thought I was completely in the picture - mother a drunk with no hope of recovery. Put like that I sound dispassionate, but although I cared about my mother and I loved her I held no illusions about her drinking. "Do you know why your mother is an alcoholic?" I shook my head. "She's been like that as long as I can remember - certainly before I went to public school. I took great care there to avoid talking about either of my parents except in the most general of terms." He smiled. "Your childish decision was a wiser one than you know. Your mother is suffering from a rare disorder which is invariably fatal, though not for may years after infection. She had known this since not long after your father left." At that point Billy appeared with the coffee, but he didn't stay. "This is not easy, so please bear with me. I don't think I'm breaking any confidences by telling you that I am well aware of the sexual orientation of your father ..." I stopped him. "To save time, and to save you any embarrassment, I know that my father was queer. So am I, so is Billy and so are most of the people living here, including my mother and Ms Norman." "Thank you. That makes things a little easier. What appears to have happened is that your father infected your mother with a sexually-transmitted disease which he had acquired - unknowingly, I'm sure - from one of his male partners, probably overseas. This is a very rare condition in so-called civilized countries, but was common - still is, I imagine - in Africa and the Middle East." I smiled. "My father escaped to Marrakech, so that would seem likely." He nodded. "His death was, in a twisted way, a quick and merciful one. A year or two after he left - you must have been 5 or 6 - she began to feel unwell and to cut a long and painful story short she received a diagnosis some months later. It was devastating. She would lose her mind slowly, becoming completely helpless before dying. This would happen within 20 years. the only comfort she was given was that until her steep decline she would have reasonable health, suffering only from extreme fatigue." I felt a complete shit. I'd had no idea of what she must have endured. "Hence the bottle." "Hence the bottle, as you say. It's not often a medical man watches someone drink themselves to death believing that they're doing the right thing." We sat silently for a few minutes before I pulled myself together. "Thank you for telling me all that. I'm sorry you've had to spend so long here explaining. What do I need to know, and to do?" "At present nothing. Ms Norman knows what to look out for day to day. She will call me when it's necessary. At some point in the next 18 months I would expect her to be transferred to a specialist facility - not quite a hospice but carrying out the same function. She might expect to remain there for a few years, I'm afraid." He paused. "A part of me hopes that she carries on drinking. Acute liver failure isn't fun by any means, but in her shoes I'd prefer it." He got up to go then turned to me. "You've not asked the one question I was expecting." "'Have I got it?' you mean." He nodded. "Almost certainly not. It's extremely unlikely to be passed from mother to unborn foetus, but I can arrange for a test." I nodded. "There is a large number of people who will rejoice in never knowing there might have been a risk." He smiled sadly, "Amen to that, Dab." He hadn't called me that since I was a boy. We shook hands. ***** I decided I couldn't tell Billy. If I told him I'd have to tell Jack, because he would quickly sniff out a secret. If I was tested and they found I was clear then nobody need know at all until ... until my mother went to ... I knew I would have great difficulty in appearing normal over the Christmas holiday. Billy came in. "Is she going to be OK?" I shook my head. "She's dying and she's known about it for years. The drink has been her way of coping with knowing. The doctor has known all along, but he was sworn to secrecy. She'll gradually get worse and will have to go into a home in a year maybe. Alice knows and she'll tell me when the time comes." Billy put his arms round me again. "Poor woman," he said softly. ***** I needed air so I went to have a conversation with Hester. When I'd got up that morning I had only one thing to discuss with her: now I had a more urgent one. She was in her office. "A glass of something?" "Beer please." When we had our drinks she said, "this is not just a chat." I told her that my mother was ill, and that the doctor had been. "I don't think she'll be well enough to do anything over Christmas. Not like last year." "I know. Alice has told Pam. I'm sorry. She thinks it wouldn't be a good idea for us - Pam and me, that is - to see her." "That's really why I'm here. Will the two of you join us for Christmas dinner? It's not very orthodox, but then nothing is in this house." I must have had my lost little boy face on, because she smiled - there had been a lot of smiling that morning, much of it resigned rather than joyful - and said that they would be delighted. I then broached the other subject, causing another - much broader - smile. "That would tick so many boxes if you could pull it off. Do you think it's possible?" I said I thought it highly likely, "I'm in the driving seat, after all. But not a word." Christmas was a week away and Jack's birthday in two days' time. We would have a 16-year-old to play with. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 98 as a hectic few days are enjoyed (as are the intervening nights). Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================