Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2018 08:50:34 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 34 Queen Mary Bell-boys 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 34 Next morning when I woke we were still in each other's arms. Charlie was still asleep and I could tell from his rapid eye movements behind his closed lids that he was dreaming. A smile stole across his lips and I wondered what he was dreaming about. I kept as still as I could, not wanting to break the spell of his dream, or of my just gazing at him. Suddenly he was awake. He looked at me. "Thank God," he said, "I was dreaming about you and suddenly you were gone. One minute we were together in a field having a picnic and the next you just ... weren't there." I kissed his lips. "Well, I'm here in real life, but there's no picnic. Can you put up with that?" He grinned. "I'll try." At breakfast I caught a wink passing between Charlie and Sam, but there was no explanation. Alan and Andrew were chatty - they are both larks - and Tim was unusually quiet. "Is everything OK?" I asked quietly. He turned a radiant smile to me. "Oh yes, Patrick, it couldn't be better. I'll tell you later." After breakfast we had an hour or so in our elevators before we reported to Sir for any activities he might have for us. At a few minutes before 0900 there was a lull in traffic so I went to Tim's elevator and led him off for a quick talk. "Well?" I said when we were alone. "Last night Sam made love to me in a way I've never experienced before," he said. "It was the most wonderful hour I've ever had. You and I have had some fantastic sex, but this was -" I interrupted him. "Charlie did the same for me, and it beat anything you and I have done. Did you see the wink he and Sam exchanged at breakfast?" He shook his head. "I reckon the two of them planned it," I said, "and if they did it was the most wonderful present we've ever had." Tim smiled. "Yeah. How do we thank them?" "By being who we are, because that's what they love, just like we love them for who they are. No-one gave us lessons in being loved, but we're not doing too badly, are we?" Tim hugged me. The Mulloys were growing up at an alarming rate. 0915 brought business. Charlie was to present himself to 533 at 1330, Sam to 651 at 1430 and I was required to present myself to 471 at 1500. "No special requirements, one hour each. Have you thought about what I said yesterday?" I told him what we'd agreed. He was rather taken aback. "How do you justify such a figure, Patrick?" I explained that if we were spending the night we reckoned that was 2200 until 0700, and while we didn't think it likely that anyone would be up to having active sex with us for nine hours it was reasonable to think that three hours was on the cards at night, and maybe a quickie in the morning. "At $75 an hour for the first hour and $50 an hour after that it comes to $225 plus say $50 for the quickie. Besides that the client's getting a warm boy to cuddle all night. That bit gets you $25 and the warm boy $50. After all, we're the ones having to put up with the client snoring and farting all night." Sir laughed. "You'll make a good lawyer when you get too old for this caper," he said. "OK, I agree. One more thing, and this must go no further. The Captain has told some of the senior officers that he intends to go for the Blue Riband this crossing. Do you know what that is?" None of us did, so he explained that it was trophy awarded to the ship making the fastest Atlantic crossing. "The bloody French have it at present, and that won't do at all. What it means is that he will try to get across in just over four days - that's a lot faster than the maiden voyage. What it means for us is that there will be only four nights, and five days, counting yesterday and the day we arrive. So less opportunity for action for you strapping lads." He smiled. "But to compensate you for having fewer hours to enjoy passengers I plan to have something special for you on the last night. Not yet another tour of the engines, Charlie, because they'll be red hot by then if the record looks on, but something else I hope you'll find red hot. And I'm not telling you any more. Now go and do what you do." As we left we all fell to wondering what this treat might be. I was intrigued by Sir's use of 'red hot', and I wondered if his mind was working in the same direction as mine. Well, we'd find out in a few days' time. In the meantime three of us had work assigned to us. After an interesting morning in the elevator Charlie and I met for our meal at 1150. "Anything for you?" I asked. He shook his head. "Good," I said, "that means your mind will be clear for yours at 1330. Meet me in the cabin at 1255 and I'll brief you while you shower." "What about you?" "A possible, but nothing definite. If he's keen he'll show up this afternoon for a ride. Fingers crossed!" And just to prove that Charlie and I could communicate other than about sex, and other than about love, we chatted happily like any other teenagers about things of no consequence whatever. Back on duty for half an hour my possible didn't show up. I was slightly disappointed as he looked as though he would have been fun. Still, there was a lot of the day left. At 1255 Charlie appeared and we went into the cabin. Much as I would have loved to help him out of his uniform we both knew that, for the next 90 minutes, the only part I had to play was a supporting one. He stripped off and we went to the shower. While he was getting rid of the evidence of toil I sat outside watching him dimly through the steamed-up glass. God! he was gorgeous - tall, slim, beautiful ... mine. As he dried himself I passed him the vaseline. "Will you do it?" he asked. "No. I'd love to, but it won't stop there. Your job is to be fresh and excited by the prospect of what your client is going to want from you, and anyway you have to learn how to grease yourself. Take a good dollop on two fingers, push them in as far as you can, and spread it around a bit." Charlie did so and I could see his cock give a lurch. "Now do you see why I didn't do it for you?" I said, pointing at the consequence of his having rubbed vaseline all over his prostate. He grinned. "Maybe later." I nodded. Tonight it would be my turn to show him what I felt about him. But business beckoned. "When you go in, tell him your name, and if he doesn't tell you his, ask what you should call him. Don't be surprised if he says something that isn't a name." "What do you mean, Patrick?" I explained that while most clients were happy to be called by their name - real or pretend - some might want to be called Master, or Sir, or even Daddy. Just do what they ask. Sir will have found out what they want, and if Sir's happy then you have to go along with it. You might get fucked or you might have to fuck him. Maybe it'll be sucking. Remember that the sooner the client cums the sooner most of them will lose interest, especially older ones. Don't forget to tell them how wonderful your time with them has been. With luck you won't have to pretend, but sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and think of something else. Now go and have fun," and I kissed him tenderly. "I'll be back here at 1430 for my shower, so I'll be here when you get back." He started to put his uniform on and I stopped him. "No underwear. You want the client to see your body as soon as the jacket and trousers come off." "I've so much to learn," he said. "Yes, but you've got the best fucking teacher on the ship." The next hour was difficult for me. I knew I'd never be a parent, but I could begin to understand how a father feels when his son does some grown-up thing for the first time, whether it's driving a car or going to work, or just going on his first date. You give them all the guidance and support you can and then ... there's bugger all for you to do except wait. The sensible part of me knew that Charlie would be fine: he loved sex and was highly inventive; the Catholic bit of me that fed on guilt knew that he'd be treated as Alan had been and I'd never forgive myself. Luckily that bit was being quietly neutralized by Charlie's equally daft Calvinism, and with luck we'd both end up as happy, reasonably guilt-free atheists, bereft of other peoples' superstitions. But that was still some time in the future ... a good three or four days away. I had to get out of the habit of day-dreaming. On the last voyage a client had caught me inattentive to his approach in the elevator; yesterday I'd completely missed a question from Andrew, and it had just happened again. "Are you all right, boy?" "Sorry, Sir, yes, I'm fine. Where can I take you?" We were alone, and I've found that a question which could be interpreted as being suggestive sometimes gets the prospective client to the point more quickly than would otherwise happen. This was such an occasion. "It's more a question of where I take you, boy." "I like that, Sir, and you can tell me where you want to take me when we meet," I said and 30 seconds later he was out of there keenly looking forward to being contacted. It was 1420 so I decided to knock off a few minutes early. I went to tell Sir about my new client. I went down to the cabin and heard the shower running. I looked in and Charlie was there, washing his sins away (although I didn't think Calvinists, even fading ones, thought of it in those terms. It's a Catholic thing, after all). "Well?" I said. "It was OK. Nothing to write home about. Compared to what you and the others do, and what the crew guys do, it was very very dull and ordinary." "And that, Charlie, is what a whore wants. In and out with minimum effort. If it's good it's a bonus. What did he want?" "He wanted me to suck his cock to get it hard and then he fucked me. After he'd come he lost interest, as you'd said he would. I asked him if he wanted to suck mine but he shook his head. 'Sit on the bed,' he said, and he put a towel down to catch whatever came out of my arse. I couldn't feel it going in - not like you - so maybe there wasn't much up there. Anyway, I sat beside him and he stroked my thighs. I was hard and he was making me really keen to come. I told him he'd make me come if he went on stroking me so sexily, which wasn't true by the way, and he said he'd like me to wank onto his cock. That suited me, so I knelt over him and did just that. He seemed to enjoy that more than when he was fucking me." I told him that that wasn't unusual, as clients, particularly older ones, seemed to like seeing cum fly out of a boy's cock, especially if it landed somewhere interesting. "Well," said Charlie, "at least I've done one on my own. He gave me $20 too." I got into the shower and washed. Being an old hand I knew what would be safe for me to do, so when I got out I asked Charlie to grease me up. He spent longer than was really necessary, but I knew he wanted to make a thorough job of it. He patted my arse. "Off you go, then." My client knew exactly what he wanted - he was clearly used to buying his pleasure. "Come in, lad. What's your name?" "Patrick. What should I call you?" "Arthur." I started to take off my jacket and Arthur move to stroke my chest. "Mmm! I like a smooth young boy. How old are you, Patrick?" "I'm 14 Arthur, but I'm very experienced. What would you like to do with me?" "I want to suck your cock, and I want you to come in my mouth." This was going to be an undemanding afternoon, I thought. Arthur was at least 60, fairly stout, and English. I didn't expect to be there long. I stood in front of him and let his hands rove over my chest. It was not unpleasant, but it was not sexy either. His hands moved gradually lower until they were at the buttons of my trousers. "I want to see your cock," he said. "You know where it is, Arthur, I'd like you to find it for me." The daft games we play! Arthur, slow to get going, now speeded up. His need to see my cock was irresistible. His fingers fumbled with my buttons. I stood quite still. At last he undid everything and was delighted to find nothing inside but me. "My, you're a lusty lad, Patrick," he panted. "That's because what you're doing us really turning me on," I said. I shook my hips and my trousers slid down my hairless legs, revealing a hairless cock urgently hard above a hairless pair of balls. "Mmm! I love a boy with no hair," he murmured, "do you shave, Patrick?" I assured him that what he saw - what he was now feeling - was entirely natural, and made a mental note to discuss shaving with the others tonight. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good whore can think of several things at a time. I stepped out of my trousers and, picking them up, moved across the room to put them and my jacket neatly on a chair. Naturally I had my back to Arthur and naturally I had to bend down, affording an interesting view of my hairless arse crack. Would this entice Arthur to get acquainted with it, I wondered. "You have a nice arse, Patrick, and 20 years ago I would have wanted to fuck you, but not any more, alas. What this old man needs to keep him young is the spunk of boys. That's why you are here, Patrick, to feed me what I need to keep me young." I smiled winningly while thinking that either he wasn't getting enough spunk for any rejuvenating effect to manifest itself on his features, or he was just an old pervert who liked sucking boys off, and who had found a reason to justify it. Why did he bother, I wondered - sucking cocks was great and so was swallowing spunk - why make an excuse? A good whore goes along with the client's strange ideas, however, so I told him that I had been complimented on the volume and tastiness of my spunk, and that I was sure it would make a new man of him. What I didn't know at that point was that I was going to have three orgasms in Arthur's mouth before the hour was up. The first was pretty quick. Arthur knelt at my feet and I fed him my cock. He was pretty good, and I enjoyed what he dud with his lips and his tongue. His aim was to get me off as fast as he could. "I want to feel the spunk pulsing out of your fit young body into me," he said. I murmured that I would be doing just that very soon if he sucked me as well as he was doing. In less than two minutes I came, my hands holding his head as I squirted several good jets into his mouth. He had his hands on my arse and he pulled me in, which suited me as I was only interested in what my cock was doing. I left my cock where it was - it was up to him whether he wanted it in his mouth or not. He drew his head back, his lips squeezing the last drop of cum as he did so. "Thank you, Patrick. Come and lie beside me on the bed." That was when he told me that this was going to be a three-act performance. I said I would do my best. Arthur was rather scornful. "When I was your age I was wanking five or six times a day. You ought to manage three in an hour." I smiled and said nothing. It's curious how it doesn't seem to occur to clients that they may not be your only source of relief that day. "I think three is very likely if you get me off as skilfully as that, Arthur." Cue violins, I thought. My hand strayed to Arthur's cock. It was a decent size - seven inches, and quite thick - but despite my 14-year-old hairless hands and my well-honed technique it remained dormant. "It doesn't wake up any more, Patrick, because I haven't swallowed enough boy juice." "Perhaps we should try for the next dose then," I said, and I started to stroke my own cock. I'm glad to say that it was a great deal more responsive. "Let's try this," I said, and made him sit up against the pillows. I knelt over his chest with my cock only a few inches from his mouth. "I'll wank until I'm nearly there then you suck me off again." "Very well." If I was going to have to come three times I knew I would need a good half hour between the second and the third - I wasn't 12 any more. So getting number two down his throat was a high priority. It took about seven minutes of wanking to get me to the finishing straight. "Oh, Arthur, take me, I'm nearly there." Arthur opened wide, in I went, and almost immediately in I came. Arthur swallowed greedily. It wasn't as much as the first one, but it ran to three good spurts. I was feeling drained, so I allowed myself to fall onto him, hoping he might be aroused by a boy resting on his chest. That didn't work either, so we lay rather chastely which the minutes ticked by and my balls went busily about their important business. I stroked his hairy chest, my finger tips tracing paths through the forest. He seemed to enjoy what I was doing, because he put his arms round me. I felt his cock again, but it was still asleep. At last I knew I had to steel myself. I said I was going to wank myself again, but that I would need him to help me along. What help did I feel I needed? "I love it when a man puts a couple of fingers up my arse and finds my magic button," I said with what I hoped was a winningly coquettish smile. "That way I'll be able to cum for you again. I feel my balls churning, so there should be plenty if you'll help." Pure tosh, of course, but clients at this point in the encounter are rarely paying any attention to the words a whore is uttering - they just want to get on with it. All he heard was 'fingers', 'arse', and 'cum' so he did what was wanted. I knelt as I had done, he reached round and two fingers sought entrance. They were instantly admitted, and instantly disappeared within. He hit my prostate unerringly and massaged it gently. I started to wank. My cock was tender, but I knew it would cope. I didn't think it likely it was going to take long. Without the prostate treatment it would have taken 20 minutes or more, but magic buttons deliver the goods all right. His fingers scrabbled about inside my arse; I wanked hard, concentrating on nice sexy things, I got close quite quickly. "Suck me now, Arthur." He leant forward, his mouth round my cock, his fingers up my arse. I fucked his mouth and at last I came again. This time I made it a noisy cum. My cock slipped out of his mouth. He swallowed. "Thank you, Patrick. I hope you enjoyed that." I assured him that I had. "Did you like the taste?" I asked. "Oh yes, I always like the taste. It's never the same. Yours tastes of almonds." I didn't know what to make of this, so I just smiled mysteriously. "I'm glad," I said. I got up after a minute or two and got dressed again. "There's something for you on the table by the door," he said. I went to leave and saw £10 lying there. "Thank you, Arthur, that's very generous," I said. "Thank you, Patrick." I put the £10 in my pocket, turned to smile, and left. I wondered if he would want more medication from one of us tomorrow. Or maybe more than one of us ... =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 35 as we sail on westwards. The story is, of course, fiction, but the photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing a few months ago, and the boy I describe as "me" is really cute. I'm sure he had adventures ... Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================