Date: Fri, 26 Oct 2018 07:41:39 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 95 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 95 "Well, Arthur, the best are last. Once you've got my load there's only Micky left. And if you really believe that our spunk is magic -" by this time my cock was well inside his mouth "- then the fresh hot spunk of a 13-year-old will rejuvenate you better than we can." Arthur was bobbing on my cock, saliva escaping from the corners of his mouth as the erotic delight of Micky soon to be blessing him with his juices carried him to greater and more energetic heights than any of us had seen before. Maybe 13-year-old cum was magic after all. Tim crept behind me and gave my prostate the benefit of his fingers. Fingers that were the first ever admitted up there, on a wet November Sunday when we were both 11. Fingers that had brought me to the first shattering orgasm when spunk had flown. Fingers that I'd sucked hundreds of times as they came out of my arse, their magic wrought. Fingers that had the same fingerprints as mine which had done for Tim's excitements as his had done for mine. Fingers that had entwined with mine as we both writhed our way to cum after cum before the heavens opened and we found Charlie and Sam. Fingers that were driving me to thrust hard into Arthur's mouth. Fingers that - aaah! - forced my balls to empty themselves of the white-hot spunk that Arthur so desperately needed, and which rushed up out of my cock spurting spurting spurting ... I reached forward and cradled Arthur's head as he sucked for dear life. I stroked him. I wanted him to enjoy me as he'd enjoyed all the others. But in my heart I knew that I, that all seven of us, had been merely the warm-up. With a moment's regret - my cock would never be there again - I drew back. "Thank you, Patrick, almonds as always." I smiled. "I'm glad nothing's changed. I'll always remember you when I think of almonds, Arthur." Micky had watched all seven of us. I knew that he would want to do something different when it was his turn. I stepped back. "Arthur, this is Micky. He has been an astonishing find for us, and I know you'll never forget the next 20 minutes." Arthur smiled, almost sadly. "Pray I don't have a heart attack, but if I do I shall die a truly happy man." Micky, naked, hairless, erect, foreskin drawn back, stood facing Arthur with his legs planted firmly apart. "I'm ready to shoot my spunk into your mouth Arthur, but wouldn't you like to see whether I'm ready for Sam to fuck me afterwards? I'm only 13 and my arse may not be fully prepared. Would you like to make sure?" Until then Arthur had shown no interest in our arses beyond clutching them and kneading our cheeks as we shot. Micky's arse was evidently more enticing, or maybe it was just Micky himself, but Arthur had spun the boy round and was intent on a careful examination. "Touch your toes, Micky, and let me have a good look." Micky obliged. Arthur sighed. "Lovely," he murmured. I was standing close by, my cock still wet from its recent happy event. "It's nice to taste too," I said, "I can vouch for that myself." A good whore can lie convincingly when required. Arthur needed no further encouragement. His lips were as avidly applied to Micky's arse as they had been to a succession of cocks that morning. Micky sighed and wriggled. He was in no hurry. Sam whispered quietly in his ear, "the longer you take before you come for him the less time I'll have to fuck you." Suddenly Micky was keen to give Arthur what he so desperately wanted. He spun round and rubbed his cock head on Arthur's lips. They parted to admit the youngest cock that had ever been there. They closed round it. Arthur's tongue went to work as his hands clasped Micky's arse. Micky hadn't had anything like as much experience of being sucked off as he had of being fucked, so the mere fact of his cock being given intensive treatment by an experienced tongue drew him close to coming very quickly. "Oh! Arthur, it's ... aaah!" and 13-year-young spunk, tastier and hotter and sexier and more rejuvenating than anything Arthur had, in his wildest dreams, ever imagined coated his tongue. Micky leaned over Arthur's head, temporarily drained. Sam leaned over and stroked his face. "Well done. Now come and get your reward." This had to be started before Arthur could object. Tim and I led him to the sofa where we settled him to watch. The tableau wasn't just Sam and Micky, although they were already ready in the middle of the bed. I wanted the other two couples to fuck as well, so George and Vincent were together at one side of the bed while Javid and Nigel were on the other. Tim and I sat either side of Arthur while Graham sat on the floor leaning back between his legs. Very gently Javid and Vincent positioned their boyfriends on their backs. Legs rose and were locked behind heads. Cocks gently, then insistently, sought entry, found entry, disappeared. Arthur had a grandstand seat and I could hear his indrawn breath as the two boys penetrated deep where their lovers wanted them. Meanwhile Sam had lain on his back, his 9 inches hard and vertical. "Come on, Micky, get on and fuck yourself. You know you've been dying to get it up you again. Micky was urgent in his desire to have Sam fuck him again, but he knew that this was largely for Arthur's benefit, so he made a meal of adjusting himself and lowering himself onto Sam. The oohs and aahs were greatly exaggerated, as were Sam's sighs as his cock was clasped by Micky's arse muscles. On either side the fucking continued, with much moaning and groaning. Tim and I were stroking the inside of Arthur's thighs and when I kneed Graham he turned round and knelt between Arthur's legs and started to suck his cock. It was still soft, but it looked a good inch longer than it had. My fingers were crossed. The three of us on sofa duty kept up our tactile ministrations. Sam and Micky went hard at it, as did Javid and Vincent. I'd briefed then beforehand that it was important fir Arthur to see spunk flying - nothing was to happen up anyone's arse. With any luck the four orgasms that I expected would not happen at once, but would each build on the one before, giving Arthur, if all went well, a mounting thrill. Vincent was first, pulling out of George in time for a fountain of spunk to spill onto George's belly where, after allowing its trajectory to be enjoyed, Vincent claimed it back. Half a minute later Javid's gorgeous brown cock was whipped out of Nigel allowing an arc of pearly delight to coat his chest. It too was quickly consumed. To my delight I could see a distinct twitch in Arthur. Graham felt it too, taking his mouth off to admire the improvement. "All that spunk is working, Arthur. All it needed was Micky's and you're a new man," I said. Micky's eyes were closed and his head was thrown back. Sam was thrusting up, deep inside, and Micky was in heaven. Arthur was watching, living every upward thrust. Arthur's cock was now more than half erect and he started to wank himself. Instinctively we knew that he would have more success in coming by wanking himself than any of us could manage. Micky and Sam got more and more vigorous. Micky started urging Sam to greater things, quietly but insistently, much as he had done the day before during his marathon. His eyes were still closed and he was twitching. He grasped his cock and started to wank. Suddenly Arthur stood up and crossed to the bed. He knelt behind Sam's head facing the two of them as they fucked. He was fully erect. Micky wanked himself furiously, grunting each time Sam's cock reached maximum depth. Arthur wanked himself furiously, enjoying an erection for the first time for many years. Sam fucked fast and hard. Micky's groans became continuous and suddenly his fist stopped. A second later the boy produced a jet of pearly cum onto Sam's chest. With a deep guttural sigh Arthur wanked faster and faster, fearful lest his erection should desert him at the vital moment; he was rewarded - we were all rewarded - with an enormous quantity of long-pent-up spunk which flew out over Sam's face to land beyond, on Sam's belly. Micky's eyes, open by now, saw all this and his face lit up. "Wow! Arthur, you came fucking buckets. That's `cos of my spunk." Sam then came fucking buckets too, announcing the fact by arching his back and lifting the impaled Micky into the air. Several shots later Sam fell back onto the bed, Micky fell forward onto Sam, his belly in the pool of Arthur's long-awaited spunk, and Arthur just stayed there kneeling dazed on his bed wondering whether he had dreamed the whole glorious thing. Tim and I got up to rescue him. "Well done, Arthur, that was something." Arthur couldn't speak. Tears were running down his face. Micky looked up and, bless him, got off Sam and knelt over him, kissing Arthur gently. "Don't cry, Arthur," he said softly, "it was beautiful." There aren't many 13-year-olds with that degree of empathy, I thought, and Arthur's miracle was to have found one. Gradually we all returned to normal. Sam put his uniform on and went for his shower. Tim and the five bell boys dressed and went for showers, each of them shaking Arthur's hand and kissing him chastely. Micky and I dressed and we were about to go back to 733 to return him to Don's care when Arthur stopped us. "Thank you both," he said simply, "there aren't any words to tell you how I feel. I will never forget today; I will never forget you, Micky, and your beautiful sexy body; and I will never forget you, Patrick, for all the kindness and inventiveness you've shown to an unattractive old man." "No, Arthur, not unattractive at all," I said. "You are kind and generous, and someone somewhere gave you a reward for your kindness. It has been a pleasure to know you and to give you what we could." "You're in danger of making me cry again," he said with a smile, "go now while I still have my dignity." He reached into the drawer beside his bed and took out an envelope. "Give this to your boys." Outside the door I opened the envelope and counted out $200. I peeled off $40 and gave it to Micky. "You earned this, Micky. Without you he'd never have got it up. When you're his age I hope you'll remember today and smile." "Thanks, Patrick. I enjoyed it. Sam is someone I'll always remember too, and yesterday. Don't come in when we get to 733. Let's say goodbye here." There was no-one in sight to see a 13-year-old and a 16-year-old kissing surprisingly passionately. He went to 733 and I went to shower. Who says there's no miracles any more? The rest of the day was spent harvesting tips. We were due to have our special meal at 2000. Charlie hadn't volunteered any details about it, so I didn't ask: it was clearly meant to be a secret. We all met in our cabin - no Charlie, of course - at 1930. I didn't think that Sir would mind us knocking off 15 minutes early on our last evening before Southampton. "How much did you get?" I asked them. Usually we got better tips coming eastwards - maybe there were more Americans on board, maybe returning British tourists had dollars to get rid of. Either way the tips coming home were often a good third higher than they were going westwards. Together the seven of us had received $335 in the elevators - about average. The new bell boys were astonished however. They were all working class boys, and money had always been tight at home. When Sir told them how much each of them had accumulated in his book they were amazed. The tips in the elevators, and those from satisfied clients, they knew about, but the tips that Cunard added to each passenger's bill for distribution to all crew members came as a surprise, as did the share of the fees Sir and I had taken in. Each of us was well over $100 richer, just from one Atlantic crossing. At 1955 we all trooped to the canteen to be greeted by a round table set in a corner lit with candles. It was set for eight. The Nelson-touch barman beckoned us over. "There's no beer tonight, not now anyway. You're going to the Bridge and we can't have the smell of beer on you. But maybe after you've been ..." The sentence was left unfinished. At that point Sir appeared and the barman winked. "Come along then." said Sir, leading us to the table. He's done his homework, and couples were sat together. I was on his right, then Vincent, George, Graham, Nigel, Javid and Tim. The two dishy waiters who had served us in the Mauretania Room appeared and started to serve us. Tim and I had experienced silver service before, but for the rest of them it was new experience. Tim and I had experienced the pleasure of the very close proximity of these gorgeous young men in their tight trousers as they bent over us to put food on our plates. For the rest of them that was a new experience too, and one that caused smiles and minor adjustments. I really would have to take this further on the next crossing. Charlie had done us proud. A smoked salmon starter, wholly new to the bell boys, and the tenderest steak imaginable after. We could, of course, easily have helped ourselves to the potatoes, cauliflower and gravy, but it was so much nicer to have the delicious young men doing so for us. How closely they pressed lest any food be spilt! Charlie, or perhaps Ryan, had thought this through very thoroughly. The sweet was brought in by Charlie himself - a Bombe Alaska which he told me later had caused him agonies. Apparently it either works wonderfully or is catastrophic. This one, so agonized over, was perfect. None of us - bell boys or bell captains - had even come across ice cream in a cake with a meringue lid before. Nor, what with what Fate would bring us in the coming few years, would we do so again for a very long time. Happily none of us had second sight. When we'd eaten Sir said that we would go to the Bridge next, and then visit the engine room. "After that you'll be coming back here for a little more refreshment," this with a typical Sir twinkle. "I want to thank you bell boys for your hard work, in all areas. You've now crossed the Atlantic twice, a thing that is exciting in itself. You've also had experiences which I'm sure you will never forget. Some of you have made new friends, and I'm delighted that these are deep and, I hope, long-lasting bonds. Patrick and Tim keep me informed, and we are - the three of us - keen that you are happy and fulfilled. Queen Mary is your new home, and the people you love are here with you. Graham, I am sorry that Prince has gone. If there was anything we could do to bring him back to you, to all of us, we would do it. But sometimes we have to accept that we are helpless. We can't fill the gap, but I hope that the other six of you, and the older ones too, can help to heal the wound. Now, off you go. Patrick, I think you know the way." It was Javid who spoke quietly. "Thank you, Sir. We're all grateful for this treat. Two weeks ago we thought we knew what life on Queen Mary might be like, but I for one am so glad that it had turned out so much better." He reached for Nigel's hand under the table and squeezed it. Nigel blushed, but his smile was radiant. No more needed to be said. I led them up to the Bridge and knocked once, opening the door having done so. Sam was there looking very serious and important. I knew how Tim must have felt - intensely proud. He led them in and I remained at the back. This was Tim's show if it was anybody's. Will came forward and welcomed them. He and Sam pointed out the function of the various dials and levers, and like all visitors to the Bridge they were impressed by the quiet up there. They'd all seen too many movies of men shouting and screaming as the sea crashed about, but here was Queen Mary steaming quietly eastwards under a moonlit night. The lights of the South Coast were just about visible 20 or more miles away as we approached the western point of the Isle of Wight. The bell boys were looking at everything new and exciting. Sam was trying not to look too proud of his new role as initiate into the mysteries of navigation. Will was eyeing up the new talent. It was dark on the Bridge, so only I - who was watching - could see where he was looking. I would need to find ten minutes of his time, but it wouldn't be tomorrow. Port time was busy time for him. I didn't want to use Sam as go-between for matters of a sexual nature: it wasn't fair. Business and pleasure should be kept separate where possible. The Captain had been sitting in his chair while the newcomers asked all the usual questions. "Do you remember your visit here, Patrick?" he asked. "Yes, Sir, vividly. It was very exciting for a boy who had never been to sea before." "Do you know how far you have sailed since then?" I didn't, but I tried a quick calculation. It had been 23 months less the 2 months when we'd been at Ashokan. "1 months, so say 86 weeks. 86 crossings, each one 3000-odd miles. ""A quarter of a million miles, Sir." "Not bad, lad. I asked for the log when I knew you were coming up. It's 284,779 miles as of one minute ago." "That's more than the distance to the Moon," said Will. My new colleagues were stunned by this. The Captain turned to the bell boys. "When Patrick and Tim came to visit the Bridge when they were new recruits like you I asked Tim who was the most important person on the ship. Do you remember your answer, Tim?" "I do, Sir, and we've taught the new bell boys that lesson." "Good," said God, "always the passenger comes first." For a terrified moment I hoped that there would be no stifled giggle, but I should have trusted them. "Yes, Sir," said George gravely. Sam gathered them together and we left. "Thank you, Sir," they all said, and I nodded to Will. "Sam will give you a message," he said. The engine room was a complete contrast - noisy and vast. Tim took them to Francis who was waiting to show them all the equipment down there. I kept a back seat as I had done on the Bridge. Tim was much better at engine stuff than I was. As with Will Francis was showing a keen interest in the new young flash. The midsummer orgy couldn't come fast enough for either of us, although Francis had no idea I was planning one. After 20 minutes it was time to go back up to the canteen. When we got there the table was still there; the candles were still burning; the number of chairs had been increased to 10. Where Sir's chair had been there were now three. Charlie was waiting for us. "Sit where you were before," he said. As there was no-one else eating (it was only 2120, so had they been shooed out?) we felt free to applaud Charlie and thank him noisily for the meal. Had he prepared it all himself? "Almost. I did the bombe and the smoked salmon. Ryan helped with the steaks. I didn't know how hard it is to cook eight steaks so that they're all ready at the same time as the vegetables." How that would change in years to come! When we were all seated, awaiting beer since Sir had rather suggested this might be forthcoming, Charlie sat in what had been Sir's seat. A moment later the two dishy waiters appeared, one carrying two bottles of champagne and the other carrying 10 glasses. Things were looking up! Everybody got a glass and the two sat on either side of Charlie. "The treat isn't just a tour of the Bridge and the engine room," said Charlie. "There's more. Ryan asked me to introduce Jack and Robin to you. Jack is sitting next to Patrick, and Robin is next to Tim. Ryan is certain that they will be as keen to get to know you all as I know, from the look on your faces, that you want to get to know them. Patrick, I'm sorry I kept this a secret, but I know you'll understand." It was my turn. "Charlie, that was a wonderful meal. The bombe was amazing. Tell Ryan we're grateful. I imagine we'll all have the opportunity of thanking him properly before too long. Jack, Robin, what can I say? If what Ryan says is true then the ocean crossings will o0pen up all sorts of new ... opportunities. We bell boys are an accommodating bunch, and we take life as it comes. Boys, I propose a toast. To Charlie, and Ryan, Jack and Robin. Here's to a more intimate acquaintance." They rose; we drank; I sat down. Jack's hand was on my cock within three seconds. "Your Charlie's boyfriend, right?" I nodded. "He's told us all about you and your colleagues." "All?" "Yes, but we're sworn to secrecy." I made a mental note to find out from Charlie if they were part of, or even aware of, Phil and Larry's operation. "It would be good to get to know you boys. Like them we only joined in Southampton." "Let me work something out. Maybe you two and Tim and I could have ten minutes somewhere quiet tomorrow in port?" It was left that Charlie would organize a meeting if he could. The champagne was going down well with ten of us drinking it. Vincent and George were beginning to get giggly on the two glasses they'd put away. Best they stick to beer in future, I thought. Robin and Jack had moved to younger flesh. Jack was squatting down between Graham and Nigel, unaware that they were twins. He had a hand on each thigh. Neither boy was resisting, and I saw Nigel's hand move to Jack's arse. Robin meanwhile was between George and Vincent whose giggles were if anything encouraged by whatever Robin was saying - I couldn't hear. There was no doubt in my mind that things had taken a big leap forward in the last hour. =============================================================================== The fun will continue in Chapter 96 in Southampton. The photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing last year, 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. ===============================================================================