Date: Wed, 31 Oct 2018 20:58:49 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 97 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. Another minor proof-reading failure in Chapter 96. Inspector Grant (a homage to the excellent Josephime Tey) was inadvertently called Graves once ot twice. My apologies. 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 It didn't seem wise for Sir and me to drink in the Cunard terminal, especially as I was in uniform. We got back on board and he invited me to his room. "Beer?" "Yes, please." He picked up the internal phone and ordered a sandwich lunch for two, with beer. "What do you think?" he said. "I think we got away with it," I said, "your bit about 'men who prey on boys' was priceless, and there could be no doubt that the foul smell under your nose was genuine." "I was quite pleased about that myself," he said. After a pause he said, "I wonder where he is now." "With luck he'll be just waking up in bed next to Edward after a prolonged night's fucking, but I don't feel at all confident about it. If Edward's criminal enough to have a false passport you never know what he might actually be up to." Sir agreed. "I don't suppose we'll ever know. How is Graham coping?" "It's hard to say. On the surface he seems his usual wicked sex-mad 15-year-old self - after all, that's why he's here - and the rest of us are making sure he's never left out. Javid and Nigel have had him in bed with them the last few nights, ever since we dragged out of him what was wrong. We had a certain amount of fun last night." I was about to give him the juicy details - details I knew he would relish - when the food and beer arrived. Four bottles, I was pleased to note. We tucked in and the first beer went down a treat. "Thirsting after righteousness," said Sir. I'd always associated that expression with Father Corrigan's desire for Mulloy spunk after Mass, but since I was in the presence of the Father's brother I kept my thought to myself. "About last night," encouraged Sir. "It became apparent that the arts of pissfucking and fisting were not as fully understood as they might have been. While Arthur was being serviced Nigel fisted Graham and the others were astonished. We are due to put that right tonight as it's far too early in the crossing for anyone to have a client." "I see you don't waste time." "Last night they learnt about pissfucking. George and Vincent confessed that they'd done each other occasionally, and Tim and I are old hands, so the seven of us put the champagne to good use. All of your staff are now adept, and keen. I'm asking $30 for a piss session, but I think it's worth asking $50 specifically for pissfucking either way round. I reckon all the ones who would have coughed up $30 for piss will be lured into the $50 job." "Yes, I agree. Remind me what you're charging now." "$80 an hour, $60 thereafter. Overnight $300. Second boy a bit cheaper. I give repeat business a bit off." "And you're getting enough business like that?" "Oh yes. We've had more overnights in the last two weeks that we've had for a while. New young flesh, no doubt." Sir laughed and passed my second bottle across. "What about Tim? Is he bothered about playing second fiddle to you?" It was something I occasionally worried about, but there was no evidence that he was jealous, or wanted more responsibility. "No, I don't think so. He and Sam are very close, more so in a way than Charlie and me. I don't mean their feelings for each other are stronger, but they talk to each other a lot more than we do. I think each of them knows how the other one spent every waking moment since they were 5. Charlie and I are much more interested in what we're feeling, rather than what happened 10 years ago. For instance I know what poets Charlie likes, and what books he's read. I don't think Tim could say that about Sam, but he could say what Sam liked doing when he was 7." Sir put his glass down and looked at me. "You are so lucky, the four of you," he said, "and I am so fortunate that I was part of bringing you together. I write to my brother, you know, and sometimes I tell him how you and Tim are progressing - what fine young men you are turning into. Naturally I don't describe the goings-on: he doesn't need to hear about them, but I know he rejoices that you are both strong and happy. You and I no longer have his faith, but you may like to know that he prays for your happiness, and Charlie's, and Tim's and Sam's, every day." We were both quiet. I hadn't expected that, and although Sir was right about my having no longer any religious feeling, it was still sobering to know that someone who did was caring about me each day. "I'll tell them if I may," I said quietly. "Yes, do if you wish." We were quiet again. Sir slapped the table. "Drink up, there's work to do," and we returned to normality. I thanked him for lunch and the beer. It was 1250 and the rest of them would be doing the normal port day duties around the Purser's office. Tim could organize that standing on his head, so I went to take up elevator duty. It was pretty quiet for the first hour or so as only the First Class passengers boarded this early - the rush wouldn't usually start until 1400. Still, there were enough of the spectacularly wealthy to keep me going up and down to Decks 8 and 9 happily showing to any discerning passenger that I was, in Sir's words, 'always available'. I was fairly sure that I had caught the eye of three of them, but of course it was far too early to expect an approach. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow sleeps in this pretty face, and all that. The beer was making its presence felt, so I nipped out. On my way back I found Tim in the first elevator. "I've been looking for you," he said, "but it's too busy to talk now. Can you be on Deck 9 in 15 minutes?" I nodded. What was this about? Had Jack and Robin met with Tim and Charlie while Sir and I had been ashore? Fifteen minutes later we were both on Deck 9. By then most of the First Class were not only aboard, but getting their first lunch down them, so it was practically deserted apart from the constant coming and going of the luggage porters. None of them had any interest in a pair of bell boys (nor we in any of them, a decision which two quick glances were enough to settle). "Where were you?" "Sir and I had to meet the people about Prince. We convinced them that wicked Edward must have dazzled poor innocent Prince with bags of gold to run away with him and live happily ever after." "You're joking." "Well, yes, but we got them to believe that he'd seduced him." "And no-one got the idea that Sir might be behind anything?" "I'm astonished that you should think such a thing. Sir and I are very good at spinning a believable tale. The closer to the truth a lie is the more likely it is to be believed. The police here are going to involve the American lot, but they're not hopeful, worse luck. Why did you want me?" "Charlie brought Jack and Robin to talk about you-know-what. They're as keen as we are. They get off duty at the same time Ryan does, so if we want they can come visiting at around 2230. They're not boyfriends, but they've known each other for some time. They were on another Cunard ship until recently." "Sounds good to me. Has a date been agreed?" "No, we didn't want to do that until you knew about it." I thought about it. If they weren't boyfriends then there was no real need to have them both to play at the same time - the cabins weren't big enough. Much better to spread the pleasure over several nights, or even several crossings. "Did you ask what their sleeping arrangements are? When Ryan used to come to play his cabin-mate was supposed to be off fucking some girl. Will Jack and Robin need a cover story?" "We didn't get that far. You're the business brains, so you can sort out the boring details." He grinned. "You enjoy it, don't you?" I had to smile. "Yes," I said simply, "does it bother you?" "Good God, no. Not in the least." It was quiet up there. There was a lull in the luggage process. I told him what Sir had said about Father Corrigan. "That's nice," he said, "Sam will be amused." "Your bed has been blessed, brother, and I hope you'll be very fulfilled in it." "Come on, it's flaunting time." At 2000 when we all compared notes the flaunting had done no more than bait several hooks. Nobody was disappointed: the next day or two would bring in the shoal. The evening before we had feasted on a three-course meal and champagne; tonight it was roast chicken and beer. After a lifetime with Charlie I sometimes find it hard to remember how thrilling chicken was to a boy from the poorest part of Liverpool. The first time Tim and I had eaten anything with wings was on Queen Mary. By the time we sat down that night it had become commonplace - we had, without noticing it, started to become if not sophisticated, at least moderately civilized. By 2045 the meal was long over and the beer glasses were empty. "Time for tonight's lesson," I said. Rarely have pupils rushed so readily to their classroom. As usual we were all naked a few minutes later. "This isn't about pissing," said Tim, "and it's best done on a bed, so all of you go and get rid of the beer." While they were out we decided who would do what. "You do me," I said, "and we'll both point out things of interest along the way." "Didn't Graham and Nigel say they fisted each other?" "Yes. It must be a twin thing." He chuckled. "Whatever it is it'll be interesting to see what happens tonight," he said. When they got back I asked Graham and Nigel to tell the others what fisting was like, and how they had found out about it. It was Graham who spoke first. "What it is is dead easy - it's sticking your whole fist up someone' arse. It's like fingers, but it's a lot fatter and it goes in a lot further." Nigel said "it takes a lot of practice and you've got to have your hand and the arsehole really wet with lube." "Doesn't it hurt?" asked Javid. So he and Nigel hadn't got that far then. "Yes, a bit, but it's like being fucked. That hurt the first few times but we all goy used to it didn't we?" Nods all round. "And now we love it. Being fisted's the same." Graham said that the person doing the fisting had to have fairly small hands, and instinctively all four who knew what they were talking about raised a fist. "Look," said Tim, "this is how you hold it," and he showed them how his thumb tucked into the groove his other four fingers made. "The knuckles are the widest part, but once they're in the pain is over. It's like shitting a big one - it's eye-watering, but not for more than a second or two. And the person being fisted has to push - hard - as the fist goes in. That way his arse muscle does what it's designed to do - open up to let something big out, or in this case, in. The muscle doesn't know which way the big fat thing is going, it just relaxes and opens up." It was time for a demonstration. I asked Nigel if they would like to go first. He and Graham looked at each other, shrugged, and Nigel said, "yeah, OK, but on one condition." "What's that?" I said. "You and Tim do it after." "That's fair," said Tim, "I will fist Patrick. Which of you will fist the other?" Scissors-paper-stone decided that Graham's arse would be invaded. "As you do it, tell us all what you're doing, and what it feels like - both of you. If the others are to learn you'll have to teach them," I said. Graham got on his hands and knees. "This isn't the only position, a bit like being fucked," he said, "but you'll have a better view. He lowered his shoulders onto the bed and turned his head to face his audience. We all knew his arse would be greased, but Nigel got a large dollop of vaseline and smeared it all round Graham's hole, covering it thoroughly with his right hand. "Look," he said, holding up his hand, "it's as greasy as it can be. They were all accustomed to fingering, so Nigel didn't bother with the first few, putting three in at once. Graham shuddered. "I can feel his fingers near my prostate, and the feeling of being stretched is hot. I don't mean sexy hot, which it is, but heat hot. When he's got three fingers in all I want is his whole fucking hand." Nigel was in no hurry: this wasn't really for his benefit or Graham's. He turned his fingers round back and forth, twisting over Graham's prostate. Graham moaned. "I'll come if you go on." Nigel stopped. "I think he's ready," he said, and out came the three fingers. There was no point in bothering with four, so he made the wedge ("look at my thumb") and slowly, with three novices gathered closely, inserted it into the greasy hole. "Push," he said, and Graham's arse lips opened. "That's what it looks like when you're being fucked," said Tim, "but you never get to see it." Nigel pushed until his knuckles were just at the moment of entry. "You pause here, and let him say he wants it, or not." Graham grunted. "That's 'yes', I think. Now push hard, G." Graham pushed hard and Nigel's fist, to the amazement of Javid, George and Vincent, disappeared as though it had been sucked in. "Aaah!" groaned Graham. Three seconds later, "aaah!" "Note the difference of these two cries," said Tim in his best schoolmaster tones, "the first was pain as though he'd shat a big one; the second was the heat hot about fifty times better than when it was only three fingers. Am I right?" Vigorous nods from Graham were seen by the pupils clustered round his arse. At that time Nigel's fist was only inside Graham up to the bones in his wrist. "How much further can he go?" asked Javid, who was evidently rather looking forward to possessing the next arse into which his boyfriend would be burrowing. "It depends," I said. "The piping inside your arse goes straight up, looking at it if your standing up, for several inches, then it turns through a right angle to your left. The piping is soft and can move, but you've got to be bloody careful you don't treat it roughly and make it bleed. That means you can usually get six or right inches in. Go on, Nigel, do it gradually. Graham, say when you think he's hit the corner." In went Nigel. "Aaaah!" went Graham, "that's so fucking hot." Quarter inch by quarter inch Nigel's arm disappeared. Quarter inch by quarter inch three jaws dropped. Quarter inch by quarter inch two Bell Captains' grins widened. Then, when Nigel's elbow was about two inches from the magic doorway Graham grunted a different grunt - more of an "oof". "Is that it?" I said. "Yeah." "Now keep it there, Nigel. The rest of you look at his arm." I took a pencil and made a mark where Nigel's arm touched Graham's arse ring. "That's how you fist somebody - at least, that's the mechanics of it. Now that he's in there, Graham, how do you want it to finish?" I explained that it was expected that a boy, or a man, having had a fist that far up him would be screaming for an orgasm, but how it was obtained was really his choice, not the fister's. At least, that's how Tim and I understood the etiquette. "I want him to fuck me with his fist while somebody else sucks my cock." Normally you wouldn't have seen Tim for dust, but he's teaching tonight. The other three all looked at each other, but it was clearly Javid who had first dibs. While Nigel kept his arm still Javid got onto the bed and scooted under Graham's body. There wasn't a lot of room, but all three of them knew that they were unlikely to have to maintain their positions for very long. Graham lifted his head and shoulders so that he and Javid were 69ing. I put up a silent prayer (well, you know what I mean) that Javid's cock would be safe from involuntary gnashing when Graham came. "Ready?" said Nigel. Two grunts were interpreted as positive. Nigel started to withdraw his fist. "Never past the wrist," said Tim, "unless the guy being fisted is really loose and likes it that way. We've never been that loose, but maybe some older clients might be. Nice young teen flesh like ours doesn't get that floppy though." Nigel whacked in hard. "Oof!" Tim explained that 'oof' was good. Javid was at work with his hands as well as his lips, giving Graham's balls a sensual tugging. George and Vincent were only about a foot away from the action. In an ordinary classroom it would have fallen to the schoolmaster to stop boys observed to be vigorously masturbating during the course of a lesson, as George and Vincent were, but Tim was strangely unobservant. He and I exchanged the sort of look that I imagine fond parents must have - "ah! the children are having such fun" - while four 15-year-olds rapidly approached their liquid destinations. Vincent was first, shooting all over Graham's back. "I felt that," he muttered, "thanks." George, only ten seconds or so later, managed to direct his onto where Nigel's arm was plugging Graham's arse. "More lube for you," he gasped. Steam seemed to be rising from the three of them, and flames were about to appear, but luckily the god of orgasms showed mercy and showered them with his liquid fire instead. Graham came into Javid's mouth and Javid, removing his cock from Graham's mouth, wanked furiously, coming very substantially all the way up his belly. Feeling Graham's arse contract round his arm Nigel steadily withdrew. He alone of the initiates had not come. He turned to us. "I need to come," he panted, "but after all that, only if someone's arm is up me." "You can have one of us now," said Tim, "or you can wait until one of these has recovered." Nigel's reply was swift. "Now. You, Tim." I moved out of the way and Nigel, cock hard and leaking precum, knelt on our bed. Tim got behind him and carefully inserted two fingers. "It's OK, Tim, I'm well greased. Graham and I do each other regularly." Tim quietly suggested that as his fist was probably bigger than Graham's a degree of caution might be wise. "Besides," he added, "it's more fun for me to keep you begging for more." Nigel chuckled. "You win, sire, just make the delay worth it." "Oh, he will, believe me," I said. George and Vincent, recovering now, lay back on the other bed. Javid, his cum still wet on his belly, and I propped ourselves in the corner. I pointed across and whispered in his ear, "do you fancy having some of that?" He nodded, "but who's got the smallest hands? I'd like to try small and work up." "Very wise," I murmured, "we should find out when these two have finished." "How?" "Wait and see. I imagine you'll wish to help Nigel over there, so hop it." Javid got into position to repeat for his boyfriend the service he had earlier provided for Graham. Nigel was squirming as Tim had four fingers in by then. "Come on, Tim, I've waited long enough." Tim's fingers were slowly removed. He held his hand up - wet with grease and Nigel's juices - and (for the benefit of his students) carefully made the wedge. He touched it to Nigel's arse which opened to receive it. The four steepled fingers disappeared ... the knuckles stretched Nigel wide ... his eyes were wide open ... Tim pushed on, his hand slipping easily in ... Nigel's face relaxed into a seraphic smile of contentment. He leaned forward to get his lips round Javid's cock, still redolent of his recent cum. "Mmm! I love the taste of you, Javid, I can't get enough." Tim pushed well in until Nigel made a 'stop' sort of noise. I pointed out to the audience (by holding my arm up) where Tim had got to. Three pupils made a mental note. The two on the bed next to me were sporting pretty good erections a mere 8 minutes or so after coming. It made me proud to be British. Tim brought Nigel to a high state of readiness, pumping long strokes with almost the whole of his forearm. Each time his knuckles passed his prostate Nigel shuddered, and as the shudders got closer and closer as Tim accelerated the final shudder turned into a howl of ecstasy as Nigel finally unleashed his spunk into Javid's waiting mouth. Tim took his arm out slowly and came over to where we were. "That's how it's done," he said simply. Nigel, still kneeling, shuffled a foot or so backwards, allowing him to see, and then slowly and carefully to lick, the cum coating Javid's chest and belly. "I'm glad you found the rest," said Javid softly, "I was keeping it for you." A snort from Vincent rather spoilt the tender moment. When the two of them had finished their post-orgasmic bonding I got all of us to stand up. I held out my right hand, palm outwards, fingers splayed. "Each of you touch my hand with your left." They did, and it was clear that George had the smallest hands. "George, you've just volunteered to fist Javid. Not now, there's been enough fisting for one night. But soon." Javid smiled. "I can wait," he said, "but not too long." =============================================================================== The fun will continue in Chapter 98 as we get to know Jack. 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. ===============================================================================