Date: Sat, 11 Sep 2021 13:52:55 +0000 From: olhap8464972175@elude.in Subject: THE LUSTFUL LITTLE MOUSE, CHAPTER 4 THE LUSTFUL LITTLE MOUSE CHAPTER 4 by Oliver Hapland This continues the story of Oskar, the God-fearing 12-year-old son of a Russian diplomat in Victorian London, as he negotiates the persistent advances of a wealthy Old Gentleman, whilst coming to terms with his own guilty attraction to other boys. Thanks to everyone who emailed me about chapter 3. I have been energised by your comments. Warning: this story contains descriptions of sexual interaction between boys. If this is likely to offend you, please do not read on. This story is fiction. It is an artistic exploration of its themes and does not condone them. Readers who enjoy this story may like to read my other stories, such as 'The Monkey's Grin', 'Little Lord Barry' or 'Gulliver's Pageboy' (see links below). I am always delighted to receive readers' email at olhap8464972175@elude.in Please consider making a donation to Nifty to continue providing all these wonderful stories http://donate.nifty.org/ THE LUSTFUL LITTLE MOUSE CHAPTER 4 Meanwhile, life went on as ever for Oskar in the embassy and at school with Piers. Following that first occasion of seeing his friend's large prick, Oskar had a strong desire to see it again and he began to contrive situations where that might be likely. He tried holding back at the end of school, pretending to collect his things, so that he and Piers would be alone, but there was always another boy talking with the master on account of bad behaviour or because of difficulty with his construing. Finally, Oskar saw his chance when one afternoon he was asked by the master to take the crate of slates down to the store cupboard in the basement. 'But they are so heavy!' he complained. 'May I take Piers to help me?' 'Oh, very well,' sighed the master. 'But come back directly!' Between them, the two boys jostled the crate out of the door and down the stairs, where they found the store dim and damp-smelling. Oskar closed the door. 'Do you remember the picnic?' he asked. 'I want you to show me again what you did.' 'Here?' But Oskar had already loosed his own trousers. 'Quickly!' So, by the shaft of late sun that filtered through the high little window, Oskar saw again his friend's generous appendage. Piers demonstrated once more how he took hold of it and caused the skin to move up and over the end, and Oskar pretended to be unsure of how it was done - although he knew very well. Novelty came though when Piers suddenly edged forward at the hips, bent knees splayed side to side like a bandy circus clown. This behaviour seemed most curious to Oskar and he looked on, baffled, until something leapt from the other boy's energetic hand and made Oskar jump. It flew through the shaft of sunlight, like a little glistening eel, before disappearing with a 'splat!' into the trampled dirt floor. A voice booming from above broke the two boys' concentration: 'What are you two doing down there? Come up at once!' Hoisting trousers as they stumbled for the stairs, they arrived back in the schoolroom moments later, a little red-faced it must be said. At first Oskar had thought 'tossing' silly, since he could see little point in it. But after this experience in the store cupboard, his interest in the new activity became more serious and he practised it more assiduously, determined to emulate what he had seen. Before very long, beneath his bedclothes, he learned to experience the proper sensation, at which point the attraction of the activity became abundantly apparent to him. None of this Oskar mentioned to God in his prayers, sensing that it was, in some ill-defined way, sinful, and that the Almighty One would not approve. In fact, Oskar wondered whether God had not noticed his new shameful habit, since nothing untoward seemed to befall him after he had indulged it. One evening, with his nightshirt hoisted up under the blankets, he seemed to have greater than usual difficulty in achieving his goal. There seemed to be a hill within him to get over and he applied himself with redoubled energy as the slope grew and grew. Then, with the night light flickering across the icon of George the Victor, Oskar's eyes fixed upon the beautiful face of that armoured saint, and as his toes curled and his back rose on the pillow, he experienced an epiphany from within. With such force did it come that he thought with alarm that somehow he had been taken by the Victor to the gates of Heaven. As he fell back into his bed, his mind suddenly, and quite involuntarily, recalled the Old Gentleman in the museum asking whether he had ever felt a pleasure so great that he left his body. Oskar couldn't quite remember the word the man had used for this feeling. At the time, he had had no conception of what he could be talking about, but now the intelligence of his body had made its own connection. When Oskar reached to put out the candle, he was startled to find his hand anointed with a dash of slippery fluid. He sat up to examine and sample it cautiously. There was only one thing it could be and - although he could scarcely believe that he had made it - there it was. The boy's heart fluttered with the import of what he had done. Just as Piers had left his mark on the floor of the storeroom, Oskar could now also prove his place in the ranks of men. On his hand was the palpable mark of his potency. And by then he had a word to go with it: it was called 'spunk'. After this, Oskar gave himself over to masturbation rather freely, although not without a troubling sense of remorse afterwards. He was afflicted always by the notion that it was wrong to touch oneself between the legs, other than to wash there. From where this impression had come, he could not explain. But his shame was real and he even took to turning George the Victor to the wall so that the saint would not see Oskar's deeds betrayed in the boy's face as he reached the top of his hill. In the clammy aftermath of his pleasure each time, he would resolve never to do it again and would manage to keep from it for some days - perhaps even a week. But always, in time, he would be troubled by a gnawing sensation inside - 'I have a little mouse in me!' he thought, fidgeting restlessly as he sat at school or elsewhere. The vague lustful feelings that had been growing in him for some time seemed to have found a focus in what he did in his bed, and if he tried to ignore them they would build and build. And as the days went on, this 'mouse' would become increasingly hungry, making him frantic with its nibbling, until inevitably he was driven to feed it again. Amongst Piers's older siblings, next in age after the sister Gerta, was Otto. He was nearly a man and would soon be matriculating from the school. Otto was six feet tall and he and Piers bore an obvious facial resemblance. Their temperaments were quite different, however, and whereas the younger brother was reserved, the older was forward and spoke in a loud voice. Otto had something of a formidable reputation amongst the younger boys for his forceful character, but also for another reason. Oskar first became aware of this in the school playground when he and a group of boys were sitting with their heads together, bartering cigarette cards. 'Did you hear what happened to Paston minor on the heath?' asked a blond boy conspiratorially. They hadn't and listened apprehensively. Each week in fine weather there was a school outing to Hampstead or another leafy city outskirt and the boys would promenade crocodile-fashion to get their exercise. It was the custom of Otto and some of the older boys, of whom he was the leader, to fall to the back of the procession where they could smoke and converse lewdly, out of earshot of the masters. 'Paston minor was at the end when they passed a tree,' the blond boy told them, his eyes wide. 'They got hold of him and threw him down. One of the old 'uns held him fast and Otto pulled down Paston's clothes and toyed with his prick.' This news shocked and outraged Oskar but also caused him a deep excitement, for Otto's mature features seemed to him very handsome. Perhaps here was someone else who shared Oskar's secret desires for other boys. However, unlike the old man in the museum, this person was not someone from whom Oskar would run in repulsion. Piers, when asked, vehemently denied that his brother had ever done the thing that had been alleged and the young Paston was also equivocal when the boys pressed him about it. On their next outing to the Heath, Oskar deliberately hung back to be near the older boys. He did not know quite what he wanted to happen, only that he felt drawn by the sense of unknown danger that seemed to emanate from that group and particularly from Otto. The boys' talk was indeed indecent and it made Oskar blush to hear it; he didn't dare even to catch Otto's eye as he had intended. Finally, one of Otto's droogs said: 'Hey, isn't that one of your brother's little friends?' Oskar's heart began to race as Otto regarded the back of his head. 'Yes, I do believe it is,' said Otto. 'It's the Ruskie boy, isn't it? Hello, Ruskie boy. How is his Highness the Tsar keeping these days!' Oskar felt obliged to look round, although he didn't like the older boy's mocking tone. 'I don't know the Tsar,' Oskar said simply. 'Oh, do you not?' came the reply amid guffaws from the others. 'But my father has met him twice. He is in the King's service as a diplomat.' This seemed to knock the older boy off his course for a moment and the laughter around him trailed into silence. 'Well, tell your father to give the old duffer my regards next time he sees him.' The sniggering broke out again. Then Otto said something very pointed. 'We don't like Ruskies here. We've already given you a kicking out of our empire and we'll do it again.' Oskar had no words to reply, his heart was broken. And the hypocrisy of this statement from Otto left him reeling. What right did Otto have to take the part of the British Empire, when he was just as much a foreigner here, being German, as Oskar? Oskar couldn't comprehend his feelings. He couldn't decide whether he was more hurt by the betrayal of his own friend's brother insulting him or by the disappointment of his hopes that some intimacy between them might be possible. The poor boy did at least have some understanding that Otto's remarks may have been driven by his need to keep face among his pals. Spiteful as they were, they didn't prevent Oskar bringing Otto's angular face to mind when he was in bed that night; the mere fact that the older boy had been excited to some passion, albeit a malevolent one, by Oskar, caused a frisson of satisfaction. Oskar prayed, naturally, for guidance in his feelings for Otto, just as he often asked God for reassurance about the gnawing of the 'mouse'. But the creature in him continued in its need to be fed and God did not appear to condemn him for it. Oskar continued to hold a flame in his heart that his older hero might one day come to regard him in a friendly light, and this flame endured even when it came to his ears that several other boys had been 'toyed with' by Otto on school walks. Oskar continued to hang back hopefully in the promenading crocodile, although he made sure now to keep close to the coterie of his age-mates. The older German youth was a bully of course, and although he gave young Oskar no hint of having noticed him especially, the attractively budding boy had evidently caught his eye, as Oskar was surprised to find out a few weeks later. Oskar was used to accompanying his family to grand diplomatic functions. Father wore a very stately outfit on such occasions, with tails and white gloves, while his mother and sisters had full shining gowns with pinched-in waists, very much to the current fashion. Oskar himself had a fetching blue and white sailor's suit with knee-length short trousers and silk stockings. He liked to regard the little sailor-boy in the looking glass every time he put this on, and he always enjoyed the special attention that this beautiful attire seemed to elicit from society ladies (and some of the men). But in general, the food excepting, diplomatic occasions were a bore. So when Oskar saw somebody he knew at the charity ball for the Ladies' Association for the Relief of Destitute Girls, it was a welcome turn up. 'Well, if it isn't the young Russian prince!' said the voice of a crisply-cut morning suit beside him as Oskar was loading his plate with vol-au-vents at a side table. The boy looked up sharply to see the chiselled features of Otto Dietler, his erstwhile hero, thrown into handsome relief by the glow of the gas jets. 'But I'm not a prince, sir...' Oskar stammered, before shyness tied his tongue. Otto brushed this apparent misunderstanding aside and explained that as a prominent member of a local youth group, he was called upon to be their representative at certain religious and charitable events, of which this was one. He spoke to Oskar for a full five minutes, as the boy stuffed himself with hors d'oeuvre, during which time Oskar didn't speak more than a dozen words. This was partly from there being few pauses in Otto's effusive speech, and partly from the awe that Oskar felt at finally being in conversation with the object of his desire. The party went on around them, but the boy was only dimly aware of it, so rapt was he in the attention of the older youth. As Otto spoke, Oskar was aware of the older boy's eye taking in his sailor's suit and wandering this way and that all over his body. Occasionally Otto would touch Oskar's arm, as if to emphasise a point, or play with his wide sailor's collar. 'I think I see the dignitaries assembling,' said Otto at last. 'Yes, I think we are about to be subjected to the interminable boredom of speech giving.' Oskar craned on tiptoe to see a fat man in a coat with shiny buttons who was tinkling a glass for attention. 'I'll tell you what,' Otto said, draining his champaign glass, 'meet me outside the ballroom doors in five minutes and I'll give you a gift.' When Otto was gone, Oskar stood for a moment dazed as the assembly fell into hush around him. How had this party taken such an unexpectedly positive turn? He had come out thinking the evening ahead to be dull, but instead had spent a wonderful few minutes as the centre of attention of a manly older boy, who had arranged to meet him again shortly. Whatever could the gift be that Otto had for him? Oskar edged his way backwards through the melee of taffeta and coat-tails, trying not to be noticed, until he found the ballroom's shiny oak doors and slipped between them. He found Otto on the other side smoking a cigarette and perusing a programme. Oskar was a little disappointed to see that he was otherwise empty-handed. 'Ah, here's my boy,' said Otto blowing smoke up into the air and stubbing his cigarette into the brass planterette of an aspidistra. 'Follow me.' Otto strolled off up the broad carpeted passage and Oskar ran to catch up. To the right of the grand staircase, the young man stopped and motioned to a door set beneath the stairs. 'Go in there, lock the door and wait till you hear me knock,' he hissed. Oskar looked at the door, thinking that there must be a mistake. 'But that's the lavatory!' 'Yes, go in there and wait!' Otto insisted. Oskar hesitated still and Otto said, 'You do want me to give it to you, don't you?' The boy went to the small door and lifted the latch. Inside a gas jet fizzed and as he closed the door behind him, he regarded a pouch of roughly cut newspaper squares, hung on the back of the door. He had a notion then of the nature of the gift that Otto had for him, and he felt terrified at being so naive as to allow himself to be led into such a situation. But at the same time he realised that this was what he had been angling for for weeks. A gentle knock came on the door. 'Open up!' When Otto was inside, Oskar was surprised by just how large the older lad was. He seemed to fill the little cubicle. Otto pushed the boy back on to the lavatory seat to give room to loosen his own clothing. Oskar watched as the youth dropped his trousers to reveal a large cock, like a yardarm, swinging from side to side between the tails of his shirt. Oskar's uncertainty about what to do must have shown in his face and Otto said, 'You can feel it up if you want.' Oskar took the cock with both hands and moved the skin up and down vigorously. 'Yes, I thought you'd know what to do,' Otto said. 'Now let's see yours.' And he reached forward to take down Oskar's sailor shorts. The boy made no move to stop him and his arousal was soon obvious. Otto took it in with round hungry eyes. 'Now turn round and bend over.' With his pale bottom exposed to the older boy, Oskar could feel Otto caressing the skin of his back under his shirt and he purred with delight. The hand found its way round to his front and played with his pencil-stiff prick and balls, before moving behind to the sensitive skin between his buttocks. Then the finger prodded into him there, painfully. 'Ow!' Oskar objected and tried to stand up. 'Bend over!' Otto commanded crossly, forcing him with a powerful hand. 'And climb up on to the box.' Oskar did as he was told and got up on to the case of the water closet on his hands and knees. Behind him, he heard Otto spit, and then a moment later something even larger than a finger was pressing at his behind place. 'What are you doing to me?' Oskar demanded. 'It hurts!' 'Hold still!' As the pressure continued, Oskar found his nostrils filled with the reek of urine from the unclean white and blue porcelain lavatory pan beneath him. He felt as if he were having his being penetrated in the most lewd and shameful way. 'Haven't you done this before?' Otto asked from behind, 'With your little friends?' 'No!' 'With a face as pretty as yours, I'd have thought they would be all over you,' Otto replied with genuine surprise. Then a sharp surge of pain made Oskar cry out. At once the cubicle shook with a pounding at the door. 'What's going on in there?' a man's voice demanded from outside. The two occupants of the cubicle froze. If Oskar had wanted to, this was the moment when he would have called out for help, but he kept silent. Otto kept a steadying hand on the boy's back. 'It's quite all right,' he called out. 'Just a touch of gyp from the crab salad! I may be some time.' 'Right-o, old man!' came the voice behind the door, sounding relieved. 'Quite understand. Will scout out other facilities!' Nothing happened for some moments after that, save the panting breathing of the two boys. Then Oskar looked back at Otto and whispered, 'Please don't do that to me, it hurts so.' The former panic seemed to have dissipated the youth's lust and Oskar wondered if he could detect a new warmth in his eyes: was it gratitude? 'Very well,' he said. 'I'll just put it between your legs...And it only hurt because you didn't relax!' The large member slipped from Oskar's behind and he felt it forcing its way instead between his thighs, where it felt much more comfortable. The thought had never occurred to him that somebody should want to push his thing up somebody else's bottom. What a dirty thing to want to do! But although the idea repelled him, it also too sparked a certain fascination, as well as a vague new comprehension of certain comments he had overheard in the school yard. Later he would experiment with pushing his own fingers up there, but for the moment, and although their trouser-tied ankles rather restricted movement, he was content to feel Otto's thick cock between his legs, the youth's body wrapped around his and the older boy's strong arm clasped tightly about his chest. Otto rutted powerfully against him and the younger boy's own sex was agitated continually by the thrusting of the larger boy's cock. Oskar felt himself rising and his lust inflating into a peak until the two boys were fused in a violent, grunting climax. Afterwards, Oskar struggled to pull his drawers back up as Otto peered cautiously round the door. 'After you see me leave, count to thirty, then go back to the ballroom,' Otto told him. When Oskar found his family again, a few minutes later, he was the subject of some reproof. 'We have been searching for you everywhere!' Tanya, his sister, scolded him. 'Where have you been?' demanded his mother. 'I've been... I've... I've...' but Oskar could think of no suitable excuse and his mother eyed him with wary disapproval. The matter was soon forgotten, since the family was so relieved to have Oskar back with them. But Oskar himself was not so cheered to be back in their company. Something had happened to him that he could never tell his mother about. Something that he felt would horrify her. The event in the lavatory had meant, he was sure, that he would never be able to look his mother honestly in the eyes again. He was no longer the blameless boy following the example of Christ who had set out to the party. But it wasn't so much what had happened that mattered - he felt his mother would possibly be able to forgive him that - what mattered was the fact that he had wanted it to happen, and the fact that he had enjoyed it. As Oskar stood holding his mother's hand, listening to one of the matrons of the Ladies' Association give a recital on the ballroom's grand piano, he could feel Otto's sticky semen still between his thighs. The exhilaration of sharing orgasm with another boy was still in his blood. That memory was already causing him to desire it again. As he stood with his mother's hand in his, appearing to all the world an innocent little boy in his sailor's suit, he was already resolving to taste more of this new and improper delicacy. The lustful little mouse seemed to have him in its power. *** I would be delighted to hear from readers of my story. Email me at olhap8464972175@elude.in It is always great to hear that people have enjoyed my stories and comments encourage me to write more! Readers who enjoyed this may like to read my other stories: The Monkey's Grin -13-year-old Martin inherits some old sports "equipment" with strange powers. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/the-monkeys-grin Little Lord Barry - about a wicked boy in the time of King George. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/little-lord-barry Gulliver's Pageboy - a comedy about the sexual adventures of a larger-than-life adolescent. https://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/celebrity/gullivers-pageboy