Date: Wed, 8 Dec 2021 11:42:18 +0000 From: olhap8464972175@elude.in Subject: THE LUSTFUL LITTLE MOUSE, CHAPTER 5 THE LUSTFUL LITTLE MOUSE 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 4. Warning: this story contains descriptions of sexual interaction between boys and men. 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 5 For several days after his encounter with Otto in the lavatory, Oskar could not sit still for excitement. He fancied he could still feel the big lad's prick between his thighs. When Oskar met up with Piers at school, he attempted to tell his friend something of what had taken place between him and the boy's elder brother, but for some reason that he could not understand, he could not bring himself to divulge quite the carnality of what they had done together. Oskar tested Piers's feelings on the subject with roundabout questions touching on Otto's conduct with other boys, and again, just as when he had been quizzed before, Piers was reticent to tell. But Oskar was left with the impression that Piers was quite well-aware of Otto's predilections and that he, Oskar, was far for alone in sampling them. Piers's acceptance of his brother's behaviour set Oskar's mind to wondering whether the younger Dietler might not be averse to partaking of some of these particular pleasures too. After handling the older boy's large hard penis, Oskar could not help himself from meditating lustfully on how it would be to have it in his mouth. He reckoned the chance to realise this fancy with Otto to be fairly remote, but perhaps Piers could be persuaded: surely any boy would want it. This thought made Oskar hot and nervous with excitement. But what a dirty and wicked thought! Was he not a wholly shameful boy? But shameful or not, he resolved that, if he had the opportunity, he was going to make his fancy true, one way or another, and a little more than a week later, just such an occasion presented itself. On their walk home from school, the boys often stopped off at a covered market to buy sweets or cakes, or to sit among the fish and grocery boxes and smoke cigarettes. The boxes gave ample screening from passers-by, of whom there were few at that late hour. Usually there was a number of the boys together, but today Oskar and Piers were alone. Sitting among piled-up fish crates, they took out their pricks and played their habitual 'tossing' game together. Only, this time, Oskar saw his opportunity and, without warning, he went down between Piers's legs and threaded the boy's long cock into his mouth. Piers froze when Oskar did this but put up no protest and Oskar, sufficiently encouraged, continued. It tasted bad at first but this soon passed when the skin peeled from the head and his saliva made it wet and ran down the shaft. Piers gripped the fish box he was sitting on and thrust up and down into Oskar's mouth. Following his friend's collusion in this wicked act, Oskar attempted to take more and more but was frustrated by his response to gag. However, each boy was by now too engrossed in the endeavour to allow this to hinder them. Oskar knew how it would end, of course, and for once the thought of God did not give him pause. But how dirty it was to have another boy's pipka in your mouth and how utterly sinful it must be to want, as he did, to taste the spurt! In spite of Oskar's lust, it was still a shock when Piers's spunk did come. The boy grasped Oskar painfully by the ears and held him tight - not to stop him from pulling away, as Oskar thought at the time but, as he was to understand later, to hold him off at this point of greatest sensitivity. Piers grunted with each discharge of his loins and Oskar fought against his friend's grasp as the out-rush flooded his tonsils. He wretched and spluttered, extricating himself, and spat out a frightful mess into the fish slime. Piers buttoned his trousers hurriedly and the boys looked at one another wordlessly, in mutual embarrassment, before squirming back out between the fish crates. They walked the rest of the way home without speaking, Piers trotting two paces ahead. It seemed to Oskar that what he had done had offended his friend, although he himself had meant it as an act of devotion. Piers was somewhat distant at school in the following days, too, and seemed to prefer the company of the other boys. Oskar felt hurt and knew that this frostiness must be to do with his wickedness. He felt desperately ashamed now of what had happened, but nevertheless couldn't quite understand his friend's reaction: hadn't he enjoyed being randy? Oskar thought it should make a boy happy. Perhaps Piers wasn't dirty and wicked like him. Oskar had dragged his Godly friend into his own mire of depravity and, in doing so, had given away the secret of just how sinful his own thoughts had become. He could hardly bare to be in the same room as Piers anymore. In time things softened, as they are wont to do, and Oskar and his former friend were reconciled somewhat. But one day a spiteful remark from another boy dashed Oskar's fragile self-esteem again. The boys were having a squabble in their group in the playground and, when Oskar appeared to have gained the upper hand, his opponent, a smaller boy called Ernest, said hotly, 'Well, at least I don't suck boys' pricks!' Oskar was speechless and his accusatory glance at Piers saw that boy look down at his shoes. If Oskar had been a more forthright boy he might have denied the charge and called his accuser a liar. But Oskar was Godly before he was wicked and he could not tell an untruth. The subject was allowed to drop but Oskar's sense of betrayal by his friend hurt deeply. It caused him to withdraw again and this time completely. Poor Oskar resigned himself to walking round the schoolyard on his own and shunning the other boys. He walked from the school to his home in the embassy alone and everyday he passed ruefully the fateful spot by the fishmonger in the open market where he had engineered his own ruin. At home he took solace in his books and rearranging his stamps. In his despondency and self-reflection he found his mind invariably returning to his pipka, which he now wanted to punish for the hold it had over him and for its part in pulling him astray from rightness. But punishing it only made the needs it engendered stronger and he felt obliged to take it out whenever he was alone. It now had a silky moustache around its top and had grown rotund about its middle, fitting now more satisfactorily in his hand - which is where he most liked to have it, in spite of himself. Oskar made observations through a telescope in the ambassador's study, to which the boy had access at weekends when his father and the senior man were at business in an adjoining room. The telescope was an expensive military model which had been a gift from the Queen of England in recognition of the shared martial heritage of their two Great Nations. >From its first-floor windows, the ambassador's room looked over a piece of common, with a lake, outside the embassy walls. Oskar used to keep watch on warm summer afternoons over boys who might be sunning themselves there. All this he kept strictly secret and with sharp ears he was careful never to be surprised by anyone entering the study. Often his plump prick would be in his hand as he squinted though the instrument. He might just as well, and without arousing the slightest suspicion of his motive, have walked down to the lake and seen the boys and chatted with them, but this he could not bring himself to do. Perhaps this was on account of his shyness, or perhaps the fear of further taunting. He gained considerable satisfaction when he was able to catch the boys bathing. Their alabaster bodies stretching and twisting in the sunlight, legs flickering on the jetty, a flash of pink buttock as it vanished into the water, all brought to mind the figures he had seen in the museum on that fateful day with the Old Gentleman. He would watch the boys at play on the common also, and felt rewarded when he saw, as he not infrequently did, clandestine familiarities taking place. Observing unseen through the telescope was a source of great pleasure and arousal. One day he spied two lads, who looked as if they may be seniors in school, lying on the grass in the sunshine. All at once the bigger lad put out his hand and tried to open his companion's trousers. This boy resisted with all his might, and a long struggle ensued, ending in the smaller lad having his penis exposed and manipulated by the other. This excited Oskar violently and caused him to come to a crisis without so much as touching himself. It was a memory that was not quickly forgotten. Hurrying home to the telescope through the market one afternoon, he darted into the public convenience there in order to relieve a bursting bladder. Clattering down the steps into the urine-and-chemical-smelling semi-darkness, he realised that he had never been alone in that subterranean realm before: previously he had always been in the company of school chums, and he felt strangely wary. A man coming out, wearing a bright cravat, gave him a quizzical look as they passed. Below, Oskar stood to do his business on the step of the long urinal; he relaxed some since he was alone in the little room. But as he listened, someone was descending the steps behind him. The next moment he was surprised to see that the man in the bright cravat had returned and was now standing at his side at the urinal. The man stood very close and Oskar had to shuffle along. Oskar had a very great need to relieve himself and the stream went on and on. The man beside him seemed not to be producing anything, however, and by and by Oskar risked a curious glance to see what he was doing. The boy was startled to find that he was being watched and instead of peeing, the man was rubbing his penis, which stood in a curved erection. Oskar couldn't help taking a second look, his eyes wide. 'Would you like to touch it?' the man asked him in a most alluring way. Oskar's stream faltered as he jumped from fright. 'No!' he cried involuntarily. 'Oh, I thought you might by the way you were looking at it.' 'I didn't mean to!' Oskar said apologetically in alarm. Their voices rang loudly in the close tiled cell. 'That doesn't matter,' said the man. 'Finish off and I'll touch yours instead, if you like.' Oskar had finished and he stepped down off the urinal step and backed away. 'Don't you like frigging?' asked the man incredulously. 'Yes...No! Err...' Oskar was in a quandary. 'Why, of course you do,' the man said reassuringly. 'All boys like it.' Oskar felt beaten: how did this man know these things? But by that time he was nearly at the steps. 'Don't go!' called the man. The boy turned and stumbled on the first step, landing on his hands and knees. He picked himself up and clattered up the rest as fast has he could. The man had come to the doorway. Oskar saw him over his shoulder. 'Come back!' the voice followed him. 'I'll suck on it for you!' Reflecting on the incident when he was safely at the embassy, Oskar couldn't really understand why he had run away. The man had not threatened him: in fact, he had seemed quite pleasant. Now that Oskar was at home and his panic passed, it did not seem nearly so frightening to talk to someone in a public convenience. And he found, without too much surprise, that what the man had offered was stimulating to him, in spite of his repulsion. Oskar was still thinking about it at bedtime and he had trouble getting off to sleep. It was still on his mind when he awoke in the morning and as he was washing and slipping into his clothes, he resolved that he would pay another visit to the market on his way home from school that day. He would hold back until he was quite sure he would be alone and this time he would not be such a coward as to run away. But Oskar was to be disappointed. He stood at the urinal for a full ten minutes that afternoon, and although two men did stand next to him - one a young man in livery from a hotel and the other a scruffy old organ grinder - neither seemed interested in Oskar, despite his glances. Oskar did not see the man in the bright cravat again. Oskar tried again the next day but with no more success. Then the school had a half day, which meant that the market was busy when he crossed it and the day after that he stood for a quarter of an hour at the urinal before giving up. He had begun to believe that he was destined to be unlucky when, on the fourth or fifth day, he found someone waiting outside the convenience. By this time Oskar's visits had started to take on the character of a regular routine: always at around twenty minutes to five and lasting for approximately quarter of an hour. The person waiting outside was not the man in the cravat, but a slightly older man with an umbrella and a hat suggesting that he was engaged in the business district. He eyed Oskar as the boy passed and this, together with a slight upward twitch at the corner of the man's mouth, made Oskar certain that this man was 'the one.' His heart thumped loudly inside him as he heard the other following him down the steps. The public convenience was otherwise deserted. After all his preparations, Oskar now found that, with his wild desires about to be realised, he did not know what to do. Instead of going to the urinal, he allowed himself to be led into one of the small chambers containing a lavatory. Neither he nor the man said much: there was no need, each knew what the other wanted. Water trickled in the cisterns and the odours of urine and chemical mingled in Oskar's nostrils. In the cramped, dark space behind the latched door, Oskar got his trembling hands once again around a large cock, and then his mouth. And standing with his shorts round his ankles between the man's legs, as the man bent low on the lavatory seat before him, he came to understand just why Piers had held him so forcefully by the ears that time before, just a few yards above where he now stood. As his spirit rose in his body, he grasped savagely at the man's hair with a force that seemed not to emanate from a polite boy at all. Oskar visited the public convenience again after that, on several occasions, although not always with the same success. But even when he was disappointed, he found himself drawn back once more by the remembrance of what he had experienced there. No matter that he had no friends at school, he had at least companionship of a sort in that dripping underground cavern. Sordid though it was, it gave him a sense of superiority over those boys in his form, with their petty conventional existence; in the public convenience he was appreciated by grown-up men. All of this had a consolidating effect on Oskar's feelings towards the Old Gentleman, whom he now came to view as less of a frightening figure. It seemed to Oskar that the man was part of a small but ever-growing group in his awareness. It so happened that a few days after Oskar's birthday, which he had spent rather unhappily at home, Oskar heard a familiar voice addressing him at the railway station when he was waiting for his morning train. 'Have you this stamp from Ceylon?' and he looked up to see the Old Gentleman in his top hat, fishing in his large fat wallet. He held out the stamp for Oskar to see and Oskar's rapaciousness, when it came to stamps, overcame his remaining reticence at seeing the old man again. Oskar took the stamp and examined it closely. It was a rare one. 'Would you like it?' asked the Old Gentleman. 'But I couldn't possibly...' Oskar said, although his eyes told differently. 'Take it,' the man said. 'It is a duplicate in my collection, anyway. Here, I have two others; they make a set.' Soon Oskar was the owner of three precious stamps from the Orient that would be the envy of his classmates. 'I am glad I saw you again,' said the Old Gentleman. 'I was saving those three for you in case I did. I'm sorry I frightened you at our last meeting. I should never have asked for your help as I did.' 'Oh,' said Oskar, now feeling rather ashamed. 'I had to hurry home for a... for an appointment I had forgotten about.' The old man seemed to believe him. A hissing of steam and a metallic squealing announced the arrival of the train. 'I'm not travelling on this train this morning,' the old man told him hurriedly. 'But I wonder whether you would like to come and meet my young artist friend in his studio. He would very much like to meet you. His atelier is in Pimlico. Will you come? Yes? Good. I'll meet you here on Saturday morning...at 10 o'clock? Goodbye.' People were surging into the train and Oskar was caught in their forward rush. Looking back, he saw the Old Gentleman waving at him, with the top of his cane, over the sea of heads. Oskar waved back and the train door was shut. Afterwards, when he had time to reflect, he felt that he hadn't really had an opportunity to say 'no' to the old gentleman's invitation. However, the memory of the sculptures in the museum did make him curious to meet a real artist, someone who could create such beautiful objects. And hadn't the gentleman said before that Oskar might even be asked to pose for the man? That prospect, although it made his stomach flutter, was rather exciting. But should he trust the Old Gentleman after what he had done? *** Readers can 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