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Subject: Last of the Line – Chapter 88 Last of the Line 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. fty/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 88 Luckily the only lecture I had that day was at 9, so by shortly after 10 I was back in my set waiting for Thomas to appear. The illustrated magazine over which he had been poring was on the table beside the bed, as were other items which might be needed. A small tap a few minutes after 11 … in he came, somewhat shyly … I locked the door and pointed to the bedroom. “I think we’ll be more comfortable in there.” He sat on the bed and I sat beside him. “Tell me your name,” I said quietly. “Thomas, sir.” “No, your first name.” “That is my first name, sir, I’m Thomas Dick.” I smiled. “And how old are you, Thomas Dick?” “I’m 14, sir. My birthday’s in March so I was able to leave school then. My friend who’s three weeks younger has to stay on until he’s 15 because the rules changed.” I opened the magazine and put it on my lap. “Which pictures are the best?” I said. He turned the pages until he found one which showed a boy being fucked doggy-fashion by an older boy – 18 on 12 from the look of things. “Is that what you’d like, Thomas?” He nodded. I saw a tent in his trousers and reached to feel it. He shuddered, whispering “oh yes, sir.” “Come on then,” I whispered, “let’s get our stuff off.” He stripped quickly (as did I) and each of us took in the body now revealed before us. Thomas saw a man of 24, fit, uncut 7-inch cock semi-erect, smooth-bodied apart from ginger pubic hair, standing gazing at him. I saw a skinny lad with an uncut 6 inches hard up against his belly, a small triangle of hairs above it, a grin of anticipation, a mass of short blond curls, blue eyes – perfection! The angel knelt down in front of me. “I want to see it close up before you put it in me, sir.” And having seen it close up his sexy fingers gently drew my foreskin back. “Mmm. Percy loves it when I lick his. Can I lick yours, sir?” “Of course you can … who’s Percy? Your still-at-school friend?” It was stupid of me to ask a question, because the angel had to remove his lips, already doing more than merely licking, to reply. “No, He’s my brother. He’s 16 and … we do stuff.” If Thomas had been trained by an older brother than what I had kneeling in front of me doing a bloody good job on my cock was likely to be highly skilled in bedroom arts. “Does he fuck you?” I asked. Vigorous nodding. “Up you get then – I don’t want to cum like that – not yet anyway.” He got to his feet and I thought it only right to do his cock the same courtesy he had done mine. It was hot and hard in my mouth, and when his foreskin retracted a generous drop of precum found its way onto my tongue. I knew I had interrupted him in mid-wank not three hours earlier, and the musky taste of the precum from then was a heady aphrodisiac. “I’ll cum really soon,” he muttered. I didn’t stop: a 14-year-old could cum twice in the time we had. “Oh … oh … aaaah!!” and I felt three pulses as Thomas decanted a three-hour-delayed spunking into my mouth. It tasted unlike Matt’s or – I dimly recalled – Patrick’s from before the War. Not for the first time as I swirled it round my mouth I marvelled at the chemistry of spunk flavours: how can a boy’s food affect what goes on in his balls? Sweet, salty, bitter sometimes (but rarely in a boy) – all very mysterious. And as I swallowed I felt a warm tingle remaining in my mouth. Surely not curry? Thomas’s cock was still in my mouth while it wilted, and I sucked the last vestige of cum as it slipped out into the cold air. “Wow! You’re a lot better than Percy. He spits it out.” Foolish Percy. “I hope you’ll find I’m a lot better than Percy in a whole lot of other ways.” I paused: let him wonder what might be in store, apart from the fucking he had expected in the first place. “Close your eyes,” I whispered. He did; I brushed his lips with mine but there was no reaction. All in good time, Bertie. “On your back,” I murmured. “Aren’t you going to do me?” “Yes, but I want us both to be panting for it, don’t you?” He grinned, “yeah.” “On your back then.” He complied, and I lifted his legs over my shoulders as I got down to where warming-up was needed . It was immediately evident that Percy had never spent time where I was now. As soon as my tongue touched his arse crack he jerked up. “Fuck, sir, no-one’s licked my arse before … doesn’t it stink?” “No, it smells, but it certainly doesn’t stink. It smells as I expected it to – I’ve done this before, Thomas. It smells like a boy’s arse should smell. A bit of sweat, a lot of the smell you give off when you need a wank and someone finds you and stops you -” (he grinned: “it was worth waiting”) “- and a little bit of what you’d expect.” “Ugh!” “No, not ‘ugh’, Thomas. Have you never wondered why the bit of you that gives you the most pleasure is right next door to the bit kilis escort you shit out of?” A silence greeted this observation. Meanwhile I lapped away, and philosophical musings were left behind. One of the nice things about boys like Thomas – practised at the activities being enjoyed, but new to the person doing them – is that don’t stop to think about what to do next – they just do it. So his hands were in my hair tugging, stroking, caressing while my tongue made its merry way up and down his perineum. I moved further and licked his balls (“oh Christ”!) and his cock, already decidedly chubby only 5 minutes after it had filled my mouth. Both balls in my mouth – our Saviour called upon again – cock in my mouth, a boy gibbering for it never to end. And my cock hadn’t started to play yet. I reached for the lube, and got two fingers well-oiled. “Does Percy stick fingers in?” “Mmm.” Where Percy’s fingers had gone mine followed. Thomas’s arse lips, virgins where it had been a tongue seeking entry, welcomed a greased finger, and welcomed its companion too. “Ah! that’s nice,” he sighed. I glanced at my clock – it was 11.20. Five minutes afterwards cuddling and murmuring how wonderful it had been, two minutes wiping himself down, two minutes getting dressed, one minute kissing – for by then I was determined he would have crossed the kissing threshold – meant that I had 20 minutes to fuck him. Time to start then. “How does Percy do it?” “Like the boy in the picture,” he whispered, “is there another way, sir?” Oh boy, was he about to have his horizons expanded. “Grab your knees and get them as near your ears as you can.” Like all boys of that age he was as supple as a snake and his knees were touching his ears. “Now your arse is much more open than if you were on all fours,” I said, “I get in a lot deeper and that’s better for both of us. How big is Percy’s?” I knew Thomas had had ample time to form an opinion about our relative sizes. He grinned. “You’re a good two inches longer and a bit fatter too. I can take it though, but go slow. Let me enjoy it.” I leant forward over him, my lips close to his. “Trust me, lad, I want it to be good for both of us. Slow is good,” and my lips brushed his. Second time lucky: his lips opened and our tongues touched – no more, just the sort of contact two cats make with their first nose-to-nose-getting-to-know-you contact. Like any cat I knew that he would be back for more. All in good time, Bertie. “Ready?” “Yeah. Fill me up, sir. Make me your own boy.” We were reaching a degree of intimacy I had not expected to reach on a first date, and I felt that Thomas was going to be a bit special. My cock-head, awash with anticipatory juices, knocked gently at the doors – doors which slowly opened. Good old Percy! I pressed gently forward and slid slowly slowly inch by inch into harbour. Not a squeak from Thomas, just a deep groan of delight. When I was right in, my ginger pubes squashing his balls, I kissed him again. During the two minutes or so since our mouths had last made contact something had happened in Thomas’s brain (r his balls, or somewhere else – I cared not where, for the result was electric. His arms, no longer needed to keep his knees in place, went round my head, his head instinctively tilted twenty degrees (as did mine) and a furious tongue-wrestling contest began. I remembered one of my Ottawa playmates who kissed as though his life depended upon it, but he had nothing on Thomas. I put my arms under his shoulders and held him as tight as I could. Here, in my bed in Chapel Court a few months short of my 25th birthday, I was going to do something I gad never done before – and nor had Thomas if his earlier reticence was evidence: I would fuck someone while being glued to his lips throughout the process. Tongue music and cock music all at the same time! I drew my cock back slowly, stopping just as my cock-head was all that remained inside him, then I pushed back in hard. His groan filled my mouth, and his wordless ‘mmm, mmm, mmm’ left me in no doubt that what I had done was something I should repeat, and go on repeating as long as I could. I fucked him like that for a good ten minutes, not varying the speed or the ferocity of my inward plunge. He moaned in my mouth while our tongues made love. Then quite suddenly the ‘mmm, mmm, mmm’ grew in intensity and ten seconds later I felt his cock, squeezed between our bellies, swell and pulse another load – three, four – there wasn’t room for it, so I knew that there would be a large spunky mess on him. With only 20 minutes I had to speed up – getting that load up wasn’t something I wanted to rush. Thomas would be as keen to come back for more as I was – with luck we would be doing this several times a week – so my original plan to fuck him nice and slowly for 20 minutes was abandoned. As he came he panted – it’s an odd sensation having a boy pant in your mouth while he cums as you fuck him – and I gave him only a few seconds after his cock ceased its business before accelerating. “Nearly there,” I managed to say (we were still joined at the lip). “Yes, fill me,” I think he said, though each of us was pretty incoherent, and our tongues were still thrashing. At last I was there, my cock pouring spunk out, up into the hot dark insides of the boy – the angel-turned-devil – on my bed, the boy I knew would come back kıbrıs escort for more, the boy whom I knew I would find irresistible; the boy whom I feared would torment me. But none of those thoughts lasted more than an instant. He was spent; I was spent. I raised my head. We looked into each other’s eyes: his were sparkling, as I’m sure mine must have been. “Wow!” he said, “you made me see stars, sir.” “And you made me see stars too, Thomas. Percy has trained you well.” Thomas snorted. “I learned more in the last half hour.” He paused. “Can we do it again. Please?” “Of course we can, but not today. Now there are four things you need to know.” He looked alarmed, so I kissed his lips again. “They’re good things, don’t worry. Trust me.” He smiled. “I do,” he whispered, “anyone who can make me see stars is someone I trust. What are they?” “One is that your belly is covered in your cum, and that it would be a waste to wipe it off.” Two minutes later all evidence of his second ejaculation was in my stomach – no, that’s not strictly true. A good proportion was in his too, but not before he had hesitated for all of three seconds before accepting a spunky kiss. “Two is that you are going through there to wipe yourself down, or rather, to allow me to wipe you down.” We got up and in the little bathroom I washed his arse and his belly with a flannel in warm water. Naturally I washed his cock with my mouth. “Three is that I enjoyed that more than I dared to hope, and I’m pretty sure you did too. I hope you’ll want to do it again.” He nodded, “lots,” “Four, and this is vital. No-one – not Percy, not anyone ever, must know about you and me. When you go into the kitchen in a few minutes don’t bounce around like you’re king of the world. just be your normal self. that way no-one will guess you – we – have been anywhere wonderful. OK?” He nodded. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. We hugged for a while, then I whispered, “time you buggered off.” He nodded. We put our clothes back on, and he was unwilling to go. “Go on,” I said, “act normal.” He nodded. “Tomorrow, same time?” I said. His face lit up. “Yeah.” And off he went, eight feet high, his twelve-inch cock already dreaming of the morrow. ***** It will not surprise you to learn that Thomas and I spent many – very many – happy mornings repeating and expanding upon those activities in the next several months. I rather liked being ‘Sir’. Anything more familiar would not have been wise. Gossiping about St Kilda with the other gyps and their boys would have been no more than normal servants’ gossiping below stairs, and as long as it was confined to matters like empty bottles, ladies’ intimate apparel no harm would be done. Servants like gossip and if the matters discussed are not hanging offences no harm is done. Were he to let slip the word ‘Bertie’, however, things might have taken an unfortunate turn. I therefore remained ‘Sir’ in our fun and games until late in my final Easter Term. ***** Throughout that year my eyes were all that had feasted on choirboys, but they feasted voraciously. Once or twice their rehearsals coincided with Thomas’s morning visits and on one memorable occasion he stood on the bed watching them (and describing them in considerable detail – hair, faces, cute arses – as well as listing the lewd things he would like to do to them) while I knelt out of sight and sucked him off. This was always unexpected as neither of us was privy to the choir’s schedules: the effect of this was akin to the joy of a small child on receiving an unexpected visit from a favourite uncle bearing gifts – everything stopped while the treat was enjoyed to the full (as it always was). My cock was reserved solely for Thomas – I found I had no interest in the most recent intake of freshmen, attractive though a few of them were. Veal beats beef every time – or it does for Cunliffes. In the vacs it was a joy to return to Matt, 17 by that Easter Term. I had told him about Thomas and he had shown no sign of jealous; when I told Thomas about Matt he was curious about how I could arrange to sleep with him. “I’d love to sleep with you, sir, but it’s impossible. I live at home.” It would have been fun, but I too saw that it was out of the question. Thomas’s body was a source of great pleasure, but that was as far as it went – no, that’s not fair. Thomas’s gypping duties were satisfactory (as I made a point of telling Hampton every so often), and from the start of the Easter Term Hampton had put the boy in sole charge of my staircase – six sets. There was a downside to this – often there was so much cleaning to do that his assignations with me were much shorter than we had both come to expect. I solved the problem by getting him to tell his parents of his promotion – they would be proud of that – but that it entailed his remaining in College after his buttery boy duties finished after lunch had been cleared. “Tell them instead of finishing at half past two you don’t get off till four.” “You don’t know my father, sir. If he thinks I’m working longer hours he’ll want to see my pay packet getting bigger.” “That’s not a problem, Thomas. How much are you paid now?” “17/6 a week. The Steward gives us all money on a Friday.” “Well, consider your wages increased to a pound a week. I’ll give you a half crown and you can stick it with what the Steward gives you. kırıkkale escort Your father will be delighted.” Thomas’s father was not alone. I felt a bit guilty coughing up a mere 2/6 for several hours a week with this boy, but I didn’t allow my guilt to hold me back. I knew, though Thomas did not, that a nice present would come his way when I went down as a more generous gyp’s tip than most boys would receive. The new arrangement worked to the satisfaction of all three parties. My Finals approached, happened (and produced an upper Second. Sans Thomas I suppose I might have scraped a First. I felt no regret whatever), and were immediately forgotten. There were still three weeks of term – three weeks in Cambridge in the glorious early Summer of 1948; three weeks without a care in the world; three weeks before I went back to Uttoxeter to get on with the rest of my curious life. Three weeks in which I had planned a few days of special delight. Directly below me on my staircase was another of Debrett’s family, and inevitably we became chummy. He was an Etonian who had deferred his National Service , and his 21st birthday bash had been memorable. I had provided a staggering quantity of ‘my’ beer and relations between us were as a consequence ever more friendly. His sexual interests were not the same as mine, for it had been in his set that the ladies’ (yes, the apostrophe is in the correct place: there had been two ladies bereft of their clothing) underwear had been the occasion of gossip; my sexual interests were a closed book. He had, I discovered, a small shooting lodge in the depths of Norfolk. He would, I discovered, be only too happy (‘Bertie, old chap’) to allow me to use it for a few days. He expressed the view that I was a decent fellow, and would not leave it in a mess; he hoped that I would learn from his folly (for the gossip had spread from below stairs) and make sure that ‘the little filly takes her knickers home with her’. I did not disabuse him, merely affecting a slightly guilty grin. The birthday bash had taken place on March and I had told Matt that I planned a few days in Norfolk. The party would comprise the two of us and Thomas. “Does he know?” “Not yet, Matt, but he’ll jump at it, I’m sure. Just think of what I can dangle in front of him. Apart from what I dangle in front of him several times a week I can offer him the pleasure of a lust 17-year-old, and I can recover my energies after I’ve fucked you both silly while I watch two lusty lads rutting away.” Matt giggled. “Hope so, Bertie.” Getting Thomas away for a few days proved harder, and it took me some days to come up with a fool-proof plan. I went in search of Hampton one morning and found him in his cubby-hole drinking tea among the Vim and the Domestos. I told him how pleased I was about Thomas’s work. “You must have trained him well, Hampton, because he never puts a foot wrong. He looks after me as well as my valet does at home.” Hampton made some deprecatory reply. “I would like a favour from you,” I said. “In June I’m hosting a small do in Norfolk – just a few people, probably for two nights. I would like it if you would release Thomas to be my servant there. He would look after me and the other men, and possibly help out at table. There will be other staff there. Naturally I would pay him.” Hampton sat thinking about this; I waited. After a full minute – which is an awfully long tine when you’re standing waiting for someone to sat something – he stood up, putting his teacup down carefully. “I think that might be possible,” he said, “but you will need to get Thomas to agree, and his parents – he lives at home still.” “As long as you give it your blessing I’m sure there won’t be any difficulty,” I said. Thomas was as excited by the prospect of two nights away from home as Matt. “I’ll get to meet Matt at last,” was how he put it. “Not just meet, Thomas.” Thomas’s giggle was as delightful as Matt’s had been. “Tell you father I’m employing you with the agreement of your boss at Fisher. I’ll give you a letter to show him. I’ll pay you £2 10/- which should keep him happy.” It kept Thomas happy too – a happiness which added an extra piquancy to our afternoon fuck. James had to be taken into my confidence and he had arranged for Matt to get a train to London and out again to Cambridge. “Wouldn’t you like Richard as well, Bertie? It sounds as though you’re planning an orgy.” “I can’t manage to satisfy three youngsters, James. Besides, what would you do on your own for two nights?” “How thoughtful of you, my boy. I’ll make sire yours is on the train – don’t worry.” I arranged to hire a car to drive the three of us into the wilds. I’d told Thomas to be at the station shortly before Matt’s train was due. I didn’t want Fisher to witness our departure. Their introduction was low-key, but as I drove out of Cambridge I could feel the excitement rising. Not wishing to show any preference for either boy I had put my case on the front seat, obliging them to sit together in the back. That way they’d get to know each other. Once they were inside, and before I drove away from the station, I leaned over from the driving seat. “Talk as much as you like, but don’t touch. Not till we get there, OK?” “Yes, sir.” And, slightly surprised, half a second later, “OK, Bertie.” =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 89 as the three of enjoy being miles from anywhere in Norfolk. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================

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