last-of-the-line-107

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Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 107 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 107 It was a good thing that Siegfried was banging away at forging Nothung in the other room. Act I is particularly noisy at that point. (We had moved on from Mahler to more Aryan fare.) So was the banging away in my bedroom as Henry’s arm entered Edward’s arse. Edward cried out as Henry’s fist pushed in. “Hold still, Henry. Edward, give it a few seconds – the pain will pass. You’re all in one piece, I promise.” Edward moaned, “fuck, that hurt.” I stroked his cheek. “It won’t hurt as much the next time. You ready?” He nodded. I told Henry to push in slowly as Edward had done to me. Small arms disappear an alarming distance inside, but he stopped when his elbow was still a few inches outside. “He stops there.” “Yes. Now pull your fist back slowly about three or four inches, then go back in again, just as though you were fucking him, but with your arm instead of your cock. Henry moved out and in cautiously. Edward began to react. “That’s nice, Edward, you’re firing up bits of me I haven’t had fired up before.” “You might cum if he goes on long enough, but it’s more fun cuming the way you did me.” Edward grinned, “yeah, that was something, Dab. Go on, Henry, do me the same way.” I reminded Henry about what he had to do. “Screwing and unscrewing,” he said. “Yes, but you’ve got to be almost all the way out again. Pull back and stop when you feel resistance – his arse will want to keep you in, just like it wants to keep shit in. Then screw gently and watch his face. You’ll know if you’re in the right place just by looking at him.” I’m pleased to say that Henry was as adept at his task as Edward had been. Alas the volume of Edward’s spunking was a great deal less than mine, but it was still much admired by all three of us. “Now you’re both expert fisters,” I said. ***** Our sessions after that invariably included whichever pupil was present fisting me. I hoped Colin would be impressed by the diligence with which I had gone about my instruction, and that Mahler and Siegfried might also get mentioned while Henry was being entertained next term. My last session was with both of them the day before I went down for the last time. The degree ceremony had been that morning and Jack and Hamish had come to Cambridge with Billy to see me in my rabbit-fur hood parading with hundreds of others to be drawn forward by the fingertips to be admitted to bachelorhood. It was unusual for Fisher trebles to be photographed with proud parents and family members on the Senate House lawn, and the picture of the six of us was one of the few things I took with me to Inverthrum. It’s a reminder of the three hours we spent in my bedroom afterwards. Edward had told Henry about Billy and Jack and they had been looking forward to time spent with them as much as Billy and Jack had. Hamish, new to such entertainments, took very little time to discover the pleasures of even younger boys. When I told him that each of them was a skilled fister his joy knew no bounds. “At last, Dab, someone with small hands!” “Me first, then,” said Henry, and then if that’ s OK you can work up to Edward.” It would have been hard to tell which of the three had the biggest smile. ***** Edward and Henry were sad when it was time for them to go. I’d thought long and hard about what I should give them – the opportunity to give Gordon something having not presented itself, thanks to his sudden departure. It would have to be something the receipt of which would not arouse parental suspicion. Anything appropriate to a boy of that age – a computer game, say – was out of the question as he would be bound to be asked where it had come from. No, something which parents needn’t know about was needed, and that opened up the field to more adult things. In the end I rather boringly settled on snug leather shorts and a butt plug, together with lube. Needless to say they were both thrilled. “You must wear them for Colin,” I said, “and be sure to tell him where you got them.” Edward was tearful. “I’ll miss you, Dab,” he snuffled. “I’ll miss you too, but think of all the wickedness before you next term. You’ll be the sexiest boy there as well as the most experienced. He brightened up a bit. “As for you, Henry,” I said somewhat tactlessly, “I’ll be seeing you on tour in six weeks.” Colin’s itinerary was to take in cathedrals in Gloucester, Worcester, Hereford and Lichfield, finishing in Stoke Minster. As there would be 15 singers as well as Colin and the Organ Scholar accommodation would be a big part of the expense. I’d talked to Mrs Morley and we’d agreed that it would be possible to feed them all after the Stoke concert but that putting them up for the night would be difficult. She told me that she had consulted the Guest Book and that the last time Dinner had been served to 21 people was before the Second World War. ***** A week after the end of term my mother kilis escort suffered a stroke. We’d known that this might be the first sign of her eventual decline, so the plan that had been agreed with the doctor was put in place. We’d arranged for her to go to a clinic – almost a hospice but without the attendant short-term expectation – and she was unconscious while she was transferred. The doctor had discussed her condition with the medical supervisor there, and he assured me that they knew everything. “It’s a terrible thing to say, your lordship, but I wish for her sake that the stroke had been fatal. As it is … well …” There was no more to be said. She never left her bed there, and her level of awareness was never more than slight. I visited her every week until she no longer understood who I was – the nurses told me that she wasn’t even aware that somebody had been to visit her. She lasted, poor soul, almost three years. She was only 46. Alice Norman left Uttoxeter a few days after my mother’s stroke. She told us that she had known what she would do ‘when the time came’. She had bought a small flat only 20 minutes from the clinic and planned to spend most of her time there while she was allowed. She came to see us every few months, but since the news was always depressing I think she found it too much to bear, and after the first year or so she stopped coming. I wrote to her once or twice after I stopped going to see my mother, but there was never any reply. Her and my mother’s sudden departure made – this sounds heartless, I know – accommodating the choir possible, or at least most of them. If Jack and Hamish moved in with Billy and me – and of course Henry – for the night we could put up well over a dozen. It would be a delicate matter deciding which, but I had a few weeks in which enquiry could be made about any known pairings who might be asked to bunk up. I spoke to Colin about the Uttoxeter arrangements a week or so later. He was taken aback to be asked which of his choir would like to share a bed, but when I told him that they would be invited to dine after their final concert and such as could be accommodated to spend the night he laughed. “Are you suggesting a night of unrestrained sin, Dab?” “No, Colin, merely the opportunity. Whether the participants have the stamina for anything to last all night is beyond my powers. I’ve several bedrooms here, but nothing like enough for everyone to have a bed to himself. That’s why I’m asking about sharing preferences. I don’t care whether it’s man and boy, man and man or boy and boy. I’m sure you know how things lie within the choir.” “Give me a few days, Dab. It’s an unusual offer, and one which I think will be most welcome in certain quarters.” When he rang a week later he had what I needed to know. “You’ll be pleased to know that you won’t be required to put everyone up, Dab. All 17 of us will be dining with you, but rather fewer will still be there for breakfast. All six trebles will be there – music to your ears, I don’t doubt – and five of the men. I think it will make for more merriment if I absent myself – a night’s self-sacrifice for the greater good as it were. Do you need the details?” I said I needed names and how the beds should be allocated. “Ah. I understand. I assume you will wish to entertain Henry?” I explained the domestic situation – Billy, Jack and Hamish. I could almost hear his eyebrows rising. “If Henry had another treble with whom he would join us that would leave four boys and six men.” “Yes, that won’t be difficult, though there will be competition about which should be his companion. Still, that’s my problem. Two of the men will share as they are a permanent couple. That leaves four men and four boys. There’s no difficulty about pairing one of each.” “Do you have enough bedrooms for four other connubialities, apart from your own?” I assured him that we would be able to cope, though Mrs Tallis would have to be complicit. That was not going to be straightforward. When Gordon had come for the Christmas holidays she had been packed off to Jamaica. I could hardly concoct something similar when she knew that a large number of guests would be staying, albeit for only one night. Weelkes, fully in the picture with all the goings-on, would have to be in charge for 48 hours. Apart from a few words I hadn’t spoken to her since the stroke and Norman’s departure. Perhaps there was a way to skin two cats at once. Dunstable readily agreed when I put my suggestion to him. I had to get Weelkes lined up first. I asked her to come into the office. “Please sit down, I want to discuss your position now that Ms Norman has left. I’ve spoken to Mr Dunstable and we agree that you fit in well to our unusual household. Are you happy to stay with us?” She nodded. “I shall miss Alice and the Countess, but Hester and Pam are dear friends.” “I’m glad, Weelkes. I hope to have something more to say about your position later. Will you come and see me at 5 this afternoon?” Mrs Tallis was surprised to be offered a generous retirement package. She was 64 and retirement had never been mentioned, but when I set out the details she was enthusiastic. “It’s very generous, your lordship, but I don’t want to leave the household in the lurch. You have a big event in a few weeks -” and then it dawned on her. “I’ve known you all your life, and I’ve come to respect you as a man as much as I loved you as a little boy. kıbrıs escort Every day I see acts of kindness and thoughtfulness. I have never forgotten how you took two orphans in and made this home theirs. And though I’ve never mentioned it I have always known about those things that make this household unusual. I understand why you were generous in paying for me to visit Jamaica – I have known about that too, but servants – loyal servants – gossip and know to keep their mouths shut. If the Fisher College choir is being entertained I think I hear the idea of Jamaica again.” Luckily this homily was delivered with a smile – a sad smile, but a smile nevertheless – so I knew where we both stood. I told her that it was my intention to appoint Weelkes as Housekeeper. She became briskly efficient. “An excellent choice, your lordship. If you agree I will leave at the end of next week. That gives me ten days to show here everything she will need to know, and leave a week for her to make the arrangements for your guests without me under her feet.” She didn’t know, but I intended to give her £5,000 as well as her pension That afternoon Weelkes could not have been more astonished. “You know everything about what goes on more than Mrs Tallis does, Weelkes – Miss Weelkes now – and I’m sure you won’t find any of it disagreeable.” She smiled. “Mrs Tallis often had to look the other way. We ladies have always believed that everyone in this house is a willing participant.” I nodded, “anything else is unthinkable.” “Then the choir will be made welcome. Will you let me know how to arrange matters?” ***** I drove with the other three to hear the Hereford concert. I’d arranged with Colin that we would all meet afterwards for a meal, so that when they came to Stoke two days later we would all have met, and any ice broken. Colin had told them all that they would be spending the night in Uttoxeter. (I’d arranged rooms in the town for Colin and the four presumably heterosexual choirmen.) Pairings were quietly pointed out and a list of names tucked into my pocket. I’d arranged for a function room where we could all dine. With 21 eating I’d spent a long time on table arrangements. There would be four tables of five with one – mine – having Colin as well. Billy, Jack and, to his surprised delight, Hamish would be the hosts at the other three. After the main course Billy would change places with Jack, and Hamish and I would do the same. That way each host would have the chance to talk to half of those with whom he would be passing the following night. Each table would have one of the uninvited heterosexuals – only Colin and I were aware of this. Afterwards he said quietly that he had been impressed by my stage management. “I’ll do better in two days, thanks to your having briefed me.” As we drove home I was amused, and touched, to hear Jack and Hamish discussing what they’d heard. Neither of them had shown any interest in church music before, but each of them had been thrilled to hear a world-class choir singing in a fine acoustic. “Which piece did you enjoy the most?” I asked. Jack was in no doubt. “That high one, the one that Edward sang in Cambridge.” “The Allegri.” “Yeah. It made me want to cry.” Jack never ceased to amaze me, and if I hadn’t been driving I would have taken him in my arms and cuddled him. Billy smiled – the Allegri was one of his favourites too. Hamish was of a more modern turn of mind. “You’ll expect a Scot to choose the MacMillan, and even if he wasn’t called MacMillan I’d still have chosen it.” ***** The Stoke concert was an afternoon one, and by 6 o’clock it was over and all the handshaking with the clergy and hangers-on in the audience done. The bus was loaded with excited boys and excited-but-not-showing-it men. We’d left at the end of the concert, so we were home a good half hour before the bus arrived. I’d given Colin directions to where he and the four straights were staying so that their cases could be dropped off. Rivers would collect them at 7 and return them after dinner. Colin had quietly told me that the straights – not the word he used – were well aware of what would be happening, but that their tolerance stopped short at having to witness such immorality. I shook my head: another of life’s mysteries. Twelve males, all keenly anticipating a good meal and a busy night’s fucking, poured out of the bus. The two men who had been on Billy’s table were led to their room. “It’s the biggest bed in the house,” he said. Two pairs of eyes took it in. Jack, Hamish and I each took the pairs who had been on our table to their rooms. The Organ Scholar, a nice-looking 19-year-old from Manchester, and his boy (they had not been together two nights earlier – well, not at dinner anyway) followed me, and when I’d dealt with the first two they were in the next room. Each party had been told that drinks would be served in five minutes flat. The King Edward table looked gorgeous. I’d never seen it set for as many people and the staff had made a magnificent job. Dunstable had looked out silver from the safe that hadn’t been used in decades, candlesticks mainly, giving the place a very familiar look to Fisher undergraduates. Each guest, boys included, was given a glass of champagne as they came into the Dining Room, and the boys in particular were awe-struck by the whole business. I’d agreed with Colin that one glass was all the boys were getting, so I’d made sure that we would kırıkkale escort sit down quickly. They had time to find their names on the little cards (naturally people sat next to their partner). Straights and hosts were carefully arranged so that no-one was to feel different. Mrs Morley did us proud. Knowing she had children to feed she had sensibly prepared nursery food for the pud, and it was Henry, who presumably felt more relaxed in the company of hosts he had been fucked by than the other boys, who cried “syrup roly-poly! My favourite! Gosh, Dab, how did you know?” and then went bright red, almost Cunliffe red. As the rest of the guests apart from Colin had all been children not that many years before I thought Mrs Morley had got it spot on. Children’s palates had been educated by vichyssoise (“it’s meant to be cold,” I heard one of the men advise his bedfellow) and venison (“tuck in, it’s Bambi,” from a heartless Organ Scholar), so jam roly-poly was a fitting return to normality. Wine had flowed down throats whose voices had broken; juice down others; I had made a very short speech of welcome; Colin had made a longer one of thanks, both for the hospitality and the benefaction which had led to the tour; and Henry, delightful no-longer-innocent but butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth sexy Henry, primed by Colin, made a very sweet speech in which he said that as the youngest person there he had had more fun on the tour than he had had for ages. And then he looked straight at me. “And the best is yet to come.” That was the sign for Colin to get up, a signal immediately copied by the straights. After much shaking of hands I saw the five of them off in the Rolls. I knew Rivers would arrange about bringing them back the next morning to meet the bus and eleven weary choir members. Not forgetting Montmorency, the Organ Scholar. When I got back to the table things had become less formal. Billy and Jack had cleared the table and Hamish had brought in fruit and nuts in bowls. The six boys and six men were gathered round one end of the table where I placed a decanter of port and a pudding wine. “Boys get one small glass of the sweet stuff,” I said, “otherwise the night’s rather wasted.” Boys and their men became closer as the port went round, and the occasional embrace was observed. It was the Organ Scholar who asked what had been on all the men’s lips. “Do you all share with boys in this house, Dab?” “Far from it,” I said, “none of the lesbians has any interest in boys, and even Jack, who has to be seen to be believed, fails to excite them.” Jack’s blushes are of course unseen, but Hamish blushed for him, “and he’s my boyfriend,” he said. The Organ Scholar went on. “So all four of you are partners. And there’s two choirmen who are lovers” (they stood up and gentle applause greeted them) “and four or us have a favourite boy. That leaves two boys. They’re not a pair surely?” “Oh, Derek, you’re not thinking clearly,” said one of the men, “Henry will doubtless be sharing our hosts’ bed, and I can’t believe he will be able to thank them plentifully all on his own.” His companion stood up, blushing fetchingly. Further applause, and a degree of raucous comment from the rest of them.” It was Billy who made the necessary next move. “Bed, I think. Breakfast is at 8.30 for those who have survived the night. The bus will be here at 10, and the other five of you will be here by then. Come on, Henry, Peter, say good night to them.” We conducted our guests, now invariably closely entangled, the port and stickies having wrought their magic, to their rooms. Bathrooms were pointed out. Kisses were shared. Doors were closed. We’d opened the door between our room and Jack’s. Henry had already stripped off and was planted in the middle of our bed. “This is just for starters, Dab,” he said brightly, “Peter and I are going to swop after a while.” Peter, still only half-undressed, was in the other room where Jack and Hamish were watching the disrobing process. “I chose him,” explained Henry, “because he can cum properly. I thought you’d prefer that, Dab. Besides he’s good – the biggest cock of all the trebles.” Peter, now exposed for all to see, giggled. His five inches rose from a hairless belly, bobbing with his heart-beat. “Come on, you two, you’ve seen mine,” he said, kneeling naked and inviting between Jack’s legs, “is it true what they say?” Hamish whispered those familiar words so often heard by children. “Suck it and see.” Peter was in what was clearly a familiar position, and the sexy way in which he undid Jack’s trousers spoke on many previous occasions. Moments later (for naturally no underwear had been worn) his hand felt what it had sought. Gently bringing it into the open his reaction was immediate. “Fucking hell, Henry, it’s bigger than Lucy’s!” “You’re not the first to have said that, Peter, and the last treble who did so much preferred what mine did as well.” Jack stood up and ten seconds later Peter, still kneeling, saw for the first time in his life the naked body of a black male perfect in every way. (In all honesty I have to confess that, loyal to Billy as I am, and setting aside that magic bend, Jack’s body won all the awards in my body book.) From the glazed look on Peter’s face his lottery ticket had just won the big prize. Henry had seen it before, but was still impressed. “Go for it, P,” he said. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 108 as, somewhat later than expected, plumbing takes place in far-off Sutherland. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================

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