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Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 72 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. NOTE to the reader: “Peter Brown” aka badboi666 is, as you might guess, not in the first flush of youth: indeed he is well into the you’ll-die-if-you-get-this-fucking-thing age cohort. It has been his habit in all his stories published here to be two or three chapters ahead of publication. If he gets a nasty cough and a temperature he will post all outstanding chapters together with a synopsis of what is still to come. Then, if he snuffs it, you can at least have some idea of what befell Dab in the end. A bit like Edwin Dro 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 72 The next morning Hamish appeared out of breath a few minutes after 10. The track’s uphill for a mile or so, which might have explained it. We were watching for him, and Billy went out to tell him to put his bike round the back by the electro. We weren’t expecting anyone, but I thought McKenzie might appear, and I didn’t want any awkward questions. Billy and Hamish came in and I offered the boy a drink. “You look hot, Hamish, and you look as though you could use a drink. Juice … or maybe a beer?” I received a very strange look. “I’m not old enough for beer. I’m only 14. Juice’ll be fine.” I got him a glass of orange, thinking it lucky that we had bought such an unlikely thing the day before. Had the Fates guided us to such a purchase? He drank it off in a oner. “Phew. That’s better.” A silence fell. The three of us were sitting round the kitchen table – a sunny room at that time of day. “You’re here because you’re full of questions, Hamish,” I said gently, “ask away. We shan’t mind. We’re not your parents and we’re not going to gossip in the village.” He looked up. “I don’t even know your names,” he muttered. “I’m Billy and he’s Dab. Now be brave, Hamish, we won’t bite.” “The village has been talking all year about this house being opened up again. No-one’s lived here for ages, and everyone’s curious to know about who’s going to live here. It’s you two, isn’t it?” I explained that I owned the house, and that it had been bought by my ancestors. Billy and I were here for a week, but we planned to stay much longer next year. He thought about that, then said “what about when you’re not here? Will other people stay?” “God Lord no,” I said, surprised, “why did you think that?” “Dunno,” he muttered. This conversation was proving difficult, so to ease things along I asked him about himself. By the time he had given us a brief background he was much more relaxed, and we had learned that he was an only child, that he would be 15 in August, that his mother ran the shop (we knew that), that his father worked on the railway as a driver, that he loved fishing, that he was bored by the lack of any form of interesting things to do in Lairg (apart from fishing), and that he was – this became apparent only at the end of his reply to my questioning – very keen to know more about … you know, what Billy and I … did. Billy smiled. “How much do you know, Hamish? Do they teach you about people like us at school?” Hamish blushed and shook his head. Strange, because I’d had sex education at school – both formal and the more usual unofficial kind – but perhaps they did things differently in Scotland. Hamish said that he knew about … he hesitated, not knowing the right word. “We call ourselves queer,” I said, “but `gay’ will do just as well.” He gave me a grateful smile. “Well, Dab, what do … queers do?” I wondered quite how detailed I ought to be, but before I could answer Billy asked Hamish why he was so curious. “Do you think you might be queer?” Another beautiful blush, and I thought that our ginger kinship allowed me to give him a cuddle, though I managed to restrain myself. Perhaps later. Hamish nodded. “The other boys at school all go on about the lassies and what they want to do, but all I want to think about is the other boys. When we’re changing for games I like looking and I get all, I don’t know, uncomfy.” I laughed. “I haven’t heard it called that before. You mean you get hard?” Hamish blushed even more and nodded. I put my hand on his. “Don’t be embarrassed, Hamish. In this house that’s quite normal. Billy and I are hard most of the time.” It was Billy’s turn to blush. “So what is it you really want to know, Hamish?” I said, “you like watching boys, your cock gets hard and you go somewhere quiet to enjoy it.” He nodded, this time with a smile and a lot less blushing. “Is that what you do?” he whispered. “Sometimes,” said Billy, “but sometimes we go to bed. Is there a boy you fancy, Hamish?” Hamish shook his head. “No.” “That’s a shame, I said, “but one day maybe you’ll meet another boy you can do things with.” “That’s just it,” he said, I don’t know what `things’ are. What do queers do? Not just wank, I mean.” This was turning into a big subject and I thought that Billy and I needed beer to keep us going. Hamish accepted another orange juice and the three if us settled down to a grown-up conversation. Billy told us that he had found out about wanking from another boy when they were both 11, but that boy no longer lived in Lairg. Since his going away two years ago Hamish had had no-one with who to share his sexual development. Until now. In order to help matters kilis escort along I told him that I had made that discovery at the age of 8. Billy added that he had been 10, so we were all much of a muchness. Spunk had appeared – sex education had at least gone as far as giving him warning that such a thing would happen and, like all the other boys, its arrival had been widely discussed, but only discussed, never shared. The other boys were all apparently devoted heterosexuals intent on keeping themselves pure, at least until a complaisant lassie appeared. Poor Hamish saw cocks only fleetingly as their owners stepped into or out of football shorts. The long-awaited spunk had appeared shortly after his 13th birthday, and had kept on appearing frequently ever since, often many times a day. “You had a big wank yesterday, didn’t you?” I said. “How did you know?” accompanied by a resumption of blushing. “After Billy got back and told me what the two of you talked about in the electro it seemed obvious. I would have done in your shoes.” Hamish grinned. “Yes,” he said simply, “it was huge, but I didn’t do it in my shoes. Do you really do it in yours?” I loved the way he looked slyly at me when he made this outrageous suggestion – he was beginning to relax enough in this nest of queers to start to tease us. “And you loved every second if it, I bet.” “Yes Dab,” he said seriously, “now will you tell me what queers do.” Billy leant over the table. “Hamish,” he whispered, “do you want him to tell you, or do you want him to show you?” Hamish didn’t look up, but he nodded slowly. I was worried: I thought Billy was going too fast. We had no idea how Hamish would react to his eyes being opened to matters of which he had no inkling. On the other hand the reward, were Hamish to turn out to be as keen on the sort of bedroom activities he wanted to understand as I had been at his age, the pleasure all three of us would enjoy would be considerable. But speed wasn’t the best way of getting there. “OK, Hamish,” I said, getting up, “why don’t we explore upstairs.” He got up quickly and the three of us went into the bedroom Billy and I were living in. I was glad it wasn’t one end of the big wet room at the rear – that would have been far too bog an introduction to things. A bed was enough to deal with in Lesson One. As well as a bed – roughly made, luckily – the room had a small sofa, a relic from much grander days in Inverthrum. We sat on in, Hamish in the middle. “Billy and I will tell you everything you want to know, Hamish, and answer every question if we can. But in return you have to answer ours. We know nothing about you, after all, just as you know nothing about us. So since there’s two of us and only one of you, we’ll go first. My name’s Dab, and that’s what you call me. But my real name’s the Earl of Inchkeith. Billy and I are what you call boy-friends, and we have been in love with each other since I was about your age. He works in the big house we both live in down south in England. I’m at university; I’m nearly 19 and Billy’s 20. We both like boys your age.” Hamish drank all this in. Billy chipped in. “That means we’re the kind of men they warn you to steer clear of, Hamish. Does that bother you?” Hamish shook his head. “No, Billy. You don’t seem dangerous to me, and if you teach me what I want to know then I’ll be able to work out who’s dangerous and who isn’t. Besides I’m nearly 15 and I’m not scared of a bit of danger.” Billy smiled. “It’s your turn to ask questions now.” By this time Hamish had had time to think. “Can we take our clothes off now?” “Yes, but before we do let’s agree something really important,” I said. “Nothing that happens in here gets even whispered about outside this house, and nobody does anything the other people don’t want him to do. If something happens that you don’t like you say so at once, and it stops. OK?” “Yes, Dab, I understand. I won’t tell a soul. Now can we take our clothes off?” I made him stand in front of me. “Put your hands on your head, Hamish, and let me do the work. It’s more fun that way.” It was hot, and all he had on was a t-shirt. That came off quickly, revealing a nice smooth chest with the beginning of a six-pack. “You do keep fit stuff, I see,” murmured Billy. Hamish nodded, “they used to call me weedy when I was wee, but not any more.” There was a hint of the beginning of a treasure train above the waistband of his shorts, but I was in no hurry. “Lean on Billy while I take your trainers off.” Socks followed. Hamish had neat feet. What remained was unable to disguise what was within, but I paid it no attention. I undid his belt and the buttons of his shorts. I do like a boy who has buttons rather than a zip. You can open the bottom buttons if the occasion presents itself, but a zip doesn’t accommodate such an entry. The shorts fell to the ground and he stepped carefully out. “My, Hamish, you’re a fine big boy,” I said softly. The blush returned. “Aye.” I stroked the tent in his briefs; Hamish shuddered; Billy reached his hand out to stroke the tent; Hamish moaned; I felt the tent in his briefs and Hamish groaned “oh no!” as his body convulsed and a large wet patch appeared, and grew and grew. I put my arms round him. “Sssh! don’t worry, Hamish, it often happens like that the first time.” Hamish went limp and I held him tight. At least he wasn’t sobbing. After a minute or two I released him. “Stand up, Hamish,” I whispered. His briefs were sopping with spunk and I carefully lowered them to his ankles. Billy held his shoulders while he stepped gingerly out. Then Lesson One got under way properly. I knelt and took his soft spunky cock between my lips. Hamish shuddered but stood still. “That’s one of the things kıbrıs escort queers do, Hamish,” whispered Billy, “they suck each other’s cocks.” “But I’m all spunky.” “Yes, Hamish, that’s the point. Have you never tasted your own spunk?” Hamish shook his head. Then, after a few seconds, “can I?” I thought that Lesson Two (‘Kissing’) ought to be delayed a little longer, so I scooped up a little on my finger and offered it to him. His tongue emerged pinkly, carefully, and sampled it. He thought a bit, then my finger was in his mouth and, for the first time, Hamish’s tongue tasted his own cum. “Not nasty at all,” he said. “Nothing which comes out of a boy’s cock is nasty,” said Billy, paving the way at some future date for Lesson Ten or thereabouts. He accepted a second helping, somewhat more generous than the first. When I had removed everything from the outside, as it were, I allowed my lips and tongue to venture within, bringing on another shudder and – for the first time – language he would not have used at home. “Oh fuck, Dab, that’s so -“, but the sentence was never completed. Still, I got the picture. When all was cleaned up I leant back on my heels. “Well, Hamish, how did you enjoy having your cock sucked?” His smile told all. “Is that it?” Billy laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “No, Hamish, that’s just for starters. Do you want more?” “Before you answer, Hamish,” I said, still kneeling in front of him, “when are you expected back home?” “Och, not till tea-time. I’ve sandwiches and they think I’m away fishing or something. What’s ‘more’?” “Go and sit on the bed while Billy and I get our clothes off.” “Can’t I help? You did mine.” Billy and I exchanged a look – this was going faster than either of us had anticipated. “After you, your lordship,” said Billy. Hamish’s eyes opened more widely. “You don’t really call him that, do you, Billy?” It was my turn to ruffle his hair. “No Hamish, he’s pulling your leg. And mine,” I added, “come on then, Hamish, I’m all yours.” Hamish made a good fist of getting clothes off from the outside, and when it came to trouser time he didn’t hesitate. Off with the belt, down with the zip (it’s difficult to buy adult trousers with fly buttons) and a quick wiggle: trousers at ankles … trousers off in a heap … what would he do now, faced with a very clear indication that there lurked promise in front of him. Hamish, to my delight, did exactly what I had done to him. “Fuck, it’s hard, Dab!” he whispered. He had correctly worked out that the absence of any rebuke for his using the F-word earlier gave him tacit permission to continue to do so, and since he was probably well aware that ‘fucking’ was something which would be discussed at some point he didn’t hang back. “And it’s waiting to be let out,” said Billy, who had stripped to his pants which Hamish’s attention was elsewhere. Hamish hesitated. “Can I? Can I really?” I nodded. Five seconds later Hamish got his first sight of an erect adult cock. “You’ve not got any hair!” “We shave it off, it makes our cocks look bigger and a lot nicer to suck,” I said. Hamish took the hint, and shortly before 11 o’clock on the morning of Tuesday 29 June 2038 a cock entered his mouth for the first time. “Just be careful with your teeth,” advised Billy, “lips and tongue only.” I let him nuzzle for a few minutes – it’s always nice when a boy his age sucks you, even when his skills (apart from being 14) haven’t been developed yet. I lifted his head off. “That was nice, Hamish,” I whispered, and gave his lips a closed-lip quick kiss. He made no objection to that. “Try Billy’s now.” Billy was lying on the bed still with his pants on, but with a very vertical pole holding the tent up. “It’s big, Billy,” whispered Hamish. “All the better to suck then,” I murmured, “see what you can find in there. You can use your fingers to pull his foreskin back.” Billy’s tent was removed; the pole quivered; fingers did as they had been invited to do, and Hamish, naked, excited, delighted, bent over Billy’s glistening cock-head awash with precum. “Mine leaks like that,” he said. “It’s tasty, Hamish, go on.” Billy wisely stopped him before there was any danger of a mouthful. Billy knew, as did I, that the mouthfuls were very likely to be available later, particularly as we had six hours of fishing time before us. Hamish lay back on the bed between us. “I liked that,” he said, “am I a queer boy now?” I leant over and kissed his lips again, this time lingering a second or two. He didn’t pull away so I allowed the tip of my tongue to lick his lips. “Mmm.” “You like that, Hamish?” whispered Billy. “Mmm.” My tongue sought entry; entry was permitted and the tip of his tongue greeted the tip of my tongue. Introductions have been effected our tongues engaged in forming a lasting relationship. When I broke off after about three minutes he was breathing heavily and – I was pleased to feel against my belly – hard again. “Queers kiss too,” said Billy, “but then so do straights. If you kneel on top of Dab and he kisses you some more I can teach you something else queers do with their tongues.” The clash of teeth as Hamish reacted to a tongue lapping at his arsehole was unfortunate, but having assured ourselves that no teeth had been broken off Hamish lay down again. “Isn’t it all stinky, Billy?” “No, well not in the way you mean. It smells of all the healthy things it should smell of. Boy, a boy who’s come not long ago and is sweaty, a boy who’s dying to come again and his skin makes a nice smell. You’re good to taste, Hamish, your arse just as much as your spunk.” And Billy got back down there and Hamish ascended into the heavens. “Scoot forward a bit and let me get your cock in my mouth,” I whispered, “Billy kırıkkale escort will follow, I promise.” This time Hamish lasted longer – almost two minutes – before he started to wriggle. “I’ll come in your mouth, dab, stop.” Oh, the innocence of youth! “Oh oh oh oh … aaaah!” I sucked and swirled my tongue round the uncontrolled serpent that was thrashing about in my mouth. “Kiss him, Hamish,” said Billy, “share – it’s what queers do.” ***** We had an early lunch. Hamish produced his sandwiches and Billy knocked up some salad for us oldies. Beer appeared and, as I’d expected, was eyed with interest by a still naked Hamish. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Do queer boys drink beer?” I poured him half a tumblerful. He took one sip and pulled the sort of face we all pulled the first time we tasted beer. It took only a few minutes before a second and a third cautious sip had persuaded him that beer, while tasting very strange, was just as pleasing a liquid as the other of which he had had his first experience that day. “That’s all you’re getting,” said Billy, “‘cos they’ll smell it when you get home and then you’ll have to fib about where you got it.” Hamish looked disappointed. “I know!” I said brightly, “you can try something else if you like.” Hamish was on the ball immediately. “Won’t that smell too?” Billy laughed. “Not if you drink squash after, and we’ve plenty of that.” Hamish shook his head. “That won’t do, ‘cos I don’t have any orange juice – but I do have Irn-Bru,” and he produced a bottle of a bright orange liquid. “Made in Scotland from girders,” he said, “well, that’s what the advert says. I don’t believe it though.” He offered us the bottle and I took a swig. It was very sweet and iron-y.” “That’ll put hairs on your chest, Hamish.” “Aye, and on my cock and then I’ll have to shave it all off again. What else do queers do?” This time the question was asked with a very broad grin. “Guess,” said Billy, “you seem a bright lad.” “You said he’d show me,” came a whisper, “and I’d fine like to see that.” There was a pause, then “if it’s fucking, that is. Will you fuck each other and I can watch? Please?” We had arrived at the crux of Hamish’s enquiries. I took hold of his hand and made him face me. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “I want to know what to do when it’s my turn,” then his blush returned in spades – or perhaps diamonds. “I mean if I get to … or …” he stammered. “Hamish, no-one is going to do anything you don’t want. If I guess right you think you might want one of us to fuck you. And since Billy’s cock is quite a bit bigger than mine I guess you’ll want to start with me, just in case you don’t like it. Am I right so far?” The orange beacon nodded. “And maybe you’d like to fuck Dab as well,” said Billy. Hamish looked at Billy. “Can I? Really?” I pulled his face round to me again. “One thing at a time, Hamish. We’re here for a week. Today Billy will fuck me and you can watch, or join in if you like. Then you can clean up and we’ll talk about whatever you like, and then you can get on your bike and go home. Tomorrow if you still want to come back for more, after you’ve slept on it, we’ll still be here. OK?” “OK, Dab.” “On yer back then my lord, let’s be gettin’ at yer,” said my lover. “Hamish, you stay that side and keep your eyes peeled. Ask what you want to know and join in if you want,” he went on. “Join in?” “Use your lips or your fingers on whatever you want to explore. If one of us doesn’t like it he’ll tell you, and you have to stop. That’s how it works – remember?” “OK, Billy.” Billy’s lesson was a very thorough one, and a voyeur in a seedy club in Soho would have been forced to pay at least £200 to witness such a wide-ranging display of erotic techniques. Hamish saw my arse being rimmed, fingers being greased and inserted (and he saw the inevitable effect such a visitation had on my cock as it twitched and shook “and you didn’t even touch it!” he exclaimed); he saw fingers removed and how my arse remained open, my lips puffy and engorged as they silently willed Billy’s cock in to where it belonged; he saw Billy’s cock in full close up (he was asked to apply grease to it – a task which he approached with delicacy, allowing himself the chance to feel Billy’s balls while he did so (“wow! they’re heavy!”); he saw Billy’s cock as it touched my lips, as they expanded, as it inched its way in … further … further; he heard my moans as my lover’s cock boiled the juices in my insides; he saw Billy at last fucking – not too hard or fast, but not too slow either; he saw the sweat on both of us running off our bodies; he leaned forward to kiss me (my eyes had been shut); he felt my arms holding onto him as Billy … yes … yes … Afterwards as Billy slipped out Hamish didn’t ask. His lips found Billy’s cock and latched onto it as a calf to its mother. “Is it always like that? Do you always spunk when Billy puts his finger in your arse? Why didn’t Billy’s cock taste of shit?” We did our best to answer and he soon ran out of things to ask. Billy muttered that Hamish ought to shower but I said that was not clever. “He’s been out fishing in the sun all day – he’s bound to be hot and sweaty.” “But he smells of sex.” “So? A wise parent of a 14-year-old has more sense than to ask if the boy’s been a-wanking in the woods. Such smells are best ignored, or even better banish the boy to the shower saying something along the lines of ‘you stink’. You must have been hot out all day. Mothers aren’t fools.” Hamish dressed. Hamish kissed us both. We accompanied Hamish downstairs. Hamish agreed to come fishing again tomorrow (putting our trip to Inverness off for another day). “Will you fuck me then, Dab? Please?” =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 73 as Hamish’s request is met. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================

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