Subject: Last of the Line Chapter 14 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 14 The Head of the House, who hasn’t figured in this tale before, was a boy called Arthur Stern. Early one Thursday evening in November when (luckily) I was alone in my Den he knocked and came in. “Come to my Den, Dab, and get Erridge to come as well. Lewis is rounding up MacDonald and Quiggin and Duckworth’s getting Aitken and Archer. Quick!” “What’s up?” “You’ll find out in a minute.” Two minutes later eight visitors crammed into Stern’s rather grand Den. Even so, it was a squash with nine of us. “I don’t know how much you know about what’s been going on outside in the last week or two,” he said. We knew that there had been more rioting in some of the cities, but there had been rioting off and on for years (though nothing like as bad as it had been before Bradley), but were only vaguely aware of anything unusual. At that point Jock came in looking worried. “Thank you, Arthur. Thank you all for coming at such short notice. The local police have warned the School that there is likely to be rioting in the town this weekend. I’ve no idea how they know this, but I assume they have people under cover with the jillies. Anyway, the point is that we have to be ready in case they decide to make trouble here. We’re the nearest House to the town, although at 4 miles away we’re probably too far away for anything major. Apparently it’s going to piss with rain all weekend, so that should dampen things down a bit. I want the nine of you to patrol the grounds – no, the boundary – throughout Friday night, Saturday and Saturday night. Three teams of three please, four hours on and eight hours off. School lessons will be cancelled on Saturday. Arthur, sort out a rota and let me have it in an hour. Questions?” No-one had any, but Stern said that he would report any questions which might occur to us to him in an hour’s time. “Thank you. I don’t suppose anything will come of it, but we must protect the younger ones and keep the School safe. The Police will be nearby, but they can’t be everywhere.” As soon as he left there was a hubbub, but Stern stood up and yelled at us to shut up. “He didn’t say that only Prefects should patrol,” he said, “and I think that the more eyes we have, the better. We have to cover from 1800 on Friday -” (he was becoming rather excited by all this, I thought, and had instinctively started to use military time) “- until 0600 on Sunday. If we have to cover Sunday as well then he’ll no doubt tell us. If I’m going to spent time out in the rain in the fucking woods playing at spies I want my Pup with me -” “Your batman, you mean,” said Quiggin. “Batboy, more like,” put in Aitken, “he’s very sweet, your MacLaren.” Stern grinned, “keep your hands off, Nigger. Do you all feel the same – about bringing your Pup, I mean? Your views on the delightful MacLaren can wait.” There was unanimous agreement. While there might be an element of danger there was a much bigger element of excitement and fun. And if a few jillies tried to break in we’d be well-prepared to repel invaders. “What about weapons – sticks or something?” asked Dugald. The jillies were often armed, at least according to the media, although we, like everyone else, had stopped thinking that anything on the media might actually be true. “I’ll make sure he gives us something, don’t worry.” An hour later Stern reported to Jock. He came back ten minutes later. “He agreed to Pups, and he’ll get hefty sticks for us. ‘More,’ he said, ‘to look threatening, rather than to break any heads’. He asked me whose idea having the Pups along was, and I told him it was yours, Dab. ‘Tell His Lordship I approve of his Spartan ideals’, he said. I’ve no idea what he meant. Anyway, here’s the rota. I’ll do 1800 to 2200 on Friday with Dab and Sid. Lewis will do until 0200 on Saturday with Dugald and Peter. They hand over to Duckworth with Nigger and Arch. Then at 0600 it starts all over again. OK?” We all nodded. I was pleased that I wouldn’t be on duty during the night. “When do we tell the Pups?” I said. “The sooner the better, Dab. All of you – tell your Pup as soon as you can, and meet in here, with them, at 2200. They can appear in their pyjamas.” “I don’t suppose any of them can find their pyjamas,” pointed out Nigger, “I certainly couldn’t when I was a Pup.” “I don’t suppose anyone will mind if they should choose to appear less formally attired,” said Stern, “as it’ll only be us after all. Now bugger off and tell the little darlings.” It was almost half past eight. I refused to think of it as 2025, but doubtless Stern would have preferred it that way. Pups were normally supposed to be in their dormitory by 9 – 2100, dammit – and still had five minutes of Prep. I went into the Common Room where I found Duckworth already kırklareli escort there, telling all the Pups to report to their Trainer there and then. I went to my Den to await Russell’s arrival. He didn’t hang about. “What’s up? This has never happened before.” I explained that the Prefects had to patrol the grounds and that we’d be taking our Pups with us. “Why?” “Apparently the Police think that jillies might try to get in tomorrow night or Saturday.” “And we’re there to stop them? Is that the idea?” “Yes. Are you scared?” “No … well, yes, a bit. My Dad told me that the jillies pick on black people.” That was a facer – I hadn’t known that. “Tell you what. Why don’t we all put camouflage on, you know – blacken our faces and stuff like that. Then the jellies won’t pick on you and Golding.” He grinned – those sexy teeth again, “yeah, that could work. Who’s in on this, Dab?” I told him that we would do 4-hour stints, and that we’d be with Stern and MacLaren, and Erridge and Eliot. He wrinkled his nose – another of his sexy habits. “Problem?” I said. “Not, not really. I’m scared of Stern, that’s all.” “In that case you must talk to MacLaren. He’ll put your mind at rest. Stern is besotted with him.” “I can see why, but he’s not my type, Dab. I’m happy to fuck about with you and the others – no, I mean it – but I can’t wait to get to the holidays when I can see my regular.” That was interesting: I wasn’t aware that Dan had anyone at home. “Tell me more, Dan.” “I’ve already told you. I was first fucked by a man years ago, and although sex with you and the other Trainers – and Pups – is great while I’m stuck here, it’s not what I want most. In the holidays I get fucked by my regular. He’s 30, and as black as I am. And in case you really need to know, his cock’s a lot bigger than mine.” This was fascinating – the 9-inch butt plug would not have to wait much longer. “My regular, as you put it, is my chauffeur, Rivers. He first fucked me when I was nearly 13 and he was 22. What does yours do?” Dan burst out laughing. I had no idea about Dan’s home situation as the subject had never seemed important. He was my Pup; I his Trainer; the important things were our genitalia. It turned out that Dan’s father was a diplomat and the regular was, amazingly, his father’s driver. I suppose the opportunity for Dan and his regular to have frequent and unquestioned access to each other was the same as mine and Rivers. “He’s called Ibrahim and he’s been thrilling me for almost two years. Can we talk about the jillies now?” What was uppermost in my mind at that moment was not the jillies, but how to arrange a four-way session for us with our drivers. But that would have to wait. I did remind him that Prendergast might fill in for Ibrahim were Dan to show an interest, and that brought a smile. “We’re on duty from 6 till 10 tomorrow night, and the same time on Saturday morning and again on Saturday night. Stern wants all of us in his Den at 10 tonight. Pups are all supposed to be tucked up in bed by then, and you’ll have to postpone your normal nightly fun till after. Stern says that pyjamas are optional.” Dan scoffed. “No way I’m going to hide what I bring to the party. All the other Pups have seen it, and it’s time the other Trainers got an eyeful of what you have to put up with, you poor old thing.” I chuckled. “They’ll be forming a queue.” A few minutes before 10 Dan got up and went off to Goderich to, as he put it, render himself memorable for the meeting. I went along to Stern’s. When Jock had briefed nine of us in there it had been a squash. The thought that it would soon harbour 18, some of whom would be naked, was stimulating. I made sure I was an early arrival: that way I could be well away from the door and Dan, making his way through a throng to reach me, would have ample opportunity for display. Dan made his entrance, proud, naked, unconcerned. All the other Pups – universally naked, I was pleased to see – had seen his cock, and by that stage of the term most of them had had ample opportunity to make its acquaintance. Dugald, Archer and I alone of the others had seen it. Stern said drily, “now that you’ve impressed us all, Russell, perhaps we can get on with it.” He told them the situation – Pups would stick to their Trainers like glue (`like spunk’, I heard Lewis’s Pup mutter) and would be the eyes and ears of the groups. I didn’t think it likely that Pups would be any more observant than the rest of us, but I kept my mouth shut. At least with the 6 to 10 shifts our six wouldn’t be on duty when we’d normally be asleep. MacLaren, who presumably felt less in awe of Stern than any of the other Pups, asked what was likely to happen. “We don’t know. All we’ve been told is that the local cops think that some jillies may come in the next couple of days.” “What are we supposed to do?” asked Lewis’s Pup, a sexy olive-skinned half-Spanish boy called Lara. “We’ll have clubs, so I imagine we come at them, yelling and brandishing our clubs.” “That’ll really scare them,” snorted Erridge, “particularly if they are better armed. Haven’t they been chucking petrol bombs in the riots?” It was true: the media were full of it, but none of us knew how accurate the reports were. I said that some of us planned to enter the field with camouflaged faces kırşehir escort (`enter the field’! – pure bloody Yates again: I’d have to control myself) and this was seized on by Stern. “Good idea, Dab, we’ll all do that. Make it harder for the jillies to spot us.” As Stern seemed to have no firm idea of what we should do apart from bring a fearsome presence to the boundary of the school grounds the meeting fell apart rather. It was well after 10 and beds beckoned. “The first group meet in here ready to go at 1745 tomorrow,” he said, “now get some sleep.” We all left. I beckoned Dan into my Den. “Are you OK with this?” “Course I am, Dab. If we’re camouflaged the jillies will no more target me than anyone else. Anyway, I think this talk of petrol bombs is bollocks. Why would they bomb us? All I’ve heard is that they bomb offices and shops in the big cities.” This was true (as far as I knew), but only partly so. Rivers had zipped me from time to time with news from outside, and the jillies had started making trouble in smaller towns as well. Bradley had cracked down with the army in some of the cities, so the jillies seemed to have changed their tactics. Whether this would bring them to us we would no doubt discover soon. “Let’s just be very careful, Dan. Nobody needs to get hurt.” Much as the sight and proximity of his cock were stimulating we both needed a night’s sleep. I kissed him gently. “Good night, Dan, don’t get up to anything with the rest of Goderich tonight.” He grinned. “OK, but just this once, Dab.” ***** The first shift the next evening was a complete anti-climax. The school grounds in the direction of the town stretched through about 200 yards of woodland to a road, with woodland on the other side into which we never ventured: it was enemy territory. From time immemorial village kids (VKs, as they were known) had been rumoured to invade, but none of us had seen a VK, or heard of any recent incursion. Nevertheless as things were now much more tense than they had been twenty or thirty years earlier, we never strayed. After all, healthy teenage rebellion had far more rewarding outlets than raiding out-of-bounds woods. Our boundary with the road was about half a mile. Thus we had quite an area to patrol, and it took only an hour or so for Dan and me to agree that sticking to each other like glue wasn’t the best use of two pairs of eyes. “Move away a bit,” I whispered, “but no more than 20 yards.” He nodded. For four hours the six of us patrolled in three pairs, flashing torches occasionally but seeing nothing more threatening than a few rabbits. The second and third shifts reported the same. Stern seemed disappointed, but Duckworth, a more warlike sort, said that any invasion was likely during Saturday night, and that he and Hick, whom he had taken to calling his trusty lieutenant (much grander than a Pup) were expecting to have jillies to biff before long. The Saturday morning tour of duty – cold and drizzly – was equally bereft of excitement. By 1000 the six of us were all soaked and frozen, and there was much thawing out in the showers. By that stage of the proceedings any fear Dan had earlier had about Stern had disappeared. It was not good form to approach another Trainer’s Pup without the Trainer’s consent, so when Stern beckoned to me through the refreshing steam to ask whether I was agreeable to his “getting to know your rather splendid Pup, Dab” I was not surprised. Dan’s cock had clearly registered on the Head of House following its public parade 36 hours earlier. “Dan!” I yelled, “get over here. Someone wants to meet you.” I left Stern in the steam. I knew Dan would have no objections to his being admired, and to any subsequent action which proceeded from the admiration. The Honour code of my agreeing to Stern’s approaching Dan meant that I automatically had rights to the pretty MacLaren, and it was he whom I sought in the steam. “Stern’s getting it on with Russell,” I said when I was under the shower with him, “and that means that you and I can get to know each other. Nice cock, by the way.” It was true. MacLaren’s cock was soft in the hot water, but at four inches it spoke of promise. Nice neat foreskin, no hairs to speak of (later careful inspection revealed that five, perhaps six, could be detected), balls where they should be doing in their wrinkled lair what they were meant to do. MacLaren’s main feature, though, was his face. ‘Pretty’ doesn’t really do it justice – he was stunningly lovely. Pale blue eyes, a dusting of freckles over a nice little upturned nose, generous lips covering white teeth, a mischievous grin and – by this stage of our acquaintance – a cock straining upwards and fully six inches long. “Yours is nice too, Cunliffe, but I’m not sure it’s really clean. May I?” And without waiting for permission he was on his knees making sure that I came up to the high level of personal hygiene Stern no doubt insisted upon. “Thank you,” I said, “I must do the same for you, but we’d be much more comfortable in my Den.” The smile on MacLaren’s face was pure delight. “Dan’s told me about you, Cunliffe.” MacLaren proved to be a Pup worthy of the House’s highest honour – that of serving its Head. We didn’t waste time when my Den door closed behind us – each of us knew perfectly well what was going to happen. kızılay escort If MacLaren had heard about me from Dan then his desire was as great as mine, fuelled as mine was by the prospect of a new 13-year-old, and a breathtakingly beautiful one at that. “Turn round, MacLaren, and let me see whether your arse is as attractive as your face.” MacLaren, knowing his arse to be prime quality early-teen-fuck material (for Stern had drilled it into him), bent unhesitatingly. A pair of arse cheeks wholly free from any mark, spot, sign of routine fucking even, presented themselves. It was my turn to play tongue music. MacLaren wriggled under my ministrations. “Can we do it on the bed?” he whispered. We did, and when I’d lapped away for a few minutes he held my head and drew it gently but firmly away from his arse to his lips. I’d kissed a fair few boys in my time, but never one whose tongue was so busy. I was in danger of erupting, so I pulled back. “Not so fast,” I murmured, “we’ve got an hour.” (That was the period which Honour set aside for the kind of arrangement we were having – as were Stern and Dan.) I resumed my place further down, this time concentrating on MacLaren’s cock. His foreskin peeled back to reveal the familiar delight of a 13-year-old cockhead awash with appetising juices. He groaned as I licked them off. I gently rolled his balls in my right hand and was pleased to see that the juices were immediately replenished. He groaned again. “Put your legs behind my back, I’m going to fuck you,” I whispered. MacLaren’s grin widened, as did his arsehole. I touched my tip and it winked invitingly. In I went – he was greased, of course – and I began my first fuck of a Pup not mine. MacLaren made new noises while I was busy. Some boys groan, some purr, some pant heavily – all are stimulating to the ear – but MacLaren hummed, or buzzed perhaps. I was amused. “Do you always sound like a flock of bees?” “Hive, Cunliffe,” he breathed between buzzes. I like a boy whose mind can still function while his arse is being invaded. The buzzing grew in intensity “Does that mean the bees are getting nearer?” He nodded, speech being now too great an effort. I thrust deeply. The buzzing stopped … three seconds of silence … I stopped thrusting, still deeply in among the honey, as it were … MacLaren’s cock shot several trails of nectar (it’s a fetching metaphor, is it not?) up onto himself … as he sighed and smiled I resumed my efforts and twenty seconds latter his expression changed to one of surprise as the Cunliffe cock swelled in his arse and filled it with spunk. “Wow!” he breathed, “you come a lot harder than Stern.” “That must be your doing, MacLaren – what’s your name? if we’ve fucked we should be less formal? -” “Ron.” “- Ron it is. I’m Dab. Your presence in my Den has had a big effect on my presence in you.” Ron laughed, with the usual post-fuck accompaniment to laughter being the expulsion of much spunk from his arse. Luckily it all landed on me. As there were two teenagers on my bed, each liberally coated with the spunk of the other it was not hard to decide what to do about it. And yes, his tasted exactly like clover honey. God knows how, but I’m neither a theologian nor a botanist. We kissed briefly and spunkily and went to shower. While we were there Dan appeared, a smile on his face. Stern had his own shower room, so whether he was as wreathed in smiles as we three was never known. ***** Dugald, Joe, Dan and I went to Stern’s Den at 1745 ready for action: after all, Saturday night seemed the likeliest time if the jillies were fired up with beer after a day’s drinking. We set off, clubs and torches at the ready. We patrolled rather closer together than the night before, each pair only about 200 yards from the next. Four hours later we trooped back. Nothing. Not a sound or sight of anything apart from a few cars passing along the road. I had told Dan that I thought it would be a bad idea if he had tiptoed into Goderich well after 10 o’clock. “The little dears will be sound asleep, and waking them would be selfish,” I said. “I take it that’s an invitation to snuggle in beside you to keep you warm, my lord.” I smiled – I liked it when he teased me. “Only if you’re good.” “Bad.” “Yes.” We had been in bed for less than an hour, and asleep for no more than ten minutes after a busy exchange, when we were wakened by a great banging. “Jillies, come on,” was the cry. Dugald burst in. “Come on, Dab – oh! – both of you. There’s a lot of them and we’re all needed,” and off he went. We threw on clothes and quickly smeared black on our faces again. It was just after midnight. Grabbing our clubs and torches we ran out towards the noise. There was a lot of shouting then one bang. “That was a shotgun,” I said, as we both stopped in our tracks. “Are you sure?” whispered Dan. “Yes. I’m a country boy, don’t forget. Now keep quiet and follow me.” I set off quickly, making as little noise as I could. The lights in the distance were bobbing away, and it looked as though the jillies were hotfooting it back towards town. A car engine started and a few moments later it tore away. There was a sound of yelling and swearing from down by the road. “Over here,” called someone from about 100 yards away to our left, “quick.” =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 15 as we deal with the wounded. The story is, of course, fiction. Drop me a line at net – that is after you’ve dropped a few quid. ===============================================================================

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