Date: Sat, 24 Oct 2009 21:25:00 +0000 (GMT)
From: Andy Caulden <andycaulden@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Bob-a-job - Part 2 (M+/t+)

All the usual disclaimers apply. The following story is
entirely fictional and contains explicit descriptions of
sexual activity between adult males and a teenage boy. READ
NO FURTHER if you are under the age of eighteen or offended
by such material.

Bob-a-job - Part 2

By Andy Caulden

I was really eager to meet up with Bob-a-job again. He took
me to his flat, which overlooked the park, and introduced me
to a couple of his like-minded friends. Alan and George were
two wiry, old wrinklies; but unlike my grandfather, they
were both kind and extremely friendly. They treated me like
a prince, by ensuring that I didn't overdo things during my
first visit to the flat. For instance, they were the ones
who insisted on taking off everything I was wearing; they
also made sure my bath was not too hot or cold, and that
every inch of my body was washed, by them, with Pears soap.

The two men also spent an age drying me off with an ultra-
small towel and 'lots of kisses and cuddles': a phrase Alan
used whenever he squeezed or patted my arse-cheeks.

After all the pampering in the bathroom, I was led back to
the living room to be fucked by Bob-a-job, who was sitting
on the settee, in the nude, waiting for me.

'Now, Simon, let's introduce you to the Cradle of Love,'
said Bob-a-job. 'Alan and George have done this dozens of
times, so they won't drop you if you get too excited.'

Alan and George said nothing; they just took hold of me in
unison and lifted me effortlessly off the floor, cradling my
naked body between them. Instinctively, I put my arms round
their shoulders for support; and as I did so, my legs, which
were being held beneath the knees, were spread wide apart.

'Now that's a nice view of your love-hole, Simon,' said Bob-
a-job, as he stood up and began stroking his hard-standing
cock. 'I just need to fill it with this to make the image
complete.'

Alan and George tightened their grip on my legs and upper
body as Bob-a-job stepped forward.

'Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more,' said
Alan to Bob-a-job, as he watched his friend's cock disappear
into my well lubricated "love-hole". 'Stiffen the sinews,
summon up the blood... and give the scallywag a good, old-
fashioned rogering.'

'Hold on tight, boy,' added George, 'this ride is going to
last a long, long time. Old Bob can fuck like a rabbit for
hours on end. You'll be sweating buckets by the time he
sheds his load.'

'And then, if you're not too puffed,' said Alan. 'You'll let
George and I take care of your cock. We'll lick it into
shape and encourage it to give up all its milky-white seed.'

I managed to stutter out, 'Ye-s-s, [gasp] that will be...
gr-r-reat,' as Bob pounded away at my arse-cheeks.

George was spot on when it came to predicting the time I
would be held in the Cradle of Love, and even though he and
Alan were pensioners, they never once showed any hint of
frailty during my "good, old-fashioned rogering". In fact,
they seemed to draw some sort of energy and enjoyment from
offering me up to their friend.

Bob's climax was a very noisy and frenetic affair. He kept
me gasping for air as he flooded my rectum with sperm. The
sound of his ball-sac slapping against my lower back was
quickly replaced by a crescendo of satisfied moans.

For my part, I was red-faced and sweaty, but still happy to
join in with my friend's grunts and groans of satisfaction.
I really did like being fucked by this randy old man, and
the bonus of having his friends watching me being poked was
such a turn-on.

'That was fuckin' sweet,' said Bob-a-job. 'His arsehole is
s-o-o tight.'

'Yes, we know,' said George. 'Alan and I could see how tight
it was by the expression on his face. The boy took it all in
his stride; he's a real trooper.'

'And now for his reward,' said Alan. 'Let's carry him into
the spare bedroom and take care of his cock, before he loses
interest.'

'There's no chance of him doing that,' said George, smiling.
'When Bob picks a boy, he picks the randiest in the troop.'

'Simon's no scout,' said Bob-a-job. 'He had fuck-me eyes, so
I chanced my arm at the bus stop. It was a bit risky, but I
usually know when a boy is ripe for the picking. And as I
said, he had fuck-me eyes.'

'And a suck-me cock,' added an increasingly frustrated Alan,
'so let's adjourn to the spare bedroom and milk the little
scallywag.'

*   *   *

On my way down the stairs, sporting a pronounced sore-bum
gait, I crossed a burly black man and a boy I knew from
school. Kevin Houghton was a year older than me and a scout.
We both looked at one another in a knowing way.

'How was it?' asked Kevin, smiling. 'You can tell me all
about it tomorrow, in the playground.'

The burly black man put his hand on Kevin's right shoulder
and hurried him up the concrete stairs; however, before he
vanished from sight, he turned his head in my direction and
gave me a knowing smile.

That night, in my dreams, I watched a naked Kevin being
lifted off the floor by Alan and George and offered up to a
massive, coal-black cock. I then saw the scout, on heat,
writhing up against the naked, black stud - Kevin's back was
pressed hard against the black man's broad chest.

'Please fuck me,' the scout kept saying, but the black man
just smiled and continued to run his hands over the boy's
glistening body. 'You can fuck Simon later. I want to be
your bum-boy now.'

Of course, I kept quiet about my dream when Kevin and I met
in the playground the next day. Unfortunately, he did manage
to wheedle everything else out of me in some detail.

'So you like being fucked by my scoutmaster?' he asked in a
whisper.

'Yeah, it's fab,' I replied.

'Yeah, but it's a lot better when Lloyd and his mates do it.
Those black cocks can really make your eyes water.'

'Was that Lloyd on the stairs with you yesterday?'

'Yep. And you know what; he had his hand down the back of my
trousers the minute we left you on the stairs. Ain't that
something?'

'What, squeezing your arse-cheeks?'

'And fingering my bum-hole.'

'What did Bob-a-job say, when he saw Lloyd doing that?'

'He just closed the door behind us and helped Lloyd strip me
naked. Those boy-lovers really like to see me in the nuddy.'

'Yeah, I bet,' I said, smiling.

*   *   *

My parents were very impressed with Kevin Houghton, my new
friend from school. He was the son of a solicitor's clerk,
and a scout. He also had the good sense to get me to join
the scouts and become involved in 'something worthwhile', as
my mother said, and 'character building', as my father said.

Kevin was also very keen on seeing me in and out of uniform,
especially on Saturdays, when we had the whole day to camp
out at Bob-a-job's place and practice our craft - we won so
many 'special' badges in front of Alan's camera.

Alan, now retired, had spent most of his working life as a
film director. He was no Alfred Hitchcock, but he did know
how to get the best out of an actor when the arc-lamps were
on. He had directed dozens of films in his career, but they
were nearly all information shorts for the government.

Alan and George were very good at producing 16mm shorts for
their like-minded friends on the Continent. The black and
white masters were taken to Amsterdam by ship, transferred
to 8mm film stock and distributed as exotica for boy-lovers.

Kevin and I appeared in dozens of these films, usually in
and out of school or scout uniform. We also appeared in
several black-on-white films - George had a real passion for
seeing white boys being power-fucked by burly black men. His
fantasy was rooted in an incident that had happened to him
in his youth.

Apparently, a thirteen-year-old George was on holiday in the
West Indies when Runako, a servant of his father's friend,
volunteered to show him round a sugar plantation. However,
after being persuaded to taste a different kind of sugar,
George spent the day servicing a gaggle of horny black men
in front of Mister Paul, the plantation manager.

George happily took the aphrodisiac the next day. He liked
the way Runako undressed him in front of Mister Paul; he
also liked being carried, over Runako's shoulder, into the
playroom and handed over to the naked men on the king-size
bed.

George's jaw and arse ached like billy-o the next day. How-
ever, he still said yes to Runako's invitation to take a
third trip to the sugar plantation. The aphrodisiac helped
of course, but George's craving for hard-standing cock was
the thing that helped him grin and bear the rough sex.

George loved to tell me all about his time with Runako and
Mister Paul. He would get me really excited as he played
with my cock and described, in great detail, how he was
seduced and gang-banged by Runako and his friends. The group
usually fucked black boys in front of Mister Paul - the boys
tended to come from families that lived and worked on the
plantation, so a blind eye was invariably turned toward the
manager's predilection.

Having a white boy to fuck was a real treat for the group,
especially when George was so white (because he came from
England) and willing (because he attended a private boarding
school). Clearly the manservant had received all the right
signals from George, before he 'accidentally' exposed his
coal-black cock to the young gentleman from England. But
still, he did take an almighty risk that day.

According to George, the aphrodisiac was used to speed up
his transition from servicing one cock to servicing four. It
also helped him shed all those silly inhibitions - the ones
that prevented him from dropping his trousers and bending
over for cock.

Alan and George loved to spice up their milking sessions
with vivid descriptions of boys being stripped naked and
impaled on adult cock. However, in my book, none of these
vignettes could top George's seduction in the West Indies.
The mental image of George, at thirteen years old, being
sexually ravaged by four black men always brought out the
best in me, and never failed to trigger a mind-blowing
climax.

Kevin also found George's story a turn-on. However, in his
imagination, it was always him or me being carried into the
playroom by Lloyd.

The day I did get carried into the playroom by Lloyd was the
first Wednesday of the long, summer holiday. Alan, Bob and
George stood behind the camera, which was a 16mm Bolex on a
tri-pod, and watched me being dumped on to a king-size bed
and pounced upon by the burly black man.

Lloyd and I were both naked and eager to get into a sixty-
nine position. Initially, we took no notice of Alan's polite
instruction to move into a more camera-friendly position -
Almighty and Tiny, our hard-standing cocks, were in
desperate need of a good tongue-lashing, so Alan's words
were simply lost beneath the din of our cock-hungry frenzy.

The frenzy lasted a good fifteen minutes, with Alan getting
more and more uptight as it intensified.

'Calm down, Alan,' said George, 'can't you see they're in
love.'

'That's bollocks,' snapped Alan. 'They'll be in traction if
they carry on like that.'

'What if they get too excited?' put in Bob-a-job. 'We could
lose a whole day's filming.'

'Alright, alright,' said George. 'Let's pull them apart and
get Lloyd to bring the boy in again.'

It took three takes to get that particular scene in the can.
Alan did concede, eventually, that Lloyd and I should have
been given time to rehearse off camera. My enthusiasm for
cock did tend to get in the way of Alan's creative direction
a lot, but he usually resolved the problem by saying, 'Fuck
it. Let's move the camera... again.'

- - -

Copyright (c) Andy Caulden, October 2009