Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2017 16:45:48 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown <badboi666@btinternet.com> Subject: Fourteen again - Chapter 7 Fourteen again by badboi666 =============================================================================== This story is - guess what! - fantasy. 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 a 14-year-old then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Remember the three things: 1 Cum (you may wish to do this more than once) 2 Wipe carefully 3 Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. =============================================================================== Chapter 7 "OK, boys," said Mr B. Go to bed now. Have fun if you want." Chris and David led the four of us away into another room. In it were two large double beds. Adam got into one and grunted goodnight - he clearly had had enough and wasn't interested in more action. I felt sorry for him, as he had hardly said a word the whole time I'd been there. Still, if he wasn't playing that meant more opportunities for me. The other two pulled me onto the other bed. "Tell us about how they picked you up," said Chris. I explained about running away from my stepfather's beatings and how Mr B had rescued me. "What about you two?" I asked, "are you really brothers?" Theirs was a truly tragic story, and I won't go into too much of the details. Their father had been killed in a huge train crash at Harrow when they were 6 and 3, and their mother, devastated by her loss, had had when sounded like a series of nervous breakdowns, ending in her suicide two years ago. With no relatives the boys had been put into an orphanage where - you guessed it - they were sexually abused. They had run away twice and been caught and returned, this time incurring beatings as well. A week ago they ran away for the third time and managed to evade recapture by hiding in a train going to Newcastle. When they got there they were alone and penniless - the idea of escaping from London had seemed a good idea at first - and stole some food from a shop. Newcastle was frightening so they stowed away on another train and got back to London where at least they knew their way around, and could understand what people were saying. Four nights earlier they had been hanging around Euston when two nice men had offered them soup and a warm place to sleep. Mr C and Mr D, no doubt. While they were telling me this we were all huddled together under the eiderdown, keeping warm. Chris and David still had their shirts on, but otherwise we were still naked. I asked why they didn't take their tops off so we could cuddle properly. There was no answer. After a moment David said to Chris "why not tell 'im? 'E seems OK, 'n 'e might know what to do." Chris shrugged and started to unbutton his shirt, quickly followed by his little brother. I soon realised why the men wanted them to keep their shirts on. I know that they had been beaten at the orphanage, but the weals on both boys' backs were very recent, probably administered only that morning or the day before. "Who did this to you?" I demanded. "Mr C and Mr D," said Chris. We wouldn't let them do things at first - we'd had too much of that at the orphanage - so they beat us and said they'd go on beating us until we agreed to let them have us. I don't mind as much, but poor David's just 9 and he cried something rotten. He hates all the sex stuff too." David nodded his head, tears welling in his eyes. One advantage of being 70 is that I knew perfectly well that this could be stopped easily, and I began to think of how it could be done. But while I was thinking I was aware that I had two naked boys next to me who needed comfort. Unwanted and brutal sex with grown men was horrible but gentle loving sex with another boy might be welcome ... And so it was. I laid down with one on each side of me under the eiderdown and I cuddled them both to me. Quite soon the warmth of our bodies made all three of us relax and, as usually happens when boys are warm, naked and relaxed, our cocks began to indicate that fun was to be had. I could feel two hard cocks pressing into my side, and Chris moved his hand to feel me up. All three of us were stiff now. "D'you want to carry on?" I asked. "We can be as gentle as you like." David snuggled into my neck and put both his arms round me. I kissed the top of his head. "Oh, David," I murmured, "I'll see you safe, don't worry. I'm magic, you see." True, of course, but a 9-year-old has ways of believing what can't possibly be true. Chris whispered "can you really?" and I assured him that they would both be free tomorrow. "Just do what I say and tell your story truthfully at the right time." The only way Chris knew to thank me was to scoot down under the bedclothes and take my cock into his mouth, sucking and licking with gusto. "You don't have to do that," I said. He went on, so I decided that he wanted to suck me as much as I wanted him to do it. I soon came and he took all I had shot into his mouth. I then scooted down myself, and returned the favour he had done me. I'm not sure whether he spunked in my mouth or not, but his orgasm was cute: he twitched and went rigid while his cock pulsed a few times, then he started to chuckle. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing, Brian, but I always laugh when I cum like that." David agreed, saying "he's funny that way - he giggles when I do 'im. Will you do me, Brian?" So I did, and his little cock got a thorough tonguing, and his little bruised body shook and his dry cum overcame him. "Tomorrow we'll leave here, and you'll never see these bastards again," I said. I was determined that Mr C and Mr D didn't get away with brutality and coercion. As a man of 70 (and as a boy of 14, come to that) I loved the idea of sex with boys, but the sex had to be consensual - and in my experience there were plenty of willing boys who were keen to have sex with men. I had no time for force, and I was planning exactly what to do to see that these brutal men were got at. Not because they liked fucking boys, but because they liked fucking unwilling and frightened boys, and would beat them into submission. The three of us slept together, cuddling close for security. Adam was asleep in his bed. I wasn't sure about how to deal with him, as I hadn't really got a plan yet. ********** When we woke the next morning I explained that I had a plan to get Chris and David away. I asked what had happened the morning before - had the boys stayed at the house all day? No, they had been sent out after breakfast and told to come back for tea; they were free to roam around all day. I asked why they hadn't just not come back but they said they had nowhere else to go. It was a horrible situation. Still, it was about to get better. "OK, here's what we'll do. After breakfast we three will leave as usual. I don't think we can take Adam." "Oh, he never leaves," said Chris, "he has to stay here." That was a relief, but I felt a bit guilty about it. Still, if my plan worked he would be OK in a day or two. After breakfast Mr B told me that boys had to leave now, and that we would be back by 5 o'clock. There would be more fun tonight. The three of us left and went to the bus stop. David asked where we were going. "You wait and see," I said (I didn't want to tell them before we got there in case they took fright and ran off). We arrived on the Embankment and went into Scotland Yard. I marched up to the reception area with the other two reluctantly behind and said that we needed to see someone about child abuse. This was long before Child Protection Officers were invented, but I knew that the words "child abuse" would get the sergeant's attention. We were told to wait and soon two cops appeared - a man and a woman. I won't go into the details of what happened, but half an hour later the police had the address of the place the abuse was happening, a good description of the four men involved, the evidence of their own eyes of the physical abuse suffered by Chris and David, details of their abusive treatment at the orphanage, and my explicit description of what I had witnessed the night before. The WPC assured me that we had nothing to fear, that they would raid the premises and that the men would be prosecuted. None of us would need to appear in court as witnesses as we were too young. I asked what would happen to us. They weren't sure, but they would make sure that whatever happened the brothers would stay together. During this whole process Chris and David said very little except to agree with my description of what had happened. David cried most of the time, which helped. I felt really sorry for them - they really were only 11 and 9 whereas I had a whole adult lifetime of dealing with difficult situations. They took us off to another room where they got us juice and biscuits and left us alone while they oiled the wheels and planned what would happen. I told the boys that I wasn't sticking around, but that they should stay together and trust that a kinder set of adults would be found to look after them, I said that it was likely that they would go to a foster family, and that their lives would probably be a great deal better. They were both so grateful - more tears and cuddles. I said I was going for a piss and left. I didn't say goodbye or anything. I asked a cop where the toilet was and after pissing I just walked along the corridor and out of the door. I felt no guilt about telling the police about Mr C and Mr D. Mr B hadn't done anything to me that I didn't want (although I didn't enjoy it as much as I was hoping to), and I felt bad about landing him in it - but there again, for all I knew he had been part of the beating Chris and David had been given. Tough shit all round: they deserved what they got. We all know there are lots of boys out there - boys who really are 14, and often less - who are happy with their sexuality and who, being adolescents, are willing to explore their own boundaries. Adult men who are gentle and caring, loving even, pose no threat to anyone. End of sermon! I needed to find somewhere for tonight, so I decided to get out of London for a bit. I went to Waterloo and bought a ticket to Staines, in those days a terrible bottleneck on the road to the West Country. I decided to try hitch-hiking as far west as I could get, so I walked from the station with my backpack and stood at the side of the A30 at the edge of the town. I wanted a lift in a lorry as there was more chance it would be going further than a car. I stuck out my thumb and tried to look interesting to any passing boy-lover. It took 10 minutes for anyone to bite, but a lorry stopped just past me then, and I ran to the passenger door. "Goin' far, mister?" "How far d'you wanna go, kid?" This seemed promising - was he opening up an innuendo-laden exchange? I thought quickly. "As far as you'll let me." There was still the chance that this was all quite innocent. "OK, hop up and let's see what's what." And so I did. He was about 25, slim but not skinny. He had a nice smile and twinkly eyes and leant over to shake my hand. "I'm Peter," he said. "Wow!" I said, "so am I," and I looked him in the eye, "that makes two Peters." "So it does, kid. I wonder what fun we're going to have today with two Peters." I relaxed. I had found what I was looking for. I was getting out of London, I was getting a ride to somewhere where there would be holidaymakers (it was August, remember) with bodies on beaches, and, if I was any judge of these things, I would be getting a good seeing-to from this Peter. Bliss! =============================================================================== <End of Chapter 7> There wasn't much sex in this chapter, but there will be next time. Thanks to the guys who've already been on with ideas - keep them coming. If you have things you would like to read about while I do them, email me at badboi666 "at" btinternet "dot" com and let me know. Tell me your most depraved fantasies: I'm 70, after all, and won't be shocked. Even if I am only 14 to look at ... or touch ... or suck ... or fuck ... or piss on.