Note: This story is set in the 1960s, when the age of consent for gay sex was 21. In the UK it is now 16, so my story can now be told.

 

Simon and the Lodger

by: Archibald Young

 

I couldn't help it, could I? I couldn't help being sixteen, lithe and slim, with too-long blonde hair, blue-eyed, full-lipped and highly sexed, and bored out of my mind with the prospect of the long summer holiday with just my old mother for company, could I? And it was not my fault that he came to take the spare room as a paying guest, that blustery June day, was it? I came down from my room at supper-time and he was there.

He was about forty, quite handsome, with grey eyes, with thinning hair and a pencil moustache. He was well-built, strong, but smelt of Eau-de-cologne, and wore suede shoes. He introduced himself as Harold Leighton. His handshake was firm, though, but a tiny bit too long. We sat at the table while my mother was in the kitchen, and he asked me about myself. He asked about my school. He told me that he was a night-nurse at the local hospital, and when I told him I wanted to be a vet he was interested. I felt myself relax with him, and he laughed at my jokes. After supper he went to his room, and I asked my mother about him, He had answered an advert in the local paper. She said his references were good- from another landlady in the Midlands- he had moved South for promotion. I forgot about him while I watched TV, but as I went to bed I passed his room. The light was showing under the door, and I could hear a rhythmic sound of swishing, and could just hear his breathing, slightly fast. As I moved away the swishing stopped, and I heard a page turn, and then the swishing started again. I thought nothing of it at the time.

The early days of the holiday passed in a torpor of tedium. Mr Leighton was usually down for supper, before going on duty, but on his evenings off he was almost always out, coming home fairly late. I noticed he looked at me very closely at meal-times, as if he couldn't keep his eyes off me. It was a friendly gaze, though, and when I caught his eye he often smiled before looking away. It made me feel self-conscious. One evening, while my mother washed up and he drank coffee, he asked me about the things boys get up to at school. I was rather a loner at school, so I could not say much- he seemed disappointed by what I told him. I was sad at this, because I liked him, although the way he stared at me sometimes made me a little scared of him. But I wanted him to think of me as interesting, yet couldn't think of anything to say. Meeting him- at the breakfast table, or at supper, or even just in passing in the house, made me feel awkward.

For several evenings I had heard the swishing noise, and he had recently taken to leaving his door very slightly ajar, so the noise of his activity was clearer. That evening, as I tiptoed past his room, there was a crack of light between the door and the frame big enough to just see through. Feeling very naughty, I peeked. I could just see him sitting up in bed, knees up, with a magazine open on them. He was staring at the page while one hand was pumping up and down between his legs. He was breathing quite fast, and seemed very preoccupied. I watched for a few seconds. His hand moved faster and faster, and his breathing quickened. He turned the page, let out a low groan, and then suddenly arched slightly as the hand movement became irregular, his eyes shut, and his teeth bared in a moment of what looked like pain. Then he started to shudder slightly, and a smile broke out over his face; he was still looking at the new page of the magazine.

I was amazed. What was he doing? It seemed to be both painful and fun. What was he looking at? My heart was thumping at this discovery, and I resolved to get to the bottom of the mystery. He closed the magazine, and slipped it into a newspaper, which he then placed in the bedside table. I was careful not to be seen. I tiptoed away to my own room.

In my room, my heart still pounding, I felt in a turmoil. I thought I must be falling ill. I looked in the mirror. My face was flushed, as if I was wearing rouge. I also had a strange feeling in my willy. I touched it through my trousers, and it immediately began to get harder and longer. It started to ache, and I thought it was part of my illness.

I slept fitfully that night, and my dreams were vivid and delirious. Throughout the night I was aware of how hard my willy was, and then, early in the morning, I had a very strange dream. I was in a cave, which was red and slimy, and the walls moved in and out. It smelt funny, but I liked it, and wanted to go deeper and deeper, in to where it was narrow. It closed in on me, all hot and wet, but I was loving it- I had no clothes on, and wanted to be swallowed up in it. Suddenly there was this fantastic feeling, and I woke up with the sheets all slimy, my willy in my hand. I thought I had wet the bed, but it smelt different. I had heard friends talking about wet dreams and knew that I had had one- it was a gorgeous feeling, and all I wanted to do was go back to the dream. But when I did go to sleep, I had no other dreams.

In the morning I felt better, and by the time I'd got up, Mr Leighton had out for the day- it was his day off. My mother went out shopping, and I was alone in the house. Now was my chance to find out what he'd been doing in the evenings!

I went into his room, and opened his bedside table. There was nothing there! He must have hid the magazine somewhere. I looked in all the drawers, carefully, and in the wardrobe. I found his suitcase was locked- he must have put it in there!

I felt very dispirited. I was bored, and the thought of finding out what he'd been doing was the only excitement I'd had for weeks. Now I would never know! My curiosity was aroused.

That evening, my mother was going out to stay with friends overnight. Mr Leighton had the night off, and she told me to get his supper ready for him. He was quite late getting back, and my mother was just leaving as he came up to the front door. I was in an apron, saying goodbye to her. She kissed me goodnight and left, and he came into the house. I felt a strange foreboding as my mother left the house and he entered. The atmosphere changed. He smiled at me, though, in a friendly way, and joked:

"That's a very pretty apron!"

I laughed, politely, but blushed at the same time, embarrassed at being caught out like that.

"You supper won't be long," I said, and went off to the kitchen. I could feel him watching me as I walked down the hall.

It was a simple supper- mostly already made. It was soon ready, and I called out to Mr Leighton that it was ready. I had the plates on the table when he came in. He had changed into a thick cardigan with rolled-over collar, of the sort I loathe, and was carrying a bottle, already open, but nearly full.

"Mind if I have a spot of wine with the meal?" he asked.

"No, not at all," I answered, "I'll get a glass."

"Would you like some? I can't drink the whole bottle myself, and it will go off otherwise."

I felt flattered that he should think I was old enough to drink wine at a meal.

"Yes, please- I'll get two glasses. But don't tell my mum!"

He smiled. He seemed very nice when he did that. "I won't. It'll be our secret."

When I brought the glasses from the front room he was sitting down, and had lit two candles in the candelabra. I thought, what cheek! But then I realised they were his candles. It made the simple food look exotic. I took off the apron, and sat down opposite him. He poured the red wine. "Cheers", he said, and clinked his glass against mine.

It tasted very heavy, sweet and strong. We started eating. He was extravagant in his praise of my cooking, despite my protests. The wine was warming me up, and relaxing me, and I began to joke back at him. I had another glass before I had finished my main dish, and so did he.

We talked about my life, and he said little about himself. His compliments grew more and more personal. He would slip in phrases like "a good-looking fellow like you" and "intelligent person like you". Although I would normally have been shy and embarrassed, the wine, the candle-light, his low, slightly gravelly voice let me accept these compliments as if they were my due.

I had a third glass with the pudding. By now I was quite woozy, and my speech was getting a little slurred. My shyness had evaporated- I felt I could say anything. I had never been drunk before. I thought of asking him what he got up to when he went to bed, but I was not quite as far gone as that.

At the end of the meal I got up to do the washing-up, and had to sit down again, I was so unsteady. We were both laughing a lot by then, and he came round and helped me up, in a joky sort of way, and propelled me to the sink. I kept pretending to go all limp and he had to hold me up. I put on the apron and rubber gloves, and started the washing. He was standing right behind me, his arms on the sink on either side of me, to stop me from falling. He was laughing and I was giggling. I felt so happy at his attention, and liked the way his body pushed me up against the sink. As I washed up, he was telling me jokes, and I was laughing extravagantly. And then it happened.

I was suddenly aware that my willy, pushed up against the hard sink, was stiff and aching, as it had been the previous night. I was unconsciously rubbing it against the hard ceramic through my jeans, and this made my buttocks move against his groin. I felt him tense up, and then he let out a low moan, and his hands moved inwards from the sink as he brought his body full up against me from behind, and his arms slid around under my apron and onto my polo-neck sweater, embracing me, drawing me towards him. At the same time his head came forward, into my blonde hair, and I felt his heavy breathing on my right ear, and I felt the heat of his body along my back, and his hands started to caress my chest, his fingers immediately finding my nipples under the thin white cotton, and gently pinching them. I was enveloped in sensation! I froze, half-way through washing a plate, electric charge running all over me.

What could I do? His arms were strong, and he held me tight. His fingers on my nipples were like knives of delight- they were hard and screaming with joy at being stimulated. His breathing in my ear was hypnotic, and he began to whisper, straight in my ear.

"God, you're beautiful, Simon, do you know that? I've been waiting for this for weeks, darling, wonderful boy. I've been dreaming of holding you close, touching you, just like this. You like it, don't you? I know you do. Mmmm, doesn't it feel nice? Go on, keep moving... I can help you, darling. I know what you want- I can give you everything you've ever wanted. Trust me"

And he was moving his groin against my bottom, pushing my own hard willy against the sink, and I could feel a hardness there, in the middle, that I knew was his willy, also hard,

pushing against me. And that was the moment when I yielded; when I felt his hard willy through our clothes something clicked in my rigid being, and without any thought I was pushing my buttocks back into his hot groin, I was dropping the plate in the water and grabbing his arms as they enfolded me, I was leaning back into him, my head falling back on his shoulder, my lips parted, and I was whispering "yes, yes, yes" before I had made any decision at all.

And he was now kissing my ear, breathing and moaning into it as his pelvis moved against my bottom, and his right hand was caressing all over my torso whilst the left was still exquisitely pinching my nipple, and the right hand swept down to the front of my jeans and briefly caressed the hard swelling in my groin. I moaned louder at the thrill I felt when his hand touched my willy through my jeans and pants, and then, kissing me and moaning in my ear, he undid my belt and zip with a fluid ease that thrilled me, and before I knew it my jeans were on the kitchen floor around my ankles and his hand was pulling down my pants. I had to lean back even further so that they would come off my enlarged willy. In the meantime, with his left hand he was busy undoing his own trousers, my now bare bottom pushing against him, and I heard them swish to the floor also. Then both his hands were around me again, but this time his left hand was up under my cotton top at my left nipple again, but he was stroking my hard, yearning willy with his right hand! I was pushing backwards with my naked backside and I could feel his very hot willy in between my buttocks, poking hard and fabulously, dangerously close to my back passage. I couldn't help it, could I? I couldn't help being sixteen, lithe and slim, with too-long blonde hair, blue-eyed, full-lipped and highly sexed, in the kitchen in rubber gloves and an apron, with my trousers and pants around my ankles, moaning and swooning with lust back against the middle-aged lodger in whose arms I was so willingly wrapped, also naked from the waist down, and my back passage tingling with unlearnt yearning for the hot, hard man's sex?

"Oh, God, Simon, you want it, don't you?" he was moaning, breathlessly excited, his hands sweeping all over me, his willy now pushing at the very edge of my back passage, "You want me to... to... have your beautiful body all to myself, don't you, my darling, my lovely, gorgeous boy?"

And I didn't know what I was saying or what it meant, but I was still saying "Yes! Yes, Mr Leighton, do it! Do it to me, please, touch me, I want you, I love you, Mr Leighton, please, mmmmmmm....MMMMMMMM"

And I had turned my head so that I could kiss him on the mouth, and our lips were writhing wetly together before his tongue shot enthrallingly into my mouth as we stood there, in carnal rapture, the older man and the freshly seduced, luscious boy.

A few second later, he could stand it no more. He broke the kiss. "Stay there," he hissed, and stepped away for a second to get a bottle of cooking oil. I half turned away from the sink in time to see him pouring it over his willy, which was huge and sticking out under his cardigan above his hairy legs, and all down his legs and over the linoleum. He put it down and then came back to me, his hands all oily, and once again I was wrapped in his delicious embrace, once again his hot fingers were on my yearning willy, his mouth was at my ear, but now the tip of his willy was pushing into my back passage, slimy and hot and hard. I turned my thighs in to open up to him, knowing what he wanted. I could hardly feel the pain as it slid into my back passage, so great was the feeling of rushing, coursing pleasure from my groin as his oily fingers were rubbing up and down my willy, so load was his moaning and groaning in my ear.

"God, darling, yes, that's it, open up for me, yes, wider, I'm coming into you my sweet boy, yes, yes!"

I winced the first time he pushed completely into me, and felt I needed the toilet fleetingly, but then he pulled his willy out of me a bit, and the pain was gone. He started to push it in and out in a slow rhythm, our bodies rocking together, and all I felt now was pleasure- pleasure from his body, enfolded over me, pleasure from his lips on my earlobe, his tongue in my ear, pleasure from the wild words that he was hissing and moaning, pleasure from his fingers on my chest and nipples, pleasure from his oily fingers pumping my willy, and pleasure from his hot hardness deep inside my squirming body. And the pleasure mounted and mounted, and we were both panting and gasping as he thrust into me, and our bodies rocked together in a crescendo of excitement, and I was shouting with unholy delight when I spurted all over his hands and into the sink in a rush of pure joy that I had never known before. And as I came, spurting and crying out, convulsed with sensuality, he was shuddering himself, and all of a sudden my back passage became slimy and slippery as his willy throbbed in and out, and he let out a loud groan of pleasure, right in my ear.

***********

Gradually, our breathing and movements stilled, his arms folded round me, my rubber-gloved hands on his upper limbs as he milked my penis of the last drops of cum, into the sink. We were both panting hard, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. My racing heart did not subside, though, because as the pleasure ebbed away with the last few spasms in my prick, I became aware of the pain in my rectum, stretched by his still moving but softening erection. And suddenly a great wave of shame and disgust washed over me. What had happened to me? The smell of his body and his heavy breathing in my ear suddenly revolted me. I was in pain, humiliated, shocked by what he had done to me, as well as full of remorse for letting him do it. A rush of nausea came, and I pushed his arms back, away from me, and his penis left my anus and I felt a slimy trickle down my leg. I vomited into the sink, and then I was vomiting again, then retching and sobbing with pain and despair. I felt raped. and that he had used his experience and power to coerce me into an abnormal and sick act. I would never be the same again! He had tried to turn me into a queer! A queer, that most loathsome sort of person, skulking about near lavatories!

He did not say anything, nor try and comfort me or touch me, but stepped back and I could hear him pulling up his trousers, still breathing heavily. As the retching stopped I pulled off the gloves, pulled up my own jeans and pants and, pulling off the apron, turned away from him and ran out of the kitchen, sobbing, up the stairs, and into bathroom, where I locked the door.

I sat on the toilet, my heart thumping with fear and horror, still whimpering. I knew that what he had done to me was illegal, and that he would go to prison if I reported him. And that is exactly what I wanted to do- to get him and his disgusting sort completely away from me, for ever. But I also knew that this made him very dangerous to me. What if he should try and shut me up- to threaten me, or worse?

As I felt dirty and used, I ran a bath, and threw all my clothes in a pile on the floor. I got into the steaming water and lay back, feeling the pain in my rectum gradually ease in the warmth. I washed myself over and over, removing any trace of his semen or mine. I could him piling dishes in the kitchen, finishing the clearing up, no doubt washing my spunk from the kitchen sink. At least he was not pestering me, or coming to get me. Later I heard the TV on downstairs.

I decided I would do nothing that night- I'd sleep on it, and lock my room. It was too dangerous to let him know how I felt. I was much weaker than him, and he could easily hurt me. I got out of the bath and dried myself. I was feeling better, though still a bit woozy from the wine. As I put the towel back on the rail I dislodged one of my mother's black satin slips that had been drying there. I picked it up. There was something about the feel of it that sent a little electric shock through my body. I pulled it close to my body. It felt wonderfully cool and slippery. I noticed my heart was thumping again. What was going on in me? An urge came over me to try it on. I slipped it over my head, and the silky material slid down my body. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. The slip reached my hips, and rested on my buttocks. My long slim legs seem to disappear into it, and there was frothy lace at the neck. My hair tumbled down to my shoulders, my eyes were red with crying, my long lashes still matted. I looked like a woman! A sexy, half-naked woman! Without a second's hesitation my willy responded to the image, and the slip started tenting out. I excited again! I was completely bewildered by what was going on in me, but my body was driving me. There were some stockings and a black suspender belt also on the rack. What would they look like on me? No-one need know; my curiosity was raging. I sat on a stool and put them on. I was not sure how to fix them on at the back, but when I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror a thrill ran through me, and my penis jerked up again, aching as it was. Now I was really sexy, with long, black legs and a little glimpse of skin above the lacy tops of the stockings. ! It was as if I had my own sexy woman to play with, to fondle, to caress, and to have sex with! And instantly I now saw what Mr Leighton saw; a beautiful, slim, blonde-haired nymph, dressed for sex! He only wanted what I wanted; to have sex with myself- I was so beautiful. I understood him. And as this sensation ran through me, my fear and loathing of him oozed away, and the memory of the pleasure I had felt at being taken by him in the kitchen welled up in me. I found one of my hands on my erect penis, the other between my firm buttocks and on my anus, into which I slipped a finger, as the awareness of what I wanted to do now filled me from my groin to the top of my head. I wanted to go to him dressed as a woman; to have sex with him dressed as a woman, and I wanted to do it again and again and again. I didn't care that I was queer. I knew I was queer. I knew now that I was a pansy, a poof, a nancy-boy, and the idea thrilled me. The idea of being swathed in sexy women' clothes and being loved by an older man was now the central core of my being.

I unlocked the bathroom and tiptoed out. I went straight to my mother's dressing room, and pulled out some black court shoes from her shoe rack. They were at least a size too small for me but I squeezed my stockinged feet into them anyway. I swayed over to her wardrobe. I was looking for a dress, a gown, but what caught my eye was her beautiful musquash coat. I had always liked women in fur, and now I realised, with hammering heart, that I could be a woman in fur for Mr Leighton! I stroked the fur for a while, and then took it out and slipped it on, luxuriating in the scent and feel of the soft fur against my body, and the cool lining against my skin. I was in heaven! I clipped on a pair of diamante earrings and a necklace of pearls from her dressing table, and looked at myself in the mirror there. I needed makeup! I only knew how to put on lipstick from dressing-up games as a child, but I managed it well enough. I looked absolutely gorgeous, my erection sticking out between the folds of the fur coat. I was ready. Unused to the heels, I staggered downstairs, trying not to make too much noise, but when I got to the wooden hallway my body swayed automatically and sensuously as my heels clicked across to the TV room.

I opened it and walked in.

"I'm feeling better now- sorry about that", I said, as he rose from his chair.

"I can see that", he hissed, as he came towards me. And it seemed the most natural thing to do to open my mother's fur coat to let him come right up to my yearning, warm body, and to take his head in my hands and pull his face to mine, and to feel our lips meet in a hot, long kiss, to let his tongue enter my mouth as his wonderful hands once again swept over my now satin-sheathed body as I cleaved to him, my penis hard against his stiffening groin. And it seemed natural for my tongue to enter his mouth as my moans of desire joined his, and it seemed the most wonderful thing to do, when our long, wet kiss finally broke, to turn away from him and kneel in front of the sofa, the TV still blaring away, and to lift up the fur and the satin slip above my buttocks, and to say to Mr Leighton

"Fuck me again, please, Mr Leighton!"

And he did. And this time, when he had finished and I had not yet come, he did a wonderful thing. He pulled me up and turned me round on the sofa, and then knelt down between my stockinged knees, the folds of my mother's fur coat caressing his face, and kissed my erect penis on its tip! Some of my lipstick was on his lips from our kissing, and now my penis was smudged with red. I arched my body with the thrill this released, and as if that wasn't enough, he then opened his mouth and started sucking it. His mouth was hot and wet, and he was also massaging it at the root. I had never felt so excited; I was writhing with pleasure. While he sucked me he was looking straight up into my eyes. I felt myself dissolve in his eyes and his mouth, in his very being; his grey eyes skewered my soul. My climax came swiftly and was huge! He did not stop, but sucked and swallowed as I spurted into his mouth, all the while gazing into my eyes. I was in heaven- perverted, queer, sissy heaven! This time, as my convulsions subsided and the last thrills slipped away, I found myself completely totally in love with this fabulous man, my seducer and utterly happy. So when he lifted his mouth from my groin, some of my semen still on his lips, it was the most natural thing on earth to lean forward and whisper to him

"Thank you, Mr Leighton", and to kiss him again, wetly and warmly, licking back some of my semen from his mouth.

And that night he took me into his bed.

Three weeks later, this is what I was doing with Harold, as Mr Leighton now wanted to be called, in the late afternoon, just after he'd got up and was getting ready to go to work; my mother was out. Three weeks! Three weeks of sexual excess with the older man, right under my mother's nose. Three weeks of learning how it felt to be buggered in bed, on the stairs, in the shed, in the toilet, on the couch in front of the TV. Three weeks of riding over him, his penis deep in my young rectum, staring into his eyes as I writhe on top of him, his hands sweeping up and down my naked body. Three weeks of learning how to enjoy sucking his long, hard penis in my mouth, how to swallow the spunk that spurted and oozed from it. Three weeks of slipping naked under his covers after my mother was asleep and snoring, of wrapping my smooth legs around his, of licking the hairs on his chest, of fondling his penis, and of kissing; wet, juicy kisses with our tongues entwined, dribbling and drooling over each other's faces. Three weeks of lying next to him in bed, his hand, oiled, on my erect penis and mine on his, his lips at my ear, wicked, wanton ideas of perverted and depraved lust oozing into my young mind; images of how my life could be if I wanted. Three weeks of learning about dirty older men and their thrilling desires, of penises in my anus and mouth at the same time as in each hand and in my long, blonde hair. Three weeks of learning about fetishes, about masochism, about sadism, about sex with animals. And, most of all, three weeks of discovery of the gorgeous thrill of dressing up in soft, fluffy clothes, of making my face up, of drenching myself in perfume, of clipping on jewelled earrings, rings and bracelets, of curling my hair into a soft, tumbling mass of silkiness, of the feel of cool, black silk stockings and suspenders, of silken slips and tripping about the house in my mother's black court shoes.

 

This is what I was doing.

We were in the bathroom; the sun streaming through the window. He was sitting, naked but for a silk dressing-gown, on a chair in front of the wash-basin. His gown fell down, open, on either side and I was sitting astride him, on his lap, my legs sheathed in black stockings and my mother's highest heels. His hands rested on my stockinged thighs, at the lacy junction of flesh and silk. My face was made up, with mascara and dark green eye shadow, hot red lips, and a little blush on each cheek. My hair was freshly washed and curled, falling in waves onto my shoulders, which were bare, as the short, fluffy, soft pink angora jumper he had bought for me was pulled down off each naked shoulder. I was wearing my mother's jewellery; I could see my reflection in the mirror- earrings flashed in the light as I moved, a heavy choker at my neck. His penis was standing stiffly erect just in front of my crotch, and mine was also erect, pushed up against and touching his, like two trees rising from the bushes of our mingled pubic hair- his dark and thick, mine wispy and blonde. I was shaving him, the lather half off his face, my jewelled, crimson-nailed fingers caressing his smooth face, as we laughed together, the master and the young sex-slave on his priapic lap. I kissed him several times as I shaved him, his hands sliding off my stockings onto my naked, smooth thighs and back; sometimes light kisses, barely touching his lips, sometimes long, deep kisses during which I would involuntarily whimper with lust as, the movement of my angora-swathed trunk forward caused our penises to rub together as I writhed, my tongue halfway down his throat and his deep in my mouth. I had never been so happy in all my life; I knew that my whole being belonged to this man and the vast sexual power in which I was now so willingly enthralled would grow and grow. I longed for all the things Harold had told me about in his warm bed- of spending all day in sexy clothes, of wealth and luxury and orgies with many men, of bestiality and cruelty- I wanted it all!

When, after several delays while we kissed and I moved my body against his hairy chest, moaning with pleasure, I had finally finished shaving him, I held up the shaving mirror and he was pleased with my work.

He kissed me gently.

"You're fabulous," he whispered, his eyes locked into mine. "I have an idea of something that you'd enjoy very much."

"Ooooh, tell me," I crooned, wiggling my body against his warm, soft belly, my fingers playing in his wiry chest hair as our hard, erect penises jostled each other, sending a thrill through me- I was so close to orgasm all the time I was with him like this. He put his lips to my jewelled ear and ran the tip of his tongue gently round my earhole, his breathing hot, just as I loved him doing in bed when he was telling me of things he'd like me to do.

"How would you like to have sex with a friend of mine, for money?" His eyes narrowed as he whispered the question, just as mine widened. He went on before I could say anything.

"Darling boy," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear, his tongue flicking in and out like a hot, wet snake, his hands now moving more urgently over my buttocks and back, "you're the sexiest boy I've ever come across. You are a born prostitute. (He slipped a hand into the cleft between my buttocks) You want to do all the things with men that they love, without being forced or told to. Your body is perfect, your anus is so welcoming (he slipped two or three fingers into my rectum, and started massaging it from inside), your beautiful mouth is so hot for prick that I can't bear to think of it being wasted. You will bring so much pleasure to so many, and you'll make lots and lots of money, too. Think of what you could do with fifty pounds- you could buy yourself a lovely satin gown..."

His fingers in my rectum were washing waves of pleasure through my body, his hot breath on my ear now a familiar fountain of thrilling sexual depravity, and my body was now writhing against his naked chest, my long eyelashes closed with visions of me as a beautiful, wanton male prostitute, perfumed and painted, pleasuring man after man, cock after cock, in luxurious rooms in palatial houses, all the time getting richer and richer.

"Come on, pretty one, come to Daddy" he hissed as his hand left my rectum, his other swept down and lifted my naked buttocks up and forward so that my belly and his were hotly together, before he lowered my pouting anus onto his hot, turgid tool, and as his stiff maleness entered my perfumed, softly angora-encircled body, and my penis slid forwards against his warm, fleshy belly, I moaned with overwhelming lust, and his semen spurted into my rectum and mine poured out against his naked belly as I reached up and took his face to mine in an orgasmic kiss that screamed "Yes!" "Yes, yes, yes, Yes!"

 

It was thrilling to learn that he knew I would agree, and had already made the appointment for the following day, when he knew my mother was going out to lunch and tea with some people over fifty miles away.

The man was coming to my house! That night, as I lay in his bed in one of my mother's satin slips, he naked, we teasingly caressed each other and he told me about his "friend" and how he had met him at one of the clubs where queers go. He was wealthy, through his wife's money mainly, but rather old. He apparently loved young boys dressed up in women's clothes, and would pay handsomely for the chance to fuck them. I loved this dirty, murmuring talk almost as much as being shafted! The thought of being sold to a dirty old man for money was immensely exiting. I was not frightened, as Harold would be around when the man, called Mr Bowsey, was coming.

The name caused me a shock- was it the same Bowsey who had been involved in a scandal at the Church? He knew my mother! But instead of dampening my ardour, it actually inflamed it! I was excited at the thought of sex with one of my mother's acquaintances, in her own house! Harold sensed my excitement, and my urgency, and very soon I was mounted over him, bouncing up and down in the soft, warm bed, trying not to cry out with the unholy, pleasure that his erect penis thrusting in and out of my anus and his skilful hands on my nipples and cock brought surging up in me. I was in seventh, perverted sexual heaven, thinking of being fucked by Mr Bowsey as I bounced up and down on Harold's throbbing prick to shuddering orgasm.

 

My mother went out at about eleven; it was Harold's day off, and he had already gone out. She didn't expect me to get up before then anyway, and I heard the door slam as she left. A few seconds later I was in the bathroom, running the bath. While it ran I slipped into a huge, soft jumper that fell off one shoulder and caressed my already half-erect penis, slipped on the pink caribou mules that Harold had bought me, and wandered about the house in a sensual haze, collecting the clothes that I was going to wear for Mr Bowsey from my mother's wardrobes. I picked out a black slip with frothy lace trim around the nipples and the bottom, and a long, black lacy negligee that I had spotted in a suitcase under her bed. I was going to look ravishing! I also helped myself to the contents of her jewellery box, carefully noting where each piece had come from. I tipped half a jar of bubble-bath into the bath, and slipped out of the soft jumper and mules, and into its scented embrace. I was trembling with excitement. I was still in the bath when he came into the house, and I heard him go into the kitchen before he came upstairs. He came into the bathroom with a tray, some sparkling wine and two glasses.

"Oh, Simon, darling, you look luscious in that bubble bath," he said as he brought over the glass to the bath. He handed me the glass.

"Oh you sweet sugar daddy, you are so kind," I lisped, smiling, as I took it and drank. He took off his jacket, rolled his sleeves up, and sat down. His forearms were thick with hair, muscular. He sipped his wine and slid a hand into the bubbles towards my chest. I arched forward, pushing my nipple into his fingers, and he played with it as he told me about the arrangements for Mr Bowsey.

"He'll be here in an hour. I'll go down and get him a drink, and you come down when your ready. We'll use the drawing-room- I'll close the curtains, and I've got some candles and incense. I'll introduce you, and then I'll leave you, OK? I'll be in the house, so you'll be quite safe. Come on, out you get- we've got to get you all prettified, haven't we?"

He kissed me, briefly, and then got a towel ready for me. He whistled when he saw my erection as I stepped out of the bath, and he enfolded me in the warm towel.

"Mmm, I'm jealous," he said, "you look as if you like this very much"

I nodded as he dried me, and then he powdered me with my mother's expensive, scented talc, taking care not to touch my quivering organ. "We must keep you ready for your guest, mustn't we?" he smiled, tenderly, looking down in my powdered nakedness.

I slipped on the mules again, and walked naked in front of him, carrying the drinks tray, to my mother's bedroom, and he sat me on the pouffe in front of the dressing-table. I made up my face while he blow-dried my hair. Then he helped me on with the suspenders, new silk seamed stockings, and I slipped my feet into my mother's black patent court shoes. He tumbled the frothy, satin slip over my upstretched arms, clipped on the diamante earrings and choker. Then he stood back to let me see myself in the mirror.

I'd been dressing up in my mother's clothes for sex with Harold for over three weeks, and even when he wasn't there I took advantage of every opportunity to wander around the house in her negligees or dressing-gowns, or just in my huge, soft jumper that looked like a mini-dress, or fully dressed in one of her velvet evening-gowns, decked with her jewels. But I couldn't get used to the sight of the sight of this gorgeous, feminine, blonde goddess with a large erection that greeted me whenever I posed in front of a mirror, and today I was looking and feeling especially sexy. I even thought I might be developing breasts! I looked gorgeous; a blonde sex-toy, dripping with eagerness to please any dirty old man who could afford me!

He was standing behind me, and his hands loosely grasped me at the waist, and I melted back into his body, mesmerised by the vision of my loveliness in the mirror, feeling his ever-hard erection in his trousers against my soft buttocks, with the same old thrill of yearning that filled me every time since that fateful evening in the kitchen. I leant my head back on his shoulder, and slid my hand round my satin-sheathed buttock to his groin. Already, I was practiced in the art of unzipping a man's trousers, and my fingers slipped into his Y-fronts and slid round his juicy cock, still in his pants, whilst all the time I was wiggling my buttocks into his groin and watching the scene in the large, gilt mirror in my mother's bedroom. I loved it when he buggered me from behind, like he had done that very first time, and I wanted him in my body again. But he pulled away.

"Oh, no you don't, my precious! You save all that for our guest!"

I moaned with frustration, my penis erect and rampant. But all he did was open a tub of cold cream, finger up a dollop, and then his hand was between my buttocks, and his fingers all cold as he smeared it round my anus and then into my dilating, yearning anus, and I squirmed with pleasure.

"There!" he said, as the door bell rang. "He's here. Give me a few minutes- he'll need a little drink- then come down. We'll be in the drawing room. Ok?"

I turned round and looked at him, suddenly frightened, tears starting into my eyes. But he was quite unmoved.

"Don't let me down, will you?" he hissed, a note of steel menace in his voice. I had never heard that before from him, and it frightened me even more.

"Why not have a couple of drinks yourself?" he said, and then left me alone. I sat at the dressing table, my heart now thudding with fear. I heard Harold going down the stairs. I poured a glass of wine, and lifted it to my lips. As I did so, my eyes lifted to my reflection in the dressing-mirror. A beautiful, sad-looking blonde in gleaming diamante pendant earrings gazed out at me. Lips glistening, moist-eyed, rouged, a slender neck disappearing below a sparkling diamante choker into a froth of black lace. A vision of loveliness, sipping sparkling wine with ringed and painted fingers, shortly to go downstairs in his mother's lingerie and let a dirty old man bugger him for money on the sofa! I heard him open the door, and the murmuring of voices, and then the front door closed. As I took my first sip of the wine, watching myself in the mirror, I felt something slimy on my lips. I looked into the glass. It was semen, cold, from the fridge, swirled round with the sparkling wine! Harold must have slipped it into the glass when I was not looking. He must have been putting aside his spunk to drink later! The smell and taste of it, together with his wonderful idea, thrilled me deeply, and I slurped it in with relish, knowing that it would give my breath a jism-smell which would excite Mr Bowsey. I smiled with the wickedness of it, and my fear subsided, as my young she-male lust rose again. Staring provocatively in the mirror, I pouted sexily at myself, wiped a tear from my eye with a tissue, and lasciviously licked my lips, now slimy with Harold's sperm. The wine was coursing in my blood, and my excitement was rising higher and higher at what I was going to do. I heard the two men go into the drawing-room, and the door close behind them.

I got up, and slipped into the peignoir, which wafted silkily about my satin-sheathed body, and studied my reflection. I was a transvestite dream come true; a slender, pubescent she-male with a sweet erection, a perfumed, powdered sex-toy for rich men with perverted desires, enveloped in his mother's finest lingerie. And then, as I twirled sinuously in front of the large mirror, not daring to touch my throbbing prick for fear I should shoot spunk all over the floor, a strong desire for something more came over me; something to complete the erotic picture before me. I opened the wardrobe ran my fingers through her clothes. Then my fingers touched her fur coat, and I knew that that was what I wanted most! I wanted to be swathed in fur! I pulled out my mother's only fur, a voluminous musquash with a golden silk lining. It smelt of her perfume, which was fine, as so did I! The feel of the soft fur against my body was electric, and in a second I had slipped into it. It fitted me perfectly. I caressed the pile with my long, painted fingernails, and hugged the soft mass of the coat to my yearning young body. I felt fabulous; a perverted starlet of she-male sex.

Once I felt the soft fur around me, heard the swish of the coat against the sexy lingerie I was wearing, I knew I was ready to go downstairs. I poured myself another glass, and, holding the coat closed with one hand, the wine glass in the other, and swaying my hips to maximise the sensations and sounds of my costume, I went downstairs, my heels clicking across the hall to the drawing-room door. I could smell the incense, and heard the murmuring of men's voices, which ceased as the heard my steps. I let my coat fall open, opened the door, and walked in.

The room was in semi-darkness, curtains drawn, filled with incense and the smell of cigar. Candles flickered everywhere, in addition to a single standard lamp that was switched on. Below it, was a man in armchair, drinking whisky.

It was the same Mr Bowsey that my mother knew. Small, balding, he was dressed in a dark suit and Guards tie, but the room was warm, and he had taken his jacket off. Harold was in the other chair, also in his shirt-sleeves. Harold stood up as soon as I came in- when I was dressed he always treated me as if I was a woman- a gesture that thrilled every inch of my sex-charged being. I minced in, and closed the door behind me.

"Ah, darling Simon," Harold murmured, "you look scrumptious!"

Mr Bowsey said nothing, just staring at me.

I walked up to him, standing right in front of him, my penis shooting up between the folds of the fur, roughly at his face level. I looked down at him, and took a last gulp of wine. Harold's semen was left on my lips.

I bent down and put both hands on the arms of Mr Bowsey's chair. I leaned forward.

"Hello again, dear Mr Bowsey," I breathed, my face close to his, and, slowly licking the semen over my lips, I breathed hard into his face so he could smell the jism on my breath. He gasped with shock- at the sudden smell of perfume and sperm from the lips of this blonde, soft, blue-eyed priapic vision of wanton loveliness bent over him, at the transformation that Harold had wrought from the shy, bored adolescent he had known into the brazen sex-hungry she-male, swathed in frothy satin and fur that leant wantonly close to him.

He just sat there, staring into my eyes. I heard Harold leave the room. I smiled as the door closed.

"Aren't you going to kiss me hello, then?" I murmured mockingly, leaning close to his face, slimy spunk still on my lips.

He groaned, his arms shot up inside the coat and around my satin-sheathed buttocks and pulled my body down onto his, his face turned up to mine, his mouth was open, and in a flash I was on his lap, and kissing him deeply, his hands roaming over my body under the satin, his groin hot and hard beneath me. I was excited beyond measure by his passionate kissing, his tongue filling my mouth, and my erection was being dangerously caressed by the furs as I moved against him, my fur-sleeved hands on his greasy face, holding his face against mine. I was being made love to by this dirty old man, a friend of my mother's! And I loved it!

After a long, long kiss, I could stand it no longer. I pulled my lips off his and pushed his head back. I loved this repulsive man- a beautiful boy in love with everything disgusting and perverted!

"Darling, you're fantastic," I hissed, and, for that moment of pure, depraved, lust, I meant it, and he knew that I was different from any other boys he had had- I wanted him for his horribleness.

I stood up between his legs. He was frantically undoing his trousers, and I helped them down to his ankles. He lifted up his bottom and I pulled off his underpants, revealing a huge tool, much bigger than Harold's- more like some of the ones I'd drooled over in Harold's magazines during my long nights of corruption in his bed. I reached down and touched it, wondering how it was going to feel inside me.

"Come here," he said- the first words he had said to me. I laughed softly, and then opened the fur coat and knelt on the chair astride him, so that his huge dong was behind me, and my penis was nestling in his belly. I pulled off his tie and slowly unbuttoned his shirt whilst wiggling my naked buttocks against his prick. I opened it so I could then lean my satin-enveloped body on his naked, flabby belly and chest, and my penis was in the folds of skin on his belly. His hands were all over me! I reached behind me and took his penis and guided into my anus, and then gently lowered myself onto it.

A rapturous sensation of being crammed full swept over me.

"Oooohh, Mr Bowsey!" I moaned, a hot centre of sensation in my rectum radiating though my body, but mainly straight to my balls and aching prick in his hot belly. It was the biggest thing I'd ever had inside me, and I relished it. All the while I was looking down into his eyes, my hair falling down all around it, but when I was fully impaled on his cock I could keep my eyes open no longer, so great was the thrill of being so completely buggered. I whimpered with delight, and started moving my body up and down on his wonderful cock. I pulled his head into the opening of the fur coat so his hungry lips were at my bare, scented throat, and he started kissing and biting my neck like an animal, as I hauled my fur-swathed body in a swishing silky dream up and down, up and down on his magnificent cock, my own oiled penis sliding in and out of the folds of flab in his belly. He was moaning, louder and louder in rhythm with each shuddering movement of my body on his, and I, too, was mewing with rapture, my insides alternately crammed and voided- ecstasy!

I knew he was coming when his breathing almost stopped, and squeezed his prick extra hard with my sphincter as I rose up again, milking him, and feeling it swell and engorge just before he spurted deep inside me, convulsively jerking upwards under me as I continued to use my sphincter to milk his dick upwards, on and on. He cried out- a long, deep, roar of primitive consummation, and that sound brought me my orgasm, my own joyous squeals of delight adding to his deep howl. But I didn't stop moving on him, squeezing as I came up, relaxing as I lowered myself on him, on and on until his shuddering cry had stopped, and he had stopped moving altogether. I flopped against him, my head against the back of the chair, his head still in my hands, his hands still on my buttocks under the satin, his penis deep in my bowel, my penis is a semen pool at his belly. Both of us were sweating under the hot fur, and panting with the effort of our gigantic climaxes.

After several panting moments, when I caught my breath, I opened my eyes and found Mr Bowsey looking up at me, with wonder in his eyes.

"I always wanted you," he whispered. "I never dreamed you would want me".

"Darling," I whispered back, gently stroking his cheek with my painted fingernail, "when I heard it was you who was coming I was really excited." Which was true. His eyes widened. He wanted to believe it- to believe that this lithe, adolescent, beautiful, blue-eyed blonde boy sheathed in his mother's clothes- in silk stockings, high heels, satin, lace and fur, jewelled, rouges and perfumed, lusted for deviant sex with him- a dirty, slightly smelly, shabby old man. And he realised that now he had proof of this amazing fact- in the obvious excitement with which I had enjoyed our coupling, my orgasm, and my tenderness to him now, in the afterglow- a tenderness he had probably never had before in the furtive gropings with seedy men and vicious youths. His joy was sealed for ever mind when I leaned down and tenderly kissed him on his lips, lightly and lovingly.

"Darling Mr Bowsey, I've thought about you ever since I first met you- do you remember?," I whispered, gazing into his astonished eyes. I did remember him shaking my hand in an odd way, tickling my palm in a sign that I had not understood. He must have remembered me as a sweet, soft-skinned peach of a boy who was not quite ripe enough for his smarmy longing. I kissed him again.

"I'm so happy with you inside me," I murmured, and kissed him again, chastely at first, eye closed. I was still excited with having him there, sticky and half-clothed under me, his penis still engorged in my rectum, mine half-erect in his slimy flab, both of us enveloped in my mother's musquash coat in the incense-gloom of the darkened room, a scene of resplendent degeneracy.

As I kissed him lingeringly, a miracle began inside me- his penis started to harden again! I murmured in wonder as his hands started to move on my naked buttocks again, and my own penis responded to the feeling of him swelling up inside my body so soon after our climax. I opened my eyes and stared into his. I felt his lips open and his tongue came through, deep into my mouth, and I held his face to mine with my hands as his tongue seemed to grow in my wet mouth even as his prick was growing in my spunk-filled colon. I knew I had him in my thrall now!

Now it was my turn to show the lust that was coursing through my insatiable young body. I broke the kiss, and forced his head away from me.

"Oh no you don't, my darling," I tittered softly. "Now it's my turn!"

With that I eased my buttocks off his prick, releasing a trickle of hot fluid down my buttocks and onto his lap- he was caught off-guard and did not hold me back. I stepped back off the chair, my penis half-erect and poking through the folds of the fur coat. I pushed his knees apart and knelt down in front of him, so my face was just in front of his groin. His penis was standing perpendicular again, and I could see the brown of my faeces mixed with the glistening white of his semen on the veined shaft. He was uncircumcised, not like Harold.

He was watching me intently, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. I took his penis in the fingers of my left hand, and leant forward to smell it, my nostrils dilating with the pungent aroma of sweat, semen and shit that rose from his lap- the most exciting smell on earth for me. He was gripping the seat in excitement, seeing the unfeigned pleasure with which I was worshipping his erect organ. I could resist no more- I had to taste it. I leant closer, opened my smeared red lips, and slowly brought out my tongue to the shaft, and it seemed to swell up even further as I did so.

My whole body tingled when I tasted the mixture of shit and spunk, and, my eyes fixed on his cock, I let out a little whimper. I started to lick his penis like an ice lolly, sucking in the slimy, aromatic mixture. It was delicious- sweet and sour! He was breathing heavily, and now his hands came to my hair, holding my face down as he was pushing up into my face, already wanting further sex with me, but this time with my hot, wet, slimy mouth. I laughed softly as I licked the last bit of sperm off his cock, and cupped his sweaty balls. I had learnt so much from Harold! I slid my half-open mouth from the base of his prick to the top, slowly, kissing and sliding, kissing and sliding, until I was at the very top. His hands were all over my head, mussing up my hair. I forced my head up to look at him through the hair that tumbled over my face, and held his wide, staring eyes as I dribbled saliva over his prick. Then I took his prick into my mouth and sucked and sucked him, still staring deep into his ever-more wondering eyes, and it was only a few seconds before his sperm shot up into my mouth. I looked down, closed my eyes, moaning, and quickly grasped the root of his penis and milked it upwards, sucking and drinking wildly to keep all of his spunk in me, and I heard him cry out a low, husky moan of release as he came, his hands now wildly grabbing at my long hair, his body jerking convulsively.

After a few moments the convulsions ceased, and no more sperm was coming from his prick. I slid my mouth off him and knelt back, hair all over my face, one hand still on his prick. I pushed the hair from my face and looked at him in the perfumed candle-light. He was half lying in the chair, his eyes half open, panting with the excitement of the orgasm, looking down at me. I smiled wickedly and licked my lips slowly.

"I'm the cat who got the cream, aren't I, Mr Bowsey?" I whispered.

"My God," he hissed," where have you been all my life? You're amazing!"

"Mmmm, I'm glad you appreciate me, darling Mr Bowsey," I lisped, "because I think you're rather gorgeous, too!"

And despite him being a dirty old man, I did think that, in my hypersexed state. And I think he had never heard anyone say that to him, for he suddenly looked rather emotional. I thought he was going to cry. I quickly kissed his shrinking penis, and got up off the floor.

"Sit up, darling, I want to sit in your lap," I commanded.

He did so, and I lifted the coat so that I could sit in his lap with the fur flowing around us, so my naked bottom and his naked waist would be warm inside. I snuggled up to him, my penis still turgid.

"You're so nice, " I whispered in his ear, kissing it, I instinctively knew that I had found someone, however old and disgusting, who would help me reach the places I now dreamed of- the fabulous palaces of sin and depravity where I could live the pampered life of a boy courtesan, scented and painted, dripping with jewels, swathed in designer gowns, jetted around the world to exotic orgies with gorgeous men. For while I thrilled to Harold's mastery of me and his evil, depraving mind, I also thrilled to a future where I was sometimes the dominant, the mastress, and I had already realised that I wanted Mr Bowsey as my sugar-daddy; although Harold would always be my pimp, my Svengali. As I lay curled up in Mr Bowsey's arms, gently kissing his head and shoulder, as he caressed me lovingly through the furs in the post-coital swoon, my mind was racing ahead. Then there was a gentle knock on the door, and Harold came in, with a tray.

"Are you two decent?" he leered, as he set the tray down in front of us, on a low table. There was some more wine, and caviar. We were anything but decent, a boy naked from the waist down, his slim body slimily nestling in the naked groin of the man, still in his shirt, all covered by the soft folds of the fur of the boy's mother's coat.

"I'll come back in a few minutes and then we'll tidy up" Harold said, and left the room.

I had only a second to lay the foundations of my new life..

"Mr Bowsey, can help me?" I started.

"Dear boy, call me Leo," he interrupted.

"Mmmmm, Leo, a sexy name", I purred, "Leo, can you somehow get it so I can visit you in your house? I like you so much- you are so kind. I really want to get to know you better. What do you think?"

"Ah, Simon, my wife...she doesn't know...about…"

"But she doesn't need to know. No-one will know except us. We would be very careful. I could… do some jobs around the house, to help her. She'd get used to me, and then, when she was out or something, we could play. Please?."

He was staring up at me, clearly excited. I knew he was thinking of what it would be like to have a beautiful blond sixteen-year-old boy under his own roof; a boy who loved to be dressed in women's clothes and sodomised. But he was also thinking of the risks- the dangers of being constantly aroused by the presence of such firm, young flesh, of being caught out, of his wife cutting him off, of ruin. I was careful not reassure him. He was also excited by the danger, I could tell.

"Think what it would be like, Leo," I went on. "We could do this often- every time your wife went out. Does she ever go away?"

He nodded.

"God, Leo," I sighed, nestling into him. "We could sleep together with you inside me. You have such a gorgeous cock. I'd love that."

Instantly he was kissing me, passionately, in a frenzy. I was taken aback at the sudden onslaught, but I felt his thick tongue enter my mouth, and I curled my arms around hm and kissed him back, moving so my penis, still erect, was rubbing against his hairy, slimy belly. I was trilled- he'd taken the bait! We kissed and kissed, me wriggling and whimpering, rubbing myself on him as wave after wave of pleasure swept my perfumed self. And then I was coming, and I broke off the kiss as I spurted all over him under the soft furs, crying out "Yes, darling, yes!!" as he bit my neck till the blood ran and I spurted my young hot jism over his flabby softness.

"You really like sex, don't you?" he whispered, as I lay back, panting.

"Ooooh, Leo, especially with you!" I murmured. It was unnecessary. The man was in love. I had him.

"I'd love to have you come to my house, Simon. I'll talk to my wife, and your mother". He was gazing into my eyes.

"Thank you, darling," I whispered, and we kissed slowly, lingeringly, to seal our pact.

 

After he had gone Harold sent me up to have a bath while he cleared up. I luxuriated in the foaming water, dreaming about visiting Leo's big house up on the common, cuckolding his rich wife, and carrying on with Harold whenever the chance arose. Adored by two men, a rich, pampered life, and an entree into the luscious world of young transvestites and wealthy men that Harold has so vividly described for me; a wonderful prospect!

 

To be continued

  

  

  

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