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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to o
o be typed therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Lost in London - 1 (bb, Mb)
by Debonair (an166744@anon.penet.fi)
(c) 1995
"In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king." - Tom Waits
PART 1. 'Birthday Bash'
They say lightning can only hit you once. Shows how little they know.
The sound of birds chirping outside the window, like every morning,
greeted Wesley when he awoke and rubbed his little eyes. The sun was
beaming on Newcastle Estate and it was going to be a glorious day for
his twelfth birthday. He quickly jumped on his feet, only wearing his red
cotton pajamas that clung to his small body.
Being an innocent child of aristocracy, he certainly wasn't aware that
the piece of garment was enhancing his firm pert buttocks to the point of
making men salivate. Destiny would soon tell him so.
He looked outside at the marble fountains and followed with his eyes
the paths that coverered the grounds like a maze around the big mansion.
The reflection of his young face in the glass stared back at him: his blond
hair, still straight even after a night's sleep, his clear blue eyes, shining
like gems over a little button nose. He was adorable, and that's what
his mother told him before she'd tucked him in every evening.
His eyes locked on some bushes moving in the distance. 'Was there a dark
figure hiding there?' his mind wondered. The image startled him. A bad
omen. But after a moment, he easily shook it away from his head, anxious to
open all the gifts he was to get, from all the friends of his father, the
Count of Darlington. The presents to his son, him, were to be luxurious and
plentyful.
He opened the door and ran in the corridor that seperated the twenty
bedrooms of the huge house, smiling and singing. An eerie ambiance
was floating in the mansion though, a palpable tension that stole the
spring in his steps.
When he reached the stairs, the first faint screams of a woman echoed
in his ears. They were like the screeches of an animal getting skinned
alive. He descended on the staircase slowly, and headed in another corridor
that seemed to be leading to the source of the noise.
What he saw on the floor there, told him immediatly something was terribly
wrong. His little heart started to pound. A bloody hand was laying on the
carpet at his barefeet. The teeth marks he had put on it the day before were
still visible. It clearly belonged to a servant.
He tiptoed closer and closer to the shrieks not knowing that it was his
mother getting raped in the kitchen. Waves of laughter filled the
spacious room. Trembling all over, he peered inside, hiding his body
behind the door frame. His mom was on the floor, crushed under a man, more
a boy. The monster thrust his 'thing' inside her, making her scream.
Another villain grabbed the freshly decapitated head of the cook by
the hair. He wagged it in front of the audience and dropped it in a cauldron
of boiling soup on the stove.
Totally terrified, Wesley looked all around him like a frightened animal.
To his twelve-year-old eyes, there were hundreds of these bandits. There was
always a different one crossing the hallway. The group of thugs stole and
destroyed everything they encountered.
His first idea was to curl into a ball in a corner of the house. But
that wouldn't have shielded him from the terrorizing ruckus all around.
It was loud and violent. He diverted slowly, half-paralyzed.
A big hand landed on his shoulder suddenly, scaring the living daylights
out of his skinny frame. He yelped and turned around swiftly to find a boy
of about fourteen with long jet black hair.
"What have we got here!?" the stranger exclaimed, grinning and looking up
and down his boyish stature.
Uncontrollably, his knees got weak. He stared at the earring of the
teenage thief mesmerized by it's gleaming quality. The rest of his face was
rugged, with scars on his chin and numerous adults lines. The big guy smelled
more like a man than like the pampered boy he was. He could see he had been
in many fights by the movements his jaw made when he spoke.
Too scared, he didn't even respond to the touch of the dirty hands sliding
inside his pajama top and caressing his ribs.
"You're real cute lad...I haven't had fresh meat like you in a while."
the teen grinned slyly. "What's your name boy?"
"Wes.sss...Wesley" he stammered.
"Guess you and me will have a little fun. eh eh"
Wes' mind shut down. The screams of people dying or being hurt not far
away had intensified and he was at the mercy of a young man with a look
he'd never seen before in the eyes of someone. It was too much for this
little boy.
The captor grabbed his arm and he noticed instinctively the drawing
of a rat embedded in the skin of his strong forearm. He dragged him
forcefully to the nearest room, almost pulling his delicate arm out of its
socket.
"Leave me alone!" he cried. "I have royal blood in his vein! I will have
you killed!" he yelled, hoping to scare him. But the bigger boy just laughed
and threw him on the floor of the billiard room.
"Well. The royal brat is gonna get a royal fuck then!"
The teenager put one hand on his shoulder pinning him down, and with the
other started to explore the front of his pajama bottom. Wesley could feel
the rough fingers cupping his hairless little balls, then fondling
the short length of his circumcised boydick. Strange new feelings travelled
all over his body.
"All smooth like I like..." the black-haired thief whispered, unbuckling
his dirty pants. If there was one thing he loved, it was deflowering
little brats, especially pretentious ones. The one in front of him was
perfect.
Shouts echoing from outside the doorway broke the tension.
"Jet! Jet! come here!"
"Bloodydamn!" the teen growled, shaking his head. "Stay here or I'll kill
you!"
He hurried out the door, leaving his prey confused on the floor.
Wesley's heart was ready to jump out of his chest now.
A voice inside told him to run away, not really explaining why he had
to or what he was escaping from. He tried the hall entrance but there was
three young men there, laughing at the bodies of his mother and father
dangling above the floor, a noose around their throats. Tears quietly rolled
in his eyes. He vanished through a backdoor sobbing and panting, feeling
like a grade A coward.
The thick forest was to be his shelter. He managed to sleep a little,
only to awake screaming, his head filled with the nightmares of the
vandals touching him all over.
-==-
The next morning, Wesley pondered about the precarious state fate had
chosen for him. He was now an orphan, all alone in the world. As he laid
there whimpering, a boy of eleven, clad with torn brown shorts came up
twenty feet from his location. Not noticing his presence, he dropped
his shorts and began to pee against a tree.
Wesley's body ached as he got up. He approached the child and giggled
looking at his small white butt. The way he handled his little penis was
hilarious. His hand twisted it, aimed the stream higher then lower. The
little male stopped whistling suddenly and jumped back, almost splashing him
with urine.
"Hey! don't scare me like that!" he barked.
The boy pulled back on his old shorts frantically and glanced at the
blond voyeur. It was his turn to giggle now, seeing him in his sleepware, the
kind of clothes that were unusual for kids of his social class.
"I'm hungry." Wesley pleaded.
"Maybe Mister Griffith has something for you." the boy replied pointing away.
Wes followed him and they reached a dirt road where there was a grey
wagon attached to a huge black horse. The man sitting upfront raised his
eyebrows.
"I'm hungry sir." Wes pleaded again.
"Well get on up, there's bread back there and water." the man smiled.
His new friend pushed him in the wagon and it was on its way to lord knows
where.
"What's your name?" the brown-haired imp inquired.
"Wesley."
"Mine is Christopher."
The first thing Wes noticed was the boy's two prominent front teeth that
made him look like a rabbit. He had healthy short brown hair and brown
eyes. Patches of dirt covered his skin. His shorts were so thin, he
could see through them. "Where are we going Christopher?" he asked nervously.
"To London. I'm gonna be sold as a slave...you, I don't know...probably."
"Slave!" he shouted. "I can't be a slave, I'm the son of a Count!"
"Yeah, well, what does that make you? a cunt!?" Chris laughed out loud.
Wesley didn't find the remark amusing and gave him the cold shoulder.
His stomach was gurgling. The rocking of the wooden wagon made it
difficult to search for food in the bags, but he finally found some
and ate everything, thinking this might be his only meal for a while.
Soon it was dark and Mr. Griffith built them makeshift tents with
branches and old rugs. The big man frightened Wes a little now that he knew he
sold little boys for a living. He kept his distance from the adult and was
happy to sleep alone with Christopher in their own tent.
Even though it was cold, Christopher took off his dirty clothes and got
under the thick blanket totally nude. Since there had never be anybody
in Wesley's life he could consider a 'friend', the pale buttocks exposed in
front of his eyes was his first sight of a set of globes his own age.
"Come on." Chris said tugging at the fabric of his pajama bottom. "Don't be
silly. No one is looking." he added, trying to reassure him.
Quickly, he undressed in front of the unbashful child, covering his boyhood
with both hands, embarassed.
Under the blanket, the warmth of their bodies huddled together made him
forget about the weather outside. Chris rambled on for half an hour,
trying to scare him, about the ghouls and goblins prowling in the forest
surrounding the shelter. But somehow, he felt secure for he knew Mr. Griffith
wouldn't let anybody damage his precious cargo.
He listened to the man snoring in the tent next to them and suddenly
felt Christopher's fingers touching his private parts under the blanket.
"You're cut too?" the boy whispered.
"uh uh" Wes shuddered, remembering the similar situation of the day before.
"Can you make it hard?" he asked boldly.
Wes nodded silently. The eleven-year-old shoved the side of his blanket
away revealing his hard little boycock. He glanced back with a wicked
smile. His dirty fingers left Wesley's genitals eager to play with his own
small prick.
"c'mon...wank it too!"
Chris was a year younger yet he was initating the other boy to this.
Wesley felt jealous of him, of his maturity. By the look on his face, this
was very pleasurable and he longed to know all the mysteries about it. His
little penis got hard on him and the head rubbed against the blanket.
He stared at the young boy wiggling next to him, curious and amazed.
The light of the moon shone in between the rugs that made their
cover for the night. He could clearly see Chris' thumb and forefinger
gently massaging the shaft of his penis. Farther down, he could discern
his little toes curling up as he began to moan in delight.
Sometimes he took his testicles and let them slip from his stubby fingers.
He didn't have a hair on his body. It comforted him. They were the same,
cut and hairless.
He paid special attention to his pink knob. His fingers moved faster
when he caressed that part of him. Muffled grunts rose from his throat.
Christopher knew he had a spectator and he made sure the blond boy saw every
tug, every touch on his throbbing little cock.
Then he made a fist with his hand and masturbated as fast as he could, the
ultimate pleasure about to wash over his young body. His smooth balls were
jiggling, his chest swelling up and down. He cried loudly "Uhhhhh" in
the night. His body jerked with orgasm once, twice and a third time.
After a few seconds of afterglow, he leaned on his side, his sex softening
between his white thighs.
"Want me to jack you off?"
Wesley didn't answer but something in his face must have did because
the boy took the blanket away from him and caressed his skinny leg all
the way up to his nutsack. His penis was like a tower of granite between
his legs.
Christopher started to feel it again, at the same time licking his
hard nipples. He teased his virgin body with his lively tongue
and skinny fingers. It was getting hot in the tent and Wes thought he was
going to explode. Every noise outside reminded him of Mr. Griffith.
How he would be ashamed if he caught them doing this.
His body was stiff with mounting pleasure and innocence. A real wooden
plank. Chris tried to relax him, but in vain.
"Loosen up Wes, I'll make you come real hard for your first time!" he
whispered.
Wes didn't know what he meant and looked between his legs. The tips of
Christopher's fingers were dancing all around his hard crown. The child took
his scrotum in one hand and with the other held his three inches of boymeat.
His hand slid up and down, squeezing his dick, always harder, always faster.
"That's it Wes." Chris grinned, looking at his mouth wide-opened.
"Uhhh Uhhh Uhhhhhh. Don't stop." Wesley moaned.
The remark made Chris smile and milk his new mate's penis even faster.
Wesley let out a high-pitched scream. A jolt of pure pleasure electrified
his young cock. The orgasm came again, floading his body this time with more
intensity. It left him as quick as it came, shaking all over.
They slept soundly in each other's arms, sharing their little secret.
-==-
They reached London the next day and stopped the wagon at a town
square. Wesley wasn't used to all the animosity. He glanced everywhere almost
frightened. There were young children enjoying a puppet show. Merchants
selling chickens, jewellery and spices. Women shopping and carrying babies.
A lot of them seemed to be in deep poverty for their clothes were dirty
and torn, especially the kids. Mr. Griffith called his merchandise out to
stand next to the wooden wagon.
"Who wants little servants? Manpower here!" he yelled.
People gathered around the two kids and giggled. Without saying a word,
some would touch them, check their teeth and muscles, look down the front of
their pants. Wesley blushed every time someone came near him. He squirmed,
one foot on the other. Souvenirs of his old comfy life resurfaced and he
experienced for the first time what it meant to be homesick.
A fat bearded man appeared from the crowd limping. He surveyed the
blond and brown-haired boy a second. With a smirk on his lips, he put the
end of his cane on Wesley's forehead and blurted: "I WANT this one!"
Mr. Griffith bargained with the austere adult and soon Wes was off with
the strange man with a black cape. His heavy arm was on his shoulders. He
chatted constantly about 'a new family' as they trotted slowly deeper in the
eastern part of town. Wes couldn't help but stare at the ogre's rotten teeth.
One was golden and sparkled in the sun.
After an hour, they arrived at what he called the 'hideout'. An
abandoned victorian house ravaged by a fire long ago. Noises emanated from
the second floor but they kept going all the way to the attic. There, in a
huge room, he was introduced to ten filthy boys. The youngest was about six,
the oldest looked fourteen.
"This is your new family Wesley!" cheered the man.
The kids giggled and peeked at him while continuing what they were doing.
"Where did you get this one Leroy? He looks...different." someone said.
"None of your business! I want you all to show him the tricks of the
trade and make him worth every pound I spent!"
Leroy limped to the fireplace to see if the soup was ready. The
boys surrounded the new recruit and stared at his body making him blush. The
oldest one came closer. He had short blond hair like Wes and a muscular
chest.
"Get him ready!" he shouted.
Tiny hands pushed Wesley on a mattress and soon he was pinned down unable
to move. One of the boys took hold of his left leg and rolled up his pajama
pant all the way to the knee. He begged them to let him go but they just
chuckled more and pinched him. "Leroy! Leroy! Mister! please!" he yelled.
The big man didn't even turn his face to show concern.
The blond teenager left and came back with a red poker. Before Wes even
had a chance to struggle, he pressed it against the tender flesh of
his ankle. The scream he let out could have awaken the dead. It rose
in the night and made all of London shiver.
They finally released him and he cried staring at the bloody 'S' burned
in his flesh. He was marked for life.
"You're a snake now!" said the blond leader. "Oh by the way, my name
is Rocko and I'm the boss around here..."
Wes barely ate the meal he was offered, the pain in his ankle still
throbbing madly. The boys talked and made jokes all night around the
large table. Some were friendly and included him in the conversation.
One boy in particular, a thirteen-year-old named Harvey, gave him a lot
of attention. He was tall, with black hair. A thin strip of fuzzy hair
accentuated his upper lip. Wesley immediatly felt accepted within the group.
When the moon was high in the night's sky. Leroy coaxed everyone to
bed. Some of the kids slept alone in hammocks but most huddled two by
two or three at a time on a mattress. Harvey offered the new boy his bed
and Wes crawled with him under the yellowed sheets.
Before he turned off the gas lamps, Leroy stood up in the middle
of the room.
"I don't want anybody to play with Wesley tonight! A boy like that is
worth a fortune for my clients." he said. Then staring directly at
Harvey, he added: "If I find out he's been used. The culprit will have
the most severe punishment of his young life!"
END of PART 1.
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