Simon And Mr Bowsey free porn video

Simon and Mr Bowsey by Archibald Young This story is set in the 1960s, when HIV had not been heard of. Unprotected sex is very stupid now, but it was less stupid then (although still stupid). This story continues from Simon and the Lodger. I lay in the bath after washing, and heard the two men talking in the hall below, and then the front door shut. It took Harold a long time to clear up after my wonderful time with Leo, and it was nice to hear that he was even hoovering up in the drawing-room! When all was quiet I got out of the water, dried myself, pulled on the fur coat over my naked body, and minced downstairs to see Harold. I opened the drawing-room door: it was just as my mother had left it. Harold was sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper as if nothing had happened. He smiled as I came over to him, and I sat down beside him, opened the furs and snuggled up to him, my naked body still damp against his clothes. I pulled his head down and our mouths met in a long, slow, wet kiss; a naked, aroused, fur-swathed transvestite boy with damp blonde hair and his wicked pimp. I was getting dangerously close to yet another climax, and pulled away in time so as not to spurt all over the sofa and ruin all his work in tidying up. I was by now stroking his straining cock under his trousers. "Daring Harold", I murmured in his ear, "I have thought of a little plan" "Mmmm", he whispered, as I nibbled his earlobe, breathing out heavily, "tell me more." "I think Leo liked me, don't you?" I asked, as I started to unbutton his flies. "Ahh, yes, he liked you very much", said Harold, smiling. I slipped Harold's penis out of his trousers and fondled it. Her was wearing no pants, as usual, the randy goat! "Well", I said, "did he give you lots and lots of money to...mmm..fuck me?" "Yes, lots!" "I though of a way to get lots and lots more, and quick, darling!" I was now masturbating him gently, still whispering in his ear, the fur collar of my mother's coat brushing his head. He was listening intently. "What if he was to fall in love with me, and I was to get him to steal from his wife? You know she has all the money really, and if I could get him to steal it, over a period of time, then you and I could make a fortune!" "You naughty boy!" he hissed. "How?" "I'll get him into some compromising situation" - I giggled- "and get some photos. You could hide and take them while he fucked me"- the word still felt tingly on my young lips-" and you'd like that, wouldn't you? Watching behind a curtain while your young lover enjoys being ravished by an ugly rich old man, squealing with pleasure?" I was pumping his erect, circumcised prick up and down now, and he had closed his eyes, his head drooping with pleasure against the fur of my mother's coat. "God, Simon," he hissed, "you're an incredible boy!" he moaned. "And then we'd have him, wouldn't we, darling?" I whispered finally, before sliding down the sofa in the fur, and taking his hot prick into my moist mouth as I pumped up and down a few more times to release a jet of hot spunk down my throat, which I gulped down, with a long, suppressed chuckle of wanton pleasure. After the jerking, pulsing tremors had stopped, and I had massaged out all the jism from his penis I licked it clean with my tongue, now in satisfied silence. Then I raised my head and looked into his face. "What do you think of my naughty plan?" I asked, licking my lips. "I think it's perfect, like you!" he groaned, and grabbed my head and pulled me to his body again for another wet, languorous kiss, in which he tasted his own semen on my lips; the kiss that sealed our pact to steal everything we could from Mr Leo Boyer. So the game was on. I started on my mother that very evening. Leo had agreed with Harold that his visit was not to be a secret- that he had come to see my mother and ask if I would go up to his house every week and look after his dog whilst both he and his wife were away. So I told her this. She was a bit unhappy about me going there. I pretended not to care one way or the other, but managed to get out of her that there had been a rumour that Mr Bowsey was an alcoholic, and the scandal at the Church had involved a scene in which he had been drunk at evensong. I breathed a sigh of relief- she did not suspect that he was a randy old queer who lusted after young boys like me. I asked whether this meant that I shouldn't help him and his wife; she thought a bit and said no, I could help out- the money would be a handy supplement to my meagre pocket money. So it was agreed that the next Tuesday morning I would go up to his house and look after the dog whilst he and his wife were away. I had not met his dog but I had met his wife a few years before, but when I strolled up to the large house in its secluded gardens early on a beautiful July morning I was surprised when she came to the door. I remembered her as a bit dowdy, but today she was expensively dressed up in a flowery silk dress and satin blouse, perfumed and made up to the nines. She was about 50, slightly older than her husband, and taller than him, almost my height. But the overpowering impression was of drink- she reeked of alcohol. Her speech was slightly slurred. She greeted me warmly and thanked me effusively for helping them out- she kept touching me, and seemed to stand too close to me a lot of the time. Leo was already out. She introduced me to Rufus. It was huge- a Great Dane, fully mature, friendly and slobbery. I like dogs and they respond to me well, so I soon had him under control. She told me that he'd need a walk on the Common. I could let him off the lead, but not to worry if he ran off, because he always found his way home. Then she showed me where everything was, slipped on a lovely short organza jacket (which I complemented her on), and went out of the front door. I watched as she walked unsteadily across the drive, then closed the door. I heard the garage door open and then the big car crunched down the drive and she was gone for the day. I love luxury and wealth, and the large, expensive houses of rich people turn me on, although I rarely get to spend a whole day alone in them. Everything reeked of money, from the expensive wallpapers, the soft, pale sofas, the huge curtains, the antiques, the fluffy, deep carpets to the gilt candelabras and fittings. I put Rufus into an enclosed bit of the garden, so I could explore the place. I was wearing tight jeans and a thin, white polo neck with nothing on underneath except some satin panties that Harold had given me (I was not worried about being run over!) and as I climbed the huge, curling staircase my penis began to stiffen. I was imagining myself being fucked by Leo on the half-landing, or up against the banisters. Already I was fantasising about dressing up in his wife's clothes, feeling their silky touch, smelling their scent, pirouetting in front of her mirrors. I was sure she would have a fabulous wardrobe, and they would fit me perfectly! On the landing I first tried the door on the left. It was a large bedroom, plainly but expensively decorated. There was a double bed, covered by a dark, velvety bedspread, and a large, fitted wardrobe that was open- inside I saw a man's suits and jackets, ties. There was a dressing table, a chair, a few magazines. I strolled over and looked at them- innocent enough! This was obviously Leo's room. Remembering one of Harold's lessons, I looked under the bed, and gently lifted the mattress off the base- the usual place for porn. Sure enough, there was another magazine there, not quite so innocent! It was glossy, and my heart leapt as I saw its title- "Ladyboy", a new issue of a magazine the Harold and I looked at regularly- full of beautiful transvestites in gorgeous clothes, posing and preening for the camera, or draped on the arms of hunky men, or kissing them and being caressed and disrobed by them, or, laughing, fondling men's penises in all stages of erection. And towards the back were the pictures of a sort that I had come to especially love whilst lying in Harold's sticky small bed with my naked body pushed up against his, his erection jammed into my groin as I rubbed myself against him; pictures of oral sex between men and painted, jewelled boys, penises glistening with saliva against hot lips, and of course, the ultimate joy: sodomy, the boys obviously in swooning rapture as they were impaled by long, slimy cocks. I sat on the bed and browsed, idly caressing my straining erection under my tight jeans. I felt like dressing up! I took the magazine and sauntered out into the hallway, and tried another, larger door. I could smell perfume before I even got to it. It was Mrs Bowsey's bedroom, huge, carpeted in soft beige, with a large, pink silk-covered bed, still unmade, the covers thrown back showing rumpled, pale pink satin sheets and pillows, and over the bed were heaped clothing, which also covered a settee, the pouffe in front of the dressing-table, and there were clothes on the floor as well. Although the curtains were almost closed, there was enough light to see stockings, slips, suspenders, shoes, mules, dresses, even a couple of outdoor coats- the room was a mess! The dressing table was strewn with makeup and jewellery, and there were two large wardrobes open and bulging with clothing, as well as clothes visible in open drawers. There was no chance that Mrs Bowsey would notice if I tried some on, or even took them away with me! I explored the room feverishly, excited by the wealth of possibilities. I threw down the magazine on the bed, and quickly slipped off my clothes, my penis leaping up as my jeans fell to the floor. I had hours and hours to play in this paradise of scented femininity, with the prospect of lying on her silken bed, dressed in her scented clothes, and caressing myself to shuddering climax as I looked at the pictures of all those lovely boys and their heavenly, hunky men in orgiastic sex together in Leo's magazine. Naked now, I went to the pouffe and pulled on some lovely black nylon stockings with a sexy lace trim at the thighs, and slipped on a black suspender belt, again lacy and frothy, nestling above my waving penis. I clipped the stockings up, and slipped on a pair of purple high-heeled evening shoes, trimmed with gold, and looked at myself in the large mirror beside the bed. I looked like a dream, a slender, leggy blonde naked nymph with a hard-on, my blonde hair falling around my face like a girl. I pulled a purple satin slip over my head, and let it shimmer down my naked body, shivering with delight. It came to rest below my prick, which tented it out, but above my buttocks which then stuck out provocatively, naked, in a wonderful come-on-and-fuck-me way. I ran my hands over my body under the smooth fabric from my nipples down to my waits, and then back over my naked cheeks, admiring my slender, sensuous form as I writhed in sexual delight in front of the mirror, my eyes half-shut with pleasure, my lips wet and moist, my tongue running over them as I smiled the half-smile of pure lust at my reflection in the mirror. I deliberately avoided my prick, which was almost vertical now, hidden under the slinky material of the slip, but pushed fingers from both hands gently against my anus, gently massaging it, sending a shock of lust through me. I had to stop- I was going to come right there! I swayed towards the dressing-table, and sat down on top of a pale blue silk dress that was thrown over the pouffe. I carefully made up my face with her mascara, blush and lipstick- I was becoming adept at this! I picked out some deep purple clip-on earrings that matched the slip, a long, matching necklace, and two gold bracelets, and I lightly brushed out my shoulder-length, blonde hair. The mirror could not see anyone now but a beautiful young woman, albeit flat-chested, but made-up like an expensive Mayfair prostitute, ready to welcome some rich, randy old goat of a man into her flat, her bed, and finally her fragrant body. The thought immediately forced me up- to look for fur! Fur was now for me the sinful symbol of wealth and luxury; the knowledge of its provenance only served to heighten the thrill of its caress, especially on my naked flesh, or the delight at its perfumed, musky odour, or the vision of its soft folds flowing around me as I pirouetted near mirrors, listening to the swish of the lining and the rustle of the pelts as I moved. I was sure Mrs Bowsey would have lots of furs! I rummaged through the wardrobes, and found only summer clothes- wispy silk camisoles and dresses, little frilly jackets trimmed with lace, or sheer, silken night-gowns. All luscious, but not what I wanted most! Letting the high heels of the shoes force my hips to sway suggestively in the silky embrace of the slip, I walked out into the corridor. There was a large wardrobe there too, but it only had summer coats in it- all beautifully made, in soft, sheer fabrics, but no fur! I was disappointed- but there were more bedrooms to explore, and I walked through them, opening wardrobes and chests of drawers, but finding nothing but the finest silks and satins. At last I came across a diaphanous black negligee, trimmed with caribou, and I slipped into its wispy folds, and I undulated back into Mrs Bowsey's boudoir, ready for a sumptuous session of self-love on her soft, silky bed; me and the wicked images from Leo's perverted magazine. I picked up the magazine and slid onto the bed, kicking off the shoes, and sank back into the soft pillows, enveloped in the caress of Mrs Bowsey's clothes and the satin sheet, and in a cloud of her rich, heady perfume, drunk with anticipation of the pleasure that was to unfold. I opened the magazine in my left hand, the bracelet glinting in the sunshine, and with my right hand began to gently caress my erection under the smooth satin of the slip. If I looked up I could see a reflection of myself in the wardrobe mirror opposite; my glowing eyes, dark purple eye shadow and thickly mascara'd long lashes, faintly rouged cheeks and hot red lips, the negligee off one shoulder with the soft black fur against my neck, and my soft blonde hair, set off against the gold of the necklace and the purple stones of the earrings, the jewelled hand holding up the lurid images of corrupt sex on the cover of the magazine, and my other hand gently moving in my lap, my long, stockinged legs stretched out before me. I was a pervert's dream, a delicious, scented boy-girl in frothy lace and fluffy fur, made only for one thing- to pleasure men. The thrills that ran through me were indescribable as I slowly turned the pages of the magazine, drinking in the images of these other lovely boys, some with obvious, budding breasts as well as lovely long pricks, as they cavorted with hunky, muscular men in all sorts of luxurious and sensuous settings and in all states of dress and undress. Wave after wave of pleasure swept over me from my groin upwards to my erect nipples under the satin, and down to my tingling toes in the nylon stockings that swishes slightly against the satin sheets as I writhed slowly in growing delight. I was hardly touching my penis now, just lightly stroking it with my fingers, as I turned the pages, savouring each new scene of perversion. And then the phone rang, right next to the bed! I jumped! My heart was in my mouth- a sudden, violent intrusion from the outside world into my dreamy, sensuous cocoon of pleasure and sex. For a few seconds I thought I would not answer it, but then I realised it mighty be Mrs Bowsey checking I was OK, and if I didn't answer she might come back! I put down the magazine and picked up the phone. "Hello," I said, trying to sound normal, and not like a sixteen-year-old blonde boy, jewelled, made up like a woman and dressed in a woman's sexy underwear, masturbating over pictures of boys and older men kissing, caressing, masturbating, sucking each other's penises and (I hoped) fucking together. "Simon?" It was Leo! "Is everything alright Simon? Are you getting on OK with Rufus? Have you everything you need?" "Leo," I almost shouted with relief, "yes, thanks, everything's fine." "I'm phoning from my office," he went on. His voice dropped. "I can't stop thinking about you, actually in my house. I haven't stopped thinking about you since we.. since I came to your house. I wish I was there with you. What are you doing?" "Oh, nothing much," I started. "I'm just going out with Rufus onto the common," I lied, my heart thumping. "Simon, have you been upstairs?" he asked. "Er.. well, yes, I did..I wanted to check the windows are all shut before.." I trailed off "I know where you are, Simon, and I don't mind. You're in her room, aren't you. Are you looking at her clothes?" "Well, I couldn't help noticing them- they're all over the place," I answered. He laughed gently. "Yes, she doesn't care at all about looking after things. But they're all lovely things- the best. Have you...have you tried any of them on?" I could hear from his voice that he was getting excited. Even if I wasn't already fully dressed in her sexy clothes he'd urge me to do it. Obviously the thought of a sixteen-year-old boy floating around his house dressed in his wife's clothes as a glamorous and seductive woman was something that he relished. I now realised what he wanted. "Aaah, Leo," I cooed, "I've been a naughty boy...." I trailed off, already excited at talking to him like this. I had an image of his wonderful, thick penis, and could almost taste it, almost feel it inside me. "How do you mean?" he said "Well, I've...I've been trying on some of your wife's clothes. I hope you don't mind. Shall I tell you what I'm wearing?" I was stroking my penis lightly again, thrilling to his voice. "God, Simon, do you mean that you're dressed in her clothes, in my house?" "Are you angry with me?" I pretended to be upset. There was a pause. Then he said, "Hang on a second," and I hear the phone being put down, and him walk away, a door open, some distant conversation, and then the door shut again with the click of a lock. I heard his footsteps back to the phone. "Simon, darling, of course I'm not angry with you. It's amazing to think of you there. Tell me what you're doing." His voice was thick with lust. "Only if you play with yourself. Have you got your tool out?" I murmured. "Yes, yes, oh God, yes", he croaked, his voice cracking. I could hear him fumbling with his flies. "I'm ready." "Leo, I'm in your wife's lovely bedroom, and I'm lying on her beautiful soft bed. I'm wearing her jewels, my face is painted with her make-up... Listen to this" I moved the phone down to my stockinged thigh, and ran a nail up the silky fabric, the receiver held close. Then I brought it back to my lipstick-painted lips. "Do you know what that was, Leo?" "What?" "The sound of Mrs Bowsey's stockings on my legs, darling. My lovely, long, smooth legs in your wife's beautiful, sheer stockings. Isn't that gorgeous?" I could hear a rhythmic rustling on the other end of the line. I moved the phone down to where the satin slip touched the negligee, and moved my body on the bed, swishing against the satin sheets. Again I brought it back to my mouth. "That's my body, Leo- you remember? My young boy's body, in your wife's silky purple slip, wriggling with love for you, Leo, wriggling with love for you here in your wife's satin sheets, on her soft bed, Leo, in your house, Leo. Oh Leo, why aren't you here, Leo?" He groaned softly. His breathing was stertorous; he was masturbating fast. I was excited too, listening to his lust coming down the line from the City to me as I lay there in perfumed, pampered sensual heaven, my fingers playing up and down my tool under the satin. I was getting close to orgasm, the magazine forgotten, having transfixed myself by the reflection in the mirror and what I was saying, the rush of depravity coursing through me. "Leo, I miss you, you darling man," I whispered, "I'm stroking myself thinking of you, Leo. Lying here in your house, dressed to please you, to thrill you, wanting you. I want you, Leo. I'm thinking of your prick, Leo, your lovely, juicy prick, there in your hand, but I'm imagining it here, Leo, next to me in the bed here, where I can touch it, where I can hold it, where I can...kiss it. Where I can lick you, and suck you, Leo, and make it all wet and slimy for me. And Leo, I imagine it sliding between my thighs, slimy and hard and hot, Leo, and, oh, Leo, I want you inside me Leo, I want your cock in my backside, Leo, deep inside me, darling, with me in your wife's beautiful clothes, in her beautiful bed, in your gorgeous house, and you fucking me here, here, now! I'm coming, Leo, I'm coming!" And I heard him utter a stifled moan, his breathing seemed to stop, and then came a great long exhalation as he came, and I came too, spurting gushes of spunk into the satin slip, and whimpering with pleasure and delight at what was happening between us, all the time watching in the mirror the beautiful, jewelled, made-up boy with the long blonde hair in the fur-trimmed negligee writhing in ecstasy, on the phone to a perverted old man who had just orgasmed somewhere in the City. Then came the aftermath, the subsiding, the gentle detumescence. His breathing was more regular. I was covered in cum under the satin, and I pushed the satin slip down into it, smearing it over by belly, savouring the slime and the smell. "God, Simon, you're wonderful," Leo said finally. "Next time you come over I'll come home and.." He paused .". oh, Leo," I took up the thread, "we'll make love here, won't we? I'll be ready for you, I promise. It'll be fantastic, Leo, won't it?" He sighed. "I have to go now, darling boy," he said. "Adieu, and thank you for what happened today, and what happened in your mother's house." "Oh, Leo," I whispered, "I loved it. See you soon?" "Soon." And we both hung up. I let my head fall back into the satin pillows in a post-orgasmic trance, massaging my semen into my belly under Mrs Bowsey's satin slip. I idly picked up the magazine, and smiled as I saw those wonderful, depraved images again, and started to fantasise about what it would be like to be that blonde boy by the pool, being sucked off by the pool boy, or that raven-haired lovely in an evening gown being touched up, and, turning the pages, any one of these slim, sensuous beings being ravished by or sucking off men in rich drawing-rooms, in fantastic cars and sumptuous bedrooms. But my eyes were heavy, and I drifted off to sleep. I woke an hour later, feeling sticky. I decided to have a quick wash, and then walk Rufus on the Common before lunch. I quickly returned everything I had used and took the slip into the bathroom, where I soaked it in a bowl while I washed off my makeup and ran a shallow bath. After I had washed my face and body, and dried myself, I washed the slip, and hung it over the bath to dry. It was quite warm in the house, but obviously hot outside. Just as I went to put on my jeans and polo- neck, I had a wicked thought. I wanted to go out in nylons and one of Mrs Bowsey's lacy camisole tops under my clothes, as well as my black satin panties! No-one would ever know, and the thought of walking around, perhaps meeting someone I knew, whilst dressed in sexy underwear, was thrilling! So I slipped on the suspenders and stockings again, my little black panties from Harold, and from her bedroom I took the wispiest black lace camisole, so slinky and thin, and put it on. Once again I was in front of her mirror, seeing the beautiful boy-girl I had become, and it was wonderful to watch as I pulled on my jeans over the stockings, put on my socks, and then the polo-neck over the camisole, hiding away my naughty secret. I made absolutely sure that there was no sign of make-up, no sign of what I was wearing, so that only I knew that I was not just a young man walking a large dog, but a sissy sex-toy thrilling to his wicked, secret life of debauchery with older men. I put back Leo's filthy magazine under his bed, skipped downstairs, collected the dog, grabbed the lead and locked up the house. In a few moments I was on the Common, and a quarter of an hour later I was far from the roads and traffic, enjoying the heat, but especially the feel of nylon and lace on my skin as I walked along the overgrown paths. I let Rufus off the lead and watched him dash about in front of me. The bees were buzzing loudly, the birds singing, and it was a gorgeous summers day. What strange radio signals were emanating from me that afternoon? What subliminal scents, what vibrations? The people I passed on the walk were few, but without exception all the men, and most of the women, gave me more than one glance, and sometimes several. I had made sure that there was absolutely no sign of what I was wearing underneath, and I was not mincing or waving my hands about as I walked; I was just a young lad. Of course my hair was long, but that was the fashion then, even if it did curl rather suggestively on my shoulders. It was clean, though, which was less fashionable, and maybe it swayed just a little too much as I walked. Maybe some of Mrs Bowsey's perfume still clung to me, or somehow escaped from her clothes under my jeans. Whatever it was, I was soon aware of stealthy looks from men of all ages, even those holding hands with their girlfriends, and it was just as well I kept walking, so that they did not see my little blushes of excitement after they passed. I think this was the first time that I realised quite how much power I had now accumulated; power over any man who, deep down, carried a secret longing for a luscious, willing young boy. So as I walked I began to feel a bit light-headed with it all, and perhaps I was concentrating too hard on not looking effeminate, because I was not keeping an eye on Rufus. Suddenly, ahead, there was snarling and barking. Rufus! I ran round the corner of the path and there was a smaller dog, its owner tugging its lead and pulling it off Rufus, who was also snarling. "Rufus!" I shouted, "heel!" I shouted it twice as I ran up, and finally Rufus came over to me, away from the snarling dog, but I couldn't catch him before he ran off down the path behind me. "Why the hell don't you keep your dog under control?" shouted the man angrily. I coloured, embarrassed. "I'm sorry- he's not my dog, I'm just looking after him." "Well your not looking after him very well, are you?" he sneered, walking towards me, pulling his dog behind him. He was about forty, in trousers and shirtsleeves, bearded. His aggression scared me, and I just stood there, my heart pounding, scared. "What would you have done about it if that monster had hurt my dog? Or me?" he said, coming right up to me. He was a bit taller than me but looked strong, and he was angry. I could smell spirits on his breath. "You can bloody well check that my dog is not hurt. OK?" "Yes, of course," I said. He pulled the dog up to me, and I knelt down. He stood there while I looked at his dog at his feet. It seemed fine- there were no signs of damage, and it began wagging its tail as I lifted up each paw to look at it. As I bent forward to look along it's back I suddenly felt his hand press down low on my back, straight down onto skin. My heart leapt with fear- my polo-neck must have lifted up! He had seen the suspenders! He was pulling back my jeans to look! "Well, well, what have we here?" he said. "A boy in suspenders? Are you a boy or a girl?" I stood up and tried to push off his hand, but he let go of his dog and grabbed one of my wrists, whilst the other held me by the waist. "Let me go!" I cried out, struggling against his powerful grip. He was hurting me, pulling me. His other hand was suddenly clamped to my mouth, and his face was very close to mine, his eyes staring into mine. The smell of stale alcohol on his breath was vile. "Shut up, you faggot," he hissed. "If you make a peep I shall hurt you. Do you understand?" I was terrified. I nodded. He took his hand off my mouth. "Just stand still," he whispered. "I won't hurt you if you do what I tell you. Is that clear?" I nodded. "Don't try and get away. I shall catch you, and you'll regret it." I stood quietly, my heart racing with terror. He was standing very close now, and pulled me in towards his body. "Now, let's see what we've got here," he murmured, and put his hand back on my back between the loosened polo neck and by jeans, pushing it down inside the suspenders to the top of the cleft between my buttocks and drawing me in so that I was pressed against his body. His face was now next to my cheek, pushing against my hair, his mouth near my ear. He started to caress my buttocks as he held me closer and closer, and he dropped my other hand and started pulling up my polo-neck at the side at the same time. I just stood there, my arms at my sides, my mind racing- how could I get away? In a second he was feeling the lacy camisole beneath it, and his hand started to slide over my waist and up towards my armpit, between the soft jumper and the silky lace against my skin. "Aaah, you're a naughty boy, aren't you?" he whispered into my ear, "Wearing women's underwear? With your long hair? And you've got perfume on, haven't you, you sissy? What are you doing, wandering around the common dressed in girl's clothes, eh? What are you after? A good fuck? Is that what you want?" One hand was sliding round and round on my hip, the other was drawing me closer and closer with each movement on my buttocks, until he jerked my body against his and held it there, pushing his groin into me. His body was scorching and, apart from the reek of alcohol, smelt of body odour and cigarettes. I could now feel his erection clearly as he pushed into me and started gyrating his hips, rubbing himself on me. I was trembling with fear, a terrified, tousled-haired boy now enfolded in the a stinking satyr's unyielding embrace, alone in that hot wood, with no-one about; no-one to rescue me. I knew what he risked by this- what would happen if the police caught him trying to force a young boy like me to have sex. It might be worth it for him to kill me, to strangle me, rather than risk me telling tales. I was rigid with fear. One of his hands was now up inside my jumper on my back, the other on my buttocks. He held me very close to him, and went on rubbing his erection against my body through our clothes. The hard bulge in his groin was growing larger and harder every second. He was panting in my ear. I was being used like a doll, and could do nothing about it. My whole body was in a state of panic, although I remained as still as a statue; I was feeling appalled and disgusted as well as dread. But there was one bit of me that took no notice of my fear and loathing, no notice of the strong urge to break away and flee at the first opportunity. No notice whatsoever. My penis. It was getting hard! It was a huge shock to me to feel evidence of my own desire at the same time as overwhelming fear. I felt just an animal, responding automatically to the hot, writhing pressure in my groin, not a human being in terror at the dreadful predicament I was in. I could not pull away from him- he was too strong- but my penis got harder and harder as he pushed his erection against my groin through my satin panties. . If anything my heart beat even faster, doubly stimulated, and the nausea seemed to get worse- for a moment I thought I was going to be sick, like I had done after my first sex with Harold. I dreaded what would happen when felt my erection against his, and tried to pull back my hips but he held me firmly against him. Then it happened- he felt my stiff little cock through his clothes. "Aha!" he hissed in my ear, "you like this, don't you?" And the dreadful, wonderful truth swept over me. I liked it immensely. I liked being held fast by a strange, half-drunk, smelly man in the woods, my body crushed against him, his hands all over my buttocks and back, his groin pushing and pumping against mine. I liked his excitement at my young body, at the idea of me deliberately coming onto the Common secretly clothed for sex, hoping to meet someone like him, a randy queer, deep in the woods where no-one would disturb us. I loved being forcefully held! It was like a coiled spring snapping in me. 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 now madly in love with sex with men? I couldn't help it that they all seemed to want me, that I could not even go for an innocent walk on the common without being molested, captured, and forced to have my body aroused by a strange man's firm embrace? With a great surge of desire welling up in me I melted, and let my rigid body flow into his, and my arms came up onto his back, and I started to stroke his body under his shirt, feeling his taut, firm flesh, and at the same time I let my groin go where it wanted, straight into his, and I started moving my hips and buttocks against him. I pushed my head against his cheek, feeling the rough hair of his beard on my soft face. "Yes, I do," is all I had to say. And he laughed softly, the devil, and pulled his head back so his face was right up in front of mine, and, in my arousal I was able to look at his face properly for the first time. His beard was straggly, unkempt, and his dark hair was receding in a crew-cut that looked aggressive. His eyes were brown and deep. I gazed into them. I was still trembling, but it was subsiding. My arms were around him, my hands in the small of his back, one stroking him through the shirt, the other trying to pull the shirt out of his trousers. I so badly wanted to feel his hot skin under my fingers. I tore my eyes from him and looked at his lips. His mouth was open, and he was panting as our bodies writhed together. I had the urge to kiss him- the first time with a bearded man. And no sooner had the urge come than I did it, closing my eyes and whimpering with desire as I moved my face into his, and our lips met. I felt the bristles pushing against my lips, and, without shame now, I pushed my tongue into his hot, open mouth, and met his there, in the wet cavern. He made a little noise himself as he returned my kiss, and our faces and lips and mouths and his moustache and beard all became one slimy, slobbering thing between us, as our erections pushed together, separated only by a few layers of clothing. It seemed to go on for ages, that dripping, drooling mashing of mouths, and I was almost orgasmic with the thrill it brought to me. Suddenly he broke it off. He looked alarmed. Then I could hear voices in the distance- there were people coming down our path. He was quick. He let go of my body and grabbed my hand, with the other picking up the lead for his dog, who had been waiting patiently all this time, and the shopping bag. "Come on," he whispered, "I know a place where we won't be disturbed." He led me further along the path, and then we turned off it. Shortly we came to a dense piece of thicket, well off the path, and he let go of my hand long enough to tie his dog up. If I was going to run away then this would have been the time, but I was now as inflamed with lust for sex with him as he was with me, and wild horses could not have dragged me away. He picked up the bag, grabbed my hand and ducked down and pulled me into a small gap, quite low and almost invisible, in the bushes. It opened out into a small clearing, completely enclosed by bushes, shaded by trees, cool. He let go of me again, and opened the bag and pulled out a large rug made of some velvety material, and as he knelt down in front of me and spread it on the ground, I pulled off my trainers and then my polo-neck so that the lovely lacy camisole wispily billowed out, and I teased my hair out with one hand. Just then he rolled onto the rug and sat on it, facing me, pulling off his shirt, while he looked at my nipples under the black lace, the soft curve of my belly running down to the belt of my jeans. He was muscular and tanned, and his chest was covered in dark, curly hair. His erection was tenting out his trousers. He watched as I stripped off my jeans, freeing my erection from its soft satin pouch, and pulled my socks off. I stood before him at the edge of the rug, in a camisole, suspenders and stockings, barefoot, my erect penis sticking out triumphantly in front of me. A sixteen-year-old boy, oozing sensuality, rampantly aroused and yearning for sex with a strange queer man whom he had met only a few short minutes before! He was undoing his belt and flies. I could wait no longer. I had to touch him, to stretch my body against his in the heat, to feel his torso against me. I knelt down and crawled over the rug to him, and helped him pull down his trousers. To my astonishment he was wearing no pants, and his long, thin tool leapt up as I pulled his trousers down to his knees. We were both panting with lust and heat- the heat of midday summer sex. Urgent, I stretched myself along him, taking his penis in my left hand, and sliding my right under his neck to pull his face towards me. I wanted that kiss back! And I got it. But this time it was his imperative, thrusting mouth that took mine hostage, his tongue which wetly invaded my lips, pushing half way down my throat, and this time ours eyes stayed open, gazing deeply into each other in a torrid contract of perverted sex- the dark, brown eyes of the queer, middle-aged man and the light, blue eyes of the under-age boy. As we kissed his arms snaked round me and drew me, once again, to him on the soft rug, and my left had started caressing his erect penis whilst my own was pushing against his hairy, muscular thigh.. I slid my lips onto his chin and started sucking his beard, pulling the hairs into my mouth and rubbing them with my dribbling tongue while I started masturbating him as his hands roamed . He was incredibly hard now, and I broke off the kiss, filled with longing- longing for penetration, for sodomy, to be buggered by this raging, strong queer. "Fuck me, fuck me", I whispered, and rolled onto my back. In a trice he was kneeling between my nylon-covered legs, which I raised high, my penis waving erect between them. His long, straight dong pointed straight between my legs, which he roughly hoisted up onto his shoulders, pushing me back onto the rug. I let my head fall back and grabbed my prick. Sweet man, he spat on hands a few times and rubbed it onto his erection and then pushed a delicious wet finger into my anus. I arched my back with a moan, and the next thing I knew he was in me, his cock sliding deliciously and painlessly into my anus, his hands holding my stockinged legs high. It was heaven, sweaty, grunting heaven! He started to pound into me like a bull, and I was whimpering with pleasure at being taken so roughly, as I masturbated myself furiously to make sure that my orgasm would come with his. He was staring down at me- this lust-filled, beautiful, soft, blonde-haired sissy, dressed to thrill, who had been thrown by fate into his arms, and now onto his rug in the shady, secret clearing. And I was staring up at him, this gorgeously muscular hunk who had so cruelly held me until my true self had burst forth- the true girly-boy, made to give pleasure to men. I could see by the way he screwed up his face that it would only be a few thrusts further. His mouth was open as he panted, and saliva was oozing onto his beard. He was disgusting and thrilling me, all at the same time. I was now smiling and giggling with pleasure as his prick plunged into me, again and again, filling me up with that familiar, gorgeous hot feeling of being impaled on a man's erect penis. "Oh, oh, oh!" I moaned, laughing now as I stared at him, and he was also grinning with pleasure. The two of us were in abandoned unison as our orgasms erupted simultaneously. He grunted as his sperm shot deep into me, and I let out a little squeak as my own jism flew back across my body onto my breasts, soaking the camisole. It was all over in a few seconds, and he let go of my legs, but keeping his penis still deep inside me, lowered himself onto my body with its slimy erection, and, once again, kissed me deeply and wetly as our arms encircled each other, and out hot bodies joined in a long, post-orgasmic, sensuous dance, my lips seeking his dribbling mouth, our tongues once again writhing together. After a while we both came up for air, panting and sweating. I was enraptured by the thought that I had just been ravished by a stranger, and a dirty, smelly one at that- and had loved it! And now he was nuzzling me, whispering in my ear. "Christ, you're fantastic! Where have you been all my life?" I giggled. Suddenly he stopped breathing, and raised his head, listening. He put a hand over my mouth. Voices, coming towards us! "Shit!" he whispered. "Get dressed, quick!" He pulled his penis out of me roughly, and in a second was pulling up his trousers. I was scared. If we were caught there would be hell to pay- for me, never mind him! I rolled over on the rug and grabbed my jeans and polo neck. I was hopping around putting my trainers on while he was pulling up the rug from under my feet and then stuffing it into a bag. The voices were louder now- a man and a woman. He grabbed my head and pulled my ear to his mouth. "Come back here on Friday, 2 o'clock. OK?" I just nodded and he pushed me down into another gap in the bushes, away from the voices, and I was out of the clearing, on an overgrown path. He was just behind me, but veered away around to the left, and I was off, running quietly away, with the emptiness of my anus and the trickle of his sperm down my thighs. Soon I was back on the main path, and I tidied myself as best as I could, checking that my underwear was not visible. And then I sauntered towards the Bowsey's house, feeling very pleased with myself. I had forgotten all about Rufus until I turned into their road and there he was, lying on the pavement just outside the house, panting in the heat. So all was well! He greeted me warmly and we went in. I fed him and gave him some more water, then stripped, soaking the camisole, suspenders and stockings in some detergent before tripping upstairs for a long, cool shower. I was towelling myself dry and looking forward to the lunch Mrs Bowsey had made for me when the phone rang again. I minced naked out to the hallway and answered it. It was Leo again! "Simon, darling," he hissed, "this has to be quick. Get ready, I'm coming home- I've taken the afternoon off." "Oh, Leo, that's wonderful!" I cried, genuinely thrilled that my suggestion had been taken up so soon! "I'll be ready - when will you get here?" "In about three-quarters of an hour." He paused. He was breathing heavily. "Simon, I want you to dress up for me. Will you do that?" Will I do that? Will I again slide into his wife's stockings, slip my feet into her stilettos, swathe myself in her silken underwear, drape myself in her negligees, gloss my lips with her lipstick, dust my eyelashes with her mascara, paint my lids with her blue, clip her diamonds, rubies and emeralds on my ears, encircle my neck with her pearls, spray myself with her perfume and then greet him as he enters his house for an afternoon of scented, homosexual love? "What do you think, Leo?" I teased. He chuckled. "There's a special dress..." he went on. "Oh Leo, which one? Where is it?" "She keeps it in a box under her bed. If you like it, wear that- but only if you like it. I must go. Be ready for me." And he hung up. There was not a moment to lose. I ran naked down to the kitchen and grabbed the sandwich from the fridge, and took out a bottle of champagne I found there and put it in a bucket with some ice. I took this and two glasses into the drawing room. Then I was back up the stairs, eating inelegantly as I went, and into his wife's bedroom. Stuffing the last bit of food into my mouth I knelt down and reached under her bed. A large cardboard box was there. I pulled it out and opened it. There were several items wrapped in tissue paper, the heaviest being obviously a dress. I stood up and pulled the tissue paper off. It was a white silk wedding dress, complete with layered petticoats and veil. Leo wanted sodomy with a sixteen-year-old boy dressed in his wife's wedding dress, in their house. I was stunned. I had never even touched a wedding-dress before, let alone stood naked in a woman's bedroom holding one and thinking of putting it on. The thought of violating this woman's cherished dreams by deliberately dressing in her wedding dress to have sex with her perverted husband was causing dizzying waves of shock through my body, and these were waved of pure lust, compounded by the feel of the soft, clingy material against my naked body. There was no decision- just my wicked, aroused young body screaming "yes, yes, yes!" I opened up the other items in the box. There were some long, white silk gloves trimmed with frothy white lace, a stunning little white satin slip with embroidered hems, a pair of gorgeous white satin pumps with diamante buckles, a pair of white stockings, and lacy garters, suspenders, a diamond tiara and a posy of white silk roses. Apart from knickers, everything! It took me some time to get into that dress! After I had carefully filled my rectum with cold cream and smeared my anus with a little oil, I spent a good quarter of an hour in slip, suspenders, stockings, garters and heels, the petticoats swirling against my naked, tingling flesh as I writhed and struggled with the huge gown, with off-the- shoulder puff sleeves and wired bust, but finally I managed it, and sat at Mrs Bowsey's dressing-table carefully making myself up. Instead of the usual tarty, call-girl look I was sparing with the makeup- aiming for something sweet, innocent. I clipped on some white pearl earrings and put a heavy, diamond choker round my neck. I slid my hands into the beautiful gloves, picked up the veil and flowers and went to the mirror. I was very pleased with what I saw. The illusion of femininity was complete. A bride-to-be in all her shining glory, wide-eyed and innocent, the suggestion of girlish breasts heaving with excitement, naked neck and shoulders crying out to be kissed (or, if Dracula was around, bitten), satin pumps and a glimpse of white stockings peeking out beneath the layers of silk. But in the very centre of this shimmering, radiant image of vulnerable, yearning femininity was a fabulous, hidden secret; my tumescent penis, naked against the slippery silk, craving the touch of a man's hand, and behind that a pair of firm boy's buttocks craving only one thing- the feel of an erect penis sliding between them into a moist, creamed, pouting anus. Just then I heard the crunch of a car on the drive, and Rufus barking. I started with fear- what if it was Mrs Bowsey back early? I darted to the window- no, it was a taxi. I put on the tiara- my hair was thick enough to hold it easily, and then the veil, my heart thudding with the transgression I was participating in, and with the illicit thrills that this transgression was producing. I went to the landing, and waited. I heard the key in the lock, the door open and close, and a voice call, "Simon?" Thank God, it was Leo! "Here I am," I replied, my voice quavering with the enormity of what I was doing, as I walked to the top of the landing and started to come down the stairs, the silken petticoats rustling. How would he respond? Would he have a terrible attack of guilt when he saw me in his wife's wedding dress, and throw me out of the house or have some sort of mental breakdown and kill me? It was too late to turn back. As I slowly swished down the stairs, I had my first glimpse of his face, dimly, through the veil. He was standing in the hallway, transfixed. His bald head was glistening with sweat, and he was panting, His eyes were bulging in amazement at the vision of this blonde boy, veiled but jewelled, slowly coming down to him dressed in his wife's wedding dress- a boy bride for him, for him to worship, adore, caress and finally sodomise, here in their own house. I finally got to the foot of the stairs. I walked up to him, and smiled beneath my veil, as would any bride being offered to an older, fat, balding queer who was now visibly trembling with lust. I slipped my arm into his and whispered "Let's go into the drawing room." And he walked me into the drawing rook without a word. When we got to the table in front of the settee where I had left the champagne I turned to him. "Let us drink to our love, Leo," I murmured. The word slipped from my painted lips like a snake, and I saw it go straight into his ear and wrap itself round his heart. He was trembling as he opened the bottle and poured the champagne. He held out a glass to me. I lifted the veil from my face. He gasped- it was the first time he had seen me made up in full light, seen the smoothness of my skin, the softness of my cheek, the ice-blue of my eyes in mascara. Smiling down at him, I took the glass in my hand and passed my hand through his as lovers do, so that our faces were very, very close. "To our love, Leo, our forbidden love," I whispered. "My God, I love you, Simon," he responded, and I smiled as we sipped the champagne, our arms entwined, the sweaty older queer and his beautiful boy-bride, engaged in a perverted secret ceremony. I carefully untangled my arm from his, and then drained my glass. He did the same, and I took his glass from him, and put it down on the table with the posy, refilled them, then turned back to face him. "Sit down, my love," I commanded. He sat down on the settee facing me. I bent down, and slowly lifted the petticoats and dress from the floor, moving the fabulous material against my stockings and gently gyrating my body as I revealed more and more of my legs, just inches from his face. He was mesmerised, as first the garters appeared above my knees, then my naked thighs, and finally I revealed my naked, smooth balls and hugely erect penis, rising from a soft blonde bush of silky pubic hair, waving just in front of his face. "You may kiss the Bride, Leo," I cooed, looking down at him. He uttered a stifled moan and leant forward to take my erection into his mouth, and started sucking it vigorously and skilfully, his eyes rolled up towards my face. I arched my back in pleasure at the heat of his mouth on my prick, and the sensation of his palate as it rubbed my prepuce, and let out a moan of desire. "Ahhh, Leo, my love, you're fantastic!" I cried, as I let the petticoats and dress fall over him, reached over and took my full glass from the table. I was standing facing the settee, my dress totally covering the man who was moving between my legs, slurping and sucking at my penis, his hot, wet mouth thrilling me as I raised my glass in a toast to my fantastic reflection in the huge, gilt mirror beyond. I was a perfect boy-bride! My veil was thrown back, a gleaming tiara crowning my soft blonde hair, jewels glinting at my ears and my neck in the afternoon light, my shoulders bare and framed by the diamante embroidery on the bodice of the dress and the fluffy lace at the top of my long slinky gloves, and below that I could only see the top of a writhing, gyrating, rustling and swishing whirlpool of sexual commotion as the old goat sucked and sucked, moaning in between my legs, one hand I think now on his own prick that he had pulled from his trousers, the other round my naked buttock, his fingers pushing and probing at my creamed anus. Involuntarily, as a great wave of orgasmic sex rose in me, I let my eyes close as I drank deep of the cold, fizzing wine. As its chill ran down my throat it met the hot flames of orgasm rising from my groin. Instead of quenching it, the two sensations brought me to an ecstatic climax as my balls contracted and my penis pulsated and squirted my jism deep into Leo's throat, somewhere in the gloom under my skirts. "Yes!" I shouted, my eyes now wide open with the shock of the climax, my eyes filled with the image of a beautiful, made-up blonde boy in a wedding dress in ecstasy with something moving below, something depraved, base, almost primaeval, powering the waves of pleasure that swept over him from a dark, swishing, scented, frilly world between his long, sheer-stockinged legs. Gradually the orgasm faded, leaving me trembling and tipsy. Leo had swallowed every bit of my cum, and was licking my turgid prick like a lolly-pop, and now and then I could feel his tongue-tip gently insert itself in the top of my urethra, licking out the final drops of semen. I pulled up the dress and skirts again, and looked down at his sweaty, bald head as he carried on the worship of my prick. I was enraptured, and watched him as he completed the total cleaning of my penis, balls and thighs. Not a drop of my cum had fallen onto the settee or the Chinese silk rug in front of it. He was masturbating, his penis sticking out from his flies- he had not even had time to undo his trousers. Finally he looked up and his lips left my groin. He was smiling with pleasure his body now jerking as his hand pulsed up and down on his wonderfully thick, engorged penis. "Oh, Leo," I murmured, half in love with him, as I sank to my knees in front of him and gently pulled his hand off his penis. "We can do better than that, can't we, darling?" My face was now just below his, and with the other gloved hand I reached up and drew his head down to mine and kissed him on the lips, chastely. "Let's go to bed," I whispered, and pulling his arm, I stood, letting the huge dress again fall down between us. He needed no further bidding, but rose from the settee. I poured myself a final glass of champagne, handed him his, then offered him my arm again. He took it, and with his magnificent penis, waving in front of him, the huge, thick tool that was at the very centre of his attraction to me, a wanton, cross-dressing, unashamedly homosexual youth whose sole raison d'?tre was to be impaled on such an organ for as long and as often as possible, we walked together out of the drawing-room, our arms linked, each with a glass of champagne, and slowly ascended the stairs to his bedroom. It was a fitting conclusion to the depraved ceremony we had just enacted; the randy old queer man with the huge dong taking a tall, blonde, she- boy, naked under his wife's wedding dress, up the wide, carpeted stairs for a long, dreamy session of nuptial sex in his big bed. When we got to his bedroom he drained his glass, put it down on a table next to the door, bent down and lifted me over the threshold! This set us both giggling with the wickedness of what we were doing, but I was impressed by how strong he was for a flabby old man. He set me down on a huge, fluffy goatskin rug beside the bed. I knew exactly what I wanted now, and, draining my own glass and quite drunk now, I put it down on the bedside table and hoisted up my skirts once more, kneeling at the bed. I pulled a couple of pillows off the bed, and arranged them between my parted legs, just as I had done many times for Harold when we had fucked in my mother's bedroom when she was out, me spread out over her satin counterpane in receptive rapture to his thrusting prick. "Make love to me, Leo," I whimpered, as I exposed my naked buttocks to him, and spread his wife's wedding dress all along the bed on each side of my body. He had his trousers off in a moment, and was kneeling on the pillows, his hands roaming over my buttocks and anus. Drunk, and happy, my own penis not yet flaccid, I abandoned myself to the sensations of ravishment, my face pressed down in the velvet of the bedspread, my gloved arms spread-eagled, feeling the satin of the slip, against my groin, the silk of the dress and petticoats on my body, his hands on my quivering flesh, my legs in their silken stockings and my feet in the delicious pumps, smelling Mrs Bowsey's perfume and Leo's sweat, and hearing his panting as he guided his massive tool into my rectum. And when he had fully entered me his head came down on my naked shoulder, and he kissed my skin, not moving, and sighed a great sigh of love and satisfaction before starting the wonderful, pumping, sodomous fucking of me that he so badly needed and I so much loved. I was able to accommodate his wonderful erection without any pain, and despite my recent orgasm his penis was again reaching parts of me that Harold or the man on the common had not reached, and as I relaxed and let him further and further into my young, willing body I realised that whatever I did I must never let Leo stop loving me, never let this thrilling prick ever find another hot receptacle, always have him at my beck and call. After what seemed like an age of wonderful, packing engorgement I heard him cry out through my tipsy haze, and became aware of his orgasm and the semen running out of my anus as his penis thrust in and out, in and out, on, and on, and wonderfully on until, finally, panting and hot, he sank onto my body in a swoon, and I slipped into a delicious sleep. When I awoke I was completely naked, under a silver satin sheet, the cool fabric sliding over me. The coverlet was pulled down, and the wedding dress and all the bridal clothing had gone. I sat up, catching my reflection in the dressing-table mirror. I was still in makeup, and still wearing earrings and the choker, but no tiara. The clock said 4.30- Mrs Bowsey would be back in an hour. I heard someone moving about downstairs, and then footsteps coming up the stairs. The door was ajar, and in came Leo, with a tray. He was wearing only a short, silken dressing-gown, unfastened, his fat belly and large, pendulous breasts covered with dark hair, which extended without a break to his groin, where hung his lovely dong, now flaccid but still thick and huge and infinitely desirable to the young boy-slut I had become. "Tea, darling?" he said. "Leo, darling, just what I need!" I purred. Acting like a bride waking up after the first night of marriage excited me. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and poured the tea. I moved up for him, plumping up the pillows beside me, and he climbed in. I snuggled up to his flabby, hairy body as we sipped the hot tea and nibbled biscuits, my smooth body against his, my thighs pressed against his. After we had finished the tea in silence I turned in towards him, putting my leg over his groin, and moving gently against him. I was excited again, for the fourth time that day! I asked him how he knew Harold, my fingers playing in the hair on his chest. "We met at a special club," he replied. "You know, a club for men who like other men.. and boys." "Did you want to have sex with Harold?" I asked, amazed. "Oh no! It was not like that. We were watching a show together, and we got talking." "Tell me about the show, Leo. Was it like the magazines Harold has?" "You know about them, Simon?" "Mmmm, Leo, I like them a lot. Harold showed me several of them after he and I started to.. began to.. well, you know." I could tell Leo was excited by the thought of me liking transvestite pornography. "Do you have any of them, Leo? Could we look at them together?" I went on, knowing full well one was right beneath us. I pinched his nipple, ever so slightly, provocatively. It was a little test of how much Leo trusted me. These magazines, I knew perfectly well, were illegal imports, and you could get fined or worse if the police knew about them. "Simon, you are a naughty boy, aren't you," he smiled, and slipped off the bed, pulled up the mattress, and drew out the magazine. "Oooh, great, Leo," I simpered, snuggling back up to him as he got back into the bed and pulled the satin sheet over us. My right hand was now between his back and his dressing gown, my left idly resting in his groin. He opened the magazine. "Mmm Leo, look at that boy. Isn't he gorgeous?" We were looking at an oriental boy with long dark hair, heavily rouged and with scarlet lips, standing provocatively by a hotel bed, wearing nothing but a flimsy negligee, through which you could clearly see his erect penis. Below were other pictures of him, now lying on the bed, the negligee open to show tiny, budding breasts, and below that one with it fully open, showing his small, thin penis erect in his hand. Over the page was a final picture of him lying back on the bed naked, his penis spurting. "Leo, what do you think he's dreaming of? I think he's dreaming of someone like you, Leo, with a wonderful willy, Leo, someone whose cock will fill him up, who'll give him the fuck of his life, Leo!" I loved to hear such obscenities fall from my lips while naked in bed with a man, especially as I feel his penis stirring in response! "Was it a show like that you were watching with Harold? A boy doing a striptease and playing with himself?" "No, not exactly," said Leo, turning the pages. "I think there's a picture in here of the actual show we both saw..I think you'll like them, my darling boy.." "You mean these pictures are taken here? In London?" I asked. "Yes, a few- but most are from abroad- the Continent, the States, Thailand, but now and again they use.. ah, here it is. What do you think, Simon?" I gasped- I had not seen this page when I looked through the magazine that morning. There was a series of photos of a man, well-dressed, elegant, in a mansion-like setting with a blonde maid. She was wearing a black velvet short dress under which were a great bunch of ruffled petticoats. She had obvious, large breasts, barely contained by the tight little dress. She was being ticked off for something, and later she was over his knee, being spanked, her bottom naked down to the suspenders of her stockings. The next shot was of her kneeling in front of him, sucking his erect penis which was sticking out through his open flies. She was clearly enjoying this. I was puzzled- what was a woman doing in this magazine? Leo turned the page, and then I realised. In all the following shots the "girl" was exposed- she was a boy with breasts, a "she-male" with a lovely long erection which, in later shots, was being deliciously sucked by the man as the boy sprawled on an antique chair in front of a huge fire, his stockinged legs akimbo. I thought he/she was absolutely gorgeous, and half wanted to take his place and be sucked by the elegant and, it turned out, muscular man, and half wanted to make love to the boy myself, even emulate the man in the final scene as he ravished the boy's anus as the boy masturbated to orgasm, clearly delighted with the man's attention. "He's lovely, don't you think," hissed Leo in my ear, gently nibbling at the lobe where the pendant earring hung. His penis was unravelling under my hand, and I was unconsciously caressing it. "Yes, Leo, he's gorgeous! Did you actually see him on stage, with this man?" "Yes- that's what I was watching when I met Harold. He was sitting next to me. I'd seen him a few times before at the same place- I may have spoken to him before. We were both excited, and..well.. we were playing with ourselves, and when the boy and the man came together at the end we both also came at the same time in the dark, into our handkerchiefs.. that's how it works at these shows..you just get to watch. Anyway, as the lights came up and we got up top go, Harold slipped me his card and said he knew a boy who was even more beautiful than the one we had just seen, younger, and crazy for sex with older m