Life with the Darlings

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LIFE WITH THE DARLINGS

Something's Up

"There's something up," said Noah, "I can feel it."

The boy was sitting on the sloping roof of the garden shed, in the sun, his bare legs dangling over the gutter. His right hand was in the fly of his uu ttoned shorts, playing with his hard-on. Absent-mindedly he drew his foreskin back and forwards over the hot little head of his penis. With his other hand he threw dry twigs at his twin brothers below. They were busy burying Hammy, their hamster, who had had an unfortunate encounter with Pussy that morning. Absorbed in Hammy's funeral rites, they ignored their elder brother.

"I said 'something's up," repeated Noah who was unsure whether or not to bring himself to the tingly climax he enjoyed so often these days. He wanted to, and he didn't want to. Wanted to because there was nothing to compete with the feeling. Didn't want to because he preferred to have a finger up his bottom at the same time. Wiggling his finger up his arse, and, if the truth be told, pulling it out to sniff at now and again, while working on his stiffy gave him the very best tingles he could manage on his own.

"What sort of thing's up?" called Elwyn, who for the third time was trying to straighten Hammy's front legs so that they could be set in a prayer position before they shovelled soil over him. Exasperated with the business, Elwyn snapped both of Hammy's legs and forced them into the required mode.

"I say," said Beau, "that's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

"'A bit harsh'!" expostulated Elwyn. "You wanted to feed what was left of him to Pussy. And he wasn't even totally dead. That's what I call a bit harsh."

Beau ignored his twin's accusation and repeated the question. Being twins, they often went in for that sort of thing.

"What sort of thing's up?"

Elwyn answered before Noah did.

"I'm not sure, but I'm pretty sure Mummy and Daddy have something up their sleeves like Noah says. They've been getting official-looking letters with a Canterbury postmark, and Mummy has been writing letters on a Sunday when she's generally having a lie-down after lunch. And it must be something pretty exciting because I've heard Mummy and Daddy making excited noises in Daddy's study. "

"P'raps they're going to send Noah back to boarding school," suggested Beau as he stamped the soil over Hammy firmly with a sandled foot. "that should keep the little bugger safe," he grunted, "whether it's alive or dead." He paused, then added, "As Daddy said of Nanny, 'The nearly-departed has become the poorly-departed.' --- P'raps Noah is one of the nearly-departed to boarding school."

"Oh, Beau, how horrible! I'm sure they wouldn't! I'd miss Noah terribly," said Elwyn. As well he might, considering how much he enjoyed sucking his older brother's penis before bed. He didn't even mind licking Noah's bumhole - as long as it had been wiped - though he wasn't entirely sure why Noah found it so exciting. Ah well, nobody could understand their older brothers, could they?

"I wouldn't mind," declared Noah as slid from the roof, landing feet first on top of the small wooden cross Beau was sticking in Hammy's grave.

"Oh, fuck it," said Beau, "it's only a hamster," though he may not have been so complacent had he known half of the little cross had gone right through Hammy's chest, rather like in the Dracula story he enjoyed so much.

"I say!" exclaimed Elwyn.

"Shut the fuck up," chorused Noah and Beau in a harmony that spoke well of their time as choir boys at St. Sebastian's, known by the boys as St. Sebby's.

"Boarding school can't be too bad, lots of chaps go. I went there for a tryout and it was fine. Some of the boys can be a bit rough - he reddened a little as he thought of the way they'd held him down in the dorm - but you can used to anything, can't you?" A vision of himself 'doing' some of the younger boys made his penis stir and stiffen. Noah wasn't entirely sure what 'doing' meant but, if the older boys 'did' him, he was certainly going to do the little 'uns. After all, hadn't they been taught to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Well Noah certainly would, and he'd jolly well do it first. He eyed Elwyn and wondered if he might get in some practice at bed time.

Noah didn't have time to wonder long as Mummy's voice summoned them from the larder window.

"Tea's up!" cried Elwyn.

"P'raps Mummy'll tell us what's up," offered Beau.

And that's precisely what Mummy did.

"I've a surprise for you all," announced Mummy as she finished adding cream and raspberry jam to the buttered scones she'd made for tea. If she'd been looking at the boys instead of the jam she'd have seen a great deal of nudging going on between the twins while Noah was surreptiously buttoning up the flies of his shorts.

"Nice or nasty?" inquired Elwyn eagerly. Elwyn was still not quite sure if he found licking Noah's bumhole nice or nasty, and he wanted to be prepared for whatever Mummy had to tell them.

"It depends on the way you look at it," laughed Mummy.

For one terrible moment, Elwyn thought his mother was referring to Noah's bumhole. He blushed and jammed his lips into a creamy scone.

"Let me put it this way," she said. "If you'd like an extra playmate, it will be nice. If you find him a nuisance, it will be nasty."

"Him! Him! Who is him?" cried Beau, momentarily forgetting his grammar. "Is he from Canterbury?"

"Well, I never," said Mummy. "Have you been looking at the postmarks of my private mail again, Beau? You'll be steaming my letters open next... you... you...mini Hercule Poirot!"

"Who the f....?" Beau caught himself just in time. "...lip is Hercule Poirot?" he mumbled, his mouth oozing bubbles of cream and jam.

"And who's been looking at my mail?" asked a voice, precisely as if were reading the story of 'Goldilocks and the Three Bear'.

"Daddy!" cried the twins in C minor.

"I have," replied Beau promptly. "Do tell us quickly, Daddy. Who's coming from Canterbury? Tell us or we'll die of curiosity, and you'll have to....."

"... bury us with Hammy," said Elwyn, who would have been heart-broken if he had known that at that very moment, Hammy, having been scratched out of his shallow grave, was being chewed up by a satisfied Pussy.

"Which would be a pity," said his father dryly, "because I foresee you'll be pretty busy in the weeks ahead... unless of course you have joined the ranks of the dearly departed." Father gave a hearty laugh being one of the fortunate few who laugh at their own jokes no matter how many times they have told them.

"Sit down, Daddy," said Mummy. "Let me pour you some tea. It's your favourite - Lapsang Souchong - and ideal with my buttered scones. I'll explain to the boys." Like most women Mummy could do several things at once, which never failed to impress the males of the household. "In a nutshell," she began, "Your having a cousin come to stay... a second cousin really... my cousin Norma's youngest. Norma has three daughters, grown up, and one little boy. It is he who is coming to stay."

"Hence the Him," said Beau, managing to spit out a crumble of scone back on to his plate. Oddly enough, Daddy smiled benevolently at the boy, since it was generally recognised that Beau had his 'little ways' as father described them.

"Auntie Norma," continued Mummy, promoting the lady in question from the position of second cousin to a more intimate role within the family, "hasn't been quite well recently, and her doctors believe that two months on the South Coast will restore her spirits." Mummy omitted to mention the South Coast was the French Riviera and the hotel was a sanatorium for the alcoholically inclined. She so little point in burdening her boys with the failings and foibles of the flesh, though they would learn these far more quickly than she suspected.

"A boy!" cried Noah. "That means we'll have four boys. That will make two-a-side easier and more fun." Noah did not stipulate to which activities he was referring.

"How old is he?" Beau wanted to know, and, Elwyn, who wasn't certain if he was pleased or not, chimed, "What's his name?"

"What's his name? What's his name?" chanted Beau, who had recently seen the filmed version of 'Lord of the Flies' in school, and still had the little blond boy very much on his mind.

Daddy deliberately took his time over a mouthful of scone, butter, jam and cream. He loved teasing his boys, especially boy, then spoke: "He's a few months older than you are Noah and his name is Felix."

"But exactly how old is he, Father?" asked Noah. "Exactly."

"Exactly... I don't know... but I know he turned 13 a few weeks ago and that makes him older than you. By the way, how old are you, Noah, exactly."

"I am 12 years and 4 months and 2 weeks and 1 day old," said Noah. "You should know that. You're my father."

"Well, you'd better ask your mother about that," grinned Father, licking a smidgin of cream into his mouth. "She says she is, and I've always taken her word for it."

Fortunately for Father, Mother was in the kitchen at that moment, bent over the AGA, and did not hear this exchange.

"Older than I," mused Noah, "Well, I hope he's not cocky."

"All boys you're age are cocky," smiled his father. "Look at Beau. He's definitely cocky."

Elwyn, feeling rather left out of the conversation, cried, "But, Daddy, aren't I cocky, too?"

Father smiled at the boy and murmured, "That remains to be seen, Elwyn, that remains to be seen."

How this conversation might have proceeded we shall never know, for at that precise moment, Mummy returned to the dining room looking hot and flushed as if she'd just come out of Daddy's study after slitting open a mountain of letters.

"Probably not cocky," she said, having caught the tailend of the conversation, but he may be a little spoilt. That's what happen in a family when a child is outnumbered my members of the opposite sex." An immediate silence fell among the bric a brac. Mummy had used one of the taboo words - sex. The eyes of the boys dropped to the table. Under the table three cocks stiffened ever so slightly. The trio waited to see if Mummy would repeat the wicked but oh so fascinating word again.

No such luck.

"Now shoo! shoo! Out of here, you boys. Go and play with yourselves or play with each other, or whatever it is you do down at the bottom of the garden." The boys jumped up, Noah rather more slowly than the twins. "Let's go and see Hammy," cried Elwyn. "We didn't have time to say a little prayer over his grave." Alas, the boys would arrive a trifle late for the prayer to do Hammy much good, but dear Reader, let us not dwell on morbid matters. Let us rather enjoy a final glimpse of the darlings of the Darling family as night falls and they slip into the arms of Morpheus.

There lies Noah, already abed, face down, head nestling on pillow, clad only in the top half of his blue and white striped pyjamas, known to the boys as their 'jammies'. Noah is wondering what Felix will be like. Will he be friendly? Will he be willing? Felix is 13. Does he have a big one? Does he have hair down there? "Oh, spit," thinks Noah. "I bet he has some hair. When am I going to get my hair down there?" Noah shifts his attention and spreads his naked legs as widely as he can.

Jammed between them is Elwyn, his little face jammed between his brother's buttocks. He has noticed the tiny silver hairs Noah has at the bottom of his tanned back, just where the cheeks of his buttocks split. He gives them a few licks, pulls Noah's cheeks apart, and pushes the tip of his tongue at their little brown centre. He notices the area around the bumhole is browner than usual, sweatier, too. "I do wish you'd wipe yourself properly, Noah," he thinks to himself. It's not that the taste is unpleasant, a little bitter perhaps, but it is spoiling the taste of cream and jam that still coat his own taste buds. Elwyn wanted to keep that taste until be brushed his teeth. "Fat chance of that," he thinks to himself, and, shaping his tongue into a little spear, he shoves into the older boy's hole. Wiggle, wiggle. He knows Noah likes that. He's never been in so deep before.

"What's this?" thinks Elwyn to himself as further penetration is blocked by something hard and warm. With commendable determination, he pushes the tip of his stiffened tongue against the hardness which seems to give way slightly. Having just finished H. Rider Haggard's King Solomon's Mines, Elwyn is in intrepid mood and is determined to discover the fabulous treasure up his brother's rectum. (Elwyn has also been dipping into his father's picture book of human anatomy.) Alas, his exploration is curtailed by a call from above. No, it is not the Lord, it is his elder brother, who announces, "I'm ready now."

Noah flips himself onto his back, holds his erection at its base between finger and thumb, and summons Elwyn to complete his ministrations on this part of his anatomy. "Hurry up," he whispers. "Beau'll be back in about five minutes." Elwyn scurries to complete his fraternal duties.

Beau will be back but it will be rather long than five minutes.

"Don't speak with your mouthful."

That isn't Beau. That's his father.

"Mmmfff...glug...mmmfff."

That's Beau. He is with his father. They are in father's study. Beau is kneeling between his father's widespread knees. His father's trousers and baggy Y-fronts are at his knees. He is sitting forwards in his leather-upholstered chair giving the boy as much access as he can. The fingers and thumb of the boy's right hand grip the base of his father's stiff penis. The boy's fingers and thumb cannot complete the circle. Half of his father's shaft is embedded in the boy's throat as his head rises and falls on the turgid flesh. Three fingers of the boy's other hand are jammed into his father's hairy hole. In modern terms he is finger-fucking Daddy as he sucks him off.

"Mmmfff...glug...mmmfff."

Beau has been trying to ask his father if he should attempt four fingers. He also wants a moment to clear the wiry black hairs from between his lips. His father is horribly hairy. But Beau recognises his father has reached what he (the father) calls the 'point of no return' and the boy steadies himself for the final onslaught before his father squirts oodles and oodles of the white sticky stuff into the back of his throat. Beau hope it tastes of cream and jam. Last night it was gin and tonic and walnuts. Absolutely horrid. He feels the head of his father's cock pulse and swell in his small throat. Here it comes! And it does! Spurts, spits, squirts, splatters. He is glad Daddy makes him wear a bib. The stuff squirts down the boy's nose, oozes through the lips of his closed mouth, runs down his chain. His Daddy grabs him, raises him up, and opened-mouth they kiss deeply as the man sucks back some of what he had just given the boy.

Beau is thrilled. His Daddy loves. His Daddy loves him best of all. He wishes his brothers could see them now. Then they would understand. Daddy loves Beau best. This is how fathers show their love. He has explained it all to Beau... and Beau believes. He wonders what his brothers are doing. Probably already asleep. Only Beau gets to stay up late. Helping Daddy. East is East and West is West - but the whole world knows: Beau's the best!

And what of Mrs. Darling?

The lady of the house lies abed. Her nightdress is pulled up to her breasts. She drives the thick end of her favourite spurtle in and out of her leaking vagina. A twirl here. A whirl there. Faster. Slower. Deep. Shallow.

Dear Reader, lest you consider Mrs. Darling unfaithful consider this. The Darlings have three dear boys. They wish no more. Educating three boys involves considerable expense. They are good and faithful Catholics of the Roman persuasion. They will not consider contraception in any form. Ipso facto, anal intercourse is the solution. On the last Sunday of every month, Mr. Darling buggers Mrs. Darling. The good lady does not dislike the experience. She only wishes Mr. Darling was not so well-endowed. On Monday morning she is sore and slightly bow-legged. Her faeces, too, betray the monthly tryst. She sighs, pushes the spurtle as deep as she can, and remembers to lay out the porridge bowls for breakfast before she kneels by the bed with Mr. Darling to offer thanks for the blessings the dear Lord has bestowed on them. She wonders if any family could be as happy as hers. Why, two nights a week, sometimes three, Mr. Darling suspends work in his study to provide Beau with tuition in reading. And Father is hinting he may well Elwyn to their labours sometime soon. How many fathers are willing to devote themselves to their boys the way Mr. Darling does, she wonders.

Night draws its drapes over the Darling family. Each one slips into silent slumber. Each can hardly wait to see what tomorrow will bring. Meanwhile, let us prepare to meet Felix and see what he brings to our little tale of familial bliss.

Editor's note: The spurtle (or "spirtle") is a Scots kitchen tool, dating from at least the fifteenth century. The rod-like shape is designed for constant stirring which prevents the porridge from congealing and so becoming lumpy and unappealing. It looks like a fat wooden dowel, often with a contoured end to give the user a better grip.

Enter Felix

Felix arrived on a wet Sunday. The lovely summer, which had bathed the village in its golden balm, and turned the sea a perfect blue, had suddenly deserted them. A chill wind as the three boys waited with their father for the Brighton train to steam in. "No showing the visitors the sea tonight," said Daddy, turning up the collar of his mackintosh as Elwyn squelched through a long puddle."

"However shall we pass the afternoon?" said Noah, but there was no time to ponder the question, for bells jangled and the rumble on the tracks told them that Felix and his mother was due. "At least I hope he enjoys sharing a room with me," added the boy before turning his attention to the 'toytown' train that pulled up along the platform.

A few minutes later Daddy was welcoming a tall, handsome lady in a plum velvet coat, a feathered bonnet, and a matching umbrella she wielded with impressive proficiency, though Beau did observe she was slightly unsteady of her feet. As greetings were exchanged, a tall boy, who clearly took after his mother, stood aside biting his nails and staring at his cousins, who felt slightly uneasy under his gaze.

"Isn't he a long one?" said Elwyn to Beau, who said, "And I hope he has a long one, too," a remark which somewhat mystified his twin. "But he's damnably good-looking, isn't he?" said Noah. "Damnably," agreed his younger brothers.

'Auntie' Norma called over her son and introductions were made. Felix scowled at each cousin in turn and mumbled something, while Noah how pale the taller boy looked and was sorry for him. Much of this passed Daddy who was wrestling several white suitcases and large parcels into the car while whistling cheerfully. "I think I can fit you all in, but it'll be a tight squeeze. so I suggest Beau sits on Felix and Elwyn sits on Noah. Off the over-loaded car rumbled down the lane and the adults might have been surprised to observe how the boys, including Felix, made the most of the things cramped as they were on the back seat.

When they got home, Mother and Auntie Norma were doing most of the talking while the 'men' tucked into tea and ginger bread. Auntie Norma it seemed would have to go directly after tea, because she was just off for her stay on the South Coast (vide previous chapter), and she was telling Mother all the things she would have to remember. These included: "bed not too late - an extra blanket - and a bed not too near the window."

"The cheek of it," whispered Noah. "As if Mummy didn't know to look after her wretched kid. Look how well Mummy looks after us." Then he remembered how he had decided to be welcoming and kind to this stranger far from home, and added, "He'll probably be glad when Auntie Norma's gone and he's left on his own with us if we jolly him up a bit." He paused and added, "I'm certainly going to try and make him happy in our room," by which Noah meant the room he and Felix were destined to share for the next two months."

"And the room Felix is to share with... what's his name?" the boys heard the visitor remark, "May I see the room? With Felix, if you don't mind. I simply want to check everything is as it should be."

"Why, of course," responded Mrs. Darling, who, if the truth be told, welcomed a break from her cousin who had proved even more odd than she had remembered. "Noah will show you up to the room. First landing, turn right, end of the corridor. They have their own bath room. The twins have been exiled to the attic room."

"A guide will not be necessary," said the good lady. "We shall find our way. Come, Felix, come with Norma."

The Darling boys were startled to hear her use her first name in this way, twiddled their thumbs and looked at their indoor slippers. They had hoped to escape to the shed at the bottom of the garden but clearly they were meant to stay put until the visitors returned. "At least we can play draughts while we wait for her ladyship," said Noah whose suggestion whose suggestion was met with eager nods by his siblings. The twins took to the Turkish carpet while Noah fetched the draughts set from the games cabinet. Soon they were absorbed in the contest though Elwyn still found it difficult to remember the differences between draughts and chess.

Draughts can only entertain young boys for a short length of time and, after around quarter of an hour, Mrs. Darling spoke to her eldest in these terms: "Noah, dear boy, pop upstairs and remind Auntie Norma that she has a train to catch. I know it's difficult to part from a boy but tempus fugit. Make sure to be quiet. These are intimate moments for a mother and son."

"Wilco, Mummy," whispered Noah, who rose, stepped over his brothers, and stepped up the stairs and along the corridor as quietly as he could. He scratched rather than knocked at the bedroom door. No response. A slightly more insistent scratch. No response. He turned the door handle gently, pushed the door a little open and took one step into the room. His eyes widened at what he saw, or perhaps what he didn't see.

Auntie Norma was sitting on a bed - his bed. Her head was bowed. Before her stood Felix. His trousers and underpants were bundled round his ankles. The woman's hands were round the boy's buttocks. She was pulling him towards her, then pushing him away, as her headed bobbed up and down. She was making the oddest sounds, which went something like "Mmmfff...glug...mmmfff."

"Hurry the fuck up."

That was not Auntie Norma, that was Cousin Felix. His voice was trembling, his legs too. Noah's legs joined them in sympathy. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on. She couldn't be... could she? His cock began to stiffen. He wondered if his bum looked like that when Elwyn was squeezing his cheeks. He wondered if...

"Mmmfff...glug...mmmfff."

Noah pulled himself together. He coughed politely. "I don't want to interrupt you..."

"Fuck off," came a hiss. It was Felix. "I said 'Fuck off'," repeated the boy.

Noah fucked off. He backed out of the door, closed it gently behind him, and stood there perspiring. He desperately wanted to go into the bathroom and toss himself off. Where was Elwyn when you needed him most? From behind the bedroom door he heard a loud "Fuckin' bitch." He panicked, then called out, "Auntie Norma, Auntie Norma, you're needed downstairs." After which he turned and fled downstairs, two at a time.

Farewells were a rather subdued affair. No one really bounced again till Auntie Norma - fortified by several glasses of Buckfast Tonic Wine - was driven away, plum-coloured umbrella in hand - to the station. Then there was only Felix. He sat back in Daddy's armchair by the window, biting his nails and saying nothing. Fortunately the rain had relented and the sun had struggled out, and Mother said briskly, "Now, boys, Suppose you all go down to the village and take Mr. Elmwood a basket of the blackberries you picked yesterday. I expect Ding-a-Ling could do with a walk too. She must be rather weary confined to the cottage all morning. I should put your rainjacket on Felix, just in case."

Felix looked up from the depths of the armchair but he did not move. "I'm not supposed to go out in the damp," he said in a voice surprisingly deep for a 13-year-old. "But the sun's got his hat on!" cried Elwyn, "And you'll adore Ding-a-Ling - she's a Newfoundland. She almost talks!"

As Felix went to get his wellington boots because of the puddles, and a scarf lest he felt chilly, Mrs. Darling addressed her boys. "You mustn't tease Felix because he wraps up. I've a feeling that's more his mother's wishes than his own. I'm sure he'll get used to running around like little Indians they way you three do and feel the better for it." The trio nodded in unison. "I'm going to get Oscar," said Noah as he disappeared out of the back door.

Oscar-next-door was a solid-looking boy, inclined to be grumpy, but had become much more cheerful since Noah, Beau and Elwyn had taken him in hand. He lived with two Great-Aunts - his father being with the Colonial Office - and, although they were kind to him, he was always glad to escape from their delicate clutches into the happy rough and tumble of the Darling family. He looked long and hard at Felix when he joined them and said rather undiplomatically, "You're the shy invalid, aren't you? Never fear, I'll lend you my whacking great jig-saw puzzle of Ben Nevis. I used to like doing it when I had to mess about on my own. That should keep you occupied when you've got to rest."

"Fuck off," said Felix. "I don't lend and I don't borrow." He sounded depressingly grown-up and old-fashioned. Oscar, rather than kicking him between the legs, looked hurt and went on ahead with Noah, leaving the twins to manage Felix as best they could. "I say," said Beau, "you say 'Fuck off' as if you really mean it."

"I do," said Felix. "Now fuck off," which left Beau even more impressed.

All down the steep lane Felix refused to talk but when they came in sight of the village green, with its pond and the Tudor cottages round it, he suddenly exclaimed, "I say! It's like a picture on a calendar, isn't it?"

Our village green has been photographed for lots of calendars," Elwyn told him proudly and suddenly everything much easier because Felix began boasting about the colour camera his sisters had given him and how he was sure to win a prize one day with one of his photographs. "Perhaps I'll take photographs of you," he told his companions. Felix had come perilously close to boasting but the boys forgave him because this at least was better than sullen silence.

"You'll like Mr. Elmwood's cottage," said Oscar eagerly. "It's so small it doesn't look real but Mr. Elmwood is great fun and he's got a great collection of picture postcards - the saucy seaside kind. I've been there lots of times to see them." Noah took up the theme. "This basket of berries are for him. He's so kind. He lets us play with Ding-a-Ling." Elwyn threw in his pennyworth with "Ding-a-Ling's a Newfoundland. She's bigger than me when she stands of her hind legs." Beau completed the set with "Mr. Elmwood's getting on a bit but he can be very generous if you catch him in the right mood," which left Felix speculating on what the right mood involved.

The boys crossed the green. There before them stood Rosebud, the tiniest cottage Felix had ever seen. A dark little porch crouched over the front door, smothered in green tendrils of jasmine. The thatch of the roof above was black with wet, and quite bedraggled. Noah pushed open the sagging gate and the boys trooped in. The door opened and a tiny man stepped onto the porch. To the boys he seemed old though, we dear Readers, would possibly regard him as middle-aged. "Bilbo Baggins," was Felix's immediate thought, not far off the mark considering Mr. Elmwood was so small and wrinkled he seemed to fit the cottage exactly.

"Ah, it's you boys," he said. "I'd invite you all in but I'm not sure where I'd fit you - unless it's two of you on the bed." There came a scuffling sound and a great fuss of deep-throated barking. "I hoped you might come when the rain stopped. Ding-a-Ling has been sulking in the parlour all day and she needs you to cheer her up." Elwyn skipped past Mr. Elmwood and into the passage to release Ding-a-Ling. Out bounded a huge black Newfoundland dog wagging delightedly, knocking Elwyn aside, to sniff and snuffle immediately at Felix's crotch. All the boys began to laugh and the dog's owner explained it was simply her way of getting to know new boys who visited the cottage. To the boys' relief Felix joined in the laughter though he pushed the animal away when she began licking at his flies. "See, she really does like you," said Mr. Elmwood, "but then you really are a very handsome boy." To his credit Felix blushed and looked at his wellington boots.

As the boys trooped off with Ding-a-Ling, Mr. Elmwood called after them: "Oscar! Don't forget you're visiting later this afternoon to see some more of my postcards! I've got some smashers!"

This time it was Oscar's turn to blush.

Teatime at the Darlings. But first let's pop into Rosebud cottage.

Oscar is kneeling over Mr. Elmwood's bed, his knees on the rug. His corduroy shorts and underpants are beneath his knees. He is viewing a series of saucy seaside cards. Mr. Elmwood is kneeling behind Oscar. He edged the boy's knees wide apart, prised his buttocks open, and is licking the boy's anus. A close look indicates he is beyond licking, most of his tongue is inside the boy. He has scooped out what he can but it's not quite enough. Once almost hear him murmuring, "Please, sir, I want some more." His free hand is frigging the boy. Persistence is its own reward as the man reaches a blockage in the boy's rear passage. The smell confirms what he's hoping for, something solid, something substantial. He withdraws a moment to consider his options.

The boy feels a much rougher tongue licking his anus, the surrounding area, and his what-is-vulgarly-called'taint' but which for the sake of our more delicate readers we shall refer to as Oscar's perineum. Whatever we agree to call this area, we can agree both boy and dog are enjoying the experience, for, yes indeed, it is Newfoundland who has temporarily taken the place of her master. All too soon the bitch is shooed away by Mr. Elmwood who has returned with his favourite speculum, which he uses ever so gently to stretch and relax the boy's sphincter until visual examination confirms his 'reward' has arrived - brown, hot, hard and steaming.

It is at this point we must head up the hill to the Darlings, lest we miss a crucial conversation between Noah and his father.

"And how are you getting on with Felix?" father asks son as he sticks down the envelope he has been addressing. Noah twiddles the knob of the radio to find the 'Light Programme' and hesitates before he answers - "Oscar's queer," he says, "but I can't decide in what way queer. He wants his own way all the time. I suppose he's been spoilt by his mother a bit." Noah goes on to describe how Oscar had clung to Ding-a-Ling and would not even let Oscar have a turn with the lead."

Mr. Darling suck on his pipe and, for a moment, thinks of Beau. Then - "That's where you will all have to be generous for a while. Remember, Oscar has probably never had the joy of owning an animal. I expect he'll get over it in a day or two. Nothing's as new novelty. Even if he doesn't, I should try and let him have the dog most of the time he's here ... let him have your turn even if Beau and Elwyn don't. After all, you'll have - what's the dog's name? - Ding-a-Dong - to yourselves again before long." Mr. Darling took a deep suck on his pipe. "And I daresay Oscar his missing mother already. Those two seem to have a very close relationship. ... Now stop twiddling with that knob and send Beau in here. I think we'll have our lesson before dinner on this occasion. After all, he's sleeping with Elwyn now, isn't he?"

Noah nodded, ceased twiddling, and went to take Beau's place in the game of Scrabble on the Turkish carpet.

Night, having no other option, fell again as night must, so let us take a peek around the Darling household before wishing them Bonne nuit.

Elwyn and Beau, having bumped their beds together, are in each other's arms. Beau dreams he is kneeling between his father's legs, his little mouth crammed with his Daddy's cock, his small fist jammed up his Daddy's arse. Of course the boy is not thinking in these precise words but it seems legitimate to describe his dreams in these simple terms. Elwyn dreams his tongue is deeper in Noah's rectum, probing the hard/soft material that blocks his way. He is a persistent little boy and he will not give up until he has sampled the material for himself. Mr. Darling's long, thick, hard penis is deep in Mrs. Darling's rectum as she kneels as patiently as Ding-a-Ling might while being serviced by a masterful dog. Her head bounces rhythmically against the bedboard, fortunately well-padded. She sighs and thinks how easier it is with a spurtle.

Noah's eyes widen. He is lying in his jammies on his bed. He is watching Felix undress. His cousin seems unconcerned to be standing there naked. He seems even less concerned he has an erection. Noah's eyes are wide because his cousin's stiff penis must be more than 6 if not 7 inches. And he has hair! A rich, thick, patch of hair at the bottom of his tummy. And his ballsac swings low while Noah is still tight in his scrotum. The younger boy tries to look away but he can't, he just can't.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" says Felix, but there is no anger or annoyance in his voice. It is merely a question.

Noah blushes furiously and stammers, "S-s-orry. It's just your... willy's so big."

"My what?"

"Your willy. Your thingy."

He is relieved when Felix laughs.

"Don't call it a 'willy'. That's what kids say." He prangs his erection against his belly. "It's a penis - a cock - a dick - a prick... and when it's hard like this it's called a hard-on - a stiffy - an erection. You do get hard-ons, don't you?"

Noah nods eagerly.

"And you do wank, don't you?"

The question is met with a blank look.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," says Felix, who is smiling now. "You play with your penis, don't you?" Noah nods. "It gets hard, doesn't it?" Noah nods. "You get that amazing feeling, don't you?" Noah nods eagerly. "Well, playing with your penis to get that amazing feeling is called masturbation. That's the official word. Boys just say 'having a wank', or 'tossing yourself off'. You understand?" Noah nods. "You do get hard-ons and you do toss yourself off, don't you?" Noah nods. His penis is as hard and erect as his cousin's now.

"Can you cum yet?"

"What's that? What does 'cum' mean?" Noah's inhibitions are fading.

"When you toss yourself off, and you're old enough, your prick squirts white creamy stuff." Noah nods. "It's the stuff that helps a woman make babies. It's called sperm but we just call it 'cum'." Noah is absolutely fascinated. He has learned more tonight than in his previous twelve years.

"Can you 'cum' yet?" Felix asks Noah, who shakes his head sadly.

"Wanna watch me cum?" Felix asks Noah, who nods his head eagerly.

"Come on then," says Felix. "I'll get on your bed. ... And get those pyjamas off. They just look silly." Noah strips off his jammies and stretches out alongside Felix. Both boys are naked. "Hey, you're not so bad yourself," says Felix as he measures his cousin's erection with his fingers. "No, not bad at all. ... Now get down there so you can watch close up."

Noah slides down between Felix's legs. He is so aroused he is shaking. The older boy begins to toss himself off, playing with his balls at the same time, showing the younger boy how changing speed and rhythm, stop and start, all help make it the most exciting experience in their young lives.

Noah is just about to ask what Felix does with his 'cum' when he feels a hand pushing his head down onto this cock. He opens his mouth wide and, in the nick of time, feels the promised squirts and spurts hit the back of his throat. He gulps reflexively and down it all goes. He lies there exhausted until he feels Felix slide down alongside him, take his slim shaft in his mouth, and, with five or six expert sucks, bring him to a shattering climax that makes his bumhole wink spasmodically.

The younger boy is disappointed when the older slips into skin-tight, white silk briefs and into his own bed. But he knows it's for the best. Mummy sometimes has an early morning peek to see if all's well with her boys. He pulls on his jammies and turns to see Felix is under his blanket facing the other way.

"Felix, Felix," he whispers. "Are you asleep?"

There's no response.

"Felix, Felix, see you in the morning."

"Fuck off," comes the response.

"Fuck off yourself, you fuckin' bitch," whispers Noah to himself, and slides into sleep, smiling.

Felix Rises to the Challenge

The next morning, as if apologising for recent days, was gloriously sunny. Noah, Elwyn and Beau tumbled out of bed even before Mummy and Daddy were awake. Noah made two cups of tea - Earl Grey - and carefully carried two cups to them. The distinctive aroma of bergamot orange floated through the sunbeams. "A lovely treat to begin a lovely day," said Mother, adding "Is Felix awake? If not, don't arouse him. He's probably still tired after the journey yesterday. We can wake him in time to get up for breakfast." But when everyone was seated around the patio table, and the fragrance of toasted, buttered crumpets filled the air, there was still no sign of Felix.

"Better go and wake the boy," Mummy decided. and "tell him to be quick before his crumpets cool."

Noah pounded up the stairs and to his surprise Felix wide awake and reading a book.

"I say," said the younger boy, "you'd better nip up like lighting! Didn't you hear us moving about? We've been up for yonks." Felix threw back his bedsheet to reveal a hard-on straining beneath his briefs and said, "So have I." Noah licked his lips. "Breakfast is served. You'd better get downstairs pronto. Daddy doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Felix turned over a page but made no move. "I always have breakfast in bed. Mummy always serves me. Don't forget I'm delicate. Tell them I've got a bit of a tummy ache. And tell your mother it's two sugars in my tea."

Noah gave a long whistle and pounded downstairs. "Felix says he always has breakfast in bed. He'd like two sugars in his tea, if you please."

Father rose from his chair, folded The Times, laid it on the chair, and said in a voice which boded no good for Felix, "I'll give that boy something sweet," and took the stairs two at a time. Without ceremony he opened the bedroom door just in time to catch a glimpse of the boy's naked chest, tummy and erection before Felix whipped the sheet up to his rather prominent nipples.

Mr. Darling sat on the edge of the boy's bed and said in a voice surprisingly gentle, "Noah tells me you have a tummy ache, dear boy. Well, let's see what we can do about that." He took the book - The Hardy Boys - laid it by the pillow and drew the bed sheet to his knees. "Ah, I see the problem," whispered the good man as he began to stroke, caress and press the boy's tummy with his long, well-manicured fingers. The fingers slid up the boy's chest and squeezed the puffy flesh before teasing the nipples between thumb and index finger. "This often helps," he whispered while his other hand stroked the area just above the boy's briefs. Felix tried his best to stifle his whimpers but his rigid erection gave him away, particularly when the head of his cock forced it way beyond the elastic, almost to his belly button. "My, you are a big boy," smiled Mr. Darling.

"Noah said you like something sweet for breakfast," he asked the boy. "Is that true?" Felix, wide-eyed, nodded. "Well, we can't make a mess of your auntie's new sheets but you can have something sweet. Would you like that?" Felix nodded. "Let's see then," said Mr. Darling rising to open the buttons on his trousers to fish out a huge hard cock that made the boy's eyes widen even more. "Open wide," the man said, "and say 'Ah'". The boy leaned back against the headboard, opened his mouth as wide as he could and said '"Ah....."

"Good, boy, good, boy," said the man as he began to milk his cock hard and fast. He paused for a moment and said, "Have a little suck. Taste the sweetness." The boy did as he was bid and was rather surprised by the bitterness he tasted. It wasn't unpleasant but he couldn't quite place what it was. He sucked the head and first third of the man's cock with gusto, pressing and releasing his lips against the turgid flesh. "Good boy, good boy," smiled the man. "Now hold steady, mouth wide open, if you please."

Felix pleased and felt several volleys hit the back of his throat. He gulped furiously and managed to take almost all of it down his throat. Mr. Darling withdrew his still hard member, patted the boy on the head - with his hand - and said, "Well done, well done, indeed. Now get dressed as fast as you can and join us downstairs. You wouldn't like to miss breakfast, would you?" The boy shook his head licked his lips, but looked rather disappointedly at the bulge in his briefs as the man did his buttons up, stepped to the bedroom door, turned and smiled, "Welcome to the Darling family, my boy. You'll fit in nicely."

As Felix sat scoffing a freshly toasted and buttered crumpet, Mrs. Darling leaned towards him, and, with a silk handkerchief, wiped some of the residue from the boy's chin. "Mmmm," she murmured, "that's curious. My butter doesn't usually harden like this." Tucking the kerchief away, she thought to herself, "Ah well, as long as the boy enjoys it."

Breakfast over and Mr. Darling having retired to his study, Mrs Darling said kindly, "Come along, Felix, come and help Noah dry up while Beau and Elwyn wash the dishes. I'll pop upstairs and make the beds." The boy looked up but didn't move. "I have to sit still after meals to digest my food. I'm delicate." Mrs Darling had to laugh because the boy sounded so solemn. "You're not too delicate to dry a few dishes," she assured him, and added, "You can have a kitchen chair to sit on while you dry, if you like." Felix had the good grace to blush as he rose to join the boys at the kitchen sink.

Soon the Darling brothers were doing the washing up and singing a sea shanty at the tops of their voices. After a minute or two, to their surprise, Felix joined in. As it happened, he had a lovely voice, though it seemed to leap and down an octave with no warning, a phenomenon they all ignored.

Morning chores completed, the boys gathered a few things and trooped down the hill towards the boating lake. On the way the paused in front of Rosebud Cottage.

"I wonder if Oscar is with Mr. Elmwood," said Noah.

"Why would he be at Elmwood's at this time in the morning?" asked Felix.

"Oh, he goes to Mr. Elmwood's quite often for breakfast," explained Noah. "And for tea," added Beau. "And for dinner," contributed Elwyn.

Noah frowned at the twins and continued. "You see, Mr. Elmwood has taken quite a shine to Oscar. Remember Oscar lives with two Great Aunts. They're very nice to him but they are ladies after all. And a boy needs a man in his life - Daddy said that, didn't he, Beau? --- So Oscar spends quite a bit of time at Rosebud Cottage, helping with the garden, round the house, taking Ding-a-Ling for a walk, things like that. Mr. Elmwood says he doesn't know what he'd do without Oscar around."

"Shall we give them a knock?" asked Elwyn.

"Best not," said Noah. "If Oscar's there, he'll be helping, and he won't want to disturbed. We'll give a knock on the way back. We might get to take out Ding-a-Ling for a bit."

The boys walked on, but we can pause and take a peek into Rosebud Cottage.

Man and boy are not in the tiny living room. They are not in the parlour. They are not in the kitchen, but Ding-a-Ling is farting quietly to herself as she sleeps. Shall we risk a peep in the bedroom? They are not there. That leaves only the bathroom but what can they be doing there this mid-Monday summer's morning.

Mr. Elmwood is naked. He is lying in the bath, his head supported by a pillow. Oscar is squatting over the man, facing the other way, quite naked. The boy's face is strained. We can see it clearly. We cannot see the man's face as it is obscured by the boy's substantial arse. At first it looks as if the boy is sitting on the man's face, but a closer look reveals the boy's arse is perched around five inches above the man's face. Oscar is a sturdy boy with sturdy legs; even so, it is impressive how he holds this position above the man.

"Relax you sphincter," says Mr. Elmwood. "Just let it happen."

"I'm trying," responds Oscar, and the strain in his voice confirms he surely is. "Lick my hole again," he says.

Mr. Elmwood does more than lick the boy's hole. Grasping his hips, he pulls the boy's arse onto his face so that his lips are fastened to the little mouth at the centre of his buttocks. The area around the hole already looks puffy, bruised, battered, though that may be from Sunday afternoon's tryst. The man purses and fastens his lips as best he can to the serrated orifice, kisses, sucks, blows, spits, penetrates the sweaty, greasy hole with his middle finger, feels the sphincters grab and release it, feels the soft, hard something logged up the hole.

Suddenly Oscar farts, little spurts, followed by a longer, slower rasp. The stink is terrific. The boy giggles "Sorry, sir," though he knows the man likes it. The lips of his anus flutter and he feels an inch or so of hard shit push its way into the far-from-fresh air. "Hold it, hold it there," instructs the naked man lying on his back in the bath. The boy has never seen it but he knows the man's lips around the turd poking out of his anus. He knows the man is sucking gently on the turd. He has seen the man's lips brown with shit, seen him smacking his lips as he relishes and swallows the boy's waste. Oscar cannot understand why his benefactor wants to do this, but as long as Mr. Elmwood is prepared to reward him with a guinea everytime the boy is happy to oblige him. Oscar smiles as he reckons he has 10 guineas in the piggy bank he keeps in his private drawer back at his aunts.

"A little more, please," comes the voice from beneath his arse.

Oscar relaxes his sphincter, lets out half an inch more, and pinches it off. "I'm getting good at this," he smiles to himself, then strains to release another series of farts. He wonders if they will do the really dirty stuff today, as Mr. Elmwood has promised. He's not sure what the 'really dirty stuff is' - he is not a very imaginative boy. He hopes not. He'd like to take Ding-a-Ling down to the boating pond, meet up with the Darling boys, and watch the Newfoundland splash around them as they row-row-row their boat into the middle of the lake. He wonders if their cousin will be with them. He doesn't like their cousin very much - "a spoilt brat" - but he admits Felix is very good-looking. He wonders what it would be like to shit in Felix's mouth. Oscar would be happy to oblige. Oscar is a very obliging boy.

The boating pond looked gay. There were coloured sunshades and tables outside the cafe and plenty of boats for hire. The boys had been rowing in two boats for over an hour were content to sit around a table sucking juice through ice-cream balls with long-striped straws. Felix was complaining he didn't need a haircut - his dirty blond hair touched his collar - when Noah drew their attention.

"I say, chaps, look at this competition in 'Funmakers'", a new magazine he'd bought at the kiosk. "It says 'Grand competition - fabulous Prizes'". He spread the magazine out on the table. "It's a camera competition!" Felix sat up. "You have to send them a foto of something taken during the school holidays. I can do that easily - I took lots in Scotland, only they aren't developed yet - the entry forms will be in the magazine next week - I'm jolly well going to get one!"

"I'm going to get an entry form and WIN," announced Felix from under a red-striped sunshade. "I've got my colour camera in my luggage. I'll take one so good they'll have to give me the first prize."

"You can borrow my camera," said Felix. The boys gave their cousin startled looks which he ignored. "Let me have the look at the rules. There may be more to it than just taking the photograph." He scanned the article. "Two classes - Colour and Black & White. Short description. Entry form signed by a grown-up. That's to ensure you don't cheat," he added. "Mother can sign it for us." Again the Darling brothers were startled. Had their cousin referred to their mother as his mother?

At that moment Oscar came puffing along the side of the pond. He seemed a bit winded and he was walking rather oddly. "Perhaps he has a pebble in his shoe," thought Beau. "Anyone fancy a top-up?" said Oscar, pointing to their ice-cream drinks as he sank into a chair. There was a collective draining of glasses which sounded like a series of spurted farts. Elwyn giggled and Oscar remembered similar sounds in Mr. Elmwood's only fifteen minutes ago.

"Let's go round to the bathing area first," suggested Felix. The boys trooped round to the grassy knoll looking over a fenced-off corner of the pond, stripped to their underpants an jumped in. The next half hour was spent in fun and games as they splashed each other mercilessly. Out of the pond they came to stretch themselves out on the grass, careless that their tight white underpants hid little of what they had to offer. Few adults came to that side of the pond, and the boys would have cared little if they had. They lay there soaking up the sun, drying out, and turning pinkish brown, each lost in his private reverie.

"Suck my tits."

That was no dream. That was Felix.

"Mmmfff...glug...mmmfff." That was Noah.

"Get up here and suck my tits."

Noah released his cousin's hard penis from his mouth, slid up and his body, and glassy-eyed, said, "What?"

Outside an owl hooted in the darkness as if in answer to the younger boy.

"I said 'suck my tits' - and bite my nipples a little - not too hard."

Noah wasn't entirely sure why Felix wanted him to do this but assumed the older boy knew best. His arsehole still ached from the ruthless two-finger fucking he'd been given and he was glad to be able to rest awhile on the boy's chest and 'suck on his tits'. Felix was a well-built boy with a strong chest and what his Mother called 'puppy fat' in reference to Beau. He looked up into the boy's face, his thick eyebrows and lashes framing his closed eyes. Noah's hole ached but it was a pleasant ache. He appreciated Felix needed to 'loosen him up' before he fucked him, and Noah wanted to be fucked by Felix. Although he didn't know it, Noah had fallen in love with his cousin, and, as he lay there, sucking on the pads of flesh, chewing the boy's pointed nipples, his hand lingered between his buttocks. It wasn't easy but he managed to jam two-fingers up his backside and twirled them around, occasionally slipping them out to sniff them before returning them to active duty.

There was something very comforting about chewing on the boy's breasts - not a word Noah would have used - which brought the comfort a child feels at its mother's teats, though Felix had already received his 'milk' from another part of the boy's anatomy. He'd certainly get Elwyn to lick his own nipples as well as his bumhole, and he knew he'd fuck his little brother sooner or later. A wicked thought came into his head: what would it be like if he and Felix fucked the little boy together - at the same time - one in the mouth, one up the arse. Could they 'cum' at the same time? That would be something. These were the images playing in his mind as he felt the tingly feelings take over. It was like being on a ride on the Big Dipper. Once you began to descend there was no stopping it - impossibly fast - an uncontrollable rush - and... and... and...

"Fuck it, Noah, you bit me! I'll fucking kill you."

At that moment Noah couldn't have cared less. The only thing that mattered was 'cumming' - his body shook, shivered, trembled, bucked as his hard penis tried to empty what wasn't there yet. He gave a final shudder and fell helpless on the older boy's body.

A few minutes later the boys lay in their own beds, faces turned towards each other as they said their good nights.

"I'm really sorry," said Noah.

Felix laughed.

"Don't worry about it," he said, then added, "My mother was really going to kill me when I bit her."

Noah lay in frozen silence but had to ask: "You sucked your mother's tits?"

"'Course I did," said Felix, "and she sucked mine."

Noah tried not to ask the next question. He tried his hardest. It was no use.

"Did you fuck your mother too?"

"'Course I did," said Felix, then added "Where do you think I learned this stuff?" then added "Fuckin' bitch."

"Fuckin' bitch," echoed Noah.

"Nitey nite," said Felix.

"Nitey nite," said Noah, then whispered to himself, "I love you, Felix."

BEAU'S BIG DAY OUT

'COUNCIL PUSH AHEAD WITH WITH ROAD

Two Families Move To Make Way'

Beau looked up from the breakfast table to where his father was perusing the morning paper. "What does that mean, Daddy?" he asked. "It means, darling, that a couple of families we know will soon be moving. "Let's hope the Council will find them other houses they will be happy in."

Mother finished buttering Beau's toast and asked, "Do you know who the families might be, dearest?"

"Actually, I went into the offices of the Rural Council yesterday in my lunch hour to see the plan," he said. "Definitely Mill Cottage. And Rosebud Cottage too. I'm afraid there won't be much they can do about it. I suspect that old Mrs Winthrop will move in with her daughter but I've no idea what Mr. Elmwood will do. Probably leave the village, I expect."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Mother. "It will break his heart. He and Ding-a-ling are so happy there. They just can't pull down that lovely little cottage to make a horrible by-pass."

Beau frowned. Oscar had invited him down to the cottage. Together they would take out Ding-a-Ling for her walk, then have lunch with Mr. Elmwood. Strawberries and cream were promised as was 'something else delicious' that Oscar had hinted at. He could hardly wait for the grandfather clock to chime a quarter to the hour. He would then trot down to Rosebud to join Oscar for that 'delicious something else'.

"Surely Mr. Elmwood knew this," said a troubled Mrs. Darling. "Surely he's going to protest. He can't just take it lying down."

"I spoke to him yesterday," said Mr. Darling. "I'm afraid he missed his opportunity to lodge an objection. The letter from the Council arrived at a time his glasses were broken. He could only manage the big print which said 'Proposed By-Pass'. He told me he put it in his letter-rack. By the time his glasses were mended he'd completely forgotten about it, and now... I'll see what I can do for him but I fear the only think the Council can offer him is a flat in the new block in Oxley Road. Of course he will lose his privacy - and his dog, too. It's strictly 'no pets, no children' in Oxley House."

"That is so sad," said Mother, and for a moment Beau feared she was about to cry. However, she maintained her composure and turned to Beau, "Darling, where are your brothers and your cousin Felix?"

"They've gone down to the cricket, Mummy," said Beau. "They're going to spend the day watching the village against Beaufort Town. You know I can't stand that silly game. I'm spending the day with Oscar. I asked Daddy's permission."

"Yes," said Daddy from behind his paper, "but be back by five, please. We've a very special evening ahead of us."

"Thanks, Daddy," said Beau, rising to give his father a kiss perilously to his lips before returning to kiss his mother on her cheek. He took up his toast, licked at the melted butter and wondered if the 'delicious something else' at Rosebud Cottage would be half as tasty.

Beau stands at the backdoor of Rosebud Cottage. He glances at the wristwatch given to him for his birthday by his father. The second hands sweeps to the hour. He pushes the door open, steps inside and closes it quietly behind him. He is following Oscar's instructions to the letter. It is mysterious and thrilling. He steps to the bedroom door. He pauses. What are those creaking sounds that rise and fall? He pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops. He stands. He gazes open-mouthed until he can make sense of what is before him.

Oscar is naked. He is sitting astride Mr. Elmwood's chest. The man is naked. The boy's large round bum is facing Beau. It rises and falls as the boy's body moves forwards and backwards driving his cock in and out of the man's mouth. The man's cock, hugely erect, stands vertical against the boy's bum as it rubs against the boy's crack. The wooden bed creaks, the springs sing. The boy, whose upper body is supported by his arms and hands on either side of the man's pillowed head, mutters obscenities in time with the man's muffled moans. Beau feels his prick stiffen.

Oscar turns and grins. "Don't just stand there. Get your clothes off." Trance-like, Beau does as he's told till he stands there, his cock hard against his belly. "Suck him off," says Oscar. Beau's eyes widen as he sees the man's cock is at least three inches longer than his father's. "It's a fire hose," he thinks as he kneels naked by the low-slung bed. He cannot get his thumb and finger round the shaft. He edges the foreskin down to reveal the sloppy, slimy mushroom head. He licks the head and for a moment recoils from its salty bitterness. He shrugs his shoulders. Kisses the big single eye, runs his boy-lips back and forth across the frothy bubbles and twists the tender skin below the head as his Daddy has taught me.

Only inches from his eyes Oscar's bum rises and falls. It is fat and round. There are lots of silvery hairs leading down to the crack between his buttocks. He sees how the skin browns and darkens as it stretches towards the boy's arsehole. He can't resist taking his mouth away from the man's cock for a moment to lick his friend's crease. The smell is intoxicating. He moves between cock and crease licking and exchanging the juices from each with the tip of his tongue.

"Stick your fingers up his arse," a voice tells him. "He loves that. You might get two guineas."

Beau wriggles his fingers to find the man's arsehole. It feels so hot. He presses the tips of two fingers gently and is startled to find how easily they slip inside. He ventures a third, a fourth, and they slip in to the depth of his palm. Hardly believing what is happening, he withdraws them for a moment, locks his fingers together, hides his thumb beneath them, and pushes his hard. He almost bites the man's cock in surprise as his small boy's hand slips all the way into the hole. Something seems to seize his wrist and hold him tight. He feels hot mushy flesh around his hand and fingers. He is not sure what to do. The man sounds as if he is in pain.

"Fuck him, fuck him hard," says the voice. "That's the way he likes it."

The boy fists the man hard, going a tiny bit deeper each time. He is sucking head of the man's cock. He can cram no more than that within his mouth. He finds a rhythm. Above him he can sense another rhythm as Oscar drives his cock deeper, faster, harder into the man's willing throat. He recoils again as a putrid smell fills his nostrils. He realises the quality of the mushiness has changed. It takes him time to realise what it is. It is the man's shit. His fingers are in the man's shit. Shit is what he smells. Shit is what he feels. Is this the delicious something else his friend promised him? He takes his mouth away from the cock for a moment. He looks up. He blinks. Oscar's bumhole is dilating. There's a swelling, a puffiness around the opening of his jacksie. Then the tip of a dark brown turd peeps out. This is sickening. This is thrilling. This can't be happening. Best not to watch. He turns to the man's cock but he can't keep away. He looks again. A full inch of the turd is out: it's dark, it's thick, it's brown. Beau doesn't believe he is doing it but he does.

Beau raises his face. Sticks out a small pink tongue and licks the tip of his friend's turd. He should be repulsed but he isn't. He lets half an inch enter his mouth and gently presses his lips against the emerging turd. He works furiously on the man's cock. An inch of turd is in his mouth. Will he? Dare he? Could he? We will never know. For at that moment he hears a series of tremendous farts and spurts beneath him. Mr. Elmwood is shitting himself. Beau pulls his face away. Two inches, three inches, nearly four inches. Oscar's turd is like one of Mr. Darling's fat cigars sticking straight out of his mouth.

Everything happens at once. Mr. Elmwood cums. Oscar cums. Mr. Elmwood shits. Oscar shits. Outside the bedroom door a dog is barking.

Suddenly Oscar is pulling Beau away. "Come on, into the shower. And don't get that shit everywhere." As they scamper and scramble out of the bedroom, Ding-a-Ling bounds past the boy and jumps onto the bed, her tail wagging furiously.

A quarter of an hour later the boys were strolling arm in arm through the village, freshly showered and scrubbed.

"But how do you know I like that kind of thing?" asked Beau.

"I don't honestly know," said Oscar. "I just thought it was worth a try. I knew you wouldn't grass on a friend if you didn't want to join in the fun. It was a risk, I know. I'm glad I took it." He squeezed his friend's arm. His friend squeezed his back.

"What do we do now?" asked Beau.

"We'll give it another quarter, then stroll back," said Oscar. "Mr. Elmwood will have everything cleaned up. Even the smells will be gone. Then we'll have tea and cucumber sandwiches. Strawberry and ice-cream. Then we'll take Ding-a-Ling for her walk. Isn't it a lovely day?"

"It is," agreed Beau, "but..."

"Oh no," said Oscar anticipating his friend's question. "Mr. Elmwood won't say a thing about it at all. He'll just say we've been obliging boys. We deserve something for our troubles. He'll pop a guinea in my piggy bank, and, if you're lucky, two guineas in yours. He'll say it's a sort of a trust fund. He's really so kind and generous. I'm lucky he took a fancy to me. So are you."

"About the....?" This time Beau found himself unable to frame the question. He didn't have to.

"About the shit," said Oscar. "To my mind, it's only shit. I'm not fond of it... but Mr. Elmwood is. So it would be a shame to let it go to waste."

Beau blushed as he remembered how close he had come to accepting a large chunk of his friend's shit in his mouth. If he had, what would he have done with it, he wondered. Would he have chewed it? Would he have swallowed it, gulped it down at one go? The awful thing - he wasn't sure. And even more awful, he found the idea exciting. His penis hardened and erected against his tummy.

The boys strolled on.

As did Beau and his father through the village towards St. Sebastian's Church in the early evening sunshine. The boy's heart fell just a little when he realised where they were bound. He had hoped to share this time along with Daddy, perhaps in some shady copse by the stream. Perhaps it would be only a brief call to pay their respects to Father Cole, known locally to the boys as 'Old King Cole'.

Father Cole greeted them with a beaming smile at the church's heavy oak double doors. The priest was of indeterminate age, which always seems ancient to boy's of Beau's age, and his leather skin was akin to that of a pickled prune. He shepherded father and son into the cool gloom of the church, and Beau was surprised when they took stone steps down to what appeared to be a basement of some sort. Here Mr. Darling left his son with the admonition: "Trust in Father Cole, my boy. He knows what is best for boys with desires such as yours. I shall be back in good time." Saying this, he turned and left, pulling the iron-ring on the door to close it behind him.

Closing his long black cassock around him, Father Cole sat and motioned the boy to sit in the huge, old, leather armchair opposite him. He looked deeply into Beau's eyes and said: "My child, do you like being naked with your father?"

Startled, Beau blurted, "Yes, I do."

"I, too, am your father," said the priest. "I am your spiritual father. And you shall stand naked before me as I examine your soul. Please stand naked before me. Leave your clothes on the side-table. Remember one day we will all stand naked before the Great Father Himself."

Not quite sure what the man was blabbing about but keeping in mind what his father had said, Beau rose, pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the side table. He undid his belt, opened the buttons of his flies, pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them. He picked them up and deposited them on the table. Next came the tight white fresh underpants he had put on after coming home from Rosebud Cottage. He stood there naked while the old man's eyes ran over him. "You may turn away to shield your modesty while you remove your socks and sandals," murmured the priest.

Beau accepted the invitation. Taking off his footwear proved a challenge as he had to stand on one foot while undressing the other. He blushed worried the man might see the bruising round his anus. Oscar and he had stopped for a while in the copse by the stream. Though he boy was not aware of it, he had long slim toes and sensual feet. Father Cole licked his lips and clenched his own anus.

"Pass me your underpants, boy," said the priest. Beau did so. Father Cole held them tightly across his mouth and nose. He breathed in deeply. Ah, the essence of pure boy. No incense in the world compared to these scents even if this particular perfume was frustratingly clean. He turned the underpants inside out and Beau's eyes widened as the man licked the area where the fabric was crushed in his crack. Would he have licked the customary skids marks to be found there? The boy's eyes widened more when he saw the tent in the old man's cassock. He blushed even more deeply to feel his own cock stirring.

The priest laid the underpants aside. "You must stand completely named before me, Beau. Before me, nothing must be hidden." The boy was puzzled. As far he knew, he was naked. "Your foreskin, boy, skin back your foreskin as far as it can go. Reveal your boyhood to me." The reached for himself and skinned his foreskin down his erecting penis. A bead of liquid hung from its little eye. "Play with yourself," instructed the priest. Puzzled, the boy paused, then realising what was meant began masturbating gently. "Closer, boy, closer," murmured the man, stand closer so I may observe you in your sin."

Fingers steepled together, Father Cole asked, "Does it excite you to play with yourself while I am watching you?"

"Yes," murmured the boy, almost inaudibly. The evidence was clear. The boy's hard cock jutted up to his belly button.

"Would it excite you if I played with you?" asked the man. The boy nodded. "Would it excite you if I sucked your cock?" The boy nodded. "Put my fingers in your bottom?" The nods were faster. "If I put my stiff cock up your arse." The tension in the boy grew. His fingers flew. His breathing shortened. His eyes closed. His...

"Stop!"

The priest's command echoed round the basement, bounded from the walls, and hit the boy like a slap in the face.

"Open your eyes, boy!"

Beau opened his eyes. The old priest was standing tall and erect. His penis jutted from his cassock. It, too, was tall and erect. He raised his arms, pushed his cassock from his shoulders to let it fall in a black heap behind him. The boy gazed at the stiff cock. There was something odd. At first he couldn't make it out. Then he realised what it was. The man's cock was a snake! Not a real snake. But a snake had been tattooed round the shaft. There was no foreskin. The head of the man's cock was the head of the snake!

"Return to the armchair," said the priest. "Kneel on it. Face away from your master." The boy did so. His chin was on the high back of the chair. "Spread your legs." The boy did so. His arse as high in the air. He felt the cheeks pulled apart. The man must be kneeling. Felt hot breath between his cheeks. A hot wet tongue licked the inside of his cheeks. Thumbs prised them ever wider, prised his hole open. The tongue licked and laved at his anus. The thumbs spread the tiny lips. The boy moaned. Pain or Pleasure? Who knows? The boy didn't. The tongue pushed deeper until it seemed to licking the inside of him. Seemed to wash the walls of his rectum. He tried to stop it but he couldn't. He farted in burbly bursts. Heard the man behind him sniff deeply, Grunt. Then renewed his assault. Sweat ran down the boy's back, into the crack of his bum, until he felt slippery, slidy, and more open than he ever had before. He heard a noise across the dimly-lit basement.

The door swung open. Three men stepped into the room. Half of their faces were covered with masks but he recognised his father by his naked body and by the cock that stood against his belly. He did not recognise the other men. They too were erect. As the stepped towards him, he saw the masks were the heads of snakes, and in their hands they carried what looked like thick stiff rubber snakes.

His father's voice echoed across the basement: "Is the boy prepared?"

A second voice echoed: "Is the boy ready to join the Brotherhood?"

A third voice echoed: "The Brotherhood of the Snake".

Back came the voice of the old priest:

"The boy is prepared. The boy is ready. The boy is ready to join the Brotherhood of the Snake!"

Beau screamed as the priest's cock drove into his bowels.

"I'm so proud of you," said Mr. Darling as he cuddled his son with one arm. His other hand reached inside his jacket to squeeze a bulging wallet and he smiled with deep satisfaction.

Beau almost burst with pride and would have smiled all the way home if his bottom had not been so sore. He felt the men's juices soak through his underpants into his shorts and knew he would have to make for the bathroom as soon they got into the house. His father had promised him a long hot soak in the huge claw-footed bath and that he would read to him as he lay back and relaxed in the deep soapy suds. Mrs Darling was quite used to Mr. Darling bathing the twins and thought it was a wonderful way for them to bond and learn how to be men she could be proud of.

Beau felt his insides might fall out before they got home. He wondered if his hole would ever closely properly again. Daddy laughed and assured him it only felt like that. His hole in fact would be closed by now. The sphincter muscles in the young were tenacious in performing their function. He himself had joined the Brotherhood on his tenth birthday and had been initiated not by four but by six brethren... and he had scored a half century in a cricket match the following afternoon! Beau was rightly in awe of his father.

As they entered the house, they heard the boys squabbling happily in the salon. Mr. Darling ushered Beau into the bathroom, popped his head into the kitchen for a word with his dear wife, letting her know that he might as well take a bath with his son as they were both sticky after such a lengthy evening stroll. Mother nodded "Fine, dear," and returned to rolling the dough for her pastry, which, by coincidence, was approximately the average of the variety of artifacts that had invaded her son's anus, rectum and bowels earlier that evening.

A Close-Run Thing

By the time Felix had been with the Darling family for a week, Elwyn said it was like two months already. Their cousin certainly ate more and sulked less, and he had not mentioned the word 'delicate' again when asked to dry the dishes or help with other chores around the house. But he was obstinate and lazy, and sometimes could be difficult with the boys. Mrs. Darling soothed her sons, describing Felix's moods as 'growing pains', for, after all, "He is well-built boy who is growing before our very eyes."

Felix unpacked his camera and seemed to snap everything that moved and lots that didn't. Rabit, the family rabbit, nibbling lettuce. A blue bowl of oranges on top of the refrigerator - 'still life'. Rosebud Cottage in full bloom. Noah at the cricket crease. His unmade bed - no one was quite certain about that one. Row boats on the pond. The sun setting on the pond. Two squirrels squabbling over goodness-knows-what. Ding-a-Ling with one of the squirrels (deceased) in her mouth. Pussy galore. Mrs. Darling bending over the laundry basket. Elwyn and Beau wrestling in their jammies. Oscar's chin running with cream. Father Cole deep in conversation with Mr. Darling. Bats flying round the belfry. Mr. Darling's silver snake-topped walking stick. Little seemed to escape the eye of the boy's camera.

Mrs. Darling was a great help to her 'nephew'. Together they pored over the negatives, and, Mr. Cecil Motley, photographer and friend of Father Darling, developed and printed the best of them, three of which were selected for entry into the 'Funmaker' competition. What were not entered into the competition were the photographs of Beau, strapped naked into a weird sling-like contraption while four men... (Ed. This paragraph is redacted on the grounds of decency.) Together they wrote a caption for each photograph and off they went together with an entry form.

The sun continued to pour down like honey. The boys decided to take a picnic and fine shade at the copse by the stream. They figured how they'd entertain themselves when they got there. Beau excused himself. He had arranged to meet Oscar at Rosebud Cottage. With a grin he explained they were 'doing jobs' for Mr. Elmwood who would reward them with strawberries and oodles of fresh cream. Mr. Darling was most encouraging: "I'm sure you'll be able to cheer the old boy up. I know he likes your company. Oh, and remind him we have a meeting at the Church on Tuesday evening. Remind him to bring his equipment." Father did not specify what the 'equipment'.

Off the boys trooped, parting company at Rosebud, where Oscar and Ding-a-Ling greeted them with a cheery wave and bade them farewell with an even cheerier grin. Oscar and Beau entered the cottage arm in arm with the huge Newfoundland sniffing at their rears.

Although the copse was no great distance, the boys were glad to get there. They reached their favourite clearance, settled their picnic basket, spread out a blanket, stripped to their underpants and stretched out in the shade. Elwyn drifted off, half-listening to the murmuring of his brother and cousin.

"What the ...?"

Elwyn was rudely awakened. He felt pressure on the small muscles of his skinny arms. His skinny legs were yanked open. His underpants ripped to his knees. He opened his mouth to protest and found something hot and hard jammed in his throat. He opened his eyes. All he could see was a tanned belly and a glimpse of dark pubic hair. His soft penis and walnut-sized balls were engulfed by a warm wetness.

"Bite me and you fuckin' die," came a voice from above. "Now suck it, you little mother-fucker." Elwyn was shocked by this reference to Mummy. he tried to protest but all that came out was "Mmmfff...glug...mmmfff." Being an obedient boy, he settled to the task in hand, or rather in mouth. And, anyway, his own little penis was already stiff and hard and enjoying the experience. Since Noah had no hair 'down there', he reckoned it must be his brother between his spread legs. Ipso facto - he'd learned the expression from Father - it must be Felix's cock pummeling his uvula - also learned from father - and stretching his small jaw till it ached.

Remember what Noah liked, Elwyn stretched to reach his small hands round Felix's bottom and jerk the cheeks apart. With some difficulty his middle finger located the opening to his cousin's anus. All was greasy and sweaty and, the younger boy hoped, stinky. Praying he was doing the right thing, he jammed his middle finger - surprisingly long in one so young - straight up the hole and wiggled it furiously. He was rewarded with a loud grunt, and 'deeper, deeper, you little shit'. To his surprise, the small boy enjoyed the range of obscene insults that poured down on him: 'mother-fucker' - 'little shit' - 'fuckin' bitch' - 'cunty whore'. To be honest, some of these he didn't understand at all but accepted them cheerfully as his lot. It was his turn to grunt as he felt his brother's finger wheedle its way into his tiny anus. He wondered if Noah would lick it, kiss it, stick his tongue in it. "Hope so," he prayed as he stretched his jaws even wider in a vain attempt to swallow Felix's big balls as well as his big prick. The shaft was down to the root and Elwyn fought a desperate battle not to sneeze - as well as breathe! If only...

His prayer was answered. Felix withdrew his prick. Noah withdrew his finger. The boys stood. Flipped Elwyn over on his front and yanked his legs apart. His face pressed into the blanket, he could only make out snatches of their conversation.

"Fuck the shit ..." - "Tiny ..." - "Let me ..." - "In his mouth ..." - Take turns ..." - "Smelly ..." - "Don't hurt ..."

Elwyn felt his face turned so that one cheek rested on the blanket. He kept his eyes shut. He opened his mouth. A cock entered again. Not so big. Must be Noah. Rhythmic. His buttocks pulled apart. Thumbs ease his anus open. Warm, wet, a tongue. Lips fasten on the tiny mouth. Sucking. He feels dirty, open, wonderful. Then a finger, two fingers. They saw in and out of his hole. They hurt. But he wants more. The cock in his mouth is into the balls. The fingers in his arse are scissoring, open, closed, separating, loosening, gone. For a moment nothing. Then the big cock, Felix's cock, is back in his mouth. He begins to choke. The cock withdraws enough to let him breath. His hole is sucked again, penetrated by... is it his brother's stiff penis? He can't be sure. Fucked in the arse. Fucked in the mouth. He can't think anymore. He is nothing but sensation. Feelings wash over him, fill him. He tummy rumbles. He farts and farts again. Wet farts, squeezed out. His little body begins to shake, shudder, tremble. It's that tingly feeling magnified a million times. Elwyn has never felt like this before. He wants to feel like this forever. Hot spurts hit the back of his throat. Hair is jammed against his lips. His arse is being split open. Something's happening deep inside.

Elwyn blacks out.

"Come on in! The water's really cool!"

Elwyn, dazed, rolls over, opens his eyes, and focuses. Noah and Felix are sitting in the stream. The rushing, sparkling water covers their bottoms. They are flicking handfuls of water over each other. He gets to his feet, steps out of his torn underpants, and, a little unsteady, steps down to the stream. He takes three steps into the water. Brrrrr..... It's not cool. It's cold. And it's wonderful. The water is soothing as it rushes between his buttocks. He'd like to pull them open but thinks it might look rude in front of the older boys. He contents himself by lying back so that only his head is above the water.

"This is the life, isn't it?" shouts Noah. "I'm so glad Felix came to stay this summer."

Felix stands up. His penis flops heavily over his balls. It looks red and raw. He takes the tip, raises it and washes it, easing back the foreskin to make sure he is thoroughly clean. "I'm starving," he says. "I'm going to set out the sandwiches." He steps carefully from the water, naked, water running from his tanned skin, and sits on the blanket, pulling the small hamper towards them.

An hour or so later Noah sighs, "Yes, this is the life." They boys are bone-dry, well-fed and watered, and the youngest at least - well-fucked.

It was at this moment Felix said: "Let's put our shorts on. I want to explore the barley field we passed. It's only ten minutes away. Hand me my camera. I bet I can take some fabulous photographs there. You can take some too if you like. I put in a new film this morning." Noah and Elwyn looked at each other in surprise. They hardly recognised this happy, generous Felix. They jumped up, glad to share in his joy.

A little over fifteen minutes later the boys were in the barley field. They were careful not to trample the swaying crops and used the narrow paths that criss-crossed the field. But being boys they could not resist a game of hide-and-seek. It was Elwyn who shouted the alarm.

"Look! Look! There's smoke over there. There must be a fire!"

Noah was at his side at an instant. But where was their cousin? "Felix! Felix!" they called, but answer came there none. The warm breeze that had ruffled the barley so gently was a playful wind. It shifted direction fitfully, and the spurts of flame which had been spreading one way among the crackling stems suddenly turned and swept round in a circle. Elwyn plunged into a part of the barley as yet untouched by fire, but Noah yelled to him to come back. "We're not sure where Felix is. If the wind changes, you could get caught in the middle." As he shouted, he noticed the barley was trampled at one point. "This way," he cried, beginning to cough as the smoke took his lungs.

Suddenly they came upon a flattened circle with some empty pop bottles and cigarette packets scattered around. "This must be boys from R----------. They must have been having a spree. They must have..... " but he never completed the sentence for at that moment they both saw Felix. He was lying face downwards and in one hand he gripped something black and silvery. It was the camera.

"Is he dead?" gasped Elwyn, and added, "Oh boy!" seeing his cousin's white face and a smear of blood on his cheek. Noah was trembling as he kneeled to lift the limp head. Felix moaned, and both boys felt a wave of relief. "Fell and knocked himself out most likely ... " said Noah and then finished in a spasm of coughing as stinging smoke swirled down on them. "Help me get Felix up."

Elwyn knelt down, and, though it was difficult, they managed to raise Felix to his feet and help him, stumbling, out of the barley field and back to the safety of the copse. Here Felix lay down for ten minutes, and, after Elwyn had trickled handfuls of fresh water over his lips, coughed, spluttered, raised himself to his feet and said, "Did you get my camera?" With a smile of triumph Noah raised the prized object.

"Right. Let's get the fuck out of here," said Felix. "But just a minute." He turned, took his camera, pointed it at the blazing barley field, and clicked off three photographs. "Now let's get home," he said.

On the way home the boys passed Rosebud Cottage. For a moment Noah thought about stopping and asking for some fresh water as all three boys were coughing a little. Best he didn't. For at that moment Oscar and Beau were giggling as they stood naked, cocks erect, working their small fists deep into Mr. Elmwood's fundament as he lay face-down, naked, his wrists tied to the head of the bed, moaning in blissful ecstasy.

All's Well That Ends Well

"No real damage done," said Dr. Bone, "but the boy has had a nasty fright. A long warm, not hot, bath, undisturbed as sleep and he'll be right as rain." Tipping his hat to Mr. Darling, he took his leave, with a murmured "Wednesday at 7." Father returned the nod. Mrs. Darling had already run a bath for Felix and would do doubt be warming towels for him. With a sigh he returned to his study.

Felix lay back in the soothing, bath-cubed waters of his bath and thought over what Noah had said after he'd protested that God didn't make everything right for him.

"Look," said his cousin, "that's not the way to think about it at all. Even the Bible says everything won't be easy for the people who know they belong to God. Jesus said, 'Come unto me I will your burden lighter," but he didn't promise no burdens at all. Lots of things go the way we don't want them to, but God helps us to be cheerful about it. I guess you'll never be really happy till you tell God you want to belong to Him for always, and you'll keep your chin up whatever happens because you're one of his little soldiers."

"D'you think God really cares about me?" questioned Felix uncertainly.

"Of course He does!" expostulated Noah. "That's why He sent you to stay with us. He's got a plan for you. I bet God wants you to be one of his little Darlings."

Felix sank deeper into the bath. "Perhaps that's why God saved me from the barley field," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps He really does have a plan for me." The boys daydreams were interrupted by three gentle taps at the door. "Felix, my dear, may I come in?"

"Door's not locked," he called, remembering his Mother never allowed the bathroom door to be barred to her back home.

Mrs. Darling opened the door, stepped in, and closed the door behind her. Over her left arm she carried a swathe of fluffy, freshly-warmed towels. "I'll just leave them on this stool," she said. She laid down the towels and as she turned to go heard the boy's voice: "Oh, before you go, could you please do my back. I can't quite reach."

Before she could announce her decision, the boy had stood up on the bath and turned his back to her. Her gaze too in his powerful shoulders, strong back, narrow waist, and plump cheeks. Soapy water ran down his powerful legs. "He's only a boy," she thought to herself, though 'more of a young man' would be accurate. She took up a bar for Lifeboy, worked a lively lather on her palms, and started caressing his neck, shoulders and back. His skin was silk-smooth and utterly unblemished except for a small mole high on his left buttock - a beauty mark more than a mole. She felt an almost irresistible urge to lean forward and kiss the spot.

It was awkward to reach his lower back standing. She pulled up the stool and sat on it, putting her at eye-level with his curvaceous cheeks. With freshly-lathered fingers she massaged his bottom, kneading and squeezing as they were dough on her kitchen table. The boy opened his legs. "Mummy likes me clean in there," he whispered. "She says it's our private place." The woman remembered how she used to perform this service for Noah, Beau and Elwyn when they were small. How she missed it! Her fingers slid deep into the crease and reached the hot spot at its centre. She drew her middle and digit fingers along the boy's anus and was rewarded by sighs. She wondered for a moment, then pushed the tip of her middle finger against the hot spot. With surprising ease, her fingers slipped deep inside. She told herself she was simply 'making sure' and worked the inner tube of his anus with both fingers. "There, just there," whispered the boy. After three or so minutes, and shaken by her own desires, she withdrew her fingers, stuck them in her mouth and sucked them clean. She couldn't up her mind whether they tasted like Noah or the twins.

"Frontsies now, Mummy," said Felix as he turned to face the seated woman.

Confronted by the boy's thick erection that jutted upwards of his belly, she knew this was no little boy. This was a young man, hot and hard. Her fingers closed round his penis and she began to masturbate him gently, drawing back the foreskin, then letting it slide over the slitted mushroom head again. "I'm only doing what any mother would do," she told herself. But what mother would lean forward and kiss the head of her thirteen-year-old boy's erect penis as she did again and again.

She felt a push at the back of her head and heard the words "Please, Mummy, please."

What mother could resist such an appeal? Felix's rigid cock slid into the Darling mother's throat while her rigid fingers slid back up his sweaty, soapy, loosened arsehole. She fucked his arse; he fucked her mouth. Both mother and son were in bliss. A bliss that was doubled, nay trebled, by the afternoon post.

The French postage on the letter gave its origin away. It came from Felix's mother, or more accurately from Dr. Mann at the Sanatorium Exclusif, which lay in the vicinity of Cannes. Madame M. was to remain until Noel and she had intimated the Darlings would take full responsibility for her son Felix. Mrs. Darling was surprised but delighted while the substantial cheque included with the message caused Mr. Darling to smile and comment: "What's one more hungry little mouth to feed?" Felix himself took the news calmly, commenting only that "What's best for her us best for me," before burying his back in Mrs. Darling's lap. Thus was his future decided and assured.

The second letter caused much more of a stir immediately Noah spotted the banner 'Funmakers'. It was from the magazine. It must be the result of the competition. Felix sprang upright. The letter was handed to him in utter silence. With typically boyish care, he ripped the envelope open, extracted a sheet of paper, scanned it and announced breathlessly: "Jesus Christ, I've won it! I've won the competition!" He scanned the letter again. "It's Rosebud that did it, and look, Mr. Darling, just look what it says."

Mr. Darling took the letter, looked and whistled, "Well, I never." He fell into silence. "Come on, Father. Stop teasing! Tell us, oh tell us do."

"Well, Elvyn, according to this letter, someone at the magazine spotted that Rosebud Cottage is a listed building, of great historic value. It may once have been the home of Anne Hathaway."

"Anne Hatha-who?" frowned Elvyn.

"And being a listed of such historic significance it cannot be damaged, demolished, or interfered with in any way whatsoever. It seems Rosebud Cottage is safe... and so is Mr. Elmwood. The road will simply have to find another way."

The boys burst into spontaneous applause with Beau clapping the loudest.

All was joy, or should have been, but at that moment the telephone in Mr. Darling's study rang to remind us that the best laid plans 'o mice and men do indeed gang aft gley. (Ed. Robert Burns, Scottish poet) Father rose and left to learn how God's mysterious plans were working out. He returned fully ten minutes later to announce most unexpected news: Mr. Elmwood of Rosebud Cottage had passed away very suddenly. Following his lead, the entire Darling family, including their newest member, took to their knees and Father led them in prayer for the soul of the nearly departed who had so suddenly joined the ranks of the dearly departed.

All was solemn until Elwyn's unbroken voice piped up: "I say, what's that piece of paper on the carpet." Noah picked it up, scanned it, and chimed, "I say, it from 'Funmakers'. It must have fallen out of the envelope. Let me see. Yes, it's a cheque. A cheque for £50, and it's made out to Felix."

"Jesus Christ!" invoked Felix loudly. He grabbed the cheque. "You're right, you're right, Noah. There is a God!"

If there is, he was temporarily abandoned by the boys who scrambled to their feet and dashed upstairs to argue how the windfall should be spent, while Mr. Darling led Mrs. Darling into the study to give her details of the somewhat lurid details of the demise of Horatio T. Elmwood, late of Rosebud Cottage, and of this parish.

Dear Reader, Mr. Darling spared his wife the most distressing details of the death but we shall not spare you.

Mr. Elmwood was found naked, face-down on his bed, wrists tied to the bedhead, whilst Ding-a-Ling lapped assiduously at his torn, bruised and black-blue-red-and purple.... we spare our blushes if not yours. Preliminary examination indicated a massive heart attack, triggered by what will only be revealed by the inevitable autopsy. However, given that both wrists were tied to the bed, suicide had been tentatively ruled out. The most disturbing aspect of the scene, however, was none of the afore-described but the silver snake-topped walking stick rammed so far up the deceased's fundament that according to initial examination it had penetrated and lodged in his descending colon in a sustained upward thrust or several of the same.

How shall we close our story?

Perhaps with a glimpse of the four boys upstairs simply rejoicing in being boys.

Perhaps not.

Let us conclude this episode of 'Life with the Darlings' as Mr. and Mrs. Darling snuggle down for the night. Here, too, the day, like life, ends with a surprise as husband takes wife into his arms indicating he will avail himself of his conjugal rights, even though the last Sunday in the month is far off. Mrs. Darling begins to present her rear to him, but with a smile Mr. Darling whispers something into her ear. Mrs. Darling smiles, pulls up the front of her nightdress, and reaches down and find him stiff, hard, and willing.

We cannot stay. That would be indelicate. But we did hear what Mr. Darling whispered, which we now share with you.

"Darling, let's have another boy. After all, boys can be so useful."

THE END

Publisher's note:

This may not be the end of 'Life with the Darlings'. The author is currently working on a sequel entitled 'The Mystery of the Silver Snake-Topped Walking Stick'. Should there be sufficient interest we will be happy to publish and print the story, which, we are led to believe, is not for the faint-hearted. We await expressions of interest.