Page 6 of Molly Boys

Francis sashayed across the room, then paused in front of a large bowl situated on top of the dresser and filled it from the matching jug sitting beside it. He picked up a muslin cloth and a bar of soap and washed his flagging cock as Dickie watched him.

Once he was finished, Francis moved back to the sofa, dropping down onto the seat. He stroked his cock with a slow, almost lazy movement as he drew an appreciative gaze down the boy’s body. Dickie may have only been a couple of years younger than both Everett and Francis, but he seemed so naive and innocent and so very eager to please.

“Come here, Darling Dickie.” Francis crooked his finger with a teasing smile. “Suck me back to hardness and then you can ride my cock.”

Dickie gave an angelic little smile and with a quiet hum of pleasure dropped to his knees in between Francis’ spread legs, pressing his face into his groin and licking like an eager puppy.

Everett reached forward and picked up the fluted pipe. He leaned over the lamp and allowed the flame to heat the bowl, releasing more of the vaporised opium. After a deep pull, he relaxed back into the chair, watching his friend and Darling Dickie.

Francis looked the very picture of debauchery; if Ev could have painted him at that moment, the portrait could have only one title.

The Pleasure of Sin.

Francis’ hair was ruffled from having Ev’s fingers tangled in it. His rouged lips were smudged, staining his mouth and chin deep red. His silken robe was hanging off his smooth shoulders, revealing his tightly laced corset and his naked groin, and between his spread legs, Dickie was swallowing down his cock like it was the only thing he was born to do.

Ev took another long drag from the pipe, enjoying the cloudy spinning feeling in his head. His arse throbbed, and when he shifted he could feel the wetness of Francis’ release between his buttocks.

From his seat opposite the two fornicating men, he had a salacious and unhindered view. He watched in a drowsy haze as Dickie climbed onto Francis’ lap and sank down on his generous cock. Ev gave a slow, languid blink, feeling all the tension drain from his body. He vaguely remembered something had been bothering him earlier, but when he tried to recall what it was, it flitted away like a moth dancing in the pale moonlight.

Instead, he watched Dickie throw his head back, moaning in delight as that huge cock drove in and out of his tight hole.

Ev blinked again and his hand, still clutching the pipe, fell into his lap. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, Dickie was on his hands and knees moaning like a whore while Francis rammed his cock into him. The firelight flickered over their glistening skin, drawing lulling shapes that danced.

He closed his eyes again and this time slid into the inexorable sweetness of oblivion.

* * *

The streets were still dark as Charlie left the house in Islington. The first pale strains of pre-dawn would soon illuminate the grimy streets with an eerie glow, but for the moment there was a peaceful stillness, almost as if the world were holding its breath.

Waiting…

His arse ached pleasantly with every step, and his well-used cock was sore against the rough material of his trousers. The hour was late by the time the Colonel had finished with him. Not that Charlie was complaining, he always enjoyed his time with the vigorous older man. The colonel was a rough but generous lover.

In fact, he’d enjoyed himself so thoroughly he’d missed the last tram back and there was no chance of him reaching his lodgings before they locked the doors. With no alternative available, he’d spent a few hours kipping on a chaise in the parlour, knowing that his lordship wouldn’t mind. It was why Lord Francis had purchased the house in Islington, so boys like him would have a safe place to indulge without risking trawling through Hyde Park. They weren’t prostitutes by any means, most of the young men such as himself were gainfully employed elsewhere.

His Lordship gave them a place to indulge their needs and no money ever changed hands, unlike some of the other molly houses in London. The house in Islington was one of the safer places he knew of, with entry by invitation only. It minimised the risk, but they still had to be careful. The magistrates may have stopped hanging his kind but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t serve hard time if he was caught by the peelers.

He pulled his collar tight. The damp chill of the early hours seemed to sink right into his bones, causing him to shudder. Hurrying down the narrow misty street, he felt another shiver skitter down his spine on sly, spindly fingers– only this time, it wasn’t from the cold.

He stopped and turned back to look, certain someone was following him. His eyes narrowed but all he could see was the foggy, dim street behind him. With a small frown, he turned and hurried on; he didn’t have the time to dawdle as he had a fair distance to cover before dawn. The trams wouldn’t be running this early and his employer would not take kindly to his late arrival.

Focusing on the uneven cobbles beneath his feet, he turned down a darkened alley. There was more than a bite to the air, which probably meant snow before long. His fingers were already stiffening as he clutched the collar of his coat to ward off the cold.

He reached the end of the alley and turned, drawing up short when he found an abandoned hand-drawn cart. Frowning, Charlie glanced around, unable to see anyone as another bank of low-lying fog rolled across the road. Approaching the cart cautiously, he peered into the back and, to his confusion, saw a fair-sized crate, open and lined with hay, the lid propped against its side. Beside it was a small hammer and a pile of iron nails.

Deciding it was none of his business, he turned sharply and found himself colliding with a heavy chest. Charlie stumbled back a pace, his gaze skimming the man he’d collided with. He was a giant, standing almost two heads taller than Charlie, with shoulders so wide, Charlie doubted he’d be able to fit through a doorway without turning sideways. His hands were huge, his fingers thick and his knuckles dusted with wiry black hair.

Charlie’s gaze was drawn slowly upwards, past the man’s worn woollen coat to his thick neck, a jaw covered with a coarse, dark stubble, and lips set in a thin line. The rest of his face was cast into shadow by the brim of his shabby bowler hat.

“Pardon me, sir,” Charlie muttered as he attempted to step around the huge fellow.

The stranger simply stepped with him and continued to block his path. A small flutter of panic beat against Charlie’s ribs as he sucked in a breath and attempted to step to the opposite side, but once again the silent and unnerving giant moved into his path.

“Sir.” Charlie squared his narrow shoulders, holding his spine ramrod straight so as not to betray his unease. “Please stand aside.”

The man did not move, nor did he speak. Charlie felt cold fear trickle down his spine, as if he’d been doused by icy shards of winter rain.

“Shall I call out for the constable? I passed one not one street back and he was heading in this direction,” he lied, trying to present a confidence and authority he did not have.