Twisted Oliver 5
All the usual provisos and conditions apply.
Apologies to fans of Charles Dickens for the liberties I have taken with his characters. I assume, however, that regular visitors to this website will not be too upset by the additions I have made to his story. Unfortunately my own poor efforts pale in comparison to those of the great man.
Twisted Oliver
Hugh Cox
CHAPTER 5
Author's notes:-
1. Dickens didn't give Mr Brownlow a first name. My version of the story works better if he has one, so I have called him William.
2. A `fag' in an English school was a young boy who acted as a servant to an older one and was expected to carry out chores, run errands etc. The term has no sexual or homophobic
connotations – of course that doesn't mean that sex between a boy and his fag never happened!
The handsome fifty year old gentleman stood at the book stall in the market, seemingly appraising the various tomes on offer. He was a fraction under six feet tall and, if it weren't for his greying hair and a few `crow's feet' at the sides of his eyes, he could have passed easily for forty. Over the years a number of women had attempted to catch his eye but he had rebuffed them all and remained a bachelor. At the present moment he wasn't paying any attention to the book in his hand as he was indulging in one of his favourite pastimes; boy watching. Two boys in particular had caught his attention; one of about fifteen with dirty blond hair and a younger lad of about thirteen, wearing a coat that was obviously several sizes too large for him and a hat that looked as if it was about to fall off his head at any moment. The man's attention had been drawn to this pair because he recognised that they were `on the game'; they were soliciting in broad daylight, in the middle of the market.
The man admired the boys' audacity and skill, as they approached only carefully selected targets and subtly made their pitch. As he watched; the younger, dark haired boy chatted to one of the stall holders. After a short conversation the boy sauntered off and disappeared up a nearby alley. A minute or so later, the stall holder spoke briefly to his assistant and followed the boy into the alley.
Dodger got to his knees, unbuttoned the man's fly and pulled out his semi-hard cock. This wasn't a situation like that with Mr Green; where he had all night and took the time to give the customer a pleasant experience. This was very much a quickie. He grasped the man's cock in his right hand and pulled back his foreskin. He then ran his tongue around the cockhead, pushed it into his mouth and started sucking; at the same time he massaged the man's balls with his other hand. The man quickly grew to his full six and a half inches and Dodger plunged down taking the full length into his throat. Alternating between deep throating and sucking the man's glans, Dodger brought him to climax in a few, short minutes. The man came with a grunt, pumping his juice into the boy's mouth and Dodger swallowed the entire load without a qualm. When he had finished the man handed over a few coins and turned away with a muttered thanks.
The gentleman watched as the stallholder reappeared, adjusting himself; and shortly after the boy strolled back out; hands thrust nonchalantly into his pockets as he looked for his next target.
* * *
William Brownlow was the gentleman's name and he had been a boy lover since his schooldays. In his first year at boarding school he had been fag to a sixth form boy, who had introduced him to the world of boy sex. A few years later he was a sixth-former himself, with a fag of his own; and had enlightened Edwin in the same manner. In fact he had fallen deeply in love with the boy, although he had never been able to articulate his feelings. Sexual relations between boys was one thing but to tell another boy that you loved him was just not done.
When they left school their relationship became strictly platonic and the sex they had shared was never mentioned; although they remained firm friends as adults. William, however, never lost his love of young boys and remained unmarried. He had a few unsuccessful liaisons with rent boys but somehow sex wasn't enough. He wanted a boy to love, in the way he had loved Edwin at school but that type of relationship never materialised. So at fifty William Brownlow had a life of celibacy and masturbation.
At eighteen Edwin's father had coerced him into marriage with a woman ten years his senior. A year later a son, Edward, had been born; but the marriage was not successful and the pair lived almost separate lives. Eventually, after twelve unhappy years, they had split permanently and his wife had gone to live in Rome; with their son being sent to boarding school. William had tried to like Edwin's son but found that the child took after his mother; he had been a gloomy, unpleasant boy, who had grown up to be an even more unpleasant young man.
Edwin had eventually found love with a much younger girl, Agnes Fleming. William well remembered the day, eleven years previously, when an excited Edwin had told him that an uncle had left him a substantial amount of money in his will and he was going to Rome to buy off his estranged wife. He would secure a divorce and marry Agnes who, he was delighted to say, was carrying his child. He had also shown William a locket he had bought for the young lady, to celebrate the news; it was gold and opened to reveal their initials engraved inside. Edwin never made it to Rome; he took ill on the journey and died in Paris at only thirty four. He had died intestate having made no provision for his new family; so his entire estate went to his wife and son. A distraught Agnes, finding herself pregnant, unmarried and alone had fled; neither she nor the child she had been carrying had been heard of since.
* * *
William watched the dark haired boy wander over to a doorway on the other side of the market square where he started to converse with someone who was out of William's sight. He laid down the book he was pretending to read, walked to the far end of the stall and picked up another; here he could see who the boy was talking to. It appeared to be another, smaller lad although William couldn't be sure; his view was obscured by the first boy, who seemed to be giving the younger one some instructions. A new rent boy learning the ropes he surmised. When the dark haired boy moved away, William got his first view of the other and he gasped audibly. Feeling his legs tremble, he laid the book down and leaned on the stall for support. It was as if he had been transported back in time and he was looking again the young Edwin. This boy was scrawnier and certainly more raggedly dressed but the resemblance was uncanny. His facial features, the rather sad expression in particular, seemed to be identical to the boy he had loved over thirty years before.
At that most inopportune moment a commotion broke out in the market. The older, blond boy had seemingly made an error of judgement and was being berated by a large woman who was standing next to a rather sheepish looking man.
Charlie Bates had spotted a regular customer, not realising that the man's wife was just around the corner of the stall he was standing next to. She had heard enough to realise that the boy was offering her husband oral sex in exchange for money and started yelling abuse at the lad, much to the man's embarrassment. A constable, hearing the raised voices, approached to see what was happening. He was spotted by Dodger who shouted to Charlie and Oliver to run.
Dodger and Charlie took off like scalded cats, weaving their way between the bemused customers and laughing stallholders. Oliver, however, had been taken completely by surprise and stood rooted to the spot. Had he remained like that, no harm would have been done; but after several seconds he realised what was happening and ran after the other two boys. He was too late; he found his path blocked and darted up a nearby alley to get away. It was a huge mistake, the alley was a dead end and when he realised his error and turned around, he found the constable blocking his escape. He tried to dodge around the officer but the man reached out as Oliver went past, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling to the ground. He struck his head on the cobblestones as he fell and blacked out.
* * *
When Oliver came to he found himself lying on a hard, wooden bed in a small, stone cell; it was dark, dirty and stunk to high heaven. His head hurt, he was dizzy and he was nauseous; if he'd had any medical knowledge he would have realised that he was suffering from concussion; but all he knew was, he felt awful and was afraid.
He drifted back into unconsciousness and was awoken sometime later by the sound of a key in the door. The constable walked in and said `Come on, the magistrate will see you now.'
Mr Fang, the notorious magistrate, was sitting behind his desk when Oliver was dragged into the little cage that served as a dock.
'What's your name, you hardened scoundrel?' demanded Mr Fang. 'Officer, what's his name?'
Oliver, his head still spinning, didn't reply. The constable, realising that this would only incur the wrath of the magistrate and increase the punishment, leaned over as if listening to the boy and replied `He says his name's Tom White your worship.'
`Where does he live?' the magistrate asked.
`Wherever he can,' the constable replied again, as if Oliver had answered.
`What of his parents?' enquired Mr Fang.
`Deceased,' the officer said, giving a truthful reply albeit unknowingly.
`What's he charged with?' the magistrate asked.
`Soliciting in a public place,' came the response.
At that moment there was a disturbance, as a gentleman entered the courtroom and insisted that he be heard before the proceedings continued.
`What is the meaning of this?' Mr Fang demanded. `This is a court of law. Who are you, Sir?'
`My name is Brownlow, your worship. I witnessed the incident and this boy is completely innocent.'
`If he is innocent, why did he run?' the magistrate asked.
`I have no idea,' William replied, `but I saw the whole episode and it was a different boy entirely who was the cause of the unsavoury scene in the market.'
`Well, constable,' Mr Fang asked, `have you any witnesses to support the accusation or refute this gentleman's statement?'
`Err . . . no, your worship,' the constable replied, his face reddening.
`Case dismissed. The boy is free to go,' the magistrate announced, banging his gavel on the desk.
At that point Oliver, who had never recovered from the blow to his head, fainted and collapsed in the dock.
* * *
William sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at the beautiful creature that lay, sleeping upon it. When the boy had fainted he had insisted on taking him home and looking after him. When they had arrived at his Pentonville home his housekeeper, Mrs Bedwin, had taken charge. She had bathed the boy and put him to bed in one the spare rooms; dressing him in one of William's old shirts, which substituted for a nightshirt. He had finally persuaded the lady to retire to her own room on the other side of the house and at last he had the boy to himself.
Now that he could see the boy at close quarters, the resemblance to Edwin was even clearer. If it wasn't for the difference in age they could have been brothers, or even twins. William felt an immediate emotional attachment to the boy and, without any conscious thought, leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. Once he had made that first contact he couldn't help but continue; he kissed the boy's lips and then moved down to the hollow at the base of his neck, between the collar bones and planted another kiss there. He undid the first few buttons of the shirt and pushed the material to one side exposing the boy's marble white chest. He frowned as he saw the bruising around the nipples; Mrs Bedwin had shown him the vivid stripes on the boy's buttocks and he had been horrified. `Who could do something like that to such a beautiful boy?' he wondered. He leaned in again and tongued the lad's left nipple and then sucked it into his mouth, as if trying to make the bruises disappear. He heard a soft moan from the boy and lifted off.
`Mmm . . . that's nice. Don't stop,' the boy said.
William looked into the lad's now open eyes. Any last doubts left his mind when you gazed into those eyes; this boy was Edwin's son, he was certain of it. It was beyond the realms of coincidence for two unrelated boys to be so alike. His age was right for him to be the child of the missing Agnes Fleming; but could he prove it?
`Do that again, please.' William suddenly realised that the boy was speaking to him.
`What did you say Tom?' he asked.
`My name's not Tom,' the boy replied.
`But you told the magistrate that your name was Tom White,' William replied.
`I never said that, my name's Oliver Twist. Please do that again.'
`Do what, Oliver?'
`What you were doing with your mouth, it felt really good.'
William bent over and took the boy's left nipple back into his mouth again and sucked and licked it, then moved over and repeated the action on his right nipple. Next he kissed his way down Oliver's stomach, undoing the remaining buttons of the shirt as he went. When all the buttons were undone the boy's little prick was exposed; hard against his belly and demanding attention.
He knew it was wrong but he just couldn't help himself. Taking the little cocklet into his mouth, William sucked and licked it, before turning his attention to the small ball sack with its tiny, immature contents. The man wet his middle finger and rubbed at Oliver's back door. The boy responded by raising his legs and exposing his hole for easier access. William pressed his finger at Oliver's entrance, felt it slip into the boy's passage and heard him moan with pleasure. He probed inside until he felt the nut sized gland and started to caress it gently; at the same time he went back to sucking Oliver's little dick and the boy responded by humping into William's mouth.
Oliver's breathing became shorter and more ragged and his pelvic thrusts became more insistent. William felt the boy's cocklet throb in his mouth and Oliver pushed himself into the man with one final, violent thrust and groaned with the pleasure of his orgasm.
* * *
`Why don't you tell me about yourself,' William said, once the boy had recovered. `Where do you come from and who are your parents?'
Oliver explained that he was an orphan, born ten years before, in a workhouse in a town many miles from London. All he knew of his mother was that she was an unmarried runaway who had died in childbirth. She hadn't given the father's name, saying simply that he was dead.
This information tied up with what William knew of Agnes Fleming, so he decided to tell Oliver about himself, Edwin and Agnes; and how he suspected that they might be his parents due to the remarkable likeness between the two boys. `I intend to visit this workhouse of yours and see if I can uncover some more evidence to help prove my theory,' he said.
`You don't need me to come with you, do you?' Oliver asked anxiously. He had no wish to meet Mr Bumble again.
`No, I want you to stay here with Mrs Bedwin and recover. In fact, I would like you to stay here from now on, if that's alright with you?'
`I'd love to stay here; it's so much nicer than the other places I've lived. I think you're nice too, would you like me to suck your cock now?' Oliver asked hopefully.
`You don't have to do that, if you don't want to,' William told him. He was surprised by the lad's boldness but hoped that he wouldn't change his mind.
`I do want to,' Oliver replied, his eyes shining brightly. `I enjoy it.'
William swiftly divested himself of his clothes and joined Oliver on the bed. He lay back with his head on the pillow and spread his legs; while the boy moved round to kneel between those legs in order to gain access to his prize. The man was not circumcised but his foreskin didn't completely cover his glans. As Oliver took it in his hands and pulled on the skin the cockhead slipped out easily and the boy licked and then sucked on it. William hardened immediately, growing to his full, impressive eight inches. Oliver thought it was the finest cock he had seen, not as long as Fagin's perhaps but it definitely had more girth. Oliver, as he had been taught, tongued the shaft and sucked the man's large balls one at a time. When he returned to the glans he was delighted to see plenty of pre-cum oozing from the slit and feasted on the sweet nectar; looking up as he did so, to see William head back and moaning in ecstasy.
Oliver took a breath and, remembering the tips he had been given by Dodger, put the large cock back in his mouth and swallowed its entire length until he felt his nose against the man's pubes. To say that William was amazed would have been a huge understatement; he very nearly shot his load there and then. Oliver gave him the works, deep throat, sucking the top half of his cock and licking his glans; every time the man seemed about to cum the boy switched attention to his balls. When the crisis passed, he went back to his cock, bringing him to the edge once more.
Eventually William could take no more, `Let me cum now Oliver, please,' he implored the boy. This time when he approached his climax, Oliver took William's cock into his throat and he felt him shoot the first spurt directly into his stomach. The boy then pulled back, until just the head remained in his mouth, so that he could gather the remainder on his tongue and savour the salty taste that he loved. When William had finished, Oliver swallowed his cum and milked his cock until it became too sensitive and the man could take no more.
William slumped back on the bed. `That was incredible!' he exclaimed. `Where on earth did a boy your age learn how to do that?'
Oliver grinned proudly and told William how he had started sucking Mr Sowerberry's cock; and how Dodger had taught him to do it properly. He also told him about Mr Bumble; a nasty experience that had become pleasurable in the end and had shown the boy that sex with men could be fun.
`What about those marks, Oliver?' William asked. `How did you get those?'
Oliver's smile vanished as he explained about the evening he had suffered with Monks. `It's the only time I didn't enjoy myself with a man. I definitely don't want to do anything like that again!' he said with feeling.
`I would like to meet this man Monks,' William said. `What he does to boys is despicable. Do you think you could find the place where he took you?'
Oliver shook his head, `No, it was dark and there were lots of twists and turns. All the buildings look the same.'
`I don't suppose we will ever find out who he really is,' said William.
Suddenly, Oliver's eyes opened wide. `I think I know what his real name is!' he exclaimed. He told William about the letter and the name he had seen.
William's sat up straight. `Describe him to me,' he demanded.
Oliver gave a brief description of the tall, dark man with the dour face and the quick temper. `Do you know him?' he asked.
`Yes, I'm afraid I do,' William replied. `My friend Edwin's surname was Leeford and his son is called Edward; he certainly matches your description. If I'm right about Edwin being your father; then Edward Leeford, this Monks, is your half-brother.'
To be concluded – All's well that ends well?
Constructive comments welcome at hughcox69@gmail.com Flames will be ignored.
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