Date: Mon, 19 Dec 2016 22:28:48 -0500
From: TheRhymer@cheerful.com
Subject: Cody the Boy Stud, Chapter 2-5

Cody the Boy Stud, Chapters 2-5
by Rhymer
(mast, inc, con, Fb)


*****

This story is 100% fictional, the product of my imagination. It's about a
pre-teen boy with a special gift, in an alternate/future reality where the
age-of-consent is 10 years old, as it was in reality before about 1880. He
has sex with other boys, his mother, and eventually becomes a professional
"boy stud," so incest and older/younger sex is involved. If those things
don't appeal to you, then read one of the other 235,000 excellent stories
on this archive.

Please support Nifty with your donations. It's their sole form of operating
expenses, and the site takes up a lot of bandwidth.

If you would like to comment on any of my stories, please email me at
TheRhymer@cheerful.com. I'll read all your emails, but can't guarantee I'll
respond. If you have anything you'd like me to try writing, ask. I'm not a
fan of rape, forced sex, bestiality, or abuse, though.

Now, on with the show!

*****


Chapter Two: Minimum Requirements

Cody slammed into the house three weeks later, crowing at the top of his
lungs, "Mom! Mooooo-oooom! I've figured out what I want to do with my
life!"

I decided to take a break. "Well, Cameron?" I called. "Have you figured out
what you want to do with your life?" All I got back was an indecipherable
grumble and something that sounded like "horny brat."

When Cody burst into my office, I pointed him to the couch before he could
say anything, and he plopped down there. "Let me guess. Porn star?
Professional horndog?"

"Yes! No! Kinda!" He waved a paper at me. "We had a career day today! There
were all these people who told about what they did for a living! There was
even this! Mister Porter didn't like it, but he said there was nothing he
could do to stop it since the Sexual Rights Amendment!"

"Whoa, whoa. I was *joking*. And I hope you are. Slow down. What is this?"

Grinning smugly, he handed me the rumpled sheet, and I read it with growing
amazement. "You have gotta be kidding me. The porn industry is recruiting
at grade schools now?"

"The recruiter said it was a wide-open field with incredible growth
potential! And that it was about time Americans were able to express their
true sexual freedom after centuries of repression!"

The flyer read:


NATIONAL BOY STUD PROGRAM Open to Boys Ages 10 to 16

Parental Approval Absolutely Required!

The NBSP is a new and evolving performing arts group dedicated to expanding
our society's new-found sexual freedom in a dignified, fun, and completely
legal manner, bringing into the fold younger citizens now of consenting age
and showing the world how wonderfully sexual a young person can be. We are
organized under the aegis of the National Young Sexual Performers
Organization, which also includes the Lusty Loli, Teen Stud, and Tasty Teen
Programs. Qualifying boys can graduate to Teen Studs and Super Studs as
they get older. Income derives from videos, photo essays, streaming events,
and live performances. Feature films are planned for the future.

Musts:

Minimum Height: 4' 6" Minimum weight: 65 pounds Slender, well-proportioned,
athletic body (muscles okay) Cute face Complete dentition (no missing
teeth) No tattoos or obvious scars Clear, unblemished skin (freckles okay)
No STDS, past or present Drug-free Outgoing, friendly personality Strong
sex drive

Minimum Penis Length: 7 inches Minimum Penis Girth: 4 inches

Minimum Endurance: 1 hour Multiple orgasms required in that time period
Copious ejaculate preferred Sexual experience preferred but not mandatory

Beneath it all was a color photo of a handsome dark-haired boy of around 12
with his hands on his hips, wearing a tight racing swimsuit that left
little to the imagination. The caption read, "Danny Boy, our first boy
stud! Income to date this year: $712,000."

I crumpled up the paper into a ball and threw it at Cody. "I can't believe
you got this at school!"

He caught it and smoothed it out with a dignified expression that looked
oddly compelling on his sweet little face. "The recruiter says it's one of
the logical outcomes of SRA. No more exploitative kiddie porn if it's legal
and regulated and us kids want to do it," my little boy said.

"How could it possibly be legal?"

"It just is now."

"Well, forget it, buster. That bit at the top that says Parental Approval
Absolutely Required? It ain't happenin'." I tend to fall back into my
Southern accent when upset.

"Why not!" he hollered.

"I don't want my kid displayed to the world like a hunk of meat, screwing
every little girl or skag they put in front of him!"

He stood up and stomped his feet, like he had when he was a toddler. "In
six months, you won't have the right to say who I can and can't have sex
with!"

"According to this, I have the right to say you can't join this, this,
abomination of a program!"

He burst into tears. "I wanna do it!" he wailed.

"Oh. My. God." I looked up. "Look, kid, yeah, you're special. You've
apparently got a prostate like a firehose. But nobody your age is going to
meet those requirements. A ten-year-old boy with the ability to fuck for an
hour straight? No freakin' way. And you don't fit the physical requirements
-- you're too short, you've got a belly, and you've had an
appendectomy. Plus that last tooth hasn't come in yet." And as he fumed, I
realized that his dad had topped out at six inches, penis-wise, and from
what I remembered of my brothers, they hadn't gotten that far. And a
ten-year-old? If Cody had a four-inch erection, he was damned lucky.

So I struck with the cruelest cut of all. "And come on, a seven-inch penis?
Good luck there. Maybe when you're 20, if you're lucky, but no ten- or
11-year-old kid is going to make the grade. Probably not more than a few
16-year-olds, either. So in six months," I sneered, "maybe you can present
your little dinky to Missy Etheridge and hope she takes you on, but this is
a rock-solid NO from your parent."

The tears dried up instantly, and his face went from red to livid. "Did you
just make fun of the size of my penis?" he said in a shaky voice, and I was
surprised to realize his voice was shaking with rage. "You *did*. You're so
mean. Well, fine. I'll show you." And he turned and unhurriedly left my
office. He didn't even slam the door when he got to his room.

When the boys came down for dinner tonight, I saw that Cameron was studying
the wrinkled flyer with his usual disgruntled scowl. Without a word, he
handed it back to his brother, who tucked it under his plate. For once,
Cody didn't say much at dinner, right up until the end. Then he said
abruptly, "I'll make you a deal, Mom. If I can exceed all the minimum
requirements, can I apply?"

I lowered my head to the table and felt like banging it against the
wood. "I'm sorry, hon. Even if I weren't against it, it would be
impossible. Your genetics are against you. It's not gonna happen."

"But what if I could?" he said sweetly, and I looked at him oddly.

"And what if could flap my arms and fly to the moon?" I responded.

"That would be awesome." He leaned toward me, his gaze burning into
mine. "If I could exceed all the requirements, would you let me apply? Give
me one year."

Sighing, tired of this silliness, I threw my hands in the
air. "Fine. Whatever. If you can exceed the requirements, not just meet
them, then you can apply."

And that was my undoing. Because when you tell Cody there's no way in hell
he can do something, he'll find a way to do it anyway. And I forgot that he
was a "mutant" -- and besides, I didn't know about his secret weapon.



Chapter 3. Boy Stud in Traning

The next day, a sign went up on Cody's door that read "BOY STUD in
Traning!!!" in his curly cursive handwriting. I thought it was hilarious,
and I didn't want to damage his esteem any more than I already had, so I
left it up.

A week into his "traning" he very politely asked for an early tenth
birthday present: a weight bench and a set of weights. I thought "Why not,"
and got him one. It wasn't much, but soon I could hear him clanging the
weights around in his room. Soon after, he started going out running every
morning before school.

I also noticed that his red church tie was wrapped around the doorknob more
often than not. I knew what that meant for college boys, but surely not for
my half-pint. I snorted in laughter. Maybe I should make that "my quart"!

I learned that it meant exactly what I thought it did several months later,
and also learned that I might have made a very bad deal, when I burst into
his room unannounced to get his dirty clothes and caught him in the middle
of a "traning session." He shrieked, "Moooooom! Don't you knock? Didn't you
see the tie?" But it was too late. I'd already had a free shot, and I shut
the door to as I left, wide-eyed and chagrined.

In that brief instant, I'd noticed the backsplash made of plastic sheeting
and piping he'd arranged around him, probably one of his brother's
inventions since Cody wasn't that good with constructing things, but mostly
I'd seen his slim, tanned body, his belly almost completely flat now, and
the hand clenched around his young boyhood -- which protruded *at least*
three inches above his fist. Probably more. Holy shit; that was
something. Just from his penis size alone, I might lose my bet.

I felt a twinge in my hot, gooey center at I hustled down the hall back to
the mud room, and tried to banish the sight from my thoughts. It wasn't
like I'd seen much, but those inches were well proportioned, with an angry,
fleshy head that surely wasn't as big as it looked.

I sneaked back and saw that the door was ajar just a tad, but that he was
too lost in his "traning" to notice. Now he had one hand on his erection
and another massaging an erect brown nipple, and I could see that the Penis
Fairy had in fact been very generous to my youngest. Or maybe it was just
that his hands and frame being so small, it looked like he was very
well-endowed. I had no idea, but I was worried.

And then he growled, and moaned, and I got a superb demonstration of why he
had been so put out by the surprise volume the first time he'd
masturbated. A long jet of boy-come spurted out of that big cock, arcing
over his head to strike the backsplash, followed by six more that went as
far, and a couple that peppered his face and chest and belly. No wonder his
eyes were shut so tightly. The streams of white goo that hit the backsplash
trailed quickly down to a kind of lip that funneled it into a plastic tube
that led to a reservoir. Clever.

Clever, clever, clever.

He just laid there and shivered for five minutes, his whole body stiff. As
he started to relax, I got out of there before he saw me.

And then, God help me, I forgot all about the laundry and ran to my room,
where I jilled off to visions of my young son coming buckets.


About a week later, Cody came down to my office, freshly showered and
dressed only in shorts (as he so often was these days), and demanded,
"Measure me!"

My eyes widened as my eyes went his crotch, which was fortunately
flat. "Um, isn't that something you should do, in private?" I said
nervously. "I don't think it's right for a mother to—"

He rolled his eyes, smirking. "Not my *penis*, Mom! My height!"

As it happened, I usually measured the boys' height on Christmas Eve, there
on the jamb of my office door, but it was only August. But why not? I took
the tape measure out of its drawer and he stood up straight in front of the
jamb, and I marked where the top of his head was, making sure he wasn't
standing on his tippy-toes. The new mark was significantly higher than the
last, and when I checked, it was a hair under 4'5".

"Almost there!" he crowed. "I'm going to make it by my birthday!"

"Uh-huh," I said weakly.

"Hey, I'm having a growth spurt, you know. Everywhere." He grinned happily
as his hands went to the zipper of his shorts. "Wanna see?"

"No!" I yelped. "No, I do NOT want to see, you naughty boy."

"Gosh, Mom, you look a little flustered. Afraid you might lose your bet?"
He stepped within a foot of me, and I could smell the clean scent of the
soap and, under it, the musk of growing boy. "Or is it... something else?
Do I make you horny, baby? Do I make you *randy*?"

He stepped back, laughing brightly like the young boy he still was. "Ha ha!
Got you! That was from Austin Powers!"

He bounced out of the room, and I was mesmerized as I watch his muscular
butt through his shorts. I realized that his little root beer belly was
gone, that I'd actually seen six-pack abs, and muscular development in his
arms and chest.

And I felt a spike of jealously toward that little slut Missy Etheridge,
who wasn't going to be able to resist my little charmer if this kept up.


Chapter 4: Success

Nine months and three days after my promise, when he was several months
into his tenth year, Cody, Boy Stud in Traning, announced at dinner time,
"I think I may have 'em covered."

"You may have what covered, squirt?" Cameron asked, glancing at his best
friend Clive, who was eating dinner with us. Clive was a strapping
14-year-old who looked a lot like an older Cody, and he was good for
Cam. My oldest son had been acting a lot happier since they'd started
palling around together.

"You know, the minimum requirements," Cody said happily, popping an
asparagus spear into his mouth and chewing, grinning the whole time.

Oops.

Cameron said, "Minimum requirements...?" Then a light bulb went off over
his head. "Oh, you mean that Boy Stud thing? Really? This I gotta see."

"I'll show you later," Cody said primly, taking a swallow of iced
tea. "Clive too, if he wants."

Clive just nodded, and glanced at Cameron. "Not too surprising,
considering..."

"Considering what?" I demanded, looking back and forth between Cameron's
face and Clive's as they both blushed.

"Ha ha! Considering Cam has *eight inches* and learned to squirt long
before I did!" Cody crowed. "Betcha didn't expect that, lay-dee." He'd
called me that jokingly since he was a toddler.

The other boys turned redder.

My jaw about hit the floor. "You have *got* to be kidding me. You're not
even 13, kid!"

Cam shrugged, looking at his plate, while Clive said, "Runs in
families. They got lucky in the genetics lottery, I guess."

I swiveled toward him. "And how would you know that, young man?"

If possible, Clive went even redder and turned his eyes away, and I
could've sworn Cameron nudged him. "Um, you know, locker room talk. Boys,
uh, we look at each other. Compare... stuff. Ya know?"

I sighed. "If you mean 'junk,' yeah, I do know. I have three brothers." I
looked at Cody sternly. "Apparently, someone has been sharing his measuring
tape."

The little imp just grinned smugly and kept eating.

I didn't believe a word of Clive's explanation. I figured he had personal
experience with all eight of Cam's inches. Well, I couldn't stop them, and
they seemed pretty mature about it. I just hoped they weren't sexting
stupid or posting crap on PornTube.

But I wasn't sure about Cody, since he seemed pretty firmly hetero. And I
wondered if Cam had built that backsplash I'd seen Cody use for Cody... or
for himself. He'd always been good with his hands.

Deciding to think about Cameron later -- after all, he seemed pretty happy
(most kids with eight-inch penises would be, I figured, whatever they used
them for)-- I said, "I just don't know where all this is coming
from. Uhhh..." how could I put this delicately? "That kind of size doesn't
run in either of our families."

"Toldya! Pre-Teen Mutant Ninja Boy Stud!" Cody hollered, pumping his fist
in the air. "Missy Etheridge, look out!"

"Hush, you."

"Maybe his uncles on his dad's side have big ones," Clive said, smiling
slightly.

"No, I know for a fact they're average," I blurted, and immediately wished
I hadn't.

"Oh?" Clive said archly, "and how do you know that, young lady?"

I swallowed hard, and this time I was the one who turned red. I didn't want
to tell them that Dion and I had shared beds with his two brothers more
than once, so I said, "Locker room talk."

"Uh huh."

"Did you get bitten by a radioactive snake or something when you were
younger?" Cameron asked with a straight face, and I chucked a broccoli
floret at him.


Chapter 5. Consequences

The next day was a Saturday, and Cody came downstairs for breakfast
whistling the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle theme song. Cameron was out
somewhere with Clive, probably boning, if I remembered myself from that
age. That's when I'd met Dion and we'd gotten started.

When I turned around, my eyes widened. I hadn't expected this. Cody wasn't
naked, but he might as well have been. He was wearing a racing swimsuit
meant for a boy his age, but it wasn't exactly tailored for his unexpected
endowment, so the trunks were very tight and revealing. If I hadn't already
known, I might have been able to tell his religion.

Oh, and he also held a measuring tape in his hand, the kind tailors
use. "Could you please measure me, Mother?" he asked in a sugar-sweet,
slightly husky boy voice. In his other hand he held the well-crumpled
National Boy Stud Program sheet, which he put on the table.

Without a word, I marked his height on the door jamb, then slapped the tape
under it. "Four foot six and a half," I said tightly.

"Yay!" He spun around happily, like a little ballet dancer, and my breath
caught as I took in his long legs, his honey-tinted, smooth skin, and the
flat, ridged stomach from all his recent swimming. His hair was getting a
little shaggy, but it looked good on him. And his rear was tight and flat,
with just a hint of little boy roundness. My son was growing up.

I also noticed something missing. "Where's your appendectomy scar?" I
demanded.

He looked at me innocently. "Did you know they sell special creams on the
'Net that make scars go away? They really work. But if you look close, you
can see it right here." He traced a line on his side, and when I leaned
over to look at the tight, muscular flesh, I could see a faint scar. I
could also smell his clean boy scent; oddly, he smelled slightly like
cinnamon, my favorite spice, and I salivated automatically.

*Ah hell*, I thought, and swallowed hard.

When I pulled back, he was looking at me oddly, his mouth set in a faint
Elvis smirk, which I would have called "sultry" if he wasn't ten and my
son. *My quart*, I thought crazily.

"We're not done," he said softly, and glanced at the tape in my hands.

Eyes wide, I blurted "Yesweare," all in one word, and threw the tape on the
table.

He put his hands on his hips, legs wide apart, in a Peter Pan
pose. "Nope. I gotta prove it to you that I won, so let's go over the list,
lay-dee."

He picked up the list and a pencil and got ready to check things off.

"Minimum Height: 4 foot six. Beat it!"

Then he dragged over the bathroom scale I keep in the kitchen to check my
weight. He stepped on, and the pointer went to 73. "Minimum weight: 65
pounds. Beat it!" he said triumphantly, grinning that wide, delighted smile
that was going to send skirts and panties tumbling to the floor in droves
someday. Sooner than I expected, actually.

"Slender, well-proportioned, athletic body! Muscles okay! Got it!" he said,
twirling around with his arms up in the air. The weight training, running,
and swimming had really paid off.

"Cute face! Got it!" No false modesty there. He checked that off, too.

"Complete dentition! No missing teeth!" He grimaced at me, showing his
perfect teeth. "Check!"

"No tattoos or obvious scars! Check!"

"Clear, unblemished skin! Freckles okay! Check!"

"No STDS, past or present. Never had sex, so check!"

"Drug-free! Check!"

"Outgoing, friendly personality!" He led out his arms, as if to say, "Tah
dah!" and grinned that shit-eating grin of his.

"Strong sex drive! Double check!"

"So you say," I chimed in.

"Oh, you *know*, Mother. You watched me that one time," he said with a
smirk. I didn't bother to deny it; I just blushed.

He looked up from the list. "Time to get the measuring tape again. Moment
of truth," he said in that husky boy voice, and I couldn't help but
noticing that monster shift in his trunks. Holy cow, what was I going to
do?!

"I can't."

"You have to," he said, very super horribly seriously. "I need to prove it
all to you so you can't back out of your promise."

He shucked out of his trunks, and I could only stare as he stroked his
half-hard penis to full erection. It was the biggest I'd ever seen, and on
his young boy's body, it looked even larger. Obscenely large. The skin at
the base of his penis, and his bulging scrotum, were innocent of hair,
which somehow made it an even more erotic sight. I couldn't help staring.

"Ahem," he said, looking straight at me. "Minimum penis length: 7 inches."
His voice had gone husky again. "Please measure from the top, okay, so no
one can say I cheated."

"I... I think you're supposed to measure from the side..."

"The top." He cleared his throat. "The top will be good enough, Mom."

"Top it is." I picked up the measuring tape and stretched it over that
pubescent monster, trying not to touch it directly; though I did
accidentally graze his purplish glans with one knuckle, causing him to
wince. When I pulled the tape back and stretched it out, it read 7.25
inches. I reported this to him, and his smile lit up the room. "Check!" he
said, shooting me a thumbs up with both hands. I was trembling as he said,
"Now girth, please."

There was no way I was going to be able to do that without touching his
hard maleness. It was one thing to look, another to touch. Not that it was
illegal or anything. I glanced down at it and he flexed his peritoneal
muscles, causing his cock to jump as he laughed delightedly. "It looks good
to me," I said, mouth dry.

"C'monnnn... you promised," he cajoled. "Gotta prove it to you before I can
prove it them, you know."

"Okay then." I quickly wrapped the tape around the widest part of his
pecker, and got a feel of it for the first time. Like all erect penises I'd
held, it felt like velvet over a spongy hardness; but it was warmer than
most, and throbbed. He winced, looking pale, and I wondered if the blood
supply necessary to maintain this erection was cutting off the blood flow
to his brain. I withheld a giggle even as I felt a frisson of pleasure
thrill through my lady parts. When I took away my hands and did some quick
figures in my head, I reported, "4.25 inches girth."

"Woohoo!" He punched the air. "Check!"

"Let's *check* that again." I very carefully rewrapped his cock with the
tape and drew it tighter, then rubbed my hand down the top of the shaft to
make sure the skin wasn't bunched up under the tape, and he shivered.

"Don't do THAT!" he cried, and as I smoothed down the underneath, gasped,
"It's very sensitive right n-AHHHHHHHHHH!!! "

And he cut loose. Like a firehose.

I've had facials before, mind you, but never from a kid, new age of consent
or no, and never in such mass quantities. I've seen bukkake videos where
the woman got less cream from ten men than my little boy provided for me
alone. He shot his hips forward and fucking gushed all over me. I stopped
counting at the tenth jet, and by then my face was completely covered, my
blouse and skirt were sodden and sticking to me, and I was thinking, *Oh
yeah, my little "quart" indeed*.

Aloud, I shouted, "HOLY FUCK!" It was all in my hair, up my nose, on my
forehead and lips (I quite liked the slightly musky taste when I liked them
dry), and on the table and the tape and the floor. Finally, I retreated to
the sink to wash my face, and threw a roll of paper towels in his
direction, saying, "Clean that up, young man!"

He was very quiet, and when I turned back to him after about five minutes
of scrubbing, I saw that he was still tensed and rigid, sitting in a
kitchen chair now, his cock slowly deflating as he shivered his way to
recovery. He hadn't even touched the towels, which had rolled into his
puddle, so I snatched them up and cleaned up for a good five more minutes
before it got all crusty, and shoved the soiled paper towels down as deep
into the garbage as I could.

A minute later he opened his eyes and said brightly, "Copious ejaculate,
check!"

"Go and clean up while I take a shower!" I yelled.

He shook his head. "We can't. One more requirement on the list. Gotta show
you I can have multiple orgasms in an hour. How about three?"

"Yeah, right," I sneered. "Maybe the first was spurt spurt spurt, but the
next ones will be dribble dribble at best. I'm not sexually naïve, you
know."

"Oh, no," he said calmly, as he got up to get a big drink of water. I
watched him as he guzzled it down, then drank another. His body was sheened
with sweat, and his hair stuck to his forehead; he was actually very
seriously horribly cute. Rehydrated, he looked at the clock and said,
"Okay! We have like 44 minutes for the other two."

"There won't be another two!"

"There had better be!" he snapped, his eyes suddenly blazing... and with
more than just anger, I thought. Was he a little hot for his old Mom? "You
promised, and you always keep your promises!"

He had me there. And besides, I didn't want to fight anymore. I wanted to
see what this little stud could do... and I definitely wanted to play with
him. I hadn't had sex for too long, and my body was flush with pleasure and
desire. Maybe it was something in the semen that was drying on me, but I
wanted more. "Okay," I said.