Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2012 12:20:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Commercial Traveler #12

All the usual disclaimers apply:

+This story is a work of fiction.  If you think it is real, you have a very
active imagination.

+Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do
so.

+Scenes of sexual activity between an adult male and young boys are
represented.  Do not read further if this offends you.

+Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot
accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story.

If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

A tip of the hat to 'R M' whose Text-A-Boy stories were my inspiration for
this series.  Thanks' 'R M'!  (Text-A-Boy Service - part 1 is in the
archive, 18 Nov 2008, and the whole series is a fun read!)

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Support Nifty!   Joe

____________________________


THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELER #12  ( Roger and Dink )
(copyright 2012, Joe Hunter)

Call me Jack.

Like I explained in the first few stories - I'm 37, a boy lover and I fly
around a lot on business.  A spare cell phone keeps me in contact with a
string of young companions and most of the time when I go anywhere, I'm
already hooked up...

-----------------
| Destination:  |
| Ft. Smith, AK |
-----------------

It was a grey day.  Cloud cover extended from horizon to horizon so I
turned the headlights on in the rental and tested the wipers as I drove
away from the Fort Smith airport.  But it was only a precaution.  No rain
was forecast, tornado season was over and the air had been soft and gentle
as my commuter flight made its instrument descent.  Still, Arkansas weather
was changeable and I kept the radio tuned to a local station to get the
forecast.

At the busy highway I turned east, away from my motel and the industrial
park where the client and I would conference the next day.  There was no
rush.  I had already checked into the motel by phone and I was a day ahead
by design because Roger had given me an excited call the week before.

"We got no school for like two days, Jack!  Try to come early!"

I had already given him a heads up that I would be arriving later in the
week so he had been calling every day to make plans.

"What's with no school?"  I asked suspiciously.  "It's not a holiday."

Both Roger and young brother Dink were fully capable of ditching school to
spend more time with me.  In fact, that would be a typical Roger ploy.

"For real, Jack!  It's like a teacher conference.  We get two whole days!"

In the background Dink's high excited voice demanded, "What's he say?
What's he say?"

"Teachers' conference, huh?"

I considered it.  Why waste the opportunity?  I could use a vacation day.

"Okay," I told the phone.  "I'll be there a day sooner."

"Yeah!"

Roger was definitely pumped.  I heard him tell Dink, "He's doin' it!  He's
comin' early!" and there were excited squeals from the younger sib.

"Listen," I said.  "You still want the MegaWar game?"

"Yeah Jack!  Please, please, please..."

"Okay, you got it..."

And so I made arrangements to leave a day early; but not before making a
call to Fort Smith school district and verifying that there was a teachers'
conference.  I trusted Roger - but only so far...

It was the tail end of morning rush-hour and traffic was thinning as I
turned into Roger's neighborhood.  This was a big development of
split-level homes, built 30 years before to attract upwardly mobile middle
class families, now entering the long slow descent into suburban decay.
Patches scarred the asphalt road surfaces, curbs were crumbling, and the
tract houses no longer had a uniform appearance but varied in landscaping,
color and state of repair.  There were pickup trucks instead of commuter
sedans and the cars were all compact Jap brands one major repair bill away
from the junk yard.

At that time of day no one was around.  I parked halfway down Roger's
street in front of an empty house with a bank foreclosure sign in the front
yard and walked the rest of the way, carrying my travel bag.  The boys had
the blinds in their front picture window halfway up, our signal that it was
safe, so I went around to the back, noting that as usual the grass needed
cutting.  There was a sun bleached patio deck with loose boards and a long
disused above ground pool, algae floating on the rainwater collected at its
bottom.

The back door opened, two excited grinning faces appeared and the moment I
was inside the kitchen Dink jumped on me yelling, "Jack!  Jack!"

Roger, after a quick hug, grabbed at the travel bag.  "Did you bring it,
Jack?"

Helping him with the zipper I got the bag open, dug the game out and Roger
held it up, admiring the cover picture of a snarling soldier in green
battle fatigues.

"Wow!"

"Lemme see, lemme see!"

Dink was all over him, trying to get a look and Roger lowered it so they
could admire the game box together.

My eyes were on the two boys rather than the game box.  Roger, my favorite,
was a slender but well-built 12-year-old with dark brown hair that curled
over his ears.  Snub nosed and with a fetching smile he had boy-next-door
features that photographed well in any light.  Despite being indifferent to
sports, Roger had the smooth supple lines of an athlete - a swimmer or a
dancer - and he moved with a natural athletic grace.

His brother, nine-year-old Dink, was all slimness and quick darting
movement.  Slender as a girl, he wore his hair the same length as his
brother but it was straight and several shades lighter.  Dink's big dark
eyes and straight nose gave his features classic beauty and despite the
slim fragile appearance he was as beautifully sculpted as his brother, with
a firm mounded butt and smooth shapely legs tapering to dainty feet.
Although prettier than Roger, Dink lacked his older sib's sensual
imagination and instinct.

Both boys loved to pose and role-play, Roger in particular, and Dink
because he liked doing whatever Roger did.  I had my camera with me, but
for now all their attention was on the new game and of course that had to
be played first.

Two excited boys led the way into a living room sparsely furnished with a
few old chairs and a medium-sized TV set.  Smudges on the painted walls and
traffic marks in the wall-to-wall carpet gave clues to where a sofa and
other items had once been.  Roger turned on the TV and the three of us
settled on the floor next to the boys' Xbox.

"Still no cable, huh?"  I observed.

"Nah," Roger shook his head.  "She keeps sayin' she's gonna' get it back,
but she never does."

The cable had been a fading memory with the boys since before I had known
them, gone along with lots of other things since their father had deserted
the family.  Left alone most of the time and thrown on their own resources
the boys had long since found other ways to amuse themselves.

Within moments the game was plugged in and the boys were exploring it,
Roger showing surprising patience with Dink who immediately rushed into
everything and got killed.  The boys were on their stomachs, weight
supported on their elbows, game controllers in hand, and I got comfortable
between them to watch the play and caress each in turn through their
clothes.  Both wore tight blue jeans, faded from countless washings, and
the soft denim was a snug fit around their slim waists, round butts and
firm slender thighs.  Up top Dink had on a tight Power Rangers T-shirt that
clung to the delicate willowy contours of his upper body.  Roger's sturdier
build was concealed beneath the folds of a loose black shirt decorated with
warrior figures from a fantasy game.  It was a shirt I had bought for him
from the same head shop in the mall where I had met the two boys several
years before.

As my hands roved over their young bodies the boys worked their
controllers, talking excitedly to me and each other about the action on the
screen.  We never spoke about the physical things we did together,
acknowledging them only in the language of signs and gestures.  When my
palm cupped the jutting curve of Dink's little butt he tightened it for me
and then spread his legs so my fingers could trace down the inner seam of
blue jeans.  Roger slid closer to me and my hand slid up under his loose
shirt to stroke silky waist and back.  These were the opening moves in a
ritual we always followed, a ritual the boys looked forward to and enjoyed.

Roger's body felt warm and firm under my touch; no softness, skin stretched
tight over muscle and bone.  The boy had that perfect combination of
hardness and fragility that is the beauty of a young well-formed boy.  He
might have been a model for the Donatello David, or a slim page, lithe yet
strong, riding in the train of the Black Prince.  There was a subtle hint
of fuzziness in the hollow of his back and when my fingers brushed over it
the boy wiggled even closer, pressing his hip against mine.  I traced up
the hollow of his spine, fingers sliding over each tiny bump and then
caressed the sculpted contour of warm smooth shoulders.  Roger kept his
eyes on the screen, watching his game, and when his fingers moved on the
game controller the muscles of his upper body shifted under my hand.

On my other side Dink's legs were spread wide and my fingers stroked along
the inside seam of the tight denims, pushing beneath the crotch to rub a
tiny swell of hardness that could be felt there.  Now and then my palm
might drift up over the back of rounded thigh, onto the mound of butt and
from there onto the tight cotton shirt to caress Dink's slim elfin
loveliness through the cloth.  The boy was dainty and slight, slender and
willowy, but not skinny; the contours of his pretty form were firm as his
brother's and his lovely thighs and butt just as perfectly rounded.  Like
Roger, Dick remained focused on his game while I petted and caressed, but
whenever my fingers explored the hard swelling in his crotch, the curve of
his butt tightened.

Both boys were barefoot.  I leaned back to play with their pretty feet,
caressing smooth skin, feeling delicate little bones and tickling ever so
gently, just enough to bring giggles without distracting the boys too much
from their game.

Dink squirmed a bit to rub his crotch on the rug, impatient for my hand to
return to its work there, but Roger spread his toes, arched his foot and
pressed against my stroking fingers.  I knew from experience the longing
this boy had for the comfort and sensual pleasure of being touched, petted
and admired.  His denim jeans were looser than Dink's and there was just
enough room for my fingers to slip up past his dainty ankle to the smooth
warmth of lower leg.  Roger pointed his toes to flex the calf muscle for
me.

On my other side Dink wiggled his little hips and pushed a foot against my
side.  With a quick squeeze of his calf through the tight jeans I followed
the inside seam up his leg and the slim boy lifted his butt, making it
easier for my fingers to push under the crotch and press on the tiny hard
lump beneath the fly.

Roger shifted, too, half rolling to the side and taking a hand off his game
controller long enough to fumble at the front of his pants.  When I pushed
under his shirt the waist of the jeans was loose and my circling palm slid
them downward exposing silky mounds of hard butt cheeks.  Roger never wore
any underwear when I visited.  I stroked, cupping the glossy curves and
tracing a forefinger along the crease.

On the screen Dink had rushed into another ambush and he squealed in dismay
as his character was blown up.

"Roger!"

"Do it Like this," his brother said, demonstrating the moves to navigate
through the scene.  "You gotta' get that guy before he throws a grenade..."

He squirmed to reach forward and reset the game, a stretch that brought his
jeans down even further and while Dink made another try I massaged Roger's
tight little buns, squeezing gently, sliding a fingertip up and down along
the crack, using the movements of my hand to push the jeans to Roger's
thighs.  He lifted and my palm slid over the glassy smoothness of his hip
to tug at the stiff denim, first on one side and then the other.  Inch by
inch the pants were coming off.

Blam!  A bright flash and explosion filled the TV screen and Dink crowed in
triumph, "Yeah!  I did it!"

"Stay on my right," Roger told him.  "The next part's a lot harder."

Squirming, he pulled his lower legs up so I could slide the jeans off
completely, and then as I tossed them aside he wiggled even closer to me.
I gave him a tender caress with my palm, rubbing on the silky gloss of the
boy's thighs, sliding up to the mounds of his perky butt to massage for a
bit and then circling back down again over the smooth firm perfection of
muscular leg.  The boy gave no sign that he noticed, concentrating on his
game, but when I pushed ever so slightly he parted his thighs allowing my
hand to slip into the satin warmth between and glide up into his crotch.
My questing fingers rubbed at the base of his tight little nut sack, I felt
the boy quiver as he squeezed his butt and then my fingertips were in his
crease, fingering his boy hole, sliding back and forth over the clenched
pucker.

"Eeeek!  Roger, help!"

Dink had rushed headlong into another ambush and he half rolled against my
side onto my lap, frantically working his controller with both hands, but
his game character disappeared amid a firestorm of loud explosions.  Had it
been his usual lack of caution?  Or was it an excuse to get my attention
and be where my stroking hand could slip around to the front of his jeans.
The boys always pretended not to notice what I was doing, but if I got too
busy with one the other was sure to do something that would get attention
back on himself.

"Geez, Dink!  I told ya'!  Stay on the right!"

Roger had to reset the game but he was surprisingly patient with his
reckless little sib and while he pointed out the traps to avoid I rubbed
the front of Dink's tight pants where a hard little peener was making a
lump beneath the cloth.  When he had rolled onto my lap the Power Ranger
shirt had ridden up exposing the boy's taut waist and my fingers drifted
onto the warm bareness there, skin glossy and thin as cellophane, stretched
tight over firm tummy muscle, every line of definition revealed.

With Roger leading and giving instruction the two boys refought the level
and each time Dink fired a weapon or advanced his character I stroked his
exquisite silkiness, poking a fingertip into his tiny belly button, tracing
the vee of delicate rib cage, circling my palm around his lean waist and
always pushing the skin tight shirt up further and further.

Blam, blam!  Boom!  Whooooosssh!

"Roger, I'm doin' it.  I'm doin' it!"

The small boy wriggled in excitement, maneuvering his soldier character and
at the same time lifting himself so I could push the shirt off his lovely
chest.  Dink's upper body was beautifully formed, all satiny smoothness and
silky grace, combined with an active young boy's hard clean lines.  And
like Roger he was all mine, a living poem of boyhood squirming on my lap,
half rolled against me, glancing up bright eyed to be sure I was watching,
wanting to be caressed and admired, longing for my touch.

Booooommmmmm!!!

Explosions filled the screen and Dink threw up his hands cheering,
"Yeeeaaahhh!  We did it Roger!  We did it!"

I tickled the boy and he writhed in happy celebration, stretching with arms
extended, and then Roger was there tickling along with me and together we
got Dink's shirt off, pulling it free as the little brother squealed with
laughter, delighted at being the center of attention.

"Watch, Jack!"

Roger leaned over to lick Dink's tiny nipples and the small boy squealed in
pleasure stretching out even more and spreading his legs.

"He likes that," Roger told me with a grin.  He nuzzled the hard nipple
points again, wiggling his tongue while Dink giggled and reached under
Roger's loose shirt grabbing at big brother's stiffy.  I was fumbling with
the metal button in the waistband of Dink's jeans, but Roger wanted the
spotlight back on himself.  He tugged on me.

"C'mon, Jack!  Lemme' show you how I get through this next part!"

This time, instead of stretching out on his stomach the boy leaned back
against me, head resting on my chest.  He was covered to the waist by the
loose black shirt, but his slender prettily muscled legs and glossy hips
were bare to be admired, and even though the lower edge of the shirt
covered his boner the bulge from the four inch stiffy was very obvious and
I had my eye on it as he picked up the controller.

"Check this out, Jack!"

With rapid manipulation of buttons Roger put his character into action and
almost instantly was assaulted by a squad of zombie soldiers swarming out
of the bombed out buildings surrounding him.

"This is like a real hard part," the boy assured me, pushing buttons to
throw grenades and fire a machine gun.  Explosions burst all around and
Dink stretched out across my lap, half rolled onto his side, eyes glued to
the screen and his controller in both hands as he joined the action.

"Take those guys on the right!"  Roger ordered, and the slender little boy
wiggled, attempting to use body English as well as the control buttons to
get his character into position.

Blam!  Blam, Blam... Whooooshhh...

There were explosions and then a rolling cloud of burning gas from a
flamethrower.  Zombies shriveled into charred skeletons.

"Yeah!"

Roger turned for a quick excited glance at me and then his attention went
back to the screen.

"See, Jack!"

I put an arm around him for a hug.  "Way to go, Tiger!"

The boy squirmed, happy because his plan to show off for me had worked and
I moved my hand around on him, sliding the cloth of the black shirt over
silky smooth warmth.

"Eeeek!"

Dink rolled back on me, thumbs working his controller as more zombies
poured from the cellars.

Blam!  Whooooshhh... Roger sent a grenade and another tongue of flame in
that direction yelling, "Use the phosphorus grenades!"

Dink was trying, fingers racing over the buttons and as the new attackers
were incinerated in flashes of white heat I slid my own fingers over his
bare chest and sweet little tummy, rubbing and caressing.  The boy remained
half rolled up on his side, making it easy for me to stroke a palm down
over the front of his jeans feeling the tiny hard swelling there and
rubbing back and forth over the curve of his hip.

"Vrooooomm... Clank!  Clank!  Clonk!

There was a roaring of some huge engine, a mechanical clanking, and at the
far end of the street a ruined building collapsed, bricks avalanching into
the street raising a cloud of debris.

"Monster tanks!"  Roger yelled and both he and Dink turned their characters
to meet the new threat, but before they could even launch weapons there was
a flash and a huge explosion.

"Shit!"

Roger's controller dropped to his lap and he stared at the screen where his
character lay sprawled beside Dink's, both ripped apart, lying in pools of
blood.

"Roger!"  Dink squealed in dismay.

The older boy twisted around to glance up at me.  "I ain't figured that
part out yet."

"Where you been playin' it?"  My hand stroked his taut waist through the
shirt.

"Over at Jason's" Dink told me, rolling to stretch across my lap and stare
up.

"Yeah an' Jason don't know how to get past that part yet either!"  Roger
said.  He tugged at my hand and I slipped it under the edge of the shirt
where his hard little boner was jutting straight out, the slick shaft ready
to be stroked by my sliding fingers.

"I know you guys will figure it out," I told them.

A button push by Roger reset the game and the boys attempted the level
again, Dink rolling back to his side on my lap so he could watch the screen
while my palm rested on his warm little chest and firm tummy, caressing and
petting.  Now and then I would circle down over his jeans, rubbing a
fingertip on the lump of hardness straining beneath the front and caressing
the young boy's firm little thigh and rounded hip.  My roving hand detected
no underwear seams and yet there was a hint of something under the thick
denim, something smooth and tight stretched over slick glossy skin.

I had to know, and while my left hand stayed busy on Roger's stiff boy
spike, rubbing beneath his loose shirt, the fingers of my right fumbled
with the waistband of Dink's skintight jeans.  I had to try several times
before the metal button would come undone, and then the stiff metal zipper
refused to slide down, but without looking at me or giving any other sign
Dink shifted position so I could tug harder on the tab.  Even then the damn
thing would not slide, but just then the screen flashed in another
explosion and the boys got blown up again.

"Crud!"  Roger muttered.

Dink wiggled, using the opportunity to take one hand off his game
controller and help me with the zipper.  A moment later I had it down and
my fingers slipped inside finding warmth and thin satin tightly stretched
over the jut of Dink's little stiffly.  I felt around, confused because
there was no piss opening, and then realized it was not boy underwear.
Dink was wearing a little girl's panty brief.

Eyes sparkling and with a sly little grin the young boy glanced up at me,
squirming his hips so I could work the tight jeans down revealing a lovely
blue panty and a pair smooth pretty thighs.  Dink giggled as I brushed
fingertips over the glossy rounded curve of his leg muscle and squeezed to
harden himself when my palm circled onto the satin panties, finding the
rigid little spike tensing up the stretched cloth.  When I tugged again at
the tight jeans he drew up his knees and Roger paused the game to reach
over and help me slide off the pants as Dink pulled his slender legs free
one by one.

"What's with this?"  I asked, gesturing at the blue panties and both boys
giggled, Dink wiggling on my lap with both hands covering his face.

"I swiped `em at the mall," Roger explained, sliding a hand over the shiny
cloth just as I had done.  "He likes wearin' `em.  I got like a handful
from like this bin an' sneaked `em out."

Fumbling at the elastic Roger pulled the panty down so I could slide thumb
and forefinger on Dink's stiff two inches.  Like his brother the young boy
was cut and my fingertip rubbed up over the blunt little tip finding a hint
of slippery moistness at the slit.

"He likes dressin' up in all girl stuff, like mom's scarves an' things,"
Roger continued.  Then he leaned close and whispered.  "We done his fingers
an' toes this one time.  Like with mom's nail polish.  He liked it, but
that stuff don't come off!  We had to hide it for a week!  If my mom found
out..."

He drew a finger across his throat.

Dink's hands were still covering his face but I could see the gleam of his
eyes peeking at me through the splayed fingers.  I squeezed his rigid
stiffy, tickling his tight little nut sack with my pinky finger and he
squirmed, giggling.

Now both my hands were fully occupied with hard rods because I was still
stroking Roger beneath his loose shirt.  The boy returned to his game for a
while, trying various moves to get through the difficult level but after
getting blown up twice more he put his controller down, half turned to hug
against me while my fingers rubbed harder and then said eagerly, "Can we do
pictures, Jack?"

"Absolutely..."

With a tickle, digging my fingers into his taut firm tummy, I made Dink
giggle, curl into a ball and roll off my lap.  Then I got up and dug the
digital camera out of my duffel bag.

"Me!" Dink pleaded, bouncing to his feet.  "Me, Jack!  Me first!"

The boys loved 'doing pictures' as they called it and we had a session
every time I visited.  Both were photogenic with a natural flair for
suggestive posing, but there were limits to what they would do and I had
found the best way was to let them set the pace and shoot pictures while
they played to the camera.

We always started with Dink, the livelier and in some ways more provocative
of the pair.  Neither boy had ever been willing to pose nude, but Dink
would get closer to it than Roger and now, wearing only the sheer blue
panties he curled into cute positions on the floor while I moved around
snapping shots.

Then Roger joined the game and the two brothers started a playful wrestling
match that gave me plenty of opportunity because, while nudity was out, the
boys allowed 'butt shots' and when they were tussling, young rounded
buttocks were nearly always on view; Roger's loose shirt was constantly
slipping up on him to bunch around his shoulders and Dink's tiny brief was
often half pulled off.

The wrestling always finished with a pose the boys particularly favored;
Dink acting the part of 'loser', sprawled face up over Roger's knee, eyes
closed and body limp in simulated death.  Roger in the role of 'victor'
facing the camera in proud triumph.  Both boys sported boners, Dink's an
obvious bulge under the tiny stretched brief and Roger's hidden beneath the
hem of his shirt but tenting up the thin cloth in a way I could catch with
the right angle on the shot.

This bit of playacting launched the boys into a pretend game of 'soldiers'
and I was expected to record with the camera while they chased each other,
firing imaginary weapons and 'dying' in spectacular ways.  This was another
part of our regular routine and the roles Dink and Roger assumed were
always based on their current video craze.  This time, as soldiers, they
found a dozen ways to ambush each other and 'die'; spinning around,
tumbling to the floor and lying motionless in lifeless sprawls they always
tried to make provocative as well.

Dink was somewhat better at this than Roger, arranging his silky young body
in graceful arching, arms and long slim legs artfully placed in ways
emphasizing his slender delicacy.  Here, as in the wrestling, 'butt shots'
were allowed and each time he was 'shot' Dink would assume a final death
sprawl only after squirming and twisting to get his panty down in back.

Less adept than his brother, but more photogenic and with a better body,
Roger also sought ways to show off for the camera.  When he was 'killed' it
was nearly always next to a chair or cushion that he could drape himself
over, keeping his shirt down far enough to cover his stiffy if he was on
his back, but more often kicking and rolling to get onto his stomach, shirt
bunched up around his shoulders and everything showing.

Now and then the boys interrupted the action to crowd around and review
their images in the little screen on the camera back.  They were severe and
demanding critics of my work and never shy about expressing their opinion.

"I look sucky in that," Roger might say, giving me an accusing look.  Dink,
when he found a picture he disliked, would cover his face with his hands,
shake his head and moan, "No, no, no, no!"

Images that did not meet with their approval I was instructed to delete,
and I always promised that I would – later...

On this occasion the boys' game ended with a mutual barrage of imaginary
explosives and when neither would agree to 'die' they tackled each other
and went back to wrestling on the floor.  This gave me more excellent 'butt
shots' until Roger decided to finish things by putting Dink into their
favorite over-the-knee face-up `death hold'.  He held his slender sib in
place with one hand on the knees and the other under Dinks chin, pushing
the little boy's head to the floor.  Dink pretended to struggle, writhing
and flailing his arms, and then when Roger did the pretend `back breaker'
Dink gave a long agonized, "Ahhhggghhh" and 'died', lying motionless, eyes
closed, arms flung outward.

As always in that pose, both boys had boners and I snapped off shots from
as many angles as I could before Dink rolled, still limp and lifeless, to
the floor.

"Nice!"  I told him, crouching down for a few last close-ups.  Then I began
tickling, digging my fingers into Dunk's little tummy.

"Eeeeek..."

The boy squealed, coming back to life instantly and curling into a ball.
Roger jumped on my back and I reached around to pull him down so he could
be hugged and tickled as well.

"Ooooo...  I gotta' pee, Jack!"  Dink pleaded, laughing so hard he could
barely get the words out.

I let up on him and with a grip on his weenie he scrambled off toward the
bathroom, pale little butt glistening because the back of his panties were
pulled way down.

The moment he was gone Roger was tugging at me.  "Now, Jack!  Now...  Take
a picture!"

Struggling, and in his haste nearly tearing it, he yanked off his shirt,
tossed it aside and leaned back on the floor with one knee pulled up, eyes
glowing with excitement.

"Like this, Jack.  Like this!"  Then, with an anxious glance he begged,
"Don't show my dickey!"

I wanted to.  Oh, did I want to.  It was right there, a beautiful four
inches of slick shiny boy dick, thickened a bit because Roger was beginning
to grow, with a sweet round circumcised tip sparkling from a drop of
moistness on the tip.  But there was no way I would ever violate the boy's
trust.

"Don't worry," I whispered back, taking the first of many shots.  "It won't
show."

I moved around Roger taking pictures from every angle, not worrying about
the framing since I could fix that later.  Posed nude, the boy was so
incredibly perfect I longed for better backdrop or more professional
lighting.  But Roger had never given me such an opportunity before and
there was no time, no time!  He kept his eyes on me, pretty features alive
with excitement as he arched and pointed his toes, flexing his young sweet
body into dramatic tension that brought out its subtle lines of definition
and elegance of form.

Roger's eyes kept flicking to the hallway where Dink had gone and I knew he
was anxious, but this only heightened the thrill for him of doing a secret
forbidden thing.  Eyes sparkling, face glowing with excitement, he flirted
with the camera lens, sometimes coy, sometimes mischievous, sometimes in
total abandonment, displaying himself as I had never seen him do before.

I kept shifting position, following his lead to capture from every angle, a
full partner in this dramatic moment the boy was creating.  Imagination
took flight, replacing our dull background of bare room and worn carpet
with the vast historical panorama of Fort Smith itself, and in mind's eye I
saw Roger as a young boy loading guns for men fighting off an Indian raid
on the wagon train.  An instant later he was a Civil War drummer boy,
slipping into the tent of some favored soldier to share a bed on a cold
night.  Then he was in knickers, waving a flag for Teddy Roosevelt; a
ragged boy of the Great Depression picking coal by the tracks...  A Boy
Scout bringing in a rubber tire for the scrap drive in World War II...  A
tanned shirtless boy in tight shorts riding his flag decorated bike on a
Memorial Day in the 60s...  Naked in the garage with his best friend,
playing with each other, trying pot for the first time...  The boy next
door...  The perfect young boy...  In bed at night, exploring himself under
the covers, fascinated by his changing body...

There was a sound of a toilet flushing.

Roger scrambled across the floor to grab his shirt while I hastily stuffed
the camera away in my bag and when Dink came back Roger's shirt was on and
we were pretending to wrestle.  With a happy squeal Dink joined in, jumping
on my back and then giving a shriek of delight when I pulled him around to
tickle.

"Jack... Jack... Jack..." He giggled, and kicked his legs, squirming in
pleasure, my fingers digging into his taut narrow tummy.

This was all a part of our regular routine, because after picture taking
more was allowed and both boys were eager for what they knew was coming
next.  The wrestling was now only an excuse for me to strip them and Dink
wiggled, pretending to struggle as I pulled down the panties.  On my other
side Roger curled into a ball, laughing and grabbing at my ticking hand,
his loose shirt already bunched around his shoulders.  He kicked and
squirmed in mock resistance while I held him and Dink pulled his shirt the
rest of the way off.  Then once he was stripped Roger helped me get Dink's
slim pretty legs free of the panties tangled around his ankles.

Both nude boys tumbled over me like puppies, all pretense of wrestling
abandoned as they tugged at my shirt, pants, boxers and socks until I was
as naked as they were.  Then both of them dove on me, grabbing at my stiff
man rod, fighting for favored positions, rubbing as much of their young
silkiness on mine as they could while my hands caressed their silky warmth.

Dink's slim body stretched face up across me, stiff two inch pricklet a
hard spike between his thighs, and when my thumb and finger rubbed he
squeezed his little butt in excited pleasure.

Roger was so aroused that the very first touch of my fingers on his rampant
four-inch boy stick bucked his hips and he wrapped arms around my neck,
jerking in a quick spasm against my side.  Then he pulled a knee up over
mine so he could grind his quivering rod on my hip.

I rubbed both rigid boy shafts, loving the feel of the slick stretched
skin.  My sliding fingers brought Roger to a second jerking buck, but Dink
was impatient with mere fondling.  Wiggling around, he took command of the
action.  Straddling both brother and my chest, he leaned forward, pushed
his stretched ass back into my face and stuffed the thick head of my
jutting shaft into his mouth.

This was a trick I had originally taught to Roger, one Dink had gleefully
copied and now went for every time, a preemption of older brother's
privilege that could spark jealous conflict if not headed off.

Fortunately I was in position to give Roger a favorite treat.  Grabbing his
mounded butt, I pushed fingers into his crack, found his hole and slid in a
forefinger, wiggling it around in the hot moist cavity.  Pressure on the
tiny nub at the root of his dickey brought Roger into a heaving squirming
spasm.  He tightened his arms around my neck, bucked, humped and then
ground his rigid four inches back and forth on my thigh.

With older brother distracted it was safe to pull Dink's sweet ass close,
squeeze my tongue into his tight little hole and give him an enthusiastic
rimming while the cheeky devil went to work on my blunt tip with mouth and
skillful fingers.  The young boy wiggled his butt like an excited puppy and
for even more fun I reached awkwardly around his leg, grabbed his stiff
pricklet and stroked.  Dink's mouth was full of my hardness so all I heard
was a muffled squeal, but there was a throbbing in the tyke's gut and the
stiffy I was holding pulsed so fast it was like the ticking of some
mechanical toy.

At my side Roger squirmed, having finally caught on to the younger sib's
presumption.  He pulled Dink into a new position, stretching him out on top
of me, face up and slender legs sprawled to either side of my hips.  Then
Roger perched on both of us, butt in my face, mouth sucking my jutting man
rod and his four inches between Dink's parted lips.  My tongue darted into
Rogers tight chute, thrusting deep and the boy arched at the penetration,
moaning with delight and straining his lovely thighs apart.

We were a tangle of butts, dick's, arms and legs.  First one boy and then
the other had his mouth working on me, and then it was a triangle with Dink
sucking me, Roger sucking Dink and Roger's stiff four inches up to the hilt
in my mouth.  I curled my tongue around his shaft, wiggled fingers in his
tight boy hole and Roger heaved and jerked, his boner throbbing.

There was more tickling, another squirming tangle; the boys were stretched
out over my chest and stomach, Dink going one way, Roger the other.  Both
had their arms flung behind their heads, both were arching and straining as
my fingers pumped – and then two boys were bucking, jerking, gasping...
dicks pulsing in throb after throb.

Giggling, tickling...  The sound of boys' delighted laughter...  Smooth
warm silkiness sliding all over me...  The scent of heated boy in my
nose...  Passionate demands, "Me, now me, Jack!"  Glossy young hips
squirming and grinding against my side...

"Eiiiii..."

Dink squealed as my fingers stroked him, pulsations throbbing in his hard
little dickey...

"Uhhhhhhhhh..."

It was Roger's turn, the boy's lovely body arching in tension while Dink
sucked his tight nut sack and I rubbed.

"Uh...  Uh...  Jack...  Oooooo..."

A pulse jerked him and then another, and another.  Slippery wetness
dribbled off the tip of Roger's boy stick, running over my stroking
fingers.

"Uhhhhhhhhh..." The boy collapsed onto the floor, panting and shuddering.
"Jack...  Jack..."

I caressed him, and Roger hugged around my neck, sturdy young sweetness
locked against me while my palms slid over his firm shoulders, the tapering
back, his hard round butt.

"Ooooooo...  Oooo, Jack..."

And then Dink was squirming against us, demanding attention and soon the
youngster was sandwiched between us, slim body writhing as he was assaulted
from both sides and we were all in a pile on the floor, tickling and
laughing.

"Roger!"  Eyes glittering with excitement, Dink grabbed his brother and the
two boys huddled for a moment, Dink whispering into his brother's ear.
Then Roger was tugging at me.

"Jack, did you bring that stuff?  Dink wants to know if you got that
stuff."

I pointed to my duffel and Dink scrambled to get it, his pink bottom
wiggling.  I produced the tube of KY and with a happy squeal Dink pounced
on it, squeezing out globs to smear all over his older brother's stiff boy
rod.  Then he knelt on the floor, thighs spread and butt stuck up in the
air so Roger could lube his dainty little pucker.  Almost before I could
blink Roger was hunched over his younger sib, wiggling to sink his
four-inch spike in Dink's butt.

He turned his head to beg, "Jack...  Do that thing!"

I crawled into position behind him, ready to do my part in our routine.
Roger's thighs were spread wide to straddle Dink's and I rubbed the blunt
head of my man tool, tip slippery with pre-come, beneath the boy's tight
little sack.  Then, leaning over his back, I let the full-length of my
shaft lie in his crease.  It was a thing Roger had always liked, my stiff
rod slip-sliding in his crack while he squirmed against Dink's butt, and I
was settling into a comfortable position ready to help the boy enjoy
himself when, unexpectedly, Roger reached back, took hold of my slick shaft
and pushed the blunt end right into his petite virgin hole - a hole already
slick with lube from all the finger poking we had done.

Apparently slip-sliding in the crack was no longer enough and something
more was wanted.  Something like, 'Knock on the Back Door.'

Never one to turn down an invitation I not only knocked, I entered.

Roger gave a little yelp as my slickness crashed through, deflowering him
with a sudden pop.  Only my head made it in, but to the virgin boy it was
probably like being filled to the brim and for a few seconds he arched,
quivering, his outraged sphincter clamping like a vice.  But lust conquers
all.  After a shocked flutter or two Roger's Guardian of the Pass
surrendered and soon the boy was joyfully humping his younger sib while I
went along for the ride, my one inch tip stuck fast in Roger's tight little
hole.

Up front Dink was having his own fun and since nothing ever took long with
these two in no time at all he was squealing and pushing back, arching to
shove his pert little bottom against big brother's thrusts - and quivering
to what appeared to be a succession of tsunamis within.  Roger pounded
away, hips pistoning against Dink's stretched ass like a machine.  Suddenly
he tensed, arched, shuddered – and then he was jerking and heaving.
With a squeal and tussle all three of us collapsed in a heap and my tip
popped out of Roger's behind as the two boys squirmed around to straddle
me.

"Now, Jack!"  Dink giggled, grabbing my cock and rubbing wildly with a
small fist.

"Yeah!"

With a grin Roger joined in, pulling one of my knees up and sticking a
finger into my ass.

With all the enthusiasm of youth both boys went to work, their smooth slick
bodies wiggling on me like eels as lips, tongues, fingers and even
pricklets were used to bring me off.  When my final release came Roger's
four inches was jammed in my mouth, both boys' fists were pumping my tool
and Dink was squirming between my legs enthusiastically sucking my nuts.
The first heaving jerks of my hips were greeted by delighted cries and the
boys scrambled into position to intercept and slather themselves with the
thick spurts of cream my bucking loins were delivering.

The thing was cataclysmic.  Just when I thought it might be over Roger
stuck a finger in me triggering a second round of pulsing, almost painful
contractions.  Dink held my throbbing rod like a hose and caught the
additional watery spurts in his open mouth.

"Uhhhhhhhhh..." I gasped, shuddering.

For several moments I lay sprawled, panting and spent, while the giggling
boys slithered around on me with their warm, sperm slick bodies.  Then Dink
assumed his favorite position, straddling my chest, butt hole in my face
and lips and tongue working in an attempt at reanimating my limp noodle.

Roger, who knew the fun was over for now, squatted at my head offering his
four-incher.

"Come tomorrow, Jack.  You gotta'!"

"Mmmmpfff."

I tried to get a few words past a mouthful of boy stick, withdrew for
moment and said, "Maybe.  We'll have to see.  Call me at noon."

"You gotta'!  You just gotta'" the boy insisted, stuffing his length back
in again.

Tongue and fingers brought the boy to another peak, producing several jerks
and bucks of pleasure - and then of course Dink and to be done, too, or
sibling war might have resulted.  Rampant, insatiable in their passive
ardor, neither boy ever wanted to stop, but reality in the form of a mother
due home from work demanded it.

"C'mon, Jack!  Promise to come tomorrow," Roger pleaded as we got dressed.

"Yeah, Jack," Dink begged, tugging at my arm and then hugging.  "You
gotta'!"

With a fond smile I stroked both their heads.  "Ninety percent.  That's the
best I can say.  You know I don't ever promise unless I'm sure."

"Yeah..."  Roger gave a grudging nod.  He stared up at me.  "Promise you'll
try!"

"You know I will."  With another smile I pointed to my duffel bag and both
brothers scrambled for it, tussled, and then Roger bore it to me with Dink
still holding one of the straps.

"This is for both of you," I told them, drawing out a plastic sack that was
instantly pounced on.  "It's play stuff.  It'll wash right off with water,
so you won't have to worry about your mother finding out."

"Yeah!"  Dink exclaimed, watching as Roger brought out stick after stick of
water soluble body paint.

"Let's try it now!"  Dink was already on his feet, but Roger grabbed him.

"Mom's gonna' be home soon."

"Awwwww..."

The young boy knelt back down, eyes glowing as he examined the new
treasures.

"You gotta' come tomorrow, Jack," Roger pleaded again.  "You just gotta'!"

"Like I say, ninety percent.  You know I'll try."

When I left, sneaking out the back of the house, two excited young faces
peered out between the window curtains.  I waved, grinning, knowing already
that the conference with the client in the morning would only go through
lunch.  There would be a whole afternoon to spend with the boys.

The important question was, would there be time to shop for some play
cosmetics and a few gauzy things Dink could model for us.

Hmmmmm...

Walking to the car I checked my watch and decided to hit the mall before
heading for the motel.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Hope you enjoyed it!  This story is the eleventh of a twenty-four part
series that features the same central character.  There will be something
for everyone - single hook ups, doubles, twins, first times and hand offs.
Drop me a line if you have a favorite chapter (I do, but won't reveal it).
Look for a new chapter or two each month.

----------------------------------------------------

Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment,
my e-mail address is:

			hunterjoe45@yahoo.com

I will try to answer all serious mailings.  My on-line access is very
limited.  Rants and ravings will not get consideration.

To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with
contributions and keep the Archive online.  Check the Nifty home page for
ways to make contributions.  Without this Archive those of us who write for
you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out.

You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe
Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the prolific authors list.  I
hope you will read and enjoy!

All the Best.  Joe