Date: Tue, 22 Mar 2016 18:56:11 +0000 (GMT)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Mennonite Tight 2

MENNONITE TIGHT
By Zachyboy
with special guest author Benjamin Thurmond
M/b, oral, anal

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This story is a work of fiction. Benj and I laid the groundwork, but we'll
leave the particular masturbatory details entirely up to you. Feel free to
grab your nearest bottle of lube or hand lotion for optimal pleasure. If
it's illegal to read this story where you live, it sort of begs the
question, what are you doing here? As always, no actual children were
touched, sucked, licked or ding-donged during the making of this motion
picture.

Please support the Nifty Archive Alliance. Your donations help keep the
fantasies soaring.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

On with the show.

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CHAPTER 2. WITH SAMUEL

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Samuel was 13 years, 6 months and 22 days old when I fucked him. He
squirmed at first and looked uncomfortable, but after the first few
minutes, we found our rhythm, and at that point, he wrapped his naked
ankles around my waist, pulled me in tighter and kissed me back hard while
I rutted and deep-stroked inside his hot, pretty, boy pussy.

When I got to Eli's house, his two boys were already on the porch, sitting
there waiting for me. Fully dressed in the Mennonite way. Light blue
shirts. Black pants held up by suspenders clipped on the waistband. Black
work shoes. Rounded wide-brimmed hats with a black band around the
middle. They were beautiful.

As I put my car in park, the little one whispered something in the bigger
one's ear. The big one didn't answer, just followed my approach with his
eyes. Nervously, I suspected, since he knew before the night was over my
dick would be up his bottom.

I smiled and extended by hand as I approached them on the porch.

"Afternoon, boys," I smiled genially. "I'm Mr. Blake."

The older of the two took my hand and shook it steadily. He had a good,
strong grip for a boy. And his hand was dry. "I'm Samuel," he said in a
soft voice just past puberty. "This here's Caleb."

I let go of the big boy's hand and offered it to the little one with a
renewed grin. "Pleased to meet you Samuel. Pleased to meet you Caleb."

The little boy giggled. "Formal," he whispered to his brother. "Like
church."

We stood there a moment taking each other in. These boys were a sight for
sore eyes. Brownish hair, with the little one blonder with wides, pretiest
eyes and the fullest lips you can imagine. From the very first minute I saw
him, I was already imagining my cock passing over the cusp of those lips,
and those little strong hands wrapped around my shaft length, helping me
guide it inside him.

"I suppose your Pa told you what I'm here for," I said simply.

The little one giggled again. "You're here to put some sex up our rumps,"
he smiled.

The older one nudged him. "Shush, Caleb. Mind your talk."

It was heartening and cute, almost. The bigger one telling the littler one
to watch his language, when all three of us knew my dick would be in their
buttholes soon enough. That was my deal with Eli. His sons for mine. A
whole night. A swap. A cum as you are party.

"Will you have some supper with us, Mr. Blake?" the older one offered. "I'm
to offer you some supper if you're hungry."

"No thank you, Samuel," I told him, "I already ate." I let my eyes wander
up the leg of his black hemmed pants to notice a small but boyish bump in
the crotchal region. My mouth began to water in spite of myself, wondering
just exactly what Samuel's 13-year-old boy cock might taste like.

"In any event, let's step inside," I suggested. My dick was hard the minute
I saw these boys. I'd driven 250 miles that day, and just came from a
little town diner where their father had jacked off quietly under the booth
while he told me how I could best bed his boys. Not to be greedy, but I was
ready to dispense with the small talk.

Samuel, polite host and well-behaved to a tee – and I expected no less
from a Mennonite boy – offered me lemonade and asked if he should take
my boots off.

"I always take my dad's boots off for him when he comes home," he said
simply. "I can take yours off if you want."

Little Caleb giggled. "Samuel likes feet stuff," he said.

"Shush, boy." his brother warned him.

I sat on the couch with my lemonade, and Samuel knelt gently in front of
me, subservient and yielding, but with no loss of dignity, as he slowly and
expertly, with strong, firm 13-year-old hands, tugged at the base of my
boots, sliding them effortlessly from my feet and my ankles. He carefully
placed them at the side of the couch. Lined up. In perfect order.

"I can rub your feet if you want, Mr. Blake," he said quietly. There was no
resignation or embarassment to his tone, only a willingness to please
me. Sincerity.

I reached down and lifted his chin with my fingertips. Lord, he was
pretty. He looked at me with wide, accepting eyes.

"Let's go upstairs to your room, Samuel," I said. "I think we both know
what I really need."

He stood and nodded at me. "You stay down here, Caleb," he said to his
brother. "Mr. Blake will come fetch you when we're done."

Caleb giggled. "You're fixin' to put your seeds up Samuel's rump hole,
ain't you, Mr. Blake?"

"I am," I told him. "And when I'm done, I'm going to some more up yours."

He blushed pure red, but I looked down and saw a little spike in his
pants. I knew round two of this adventure was going to be just as
fulfilling as round one.

Samuel led the way to a modestly furnished boy's bedroom up the stairs and
down the hall. I don't know what I expected exactly from a Mennonite
boy. Kerosene lamp and homespun quilt? But no. It looked like a standard
boy's bedroom, sans excessive electronics, with a comfortable single bed,
dresser, nightstand, and even a Philadelphia Eagle's poster on the wall. A
Pennsylvania Mennonite boy was apparently still an Eagles fan. Erotic,
unexpected and completely charming.

Samuel looked not exactly scared, but apprehensive when I came to him at
his bedside and slowly closed the door behind me. After all, he'd done this
with his own father before. Been penetrated and inseminated. The act itself
didn't frighten him so much as the newness of the man. Me.

"You're not scared, are you Samuel?" I asked him kindly.

"Some," he shrugged. "We just met."

"It's okay," I told him. "I'm not one to be scared of."

He relaxed. His shoulders untightened a little.

"But you know why we're up here, right? You know what we're going to do."

Not a question. A statement.

He nodded. "My dad says I'm to please you," he said simply and innocently.

Not "Pa." He said "Dad." Somehow I expected "Pa" from a Mennonite Boy.

"Whichever ways you want from me, I'm to give them to you."

"And do you know which ways I want?" I asked him.

"My mouth," he said, "probably. And my rump."

"Yes," I said. "Your rump for sure."

He smiled nervously but as I looked down at his pants, I could already see
his erection growing. I wanted to relax this boy and put him at ease.

"I'm going to undress you first, Samuel," I said to him. "I'm going to take
all your clothes off very, very slowly, and then I'm going to kiss your
body, and then I'm going to kiss your pretty lips. Would that be okay with
you?"

He blushed. We both knew "would that be okay" was just a polite
formality. He knew what I was here for and he knew he was expected to
provide it.

"You're a strong boy, Samuel. You're almost a man. This'll be okay, I
promise you. I won't be mean a bit."

I saw his chest rise up. He breathed in with a shiver when I said "almost a
man." Eli was right. The way to this one's heart was through his pride.

Samuel sat mostly unmoving on the edge of his bed as I came closer. And I
knew it would be okay as soon as I started. I knew that Samuel might start
out a little scared about being with a new man other than his dad, but by
the time I licked the salt off his neck and flicked his little brown
nipples with my tongue, I think he'd soon find things would be more than
okay. Pleasant, I was certain. Even desired, I hoped.

"Let's get these shoes off you first," I smiled gently. "You were kind
enough to take my boots off for me. Let's see if I can return the favor
now. Is that okay, Samuel? Is it all right if I take your shoes off for
you?"

He nodded and I could hear his breathing, deep and slow as he watched me
intently. His right foot came forward toward me in inch, almost
inperceptibly, but nonetheless eager.

"Samuel likes feet stuff," I heard his little brother's voice giggle in my
mind. We'll see about that right now, I thought.

I took one of his solid brown work shoes in my hand. It was laced-up, and
more of a boot than a shoe. I knelt on the floor as he sat on the bed,
returning the subservient favor he'd given me earlier. Slowly untying the
dark brown lace and loosening the laces in the upper eyelets, I slowly
pulled back the tongue, carefully cupped my other hand around the heel and
the outsole, and pulled it forward slowly. There was a little resistance,
but I simply pulled steadily until I felt it start to give.

He looked embarassed. A boy sometimes worries about what he might smell
like down there. He doesn't know either, until the shoe comes off.

"I been workin'," he said. "It might be..."

"Shhh," I told him. "I don't mind. Don't worry."

When I tugged a little harder, it slid from his foot effortlessly, and I
was rewarded by the instant heat of fresh, damp boy foot, not acrid or foul
at all. He needn't have worried. His earthy aroma was just strong and
lung-filling, the heady heat cloud of a strong teen boy who works and gets
hot. It was a good scent, a boy's scent. A boy on the cusp of developing
manhood. I paused to enjoy it. He took my pause for hesitation. Something
done wrong.

"Is it okay, Mr. Blake? I just always worry, it might not be fresh down
there. I can wash if you want."

"Shhh," I told him. "It's good, Samuel. It's perfect and good. You smell
clean and strong. Like a man."

Again, I complimented this 13-year-old with a reference to "man," and was
rewarded with a shiver, just like his dad told me he'd do.

"Be sure to remind him how good looking he is," Eli had told me. "Tell him
he's strong. Believe me, he loves this. You'll notice right away how
excited he's becoming when you tell him he's strong."

"Such a strong boy," I said softly. "A good, strong man."

Samuel made a little moaning noise deep in his throat and took a shivery
breath. His toes clenched and unclenched under his sock. His dick, I could
see, was already very, very hard.

I moved my hands to his other shoe and took my time removing it for him. It
was slow and good, extended foreplay. He sighed as his socked feet made
contact with the cool air of his bedroom. It feels good to take your shoes
off. It feels better to have it done for you. Done slowly, with purpose.

"I'm gonna get a boner," he apologized shyly. "If you keep doin' that,
Mr. Blake, my stick's gonna get hard."

A little too late for that warning, I thought. I was looking right at it
through his black pants and it was already fully rigid. But with boyish
hope and warning, perhaps he thought I wouldn't notice. Adorably naive to
the point of a chuckle, a boy thinking a boylover might not notice his cock
bulge.

"It's okay, Samuel," I assured him softly. "Let your stick get as hard as
it can. Get the biggest, strongest boner you can show me."

He relaxed and breathed out, relieved by my permission.

His socks were standard black work socks, and I was happy to peel them down
slowly, starting with the right one. I looked him right in the eye as I
slowly rolled it down from the lower part of his calf. I felt like reciting
the beauty I uncovered: calf bone, ankle bone, heel bone, midfoot.

He had a beautiful long and slender foot, clean and strong, with an
achingly sexy arch I was aching to lick the second I saw it. And I would
soon, after I took the other sock off. But no hurry. His eyes were closed,
and I knew he liked this. And if a boy likes what you're doing, whatever it
is, slow yourself down and don't rush on. Let him stay in his moment,
basking, experiencing.

"Mmm," he moaned quietly. A boy unhurried, being pleasured below before I
pleasured him internally. I almost envied him. I remembered how good this
felt when I was 13 and the man was my uncle.

I turned-down his second sock the very same way. I watched myself roll it
slowly down the hairless perfection of his calf, and I was reminded of
removing a just-used condom, reservoir-tipped and stuffed with semen,
rolling it off the end of a softening cock after a sloppy white pull-out.

I tossed his socks casually next to his discarded shoes, the beginning of a
disheveled pile that would be growing soon with his shirt and pants and
underwear.

I took his feet in my hands and I began to rub them slowly. He moaned.

"Is that good, Samuel?" I whispered to him, keeping up my caress.

He nodded, and I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His eyes were
closed in bliss. "Feels good," he said simply. "Always feels good when I
get this."

His simple honesty tugged at my heart. It pleases me when a boy this young
already understands his own private needs. And when the needs are related
to his feet, it becomes even sweeter to me somehow.

There's a sweet vulnerability to taking a boy's shoes and socks off for
him. It's a minor undressing but a nearly-blossoming promise of
more. Making a boy barefoot is the first step in making him naked for
you. It puts him at your mercy, kindly. Because if you get a boy's feet
naked first, actively and gently, chances are very good he'll let you get
the rest of him naked, baring himself sweetly for you in slow and sweet
sucessive steps, with trust and cooperation.

I gently rubbed the pads under his toes, and ran my thumb along the deep
incline of his arches. His toes were astounding. Ten mini phalluses needing
my fellatio. I brought his left foot to my face. Lifted it and pressed it
against my cheek, needing it's warmth and beholding its clean scent and its
wholesome moistness, honestly earned. It was all boy, hardworking Mennonite
boy, and it was nothing but perfection, and the heat and the kind dampness
of it had my cock leaking instantly.

"Mr. Blake," he whispered to me softly. "It feels so good when you touch me
down there."

Taking the other one and doing the same, both of his naked feet now warmly
on my face, I slowly brought them to my mouth and began to love them with
my lips and my tongue. I kissed his pads. I kissed his heel. I licked
slowly along each arch and tasted the clean good salt of him. He physically
shuddered when my tongue swiped across the bare, epicurian banquet of
him. Like a connoisseur, I tasted this meal, gourmet and unhurried.

"Oh please," he whispered. "Oh please, Mr. Blake. My stick is so hard now!"

I didn't know if he meant "please stop your kisses, they feel too intense,"
or "please keep on going, you can't let it end." So I assumed it was the
latter.

I kissed and licked his ankle, his heel, his instep, before bringing the
first of his toes to my mouth and taking the Big between my lips like a
sweet little Ring Pop and watching him seize and jerk and gasp, a shiver of
epilepsy as his hand automatically reached to his lap and sought out his
cock, and he rubbed it through is pants.

"That's it, Samuel," I whispered encouragingly. "Rub your stick while I
suck on your toes."

He did.

"Such big, strong feet," I complimented him. "Almost a man. Such a big,
strong man."

He shivered. Took his hand away from his rock hard missile dick. I could
see it hard, beneath his work pants. A sizeable bump for a 13-year-old boy.

"Please, Mr. Blake," he said with a high-pitched whine in his voice. "If
you don't stop, I'm gonna squirt my stuff out. My stick's just gonna shoot
off and fire."

I nodded and slowed.

"It's just..." he stuttered. "My dad says I'm to feed it to you. Not waste
it."

"It's okay, Samuel," I told him. "I know. Come to me."

He looked breathless, flushed, eager. Wanting to do it right for, me, for
him, but for his dad's expectations, too. A boy lost in lust, trying to
please a man who easn't even in the room. He looked needy and frantic. A
13-year-old just wants to cum. The rest can be complicated. Frustratingly
so.

"Samuel," I said gently, reaching my hand up to cup his face. He leaned
into it and closed his eyes. "It's okay. We have plenty of time."

"I know," he whimpered. "It just hurts when it gets this hard. It makes me
want to do things."

I stood up. Leaned over him on the bed, and holding his precious face in my
hand, leaned forward slowly and kissed him.

I don't know if he expected a kiss. He started to jerk back away from me at
first, but I held his head steady and I offered him no exit. Pulling his
face forward into mine, I pressed my lips onto his more firmly, muffling
his protests with my mouth and my persistence.

"No," he mumbled fruitlessly, his tongue already teasing out to lap at
mine. "We shouldn't kiss. Men don't kiss. It's wrong...it's..."

Sin? I thought. We're well past that worry.

He opened up and my tongue found entry into his sweet-tasting cavern. He
moaned and gripped me tighter. There was something of a force at first,
akin to wrestling, as if his mouth wasn't quite ready to yield to a man's
demanding tongue. A matter of dignity perhaps? Or religion? Or remaining
male pride, not to be the girl? Who knows what this meant to him, to be
made a child like this. His dick was hard and pressed against my
stomach. The mind might protest, but the body betrays us.

It really didn't matter to me. I was determined to taste Samuel's sweet
mouth. And with the salt of his toes still dancing on my tongue, I held him
to my face until he opened up and let my tongue in, tamed and corrected. My
kind and steady pressure taught him that a man decides whether or not a boy
will be kissed. It's not up to the boy. Samuel was sweet, and I didn't want
to scare him, but the decisions on what I'd do to him tonight were frankly
out of his hands.

As I kissed him, I reached up and slowly started unbuttoning his shirt, and
Eli was right. It was buttoned to the neck, proper Mennonite fashion. I
kissed him harder as I undid his buttons, charmed by his clothing and his
Mennonite modesty. He tasted like sunflower seeds. And lemon. And honey. It
was a boy's kiss, rich and complicated, deliciously layered.

His shirt fully opened, I put my hands along the nippled perfection of his
upper rib cage – his nipples were already hard and jutting – and in
one smooth, practiced gesture, I slid open his shirt and slid the
suspenders off his shoulders at the same time.

"Ohhh," he whimpered, a whine and a need-moan. "Squeeze me,
Mr. Blake. Please hug me harder."

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me, as tight as I dared. I
felt a whoosh of hair leave his lungs and then he moaned again, nuzzling
into me, needing to be held like this, clearly needing to be overpowered
like this.

"Do you hold him this way, Eli?" I thought. "Before you fuck him, do you
hold him like this and let him feel your power? If not, you should. If not,
he needs it."

I lowered my head and licking down his neck full of shivers, I came to rest
on his bare, beatuiful chest where I sucked on the pretty, firm brownness
of dime-sized left nipple, already jutting its goosebump of pleasure. Then
I crossed his chest with my tongue and sucked on his right one, taking my
time, wanting no nipple to be jealous of the other.

"Oh, please Mr. Blake," he whispered. "I'm so hard. My stick is so hard."

I reached down and felt it through his pants. Grabbed onto it.

"So big," I whispered to him. "Such a big strong cock."

He shuddered when I said cock. He pressed out against my grasp.

"Take it out for me," he begged. "Take out my cock."

He said the word "cock" with a whisper. Not "stick," but "cock." A dirty
word he wasn't supposed to say.

"Stand," I told him simply. "Stand up for me Samuel."

He did what he was told, on shaky feet, and still kissing his open mouth,
now hungry and seeking my tongue and returning it with his own, I let my
hands caress down his chest and tummy to the snap of his black work
pants. I snapped them open, slowly unzipped them, and suspenders flapping
free, I tugged them down past the perfect curve of his rump and shimmied
them over his sweet narrow hips.

"Oh yes," he whispered. "Make me your naked boy. Make me feel little like
daddy."

I shivered at the complexity of his mind and his need. Erotic and
complicated.

"Baby," I whispered, biting his earlobe.

He whimpered and clasped at me.

As soon as his pants came down, I could feel the heat and smell the scent
of his cock and pubes almost instantly.  This was a 13-year-old boy
revealed and eager. A cacophony of senses. A feel of hardness. The smell of
boy cock. The scent of a boy in heat.

"Yes," he whisper-hissed. "Take out my cock for me. Be my dad. Do what my
dad does."

The boxers he wore were plain and simple. White and clean, with a small
light grease smudge near the waist band. Like engine oil. Or saddle
soap. Like the village blacksmith had a go at him, or the town mechanic
bent him over the hood of the car and lowered those pretty boxer shorts
down. How many men would fuck this boy in the years ahead, I
wondered. Beautiful Mennonite bottom boy. How many cocks will you take?

Hooking my thumbs inside, I lowered his boxers slowly and broke our kiss to
watch his marvelous boy's penis first come into view. And God, it was
stunning. So very, completely beautiful. God help me now, or the devil send
me straight to hell, I needed to know that penis in every possible way. As
I watched his perfect, blood-filled, pink and steady, slender and
throbbing, 5-inch 13-year-old, narrow boy cock come into view, I moaned out
loud and uttered, "Samuel, it's beautiful."

Daring and filled with boylust, he took my hand and led it to his dick. No
longer willing to wait. Telling his man he needed to be held down
there. Squeezed and kneaded. Cock-pressed and hand-mauled.

"You can touch it harder," he begged with no shame. "Push on it hard."

My hand frimly stroked and pressed against his wet-hard willy with its
shivering shaft and its piss at the tip. It couldn't possibly be pre-cum,
could it? Do 13-year-old boys make pre-cum? My own boys were only 11 and
9. I had no idea. The harder I touched it, hot and bare, the harder he
moaned into my mouth as I kissed him.

I took my hand away, just long enough to hold it to my nose and smell it,
almost delirious with the scent of his rocket-hard boycock, a mixture of
piss and nutmeg and horse and barley. God how I loved the smell of his
cock. I wanted it to fill my lungs like smoke and like substance. I wanted
to gasp and choke and die in his richness, his stiff hot boycock smelled so
good.

"Oh God, Samuel," I begged him. "Let me suck your cock, baby. Such a big,
strong cock."

He shuddered. He held me.

"Take your clothes off, Mr. Blake," he whimpered to me urgently. "My dad
says I'm to suck you first. Before you suck me. I'm supposed to suck your
cock."

He fumbled helplessly at my clothes. My polo shirt. My belt. My jeans. They
frustrated him. They weren't his clothes, this Mennonite boy. The practiced
hands that dressed himself every morning and undressed his dad every night
were strangers to taking off mine. He whimpered. Hurrying. Needing and
thwarted.

"It's okay, slow down," I whispered. I took his hands in mine and helped
him lift my shirt from my shoulders. Took his hand and helped him lower my
zipper down.

I slid my pants down, tossed them onto the disheveled pile of his own
tangled garments and stood before him in my boxer briefs, already cock
soaked with pre-cum, wide and syrupy, from his insanely rich scent and his
eagerness to suck me.

He instantly dropped to his knees. Instantly. This was a boy who had been
trained from a very young age to suck a man's cock when a man's cock was
presented, and Eli's prediction, "you might have to guide him" was
ridiculously unneccesary, for the minute my cock outline was visible in my
undershorts, Samuel was on his knees and on my wide pre-cum stain like
vampire in cum lust.

He actually sucked my pre-cum THROUGH my underwear. Wrapped his lips around
my cock head THROUGH my underwear and started sucking up the flavor of my
pre-ejaculatory fluid like Aunt Bee just baked him the best huckleberry pie
in Mayberry.

He absolutely feasted on my pre-cum stain. And then with a child's hands
that were practiced, not scared, he lowered my underwear and gasped in
spite of himself as my six-point-five inches of thick hard mancock sprang
free in a way that nearly slapped him in the face.

"Big," he whimpered. "So big. So thick."

And at that point, all memory became a blur and a moan, as I felt his lips
wrap around my penis and engulf me in a euphoria like the loving mantle of
sweet Christ in heaven Himself.

He fellated me for God, I don't know? Two minutes? Three minutes?
Alternating gentle nips and sucks with deep-throated needy gulps. Oh, Eli,
you were so, so wrong. Your boy didn't gag on my fuckstick for a
heartbeat. He gobbled me down like the parched needing water. He
throated. He EXCELLED.

To this day, I've never received a better, hungrier blowjob. I'm sorry
Cole. I'm sorry Devin. Samuel sucked Daddy better than you boys ever
have. I love you, boys. And you suck me perfectly. But not like this
boy. This Mennonite satyr. This boy is Heaven.

"Stop," I grunted. "Stop or I'll cum."

He immediately stopped. Took his mouth off and got up and laid on his
bed. He knew where I wanted to plant my first load of semen. He knew damn
well I'd put it in his bowels, not in his mouth. He was eager to have
it. This boy was a bottom. Clear as day. Writing on the wall.

Sameul knew exactly what to do. Exactly. His dad had been fucking his butt
since I really don't know, but the minute I told him to stop sucking my
cock, he laid on his bed, hitched up his knees, and literally spread apart
his ass cheeks for me, baring the most pink and perfect moonshine pucker
I'd ever laid my eyes on. Not a hair to be found on that butthole of
Samuel's.

His dick admittedly had a sparse, thin topping of pubes, but his asshole
was naked, devoid of all hair.

"My rump," he whispered magically. "Put your cock inside my rump,
Mr. Blake."

I could smell its magic and I intended to give that starfish swirl a
taste. A lick and a promise, my granddad used to say. I lowered my face and
the scent became stronger. His asshole, oh mercy. As it came into close
focus, it was devoid of even the least bit of hair, pink and puckered and
ready for receiving, and God help me Hannah, I was about to go balls deep
in that fucker, and I felt no particular need to be polite.

I practically dove into it. Dove into it, friends. My tongue was on his
fuckbutton faster than a starving cat slurping a bowl of cream in pussy
town. He moaned and thrashed as my mouth found its target and licked on
him, sucked on him, prodded and pushed on him in a round of analingus
they'd sings songs about on Mount Olympus.

"Mr. Blake," he whispered. "Oh, pleeeeease, Mr. Blake."

Please keep going, or please stop and fuck me?

I didn't know what the "please" meant and I really didn't give a shit. At
this particular time, I was just eating his beautiful cunt. And the rest of
his ministrations were none of my concern.

His flavor was astounding. Amazing. A rapture and a symphony. There were so
many flavors all at once, I can't even count them. Almonds and
dandelions. Vinegar and blueberries. Earth and dust and salty-sweet kettle
corn. Samuel's tight asshole was a virtual treasure as it clenched against
my probing tongue and his legs wrapped around my head, threatening to
scissor lock me into lack of airflow. Asphyxiated in a boy's asshole. Let
me, please God, die that way someday. I moaned and thanked Jesus as I ate
him until my tongue ached.

"Please," he begged me, and there were tears in his eyes, legitimate
tears. "Please you gotta stick it in my rump now. Fuck it in my rump hole
and put your stuff in me, way deep inside."

I was beyond reason or restraint at this point and Samuel was in tears.

I lifted his lithe naked legs over my shoulders and I spit on my cock,
literally spit DOWN and hit my cock with a wad of the thickest, oiliest
spit, and before I could know any better, before I could exercise any
remaining politeness at all, I pressed the engorged mushroom head of the
best I could give him against his hot, puckered anus, and I dove forward
with all the intent I could muster.

"Ow," he grimaced. "Too hard. Too fast."

I pulled out. Recentered. He squiggled. Adjusted. He needed this dick, and
pain be damned.

"Please," he whinnied. "Try again. Please, hurry."

His voice was high. It was untouched by time. And my dick popped his
sphincter. He gasped. He squirmed. I steadily burrowed into him. I could
feel him wiggling and trying to get comfortable, but I didn't even care. An
inch. Then another. And another. Another. I knew it was tricky. I knew he
was braving-up for me, but God help me, I just needed to cum in him and I
didn't even care if it felt good or not.

But it did feel good to him. In a couple of minutes after adjusting, he let
me KNOW it felt good. His ass muscles clenched around my invading missile
like he'd done this all his life. And really, he had.

Impossibly, madly, I thought about his dad Eli, four miles away in a
roadside motel room, probably jacking off right imagining what this looked
like, what this sounded like, what this smelled like, what this felt like
as I rutted up here in the dead silent fucknight, breeding my cock up his
son's little backside.

"He'll know what to do," Eli had promised me. "Nature'll take its
course. He'll ride your big dick like a sweet summer storm."

And he did. Samuel writhed on it. Gasped in my mouth as he kissed me and
moaned. Grabbed his hands around my ass cheeks and pulled me further into
his rectum. "More," he whispered. "Harder and more." I fucked him deeply,
as hard as I dared.

"Eli," I thought telepathically as I rudely plunged my dick in and out of
his muttering boy's clenching hot fuck chute, "He is perfect to fuck...he
is perfect to fuck...and I'm going to spray my cum inside his cunt,
Eli. I'm going to spray my thick seed into his pretty, hot boy
cunt...right...fucking...NOW!"

With a grunt to the heavens and a nod to his dad, my dick plunged into him
balls-deep, and I shuddered and seized, and I blew all my babies up
Samuel's grasping, wet fuck chute.

He cried out in victory, and shuddered and gripped my ass and he pulled me,
hard, hot, into him. Wanting me deeper. Knowing where cum goes. I twitched
and I spasmed in his boysucking rectum, so hot, so compassionate of him to
take my load this way. "A blessing," I whispered, not knowing my own words
coming out. "A blessing to do this."

I collapsed on top of him. He hugged me to his sweet salty neck. I think I
was crying. So grateful he let me.

"It's okay, Mr. Blake," he shushed me. "You needed that bad. My dad said
so."

I slowly slipped out of him. My cock felt like pin pricks. Exhausted and
tingling.

"I'm to clean you," he said, turning in the bed, kneeling down and taking
my still-twitching cock in his mouth. "My dad says to clean you."

Silently, expertly, he cleaned his own butt slime of my dick. His wetness
and my sperm, gobbled and tidied.

"Come here, baby," I beckoned him tenderly. He came up to me quietly. I
kissed his mouth and tasted my cum. I tasted his ass and I tasted my
cock. A million flavors exploding from his kisses.

"Let me suck you," I told him. He moaned. I squeezed his hard dick. Now he
was a bred boy, but he still needed to get off.

"Or you can fuck me," I offered. "Do you want to put your big hard man cock
in my rump and cum in me, Samuel?"

He looked horrified. Repulsed by the thought of it.

"Oh no, sir, Mr. Blake," he said quickly. "I can't put my stick in you. I'm
to do myself. I'm just to please you. My dad says..."

"Sameul. Your dad's not here."

He paused. Alarmed by this. I saw his mind doing computations.

"You can fuck me if you want. I can suck you, or you can fuck me," I
repeated.
 I would never...would never..." he tapered off, confused over what his dad
expected, and what he really wanted to do. Sometimes in life, what's
expected conflicts with what's needed. He was learning this now, and didn't
know which would win.

"Shhh," I told him. "I need this, Samuel. You need this."

And I hitched him up in the bed without giving him any further choice,
until his cock was pointing into my mouth, and slowly, with steady
pressure, I guided his angry red penis, still hard, a dam about to burst,
into the waiting, hungry relief-giver of my mouth.

I felt him sigh, literally shake with relief as his dick found my mouth's
home. He rocked in and out of me gently. Steadily. Rhythmically and
deeply. I felt his pace quicken. His movements became erratic.

"I have to squirt now, Mr. Blake," he apologized. "My stick's gonna
fire. Should I take it out? Should I...sorry. Can't stop. Oh, I'm
sorry...it's going!"

I grasped his butt cheeks. I let a finger find his hole and gave it a deep
impromptu thrust which shocked him, amazed him, as I jabbed it as he came,
sinking it firmly into his still dripping asshole as he wailed and hollered
in a clenching release, throat ramming me and fire-jamming a big, thin
bleachy-wet load into my eager, boy-gobbling, salt-sucking mouth.

"NNNNGH!" he grunted as he came in my mouth. "I'm sorry," so
breathless. "I'm sorry...I shot in you."

Imagine, apologizing. I swallowed him with gratitude.

It was thin and watery and barely pubescent. But the amount seemed
endless. Did he cum and then piss a little? I had no idea. He seemed to cum
so much for a 13-year-old boy. But I could have swallowed it endlessly,
whatever it was. I could have eaten that salthy-sweet and boyish nectar for
the rest of my life. Swallowed it. Praised it. 13 tastes like everything,
friends. Like rapture. Like homecoming.

He collapsed on me, spent. I held him to my chest. We lay there heaving and
breathing heavy.

A tap at the door, which opened. A giggle.

Caleb peeked his head in and watched us hug and recover. I was too tired to
greet him.

"I heard you squirt your seeds," he grinned. "First Mr. Blake in Samuel's
rump, then Samuel in your mouth with his stick! You ate Samuel's seeds!"

He giggled again and hooked his thumb in his suspenders, proud he caught us
in the act.

Samuel reached down automatically to cover his bare penis and pulled a
blanket over us. Naked in shame.

"Hush, Caleb," he said as he blushed. "Leave us be. Just for a minute,
okay?"

"Okay," his little brother said, surprisingly tender. "But I'm next, okay,
Mr. Blake?"

I nodded blankly, not even remotely accustomed to who these boys were or
what they could do to me.

"I'm way better at sucking your stick than Samuel is," he giggled. "Dad
says I'm a natural. And my rup hole's really goodin tight," he
bragged. "Dad says that too, Mr. Blake. Goodin tight, Caleb, 'fore he
shoots his seeds in me."

My mind was spinning. I needed a drink of water.

Caleb closed the door behind himself and I shook it off and hugged his
brother to me.

"You better go and fix him up, Mr. Blake," Samuel said. "Take him for a
ride in the rump. Otherwise he'll keep comin' in here all night. It's just
how he is. Sort of a bother."

I laughed softly. Brothers were brothers, Mennonite or otherwise.

I kissed Samuel again. Tasted the honey-sweet dick-taste of his 13-year-old
mouth. I reached down to caress his cocklet and finger his cum-dripping
boycunt.

Even bred, he wasn't just tight, he was Mennonite tight.

And his little brother was waiting for me right down the hall.


"Go," Samuel nudged me as he squeezed my sticky-soft dick and he kissed me
on the cheek. "He needs taking care of."

I nodded and rose. I looked at the beauty of the 13-year-old boy I'd just
fucked and shivered at the thought of his 10-year-old brother, just minutes
away.

"Is he any good at it?" I muttered, half-surprised I'd just verbalized
that.

Samuel giggled. "Is Caleb good at it?" he smiled. "Oh, Mr. Blake," he
grinned, shaking his head. "You don't know the half of it."

Intrigued and amused, exhausted already, I opened the door and stepped into
the hall.

Caleb was alredy standing there, bare-assed and giggling. My eyes nearly
popped out of my head.

He tore off down the hallway and into his bedroom, laughing and shouting.

"Catch me, Mr. Blake! I need to be caught!"

I looked back at his brother but Samuel just gave me a shrug and a smile,
like, "can't help you there."

"God help me," I muttered as collected my dick wits. "This is going to be a
long, hard night."

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TO BE CONTINUED in a six-part story arc.

Chapter 1: The Meeting
Chapter 2: With Samuel
Chapter 3: With Caleb
Chapter 4: With Cole
Chapter 5: With Devin
Chapter 6: All Together Now

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Benjamin Thurmond's other fine stories on Nifty include:

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/lost-in-space-deleted-scenes
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/adult-youth/my-buddys-kids/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/bisexual/adult-youth/barnyard-fun
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/a-fathers-fantasies/
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/im-the-guy
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/tales-from-the-male-bag/secret-world-of-little-league-boy

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