Date: Tue, 22 Mar 2011 13:23:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Beautiful Creamer <beautifulcreamer@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sissyboy Sodomy (gay adult-youth)

Sissyboy Sodomy (gay adult-youth)
By Beautiful Creamer


One -- Sodomy in the Afternoon

Busybottom Elementary School Principal Howard Sternman sighed as he watched his
young charges leave school that sunny autumn afternoon.

Things had certainly changed in recent years, Mr. Sternman noted wistfully.  It
used to be that men had to hang out in the public restrooms in the park, waiting
for the schoolboys to join them for a quick, usually unsatisfying grope.

Everything was so much more open these days.

Mr. Sternman enforced all the rules, of course.  Only parents or documented
caregivers could pick children up -- on school grounds.  Which was why all those
men sat in their cars just off school grounds, probably stroking their wieners,
as they awaited their young, male "dates" for the afternoon.

Another sigh.

Not that there was anything wrong with fucking pretty young boys.  Mr. Sternman
had been doing it throughout his 32-year career.  But change was always
difficult.

Nowadays the men could practically fuck the boys in their cars -- right out in
the open -- rather than in some secret forest hideout -- or in the principal's
office -- as nature intended.

Mr. Sternman didn't have a lot to complain about though.  A lovely fifth-grader
named Tommy was knocking at the man's door right at that moment.   Reporting
eagerly for the after-school fucking the boy had been daydreaming about all day.

Meanwhile, an even lovelier fifth-grader named Chrissie Pantydropper was
scooting as fast as his pretty, ten-year-old legs could carry him.

Chrissie's "friend," Mr. Bumripper, was meeting the boy and they were going to
Sodomus!

Mr. Bumripper was Chrissie's favorite man and Sodomus was Chrissie's favorite
place!

Chrissie passed the school-zone line and there he was:  Mr. Bumripper!  Smiling
at Chrissie that way he smiled whenever they were going to make love.  Which was
pretty much every time they met.

Chrissie kissed Mr. Bumripper when he got into the car, of course.  And he
giggled to see that Mr. Bumripper already had his big, fat, drippy "man's thing"
out for Chrissie to play with as they drove the 15 minutes to Sodomus.

When their loving relationship began -- maybe six weeks earlier -- Chrissie asked
Mr. Bumripper why they went to Sodomus to make love instead of to Mr.
Bumripper's home.

The man laughed sharply, then said, "I don't think my wife would like me taking
you upstairs, getting you all naked, then making you scream and shoot your boy's
cream all afternoon, Baby.  My wife doesn't understand me. But I'm going to
leave her real soon.  Then you and I can be together."

That sounded perfectly reasonable to Chrissie.  After all, women far older than
he had been buying that line since the Paleolithic Age.

Sodomus offered a retreat from the drab world, Mr. Bumripper had told his young
love. It was a place where men could take their boys without fear of society's
disapproval.

Fucking Chrissie at Sodomus was like fucking over society, Mr. Bumripper told
the boy.  Who was nearing the age when rebellion was the coolest thing
imaginable.

All the way to Sodomus, Chrissie teased Mr. Bumripper's "beef bayonet."  Just
for excitement.  Not enough to make the man shoot his seed.


Chrissie liked to feel that creamy stuff drenching his bowels, not the car
seats.

They pulled into the Sodomus lot, tongue-kissed steamily for a minute or two,
then got out of the car.

One of the really cool things about Sodomus was that Mr. Bumripper didn't even
have to stow his "equipment."  He just walked into the lobby skinned and proud,
with sweet Chrissie on his arm.

Since Mr. Bumripper was a regular -- and had been long before he and Chrissie
"mated for life" -- the man didn't need to register.  He just walked past the
owner/deskclerk, Clark, who said, "Room 122, Mr. Bumripper" and the lovers were
on their way.

As a regular, the man used his thumbprint to open the room and there they were.
In their little afternoon love nest.  Which Sodomus' website described as a
"classic whirlpool suite: a sanctuary for romance, with five-foot-by-seven-foot
tub and comfy fireplace."

Sodomus made sure that he got a different room every day, to keep the variety in
their torrid little love affair. Sometimes he even went big, getting the
swimming pool suite (the ultimate romantic experience), with a private garage,
tropical waterfall, steamrooom, and massage chair. But that was only for an
overnight or even the occasional, exhausting sperm-exchange weekend.

Chrissie was quite low-maintenance about such things, really.  He mostly just
wanted to get into the room and get fucking.

The kind of date we all wish we had more of.

Chrissie's clothes were off in a jiffy, as were the man's.  And Mr. Bumripper
was soon enjoying his favorite meal -- boy innards.

The boy stood by the bed, feet on the floor, hands on the bed, legs spread.
Then bent forward until his torso was on the covers.

The man knelt behind him and feasted on Chrissie's anus.

Licking and tonguing the boy toward sweet agony.

Mmmmmmm!!

Chrissie was in love.  Again.

Mr. Bumripper wasn't exactly Chrissie's first "manfriend."

The boy loved men.  And men loved Chrissie.

But Mr. Bumripper was Chrissie's first manfriend who had sprung for Sodomus.
The place where the sexiest, cutest, sissiest boys were taken.

"Oh, Mr. Bumripper!" Chrissie moaned.  "That's so good!"

Mr. Bumripper was so "oral-anal," Chrissie thought as he "endured" the man's
lingual excavations.   None of the men Chrissie had known loved to eat him out
as much as Mr. Bumripper loved it.


When they had started dating, Chrissie was startled at the man's ass ardor.
Thinking that clean analingus was the best analingus, Chrissie had scrupulously
cleaned himself "back there" before their dates.  But Mr. Bumripper soon
insisted otherwise.

"Don't take away the tasty bits, Honey," the man maintained.  So Chrissie
[blush] never wiped on the day of a date.


Mr. Bumripper was delighted.

Of course, after a "big dig" by Mr. Bumripper, no one else's bumhole was any
cleaner.

Or more eager for cock.

Mr. Bumripper never fucked Chrissie until the boy had cum as a result of his
anal tonguing.


"A relaxed boy is a pain-free boy," the considerate man always said.

Cumming was not a problem for the well-probed young beauty.  He was soon heaving
his creamies in appreciative tribute to Mr. Bumripper's loving attentions.

Mr. Bumripper didn't remove his tongue until the boy's last tremor.  But moments
later, the man was standing tall and had impaled the pretty youth with his
ferocious cock.  Furiously aroused by the boy's grunts and squeals of agonized
satisfaction.  And the musky flavors of his beautiful bum.

Mr. Bumripper gave a boy's asshole all it could handle.  Which delighted young
Chrissie immensely.  And made him sad yet again that the room was only rented
for three hours, from three to six.

Clerk Clark didn't want a legion of angry mothers storming Sodomus, complaining
that their boys were late for supper.

It was bad enough that the boys fell asleep early after supper, when they were
supposed to be doing their homework.


Still, the alternative to allowing their sons to be fucked every afternoon at
Sodomus was worse.  Obeying their filthy urges, as males always seemed to do,
the boys would be offering themselves to their Daddies!

It wasn't the incest thing that bothered the boys' mothers really.  It was the
notion that their husbands would be enjoying themselves far too much.

So Sodomus proceeded with the grudging consent of most boys' mothers.  Including
the mother of one Wyatt Stunner.

Wyatt wasn't like the other boys whose men friends took them to Sodomus every
afternoon and the entire weekend.


He knew that boys had urges.  He'd felt them himself.  And had thus far
successfully resisted them.  Which made Wyatt, as far as he was concerned, a far
better person than those little tramps he went to school with.

Wyatt was saving himself for marriage.  With the right girl.   He was nearly
eleven years old and if he were married at 22, he was halfway to his first sex
already!  The second half should be a piece of cake.

Wyatt dressed conservatively and never flirted with any of the men who had been
offering him empty promises of love and material goods since he was eight and a
half.

Wyatt knew what those naughty men wanted.  And they weren't getting it!

Two things were getting in the way of Wyatt's life plan.

First, Wyatt was the prettiest boy in school.  By one measure, 27% prettier than
Chrissie, the second prettiest, who was the most popular fuck in town.

Second, and more importantly, Wyatt's Daddy was showing "interest" in Wyatt.
Which convinced Mrs. Stunner to get her boy out there dating and fucked before
the boy started looking to Daddy for the disgusting "relief" that all men seek
eventually.

Wyatt cried when Mama said that Mr. Dreamboat would be taking him to Sodomus
that afternoon.  Even though both the man and Wyatt's Mom assured Wyatt that the
boy need do nothing he didn't want.


Wyatt kept up the waterworks the whole time that Mr. Dreamboat registered them
with Clerk Clark.  Even when he rented the swimming pool suite (the ultimate
romantic experience), with a private garage, tropical waterfall, steamrooom, and
massage chair.

"You can just swim for three hours if you want, Honey," Mr. Dreamboat said to
Wyatt.  "Or take a nap.  I won't make you do anything you don't want."

There was that promise again.

Even if it were true, everyone in school would know the next day that Wyatt had
spent the afternoon with Mr. Dreamboat in the swimming pool suite.

So his reputation was ruined.

Mr. Dreamboat's reputation, however, was quite secure.  He was a sometime movie
and TV actor who, between jobs, or even during jobs, dated boys.  The prettier
the better.


Usually, the boys swooned when they saw Mr. Dreamboat and they were naked, on
their backs, knees up and spread, anus open, within an hour of meeting the
handsomest man they had ever met.

This Wyatt kid was a challenge.

He was worth it though.  The prettiest young thing Mr. Dreamboat had ever met --
16% prettier than a nine-year-old he had met on a beach in Brazil six years
earlier.  Almost married that one.  Which would have made the tabloids big time.

Inexplicably, Wyatt was not interested in hot, sweaty, cummy sex with Mr.
Dreamboat.

Even though he had sprung for $179 plus tax for three hours in the swimming pool
suite.

A large sum for an actor in the twilight of a mediocre career.

Yet, it was a small investment if sweet, innocent, virginal Wyatt overcame his
reluctance to being sweatily ass-fucked.

Strike that.  His reluctance to being lovingly loved.

Anally.

Even a randy 45-year-old hunk like Mr. Dreamboat knew better than to force Wyatt
into anything.  That's how one becomes a guest of the state, even in the
current, more understanding age.

So Mr. Dreamboat intended to use his full persuasive powers to land his stiffie
where it would do Wyatt the most good.  Inside that brilliant boy bum.

Wyatt stopped sobbing when he stepped into the room.  Dialed the sobs down to
whimpers as he looked at the enormous room.  It was true.  There was an actual
swimming pool in the room!


Wyatt wondered about the naughty goings-on that had gone-on in that pool.

Men and boys!  Exchanging bodily fluids.  Spilling them into that pool.  Onto
that huge bed.  Onto the tiled floor.


Ick!

And those mirrors!

All over the walls.  And on the ceiling!

He was definitely NOT going to bring his future wife there on their honeymoon.
Eleven years in the future.  When Wyatt and his wife would lose their virginity
together.

Wyatt stole a glance at the beast who wanted to ravage the boy's poor
bottomhole.


Oh, yes.

Wyatt knew what the depraved monster wanted.

The other boys talked about it in school a lot.  About how their manfriends
stuck their impossibly huge cocks into the boys' vise-tight bottoms.  And how
much the boys enjoyed it.

Had the whole world gone mad?

Wyatt shouldn't have ventured eye contact with Mr. Dreamboat, but he did.  The
man smiled at him.  Showing 32 perfectly capped, regularly bleached teeth.

The man was awfully good-looking, Wyatt had to admit.  But that didn't matter.
Wyatt wanted none of it.

"Sure is a warm day," Mr. Dreamboat said.

Which caught Wyatt off guard.  He didn't think the man would be discussing the
weather.

Then another surprise.  "When I was a kid, on warm days, we'd go to the old
swimming hole, take all of our clothes off and go jump in.  You can't swim naked
anymore.  Unless your swimming hole is in your hotel room.  I'm going in."

And that was exactly what Mr. Dreamboat did.

He stripped naked (Wyatt averted his eyes, of course) and jumped into the pool.
Splashing around.  Swimming.

Pretty much ignoring Wyatt.

Which surprised Wyatt no end.  And ticked him off a bit too.

Here he thought he was being taken to a filthy den of pederasty to be RAPED, and
the alleged RAPIST was paying no heed to him!

A fine how do you do indeed.

Plus, the man had been right.  It was a very warm day.  And that water looked
very refreshing.


But he didn't have his bathing suit.

And he could never be naked in front of that monster.

But the monster wasn't even looking his way.

And that water looked very refreshing.

Maybe if he just slid in at the end of the pool far away from Mr. Dreamboat.

Wyatt decided.

Shyly, he removed his clothing.  Looking to see if the man was watching.

He wasn't.

Why not?

Did the man think Wyatt was ugly?

Wyatt sneaked a look at his pretty face and ultra-fuckable body in one of the
room's many mirrors.  And liked what he saw.  Except for one thing.

His little, 3.62-inch cock was ridiculously stiff.

And he didn't know why.

Was it because he was naked in a room with a man?

Couldn't be.  He didn't want the man near him.  Only 11 years until his first
sex.  He could easily wait that long.

Still, there it was.

And his little balls were sore for some reason.

Hmmm.

The man didn't look at the boy, but he could see him in a mirror.  What an
angel!

Mr. Dreamboat had to turn away from Wyatt to hide his own raging hardon.  Which
would have surely spooked the young beauty.

Wyatt reasoned that his testicles, feeling overheated, would cool off if he
submerged them.  Plus, he could hide his nakedness from that, that rapist if he
just got underwater.

So the young lovely slid into the water.  A good ten feet away from Mr.
Dreamboat.  Who was still just splashing around contentedly, as if Wyatt weren't
there.

Well.

Wyatt wasn't used to being ignored.   Men never ignored Wyatt.  They sweet
talked him.  Tried to touch him.  Asked him out on "dates."  Offered him gifts.

They didn't ignore him.

Wyatt loved the feel of the cool water on his body.  And, perhaps
subconsciously, he reduced the distance between him and Mr. Dreamboat to eight
feet.

At which point the man looked at him amiably and asked, "Feels good, doesn't
it?"

Wyatt parsed that sentence for unseen double entendres and couldn't find any.
So warily, he said, "Nice and cool."

The man didn't move, but the distance, it seemed, had been reduced to six feet.

Now, had Wyatt done his research, he would have discovered that it is 8.8 times
easier to seduce someone wearing a bathing suit than someone fully clothed.  For
a naked swimmer like Wyatt, it's in the 25 times range.

The kid never had a chance.

Nor, as it later seemed, did he really want one.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, bringing you to Sodomus and all," Mr. Dreamboat
said.  Wandering on topic for the first time.  "it's just that, well, I've never
met anyone as beautiful as you."

Don't give up on the classics.  They still work.

Wyatt blushed.  And moved to the four-foot zone.

Then he asked the classic response to the classic line:  "Do you really think
I'm beautiful?"

"I've been all over the world, worked with the greatest movie stars, and they're
nowhere near as gorgeous as you."

Two feet.  And Wyatt was tingling all over.

What was that thing poking out of the water in front of Mr. Dreamboat?

Oh.  That.

Wyatt concluded that it wasn't Mr. Dreamboat's fault.  Wyatt's beauty had
excited the man beyond reason.  Mr. Dreamboat was a prisoner of lust.

Time to close the deal.

"Could I just have one little kiss?  So that I can know that I held and kissed a
world-class beauty just once in my life?"

Laid on just thickly enough.

How could Wyatt refuse?  The man NEEDED Wyatt.  Only Wyatt could satisfy the
fires that burned the man from within.

Plus, Wyatt's reputation was shot anyway.  No one would believe that he spent an
afternoon with Mr. Dreamboat in the swimming-pool suite and didn't even kiss
submit to one kiss.

And what harm could one little kiss do?  Unless Wyatt liked it.

Zero feet.

Wyatt moved forward and gave himself over to be kissed.  Nakedly.  By a naked
man.

Which could be construed in some sense as an act of "gayness."

Well.

If Wyatt had been frightened before, the "one little kiss" terrified him.

Mr. Dreamboat, it seemed, was a man of honor.  He held Wyatt in his arms and
gave him exactly one little kiss.  Then released him.

The terrifying part was that Wyatt liked it.

Loved it would not be too strong a description.

There had been no tongues.  No excessive saliva.  No rubbing of erect cock on
erect cock.  Just a brief, loving, closed-mouth kiss.

Which excited Wyatt beyond measure.

And made him gasp involuntarily.

When the man stood back, as promised and thanked Wyatt for making the man's
dream come true, Wyatt grasped for context.

What just happened?

Why did he like it so much?

Did he want more?

Why wasn't the man pressing his advantage?  He was alone with a young boy.  Both
naked.  Mr. Dreamboat could just overpower Wyatt.  Take what he wanted.  Perhaps
what they both wanted.

Why did Wyatt have to draw the one man on earth who was able to control his
disgusting urges?

Wyatt looked at Mr. Dreamboat with his beautiful eyes.  Misted over with
confused tears.  Lips parted as if inviting and/or awaiting a second kiss.


Maybe eleven years was too long to wait.

And since everyone would think he and his Sodomus-for-the-sfternooner partner
had "done it" anyway...

Wyatt leaned three inches toward Mr. Dreamboat.  Which was two inches more
encouragement than the man needed.

He placed one manly hand on each of Wyatt's glorious bumcheeks and drew the boy
through the water to his hairy chest.  And his open mouth.

Mr. Dreamboat gave Wyatt a tutorial on tongue-kissing -- a subject on which he
had many advanced degrees.

Wyatt surrendered to his own filthy desires.  And to every one of Mr.
Dreamboat's sordid instincts.

Oh.

The kissing.

The tonguing.

The rubbing of his hairless nipples against the man's furry chest.

And, [gasp] the feel of his boyish peener in contact with Mr. Dreamboat's
mammoth bumsplitter!

Oh dear.

Something naughty was happening inside of Wyatt.

Something that the other boys said was the "big reward" for letting men do
things with them.

It was rumbling in his gut.  Painful almost.  Achy in his little peanuts.
Building.  But not quite there.

Until...

What was that crazy man doing to Wyatt?

Was that...?

His finger, no two fingers, were in Wyatt's bumhole!

In his bumhole!!

That was a bum too far.  Wyatt began to wriggle.  Trying to get away from the
man who had taken one too many liberties.


But then...

The man found Wyatt's prostate.  And attacked it.

With all of his manly powers.

The man was a merciless fiend!  Rubbing the boy in a place no one should ever be
rubbed.


It hurt!  A little.

But it felt good too.  A lot.

He could suffer the pain for what portended a happy ending.

Wyatt's escape attempts ended.  But his wriggles and moans became more and more
furious until...

Wyatt actually heard the last stanza of John Phillip Sousa's "The Stars and
Stripes" forever as the first six cum globs of his beautiful young life left his
body and sprayed Mr. Dreamboat's chest.  Just above the water line.

"Hooray for the red, white and Mr. Dreamboat!" Wyatt heard in his fevered
brain.  As his thrilled asshole clamped hard on the man's fingers.  And his
tortured "peanuts" found their first true relief.

Mr. Dreamboat was equally thrilled.

This beauteous, babe-o-licious boy was his for the fucking.

He could always tell when a boy's resistance was gone.  Sometimes it was when
the panties dropped.  Sometimes it was a merely a smile.  With Wyatt, it was
much further along.  Wyatt only truly raised the white flag when he emptied his
balls for the first time.

Unconditional surrender is such a beautiful condition, don't you think?

One must fuck while the boy is hot.

Step one was a relocation from pool to bed.  Which involved a bit of drying off
first.

Knowing that alacrity was essential, Mr. Dreamboat still couldn't resist one
thing.

Wyatt's first spunk was garnishing Mr. Dreamboat's stomach and chest.  And it
was too appetizing to waste.

As the blushing Wyatt watched, Mr. Dreamboat used two fingers of his right hand
to collect and feed himself the boy's sweet cream.

"Everything about you is precious," the silver-tongued rogue said to the boy.

Wyatt was delighted at being almost "worshiped," by a man who was gaining
stature in Wyatt's eyes by the minute.

Wyatt saw Mr. Dreamboat as someone who knew how to please a boy and was willing
to do most anything for a boy he loved.

So Wyatt should probably do something for Mr. Dreamboat, right?

As Mr. Dreamboat happily consumed Wyatt's sperm and semen, the boy sneaked a
peek at the man's cock.  Only the head was poking out of the water.  But it
looked fat, red and "angry."

Should Wyatt touch it?

Tentatively, the boy reached out and laid his hand onto the man's cockhead.
Which made the man stop his sperm-consumption (he was almost done anyway) and
enjoy the feel of a virgin's soft hand on his big boypleaser.

But nothing more of note was going to happen in the pool.  So Mr. Dreamboat
said, "That's so good, Baby.  So good.  But let's dry off and go over to the
bed.  We'll be more comfortable there and I can help you do that thing you just
liked again.  And again."

Wyatt blushed.  The boy wanted to do "that thing" again.  And again.  Even if he
had to do it with a man.   In a slutty place like Sodomus.

Once out of the pool, though, who knew what the man would try to do?  What if he
tried to put his cock into Wyatt's mouth?!?!?!?  Or even into Wyatt's
bumhole?!?!?!?

That would make Wyatt really gay.  Like those other little cockhounds at
Busybottom Elementary School.  Like Wyatt's almost-former-friend Tommy who
thought Wyatt would be interested when Tommy tried to tell Wyatt about Tommy's
afterschool visits to Mr. Sternman's' office.  And how Mr. Sternman would shoot
his sperm right down Tommmy's throat and all the way into Tommy's pretty bum.

Wyatt was only pretending to listen to Tommy.  Well, mostly pretending.  Because
Wyatt was waiting until he married a woman before he had sex.

The Wyatt standing outside the pool as Mr. Dreamboat lovingly patted him dry was
a different Wyatt than that earlier Wyatt.  Kind of a Wyatt 2.0.

New and improved Wyatt had sort of given up on that 11-year-wait notion.  He was
sort of ready for sex, in all its varieties, in say, 11 seconds.  Which was
about how long it took Mr. Dreamboat to dry himself off and escort Wyatt to the
bed.

The man laid Wyatt onto his back on the bed.  Was the boy's teenie peenie
sticking up again?  It was.  Yet another good omen for the man's hormone-driven
agenda.

Mr. Dreamboat joined Wyatt on the bed and initiated phase two of the
sperm-exchange party with some excellent kissing and cockstroking.  Both actions
were enthusiastically reciprocated by Wyatt.

Oh.

Wyatt was in bed, naked, with a naked man.  Stroking his cock as the man stroked
the boy's own stiffie.  Tongue-kissing.

And it was all so delicious.

But it was merely a tasty appetizer.

Mr. Dreamboat began to serve the first course by kissing his way from Wyatt's
mouth, down his neck, to his nipples.  Which he kissed, licked, sucked and
generally anguished as he played with the boy's testicle bag.

Wyatt 2.0 was at that point convinced that Wyatt 1.0 had been mentally
challenged.

The boy LOVED it all.

The man knew it.  And pressed his advantage.

Mr. Dreamboat took Wyatt's stiff penis into his mouth and applied the full
experience of 30 years of boysucking and boyfucking.

The man knew how to suck a boy's cock.  And how to enhance it with two skilled,
loving fingers in a boy's bottom.

Wyatt writhed and moaned as his senses were scrumptiously assaulted.

When the boy began to squeak and gasp, Mr. Dreamboat knew he was about to get a
tasty reward.  He rubbed harder and faster on Wyatt's prostate and ran his
tongue across the boy's knoblet in a thrilling arc.

And there it was.

A rather large load for a second effort.  And quite tasty.

Mr. Dreamboat especially liked the earsplitting, sissyish scream that the boy
issued when he spunked.

That was a "bravo" in the man's book.

And it was only 4 p.m.  Two hours of lovemaking remained.

When the boy returned to our space-time continuum, he was eager to reciprocate.

Mr. Dreamboat was lying next to Wyatt.  Still awed by the boy's beauty.

"That was awesome, Mr. Dreamboat!  Can I...I mean, would you like me to..."

"That would be very nice, Wyatt.  As you can see, I'm in some pain."

Wyatt looked down at Mr. Dreamboat's "thing."  The man was right.  It certainly
seemed to need attention.  It was so big and hot and hard.  The head was skinned
and so red that it looked livid.


Wyatt could kiss it.  Lick it even.  Though that drippy stuff didn't look too
tasty.

It was the right thing to do.

So he began to "slide south."

The man stopped him.

"I have a better idea," Mr. Dreamboat said.  "Let me show you."

Wyatt let Mr. Dreamboat position him. So that he was kneeling and straddling the
lying man's shoulders.  Facing the man's feet.  Then bending over into a
position to suck the man's cock.

Which Wyatt began to do.  Licking it tentatively at first.  Until he got some
very nice grunty, moany feedback from his man.  Which encouraged him to pick up
the pace and expand his lick zone.  Until...

Wyatt felt something wet on his bumhole.  Had the man wet his finger and...

No.

The boy didn't believe it.

The man was licking Wyatt's asshole.   With all his heart and all his tongue.

It was the single, dirtiest thing that Wyatt could have imagined.  Thus the most
thrilling.

So much so, that he stopped his oral attentions to Mr. Dreamboat's cock,
straightened his body to the vertical and literally sat on the man's face.

Which made Mr. Dreamboat's tongue enter paradise even more deeply.

That pleased Mr. Dreamboat, even though he had been enjoying Wyatt's lips and
tongue on his cock.

It was clear to the man at that point that that particular erection was destined
for the boy's bottom, not his throat.

Mr. Dreamboat loved it when a plan came together.

Wyatt was squealing and squirming, but being careful not to dislodge his
analinguist.

He was feeling a smidge of guilt about abandoning Mr. Dreamboat's obvious
needs.  But how could he do anything else when something like what was going on
in his bum was going on in his bum?

It was fantastic.

And getting Wyatt "close" yet again.  Which Mr. Dreamboat could read from the
boy's increasingly urgent grunts, moans and whimpers.

So of course Mr. Dreamboat stopped "feasting."

He wanted the boy in a randy state, not a just-spunked state, when he fucked
him.

One suppressed a lot of those unproductive second thoughts doing things that
way.

Mr. Dreamboat couldn't help chuckling inwardly when the disappointed, whimpering
boy rubbed his sopping asshole all over Mr. Dreamboat's face in a vain effort to
make the man continue his meal.

Half-reluctantly, Mr. Dreamboat extricated his face from that delightful
activity and said, "I have something better for you, my sweet Darling.  Just lie
on your tummy and I'll help you take another journey into outer space.  That's
it.  Three pillows under your stomach.  Bum high.  Good.  Now move your legs
apart so I can see all of that beautiful little morsel I was just licking.  Oh,
that's it."

Thinking that Mr. Dreamboat was merely repositioning the boy so that he could
continue the Analingus of the Century, Wyatt eagerly complied with Mr.
Dreamboat's stage direction.

His beautiful bum was lewdly exposed in all its moistened glory.  Awaiting the
man's further tonguings.

But it was not to be.

Mr. Dreamboat was fiddling with something on the bedpost.  Was it a dispenser of
something?

Unbeknownst to Wyatt, every bedpost at Sodomus was a surreptitious dispenser of
Spermbutt anal lubricant -- a product that Sodomus purchased by the barrelful.

Wyatt's lover was back.  The boy wiggled his ass happily, expecting that tongue
again.  But no.  He got fingers.  Slick fingers.  Much slicker than the fingers
before.  And more fingers.  Three, at least.  Which hurt a bit, stretching and
all.  But the slick stuff felt good.  And the man was rubbing Wyatt's boy's
place again.  So all was right with the home planet.

Unbeknownst (that esoteric word again) to Wyatt, the man was using his
non-anal-plunging hand to slather a goodly amount of Spermbutt onto his
frighteningly needy cock.  Which deserved a valorous decoration for having
witnessed what it had without erupting.

But Mr. Dreamboat's cock was about to be rewarded well.

Very well.

The boy was purring softly as the man exquisitely tormented Wyatt's prostate.
The boyish bum was fully lubricated and dilated.  The man's cock was hard, proud
and lubricated.

The unwary, but randy beauty was in perfect position.

Time to do the right thing.

Mr. Dreamboat knelt behind Wyatt.  With two slick, successive moves, he withdrew
his fingers from Wyatt's bumhole and replaced them with his cock.

Half of it, at least.

Though there was nothing halfway about the scream of agony and irretrievable
virginity that young Wyatt Stunnner issued when he first felt four thick inches
of chunky cock in his constricted asshole.

It was full-throated.

Though a mere peep compared to the yell Wyatt emitted when the last four inches
followed the path to man's bliss.

The skewered boy cried and wriggled and tried to escape.  But the man was too
strong.  And too firmly mounted.

Each wriggle of panicked struggle, however, produced something else.  A rub on
the boy's prostate.

Which the boy, despite his desperation, could not fail to notice.

Each rub on "the spot" seemed to lessen the pain.  Or at least overtake it.

The rectum's elasticity, with the help of the miracle product, Spermbutt, eased
Wyatt's pain to a dull ache.  Then a delightfully full feeling.   At which
point, his man started to fuck him with great loving skill.

Wyatt's sobs had morphed into whimpers of passion as he felt the full love buzz
of nature's own prostatic masseur -- an eight-inch cock attached to a handsome,
hunky man in his late 40s.

Wyatt was being deliciously fucked.

For the first time in his life.

And taking quite a liking to the process.  And the results.

No one and nothing except a pillow touched Wyatt's penis throughout the
spectacular fucking.  Yet, the boy experienced the best orgasm of that
sperm-quenched afternoon.

Sharp waves of pleasure slammed into the boy's guts and, after threatening to
disembowel him, backed off and merely rendered him half conscious.

Only three watery dribbles escaped his peehole during that heavyweight bout that
knocked him cold.

Wyatt's shuddering, squealing orgasm pleased Mr. Dreamboat, but the man was far
more interested at that point in the pursuit of his own climax.

At Sodomus, a crash cart was available for the patrons whose pleasures take them
toward the bright light.

Mr. Dreamboat didn't quite need it.

But it was a ball-emptying, gruntastic, sperm-shooting spree.

Seven thick globs of man's cream SHOT into Wyatt's virginal bowels.

Had Wyatt been fully conscious, he would have had a strong urge to poop.   The
cum enema is the finest enema there is, after all.

The boy only lay there, purring.  Exhausted.  His man's cum drooling from his
ravaged heinie.

Happier than he had ever been.

Mr. Dreamboat was pretty darn happy too.

As were Chrissie and Mr. Bumripper.

Remember them?

Actually, right about the time that Wyatt was getting his first spermatic
injection, young Chrissie was getting his second of the afternoon.

Notice I said, "afternoon," not "day."

Despite Chrissie's Mom's best efforts, Chrissie's Daddy and he had figured out a
way to have a nice fuck each and every morning.  Daddy pretended to go to work
right before Chrissie pretended to leave for school.  Daddy met Chrissie around
the corner and, while car sex isn't as good as bed sex, it's still pretty good.

Chrissie LOVED Mr. Bumripper, who was, as always, giving the young beauty all
the cock his bum could handle.  But Chrissie was distracted a bit by the
prospect of what was happening with Wyatt and that Mr. Dreamboat guy.

It had been all over school that day that Wyatt and Mr. Dreamboat were "doing
Sodomus" that afternoon.  No one really thought that that stuck-up Wyatt would
be anything but "stuck up" by Mr. Dreamboat once that handsome man got the boy
alone.

But Wyatt in "the game" would shift the balance of power at Busybottom
Elementary School.  Chrissie had always been the prettiest of the boys who "put
out."  Now there would be someone prettier than Chrissie -- Wyatt.


Chrissie had thought about that a lot.  And decided that alliance would be
better than antagonism.  So he had asked his Mom for a favor that morning and
all was working according to Chrissie's plan.

Wyatt and Mr. Dreamboat had formed quite an alliance of their own.

The man held the well-fucked boy in his arms until his breathing returned to the
normal range.  A bit longer for form's sake.  Then...

"Did you like that, Baby?"

Wyatt looked at Mr. Dreamboat with those huge, blue, doe eyes and said,
"Mmmmmm."  Then parted his lips for a kiss.

An invitation the man eagerly accepted.

More kisses, then...  "We don't have to leave quite yet.  We can do that thing we
just did again, but I'll need your help, OK?"

Wyatt should have asked, "What kind of help?" but all he did was another
"Mmmmmm."

Mr. Dreamboat said, "When men get older, they need a boy's help to get them hard
enough so they can pleasure their boy again and again.  All you have to do is
suck my cock until it gets nice and hard and then I can fuck you again.  OK?"

Wyatt looked at Mr. Dreamboat's cock.  It was droopy, all right.  Slick with cum
and that other slicky stuff.  Plus, it looked as if it had Wyatt's poop juices
on it.

Kind of icky.

Wyatt had a better idea.  In an impulse of passion, he decided that the best way
to excite Mr. Dreamboat would be the way that Mr. Dreamboat had just excited
Wyatt.

Wyatt moved "south" and Mr. Dreamboat settled himself for a nice, stiffen-up
blowjob.

But no.

Wyatt was behind Mr. Dreamboat.  His face was back by the man's...

Wow!!!

Wyatt was licking Mr. Dreamboat's hairy asshole!

Just as Mr. Dreamboat had done for Wyatt.

The boy had a filthy streak after all.  A very nice one.  And the mere notion
that Wyatt was doing what he was doing had blood rushing to the man's cock in
short order.

Within five glorious, ass-licked minutes, Mr. Dreamboat's monster was alive yet
again.

Sixty seconds later, Wyatt was on his back, knees up and the rutting, feral man
was giving Wyatt a healthy dose of what sissyboys ache for.

Hot, man cock.  Slicing into his bowels.

The best afternoon ever.



Two -- Sodomy in the Evening

[Ding]

The timer on Clerk Clark's desk rang.  It was 5:45 p.m.  Time to clear out his
rutting herd.  The boys had to get home for dinner and the Sodomus cleaning crew
had to get the rooms ready for the evening patrons.

Few as they were.

There were 64 units in the hotel.  Sixty were filled that weekday afternoon.
Fifty-five man-boy couples.  Two "double-dates."  And three trios -- one with two
men and very lucky boy and two with two boys and a very lucky man.  A good
afternoon for Sodomus.  As well as 64 boys and 63
 men.

All 64 units would be filled from Friday night until Sunday morning.  But
weeknights were slow.


Usually ten to 15 units from Monday to Thursday night.

Some divorced daddies who had the odd weeknight custody and walls too thin to
fuck their boys properly at home.

Some men who made it worth their boyfriends' mothers' while to allow their boys
overnight "dates" on school nights.

But mostly slower on school nights.

Clark pushed a button that flashed a light in all 60 occupied rooms.  The light
that said, "Fuck harder and faster.  Time's almost up."

It was OK with Clark if the regulars were a few minutes late -- no man would ever
fault another man for finishing his orgasm, even if a great fissure were opening
beneath said fucking man's feet.

But the cleaning crew had only 90 minutes between 6 and 7:30 overnight checkin.

With a literal ton or cummy sheets to strip and refresh.

Clark loved to watch his sated customers file past his desk on their way back to
the real world.  There was that new babe, what was his name?  Wyatt.  With that
movie and TV personality, Mr. Dreamboat.  Wow.  The way the boy was hanging onto
that man's arm.  That little cockteaser had to be a full-fledged cockpleaser
now.

Someone else noticed the change in Wyatt over the past three hours.  Chrissie
was hanging onto Mr. Bumripper's arm as they left.  Walking a bit achily after
three hours of "stiff competition."

Chrissie spotted Wyatt as they crossed paths heading for the parking lot.  Wyatt
was definitely embarrassed to be seen by one of his classmates at Sodomus.  But
not so embarrassed that he released Mr. Dreamboat's arm.

The boy was clearly in love.  If not with Mr. Dreamboat specifically, surely in
love with men.

Chrissie knew all the signs.  He could also determine from Wyatt's strained gait
that he had been fucked twice...no, make that three times that fine afternoon.

Wyatt had the unmistakable aura of the freshly fucked about him.

Chrissie just hoped that his Mom had come through with what Chrissie asked her
to do earlier.

Leaving Sodomus had poor Wyatt in a dither.  Though he had had the best time of
his life, how would he be able to face his friends and family again?  Now that
he was a cocksucking little prickpleaser?

He was so ashamed.

Yet, he agreed to a second date with Mr. Dreamboat two days hence.  Eagerly
agreed.  And wondered why it was two days instead of tomorrow.

Was Mr. Dreamboat seeing someone else?

Wyatt would scratch that little slut's eyes out!

As Wyatt got into Mr. Dreamboat's car for the ride home, Wyatt's friend Tommy
was still enjoying the pleasures of Mr. Sternman in the principal's office.

Mr. Sternman had no artificial deadline such as the one at Sodomus, so the man
was free to commit vile acts of sodomy until the boy needed to be home.  And
that night was Tommy's mother's bridge night.

The man and boy were nestled happily in a post-coital, kissy embrace, the fourth
such post-coital embrace that they enjoyed that lovely day.


Upon becoming principal 20 years earlier, one of Mr. Sternman's first and most
prudent acts had been to build what was essentially a mini-apartment as an
adjunct to his office.  That apartment housed a king-sized bed,
tiny-but-adequate kitchen, and full bath with both tub and shower.

Many a fuck-filled night had been spent there by the principal and his loving
fourth- and fifth-graders.

The man was always very loving and attentive to the boys, who all adored him
immensely.  The principal endeared himself to his young lovelies by preparing
microwave meals for them and serving them as if they were little princesses,
ensuring that they were well-bathed, powdered and dressed before going home, and
fucking them expertly with his nine-inch boypleaser.

Tommy's eyes fluttered open as he regained his senses after that fourth trip to
the O-zone.

Was he still alive?

Apparently so.

Mr. Sternman had done it again!  Made Tommy the best-fucked sissyboy on earth.
No small distinction.

And the man was nearly 54 years old!

Truth be told, he didn't even need Viagra.  Use it or lose it.  Mr. Sternman
used it.  Every day.  And most nights.  So he would never lose it.

The man was aware of the fact that he had aged beyond exciting the boys with the
whole "Daddy thing" that seemed to thrill sissyboys no end.

He was now exciting sissyboys with the "Granddaddy thing," which was even
naughtier, thus more exciting.  And good for their granddaddies, many of whom
had benefitted carnally from the feelings Mr. Sternman had awakened in his lover
lads.

Mr. Sternman's Johnson was taking a bit of a rest, since even Superman had to
stop leaping over tall buildings once in a while.

Sleep or snacktime?

Sleep was wimpy.

The man let Tommy sleep while the man got out of bed to heat up some frozen
pizzas for their dinner.  That rest should get them both recharged for the
sodomistic spectacular that awaited them the rest of that lovely evening.

Meanwhile, Wyatt was arriving home and giving Mr. Dreamboat a nice tongue kiss
inside the car, right there in the Stunners' driveway.  Which woke the neighbors
up and was seen directly by Wyatt's self-satisfied Mom.

"That was the best lovemaking of my life, Sweetheart," Mr. Dreamboat said,
mostly truthfully.  "I'm sorry that I can't see you tomorrow, but I'm shooting a
commercial.  An actor takes work when he can get it.  But I'm counting the
microseconds until I can pick you up from school the day after tomorrow."

No tarty sissyboy's eyes needed scratching out after all?

Wyatt accepted that and gave the man one more long, wet kiss.  Which had them
both ridiculously stiff.


But it was time to go.

And face Mom and Daddy.

Who, oddly enough, acted as if Wyatt had only been at glee club that afternoon.

As they sat down to fish sticks, macaroni and cheese and canned peas, Mom asked,
"How was your afternoon at that place, Wyatt?"


Wyatt ventured a "Fine."

And, startlingly, that was that.

Though Wyatt's nine-year-old brother Teddy was giggling at the sight of Wyatt's
stiffie that just wouldn't go down.  As well as the big "iron pipe" in Daddy's
pants during the whole meal.

What did all that mean, Teddy wondered.

Anyway, after supper, Wyatt was strongly considering a nap before going to bed.
Until Mom's announcement.

"I spoke to Chrissie's mother this afternoon.  She and I agree that Wyatt and
Chrissie should discuss what happened today.  Just to get `grounded' and all.
So he's coming over for a sleepover."

[Ding dong]

"That's the doorbell.  Must be Chrissie.  I'll get it."

A SLEEPOVER!!!!  WITH CHRISSIE?!?!?  THAT LITTLE SLUT?!?!?!?  THE BIGGEST
BOYSLUT IN THE SCHOOL?!?!?!?

That settled it.  Mom was losing it.

But Wyatt had no place to run, so he had to endure all of the nice-nice Mom made
toward Chrissie.  And puzzle at the way Daddy was looking at Chrissie.  Not to
mention the way Daddy had started looking at Wyatt.  And even at Teddy.

Wyatt's world had been reshaped in four-one-half, earth-axis-shifting hours.

Dealing with his new reality meant that Wyatt had to escort Chrissie to his
room, interact with Chrissie until bedtime, then get into Wyatt's single bed
with Chrissie and sleep with him until he could get going to school and restore
some sanity to his life.

Though would school really be a sanctuary after word got around about Wyatt's
afternoon at Sodomus?

That was tomorrow's issue.  At that moment, Wyatt was in his room with Chrissie,
who had been polite and sweet thus far.  Asking nicely where he could put his
backpack.

"Thanks for having me over tonight, Wyatt," Chrissie said.  "I'm sorry if I'm
disturbing you, but your first trip to Sodomus is a big deal.  I thought we
should, you know, talk.  Should we get into our jammies?"

Wyatt didn't know whether that was a good idea.  Since even the disturbed Wyatt
couldn't help noticing how pretty Chrissie was.  And how even Daddy had noticed
how pretty Chrissie was.  Even though Wyatt thought himself prettier.


Daddy needed to think so too, Wyatt thought.  And Daddy should tell Wyatt that
he was pretty now and then.  Or every day.

Why was Wyatt even concerned whether Daddy thought he was pretty?

What a dizzying day.

Which was still spinning when Chrissie began undressing for jammies-putting-on
and stripped down to his panties!

Panties!!

Chrissie wore panties!!

Barely there, white, satin, bikini panties with little pink hearts sewn on at
both hips.  So brief that they exposed almost two inches of Chrissie's bottom
crack in the back!

Rather than removing the panties, then getting into his authorized boy jammies,
Chrissie grabbed his toothbrush and said, "I'll just go brush my teeth and I'll
be right back."

As Chrissie left the room and headed down the hall to the bathroom that Wyatt
and Teddy used, a shocked Wyatt wondered four things:

Did Chrissie wear panties all the time?

Was he planning to wear them, just the panties, to bed with Wyatt?

What if Daddy saw Chrissie walking in the hallway wearing those obscene panties?

Where was that sleeping bag that Daddy bought Wyatt for cub scouts a couple of
years earlier?  He couldn't sleep in bed with Chrissie dressed like that.

Still...

Wyatt, for all his high and mightiness, had, just two or three hours earlier,
sucked a man's cock, licked the man's hairy asshole and "endured" the man's
thick cock inside his bottomhole.  Three glorious times.

[Blush]

But that was different.  Mr. Dreamboat was a man.  Wyatt and Mr. Dreamboat were
in love.  Chrissie Pantydropper was just a boy, like Wyatt.  What if Wyatt
allowed Chrissie certain "liberties" and Chrissie proved to be a big tattletale
around school.  Telling everyone that Wyatt was gay and a cocksucker.

Wyatt sighed.

It was probably too late to be worrying about that anymore.

Chrissie slid back into the room, carrying his toothbrush and smelling of soap
and toothpaste.

Wyatt had to admit that the boy was pretty.  And had a very nice body.
Especially his nipples, which were bigger than Wyatt's.  A fact that
inexplicably made Wyatt a bit jealous.

Wyatt was having the oddest thoughts.

He even postulated that Chrissie's "boobies" were bigger because of all the men
who had sucked on them.  Which made Wyatt shiver with lust.

Chrissie noticed.  "I saw you looking at my panties, Wyatt.  Since you just had
your first fun with a man today, you probably don't own any panties.  I brought
you two pairs of mine to get you started, but my guess is that men will start
buying you all the panties you need.  Starting with Mr. Dreamboat, but in a week
or so, your Daddy will buy you some too.  You saw the way he looked at you,
didn't you?"

Chrissie was a demon -- saying that about Wyatt's Daddy.

But he was right.

Panties.

Wearing panties would make it official.

Wyatt would be in Busybottom Elementary's sissyboy crowd.

Enduring men's drools, flattery and "cockiness."  Discarding his previous plan
to wait eleven more years, marry a dream girl who shared his disdain for
premarital relations, then have the only pure sex -- marital, heterosexual sex
whose objective was procreation.  Preferably while keeping one's nightclothes
and all the lights on.

Wyatt accepted a pretty pair of pink thong panties from Chrissie, stripped and
put them on.  Blushing all the way.  But enjoying the appreciative noises
Chrissie made as he saw Wyatt in his full sexiness for the first time.

The two pantied boys stood inches apart.  Admiring each other's vast beauty.
Noticing each other's naughty "panty tents."

Wyatt moved first.  He stepped forward and took the nearly naked Chrissie into
his arms.  Kissing him and rubbing his pantied cock against Wyatt's pantied
loveliness.

The boys drifted toward the bed where they moaned and grunted through a long,
wet kiss with lots of saliva and tongue.

By which time they were both in a very needy, achy condition.

Chrissie, being the more experienced, suggested simultaneous gratification.  AKA
a 69.

Wyatt docilely complied.

Panties were pulled down to mid-thigh.  Pricklets were exposed and skinned for
maximum sensuality.  And the cocksucking began.

Wyatt was clearly the beginner.  He hadn't even sucked Mr. Dreamboat to
completion, the man's three loads of the afternoon having been deposited
thrillingly inside Wyatt's bum.

Chrissie demonstrated a very nice variety of techniques and Wyatt was a very
fast learner.

Since both boys had been through some load-bearing duty that afternoon, they
were able to hold back for a while -- 21 delicious minutes for Wyatt -- two
minutes longer for Chrissie.

Chrissie's creamload startled Wyatt.  He hadn't thought through the whole spit
vs. swallow conundrum that had vexed philosophers for centuries.  Instinct told
Wyatt to spit.  But he swallowed, thinking it was dirtier.  And dirtier is
invariably better.

Chrissie, of course, swallowed all of Wyatt's discharge with great delight.

And a great friendship was born that night.

A friendship dedicated to mutual admiration and a love for all things anal and
sodomistic.

Few relationships are built on more solid grounds.



I welcome your comments at beautifulcreamer@yahoo.com.

Other stories on nifty:

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"Cockteaser's Comeuppance" (gay adult-youth) September 5, 2008
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