Date: Sat, 18 May 2013 10:29:31 +0100
From: Tim Smith <zadziu98@gmail.com>
Subject: Whizz Kid

Disclaimer: This is a story concerning consensual sex between a man and a
boy. It is a work of fiction. Feedback is welcome at zadziu98@gmail.com

Whizz Kid

By zadziu

Max had a date and he was both excited and scared. In order to make this
date, he had broken just about every rule his parents had laid out for him.
All the rules about internet usage, talking to strangers, chatting only to
his own peer group, avoiding giving out personal details - well, you name
it and Jason had broken it. Because he knew he was ready to make all his
confused dreams come into focus and finally be realized. After all, he was
eleven and had read so much about what was going to happen to him, to his
body, and his mind had already shown him where he wanted to go. He was
educating himself. That was his justification for his actions. He was
poised for it and couldn't wait for it all to start happening. Every day he
examined his body for signs of change. He wanted to find evidence of hair
growing around his pubes or in his arm pits or even on his little white
chest but so far, disappointingly, there was nothing. Little did he know
that his lack of hair would be a powerful attraction in itself.

He wanted to be taller, he wanted to be heavier, he wanted a bigger cock,
he wanted his balls to drop, he wanted his voice to break. He wanted to be
older. He could not wait until he was a big boy. He knew it would happen
but he was fed up waiting. He wanted to be sixteen right now and then he
could do all the things he wanted to. When he looked at himself naked in
the cheval mirror that stood in his parents' bedroom, all he saw was a
short, skinny boy with a mop of untamed black hair, all the more dramatic
against a white skin, slim legs, tiny buttocks, (albeit exceptionally
pert), delicate features that were pretty rather than handsome... He knew
he didn't even look eleven - he was among the shortest boys in his class at
school and was subject to bullying because of it. The worst taunt, the one
he couldn't stand was, 'You should be in Primary Four, not Seven!'

But what he lacked in maturity of appearance he more than made up for in
his mind - and having had a computer from the age of eight, he had set
about the task of discovering all the secret worlds that could provide him
with the key to entering some of them, especially the ones that were
difficult to access.

On his own, and through his own research, he had found a way into the
hidden world of the internet. It was a closed, untraceable world over the
rainbow. It was a world of illegality and he felt rather like Dorothy on
first arriving in Oz; but just as she, though intrigued by the strangeness
of the world around her, kept her eyes on her goal of finding a way to
return home, so he ignored the world of drugs and contract killers and bomb
making and mercenaries and all the other strange byways of the dark side of
the internet and headed for erotica. Here, too, he followed his personal
Yellow Brick Road, ignoring the worlds of bestiality, of incest, of sadism
and masochism, to the hidden lair of child pornography where he was able to
feast his eyes on boys just like him having sex with adult males. He saw
little skinny bodies like his being held against burly, hairy men almost
twice their size. He saw tiny rosebud asses being spread wide by adult
penises, and boys stretching their jaws to accommodate adult cocks. And,
having feasted on this forbidden fruit late into the nights when his school
friends were long asleep, he found his way to the hidden chat rooms.

Of course he had difficulty in convincing the men he chatted to that he was
indeed eleven. He came across as too mature, too knowing in the way he
articulated his feelings - but the connoisseurs among the pedos soon
realized that this was something rare - a boy with lots of theoretical
knowledge but no experience. And so the date was made, the rendezvous
arranged, and the boy duly in the assigned place at the assigned hour. And
the black Mercedes approached exactly on time and Max got into the front
passenger seat and fastened his safety belt.

'I am being kidnapped,' thought Max. And it was a kind of kidnap. His
innocence and naivety showed in his guilelessness. No one knew he was doing
this. He had left no note of explanation. He was supposed to be playing
tennis after school.

He should have felt panic but he did not. He felt strangely calm, as if
there was an inevitability and rightness about what was happening to him.

'I have no idea where I am going, I have no idea who this man is, I should
be terrified.'

And in a way he was terrified - but excitement and sheer curiosity was
taking him over, blotting out all rational thinking. He was discovering
himself. He was running on adrenaline. And he was totally excited. So many
ideas and notions and fantasies he had obsessed about for at least a year
were now going to happen.

>From time to time, he looked almost wildly around him, as if looking for
escape - but then the gloved hand would rest on his leg, firmly pressing
him. He felt as if he were being pressed into place, pressed into
acceptance. He felt wholly powerless to resist. And with that thought a new
sense of peace came over him. He could not resist, but he did not need to
resist. Decisions were being made for him, he no longer had control; all he
had to do was go along with what this man wanted. He had to obey. Somehow,
obscurely, he felt that if he just went along with everything, if he just
did exactly what this man wanted, then he would be safe.

The journey became a dream. He could not have said how long it took. Had
the car stopped and he had been thrown out, he could not have said in what
direction he had come, what areas of the city they had passed through. None
of this reality was real to him. And now the car was pulling up outside a
large, tall terraced house, and he was getting out and following the man up
the steps to a Georgian front door, being ushered inside, into a long dark
hall; he heard the door close behind him, heard a bolt being shot home, as
he stood there uncertainly, trying to adjust to the darkness. And he sensed
the man coming up behind, falling to his knees, and felt his nearness and
then a gloved hand was over his mouth as he felt his head being pulled back
onto the man's shoulder.

And he did not panic. Or fight. Or try to pull free. His head came back in
a slow, steady, relaxed way as if what was happening to him was the most
natural thing in the world. The gloved hand covered his mouth; it was held
firmly; there was no way he could break free from the strength of this
hold; but he did not want to. The soft but tough touch of the leather, the
potent smell of the leather acted on him. Tentatively he forced his tongue
through his slightly parted lips. He wanted to taste the leather in
addition to feeling it and smelling it. And this made him completely hard
in a way that came instantly whereas before this he had to work to make his
little cock swell and stick out. Now it bulged against his school uniform
shorts, tenting them as the man's other hand slipped round to feel it and
grasp it and hold him there with as much casual power as the hand over his
mouth.

His body folded into this position of helplessness and powerlessness. He
felt the man's cock pressed against his buttocks and his hands moved to
caress the suited body that held him. But as he did so, as if any gesture
from him was a sign of independent thinking, the man broke the static
nature of the scene by turning him around to face him. A gloved hand
grasped him by the chin and held him in his gaze. Max was forced to look at
him - but in this darkness he could not see the expression on the man's
face. Was there cruelty there? Or lust? Or, even possibly, love?

Max knew instinctively what he must do, what he had to do to please this
man; and at this moment he wanted so much, more than anything in the
world,to please the man. And so his face moved towards this stranger, his
tongue tentatively parted his lips and moved slowly towards the man's face.
Delicately, he tongued the lips of the man, savouring their shape, their
feel, their taste. There was no response - except, did the man's lips part
just a little? Max's tongue dived for that tiny space, that opening and the
lips parted to let him in. A kiss, a passionate kiss, such as Max had long
longed to experience with a man.

The man relaxed his hold on him and drew back a little. There was a strange
stillness, as if each was watching the other. In a sudden movement of total
surrender Max kissed him again but with more fervour and a fierce
concentration, his whole being focussed on this act of devotion and
emotional engagement. The response from the stranger was equally strong.
Again, time stood still, even disappeared in the intensity of this moment.

The man stood up. An arm went round his shoulders, the other arm crossing
his waist as he was gently led upstairs. In a dream-like state he mounted
the stairs, still not seeing the face but knowing that the eyes were fixed
on him, on his slightest response.

To a bedroom. An undressing, both of them, sliding between cool sheets, all
happening so slowly, so intensely, so beautifully as if choreographed; the
bodies coming together, hands exploring, touching, caressing; tongues
moving and sliding and kissing and coinciding; and Max's little boy's body,
being held, and caressed and being rejoiced in for all the things he
disliked about himself - his slimness, his boniness, his hairlessness, his
tiny cock, his little pert buttocks, a waist so slender it was no more than
the size of one of the man's thighs. Now that he was in the embrace of a
man, Max instinctively behaved in ways designed to elicit the ultimate in
approval from the true pedophile as he became a lithe, wriggling, tactile,
oral sexboy; hands and mouth everywhere, licking and sucking and stroking
and kissing and emitting little gasps and squeals of pure pleasure as he
was introduced for the first time to the world of sex and sensuality.

He felt so small against the full figure of the man. He was aware of so
many contrasts. The man's hairy chest, broad and muscled against his own
slight nakedness. The powerful, huge cock pressed against his tiny little
buttocks. But he had seen the pictures, he had read the texts - he knew it
would go in, that it would hurt but that the hurt would be wonderful and
that he would pass through the pain to a new feeling. This is what he had
worked towards and he was not going to fall at the final hurdle.

The man flipped the boy over on to his back and straddled him, placing the
boy's ankles on his broad shoulders. Max gazed up at the man who smiled
encouragement at him and spoke for the first time. 'Time to breed my little
boy,' he said, with a chuckle.

Max felt the man lubing his ass and pushing one finger, two, three up his
bottom but so gently as he expanded it expertly. The boy was fully relaxed.
The man was gentle but insistent and Max pressed back to show that he
desired it, that he wanted the man's cock to push in, and that he was
ready. He wanted to rise to meet the challenge and soar over it, with joy
and ecstasy which is all he felt - the physical feelings now metamorphosed
into a spiritual feeling of being taken, of giving himself, of surrendering
totally as this man entered him slowly, pausing to let the boy adjust to
each centimeter of progress, as Max gasped and winced but willed himself
impaled on the cock until suddenly it moved with a swift glide to its home
and the boy cried out in pain, then pleasure as he felt it deep inside him
and the man began to fuck him, gently at first but with larger and deeper
thrusts, his body coming up hard against the soft, sweet cheeks of the
boy's buttocks and fucked him, slowly, gently, forcefully, wildly, to the
point where the boy could no longer distinguish between feelings and
emotions other than the knowledge that the stranger was making them one,
him and the man, until he did not know who was the man and who was Max, as
he felt the man's seed empty itself into the very centre of his being and
he shot his own stream of cum onto his hairless chest.