Date: Sat, 4 Feb 2012 11:47:31 +0000
From: Ivor Sukwell <isukwell@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: You Should Think About It

This story is, of course, fiction, fiction and fantasy. It contains, or,
more accurately, is all about sex between a man and boys, and if that is
not your thing, then I suggest you read no further, you are here by
mistake.

If you should not be reading stories of this kind, either for reasons of
law or age, then if you continue you do so at your own risk. I have warned
you, but I cannot prevent you. Should you actually read through until the
end, I hope you enjoy what is no more than a masturbation fantasy. As we
all know, fantasies of that nature have nothing to do with reality.

`You Should Think About It'
A story by Ivor Sukwell.

"You should think about it," Maria persisted, "It would be company for you
and you would be doing so much."

Maria was a retired schoolteacher who, although retired, spent three days a
week teaching, on a voluntary basis, a dozen or so of the Romanian children
who lived around the village.

Romania is part of the European Union, so the children had a legal right to
be here, though a few of them had a little less right as they had come here
without a family. They lived, along with those who had brought them, in a
camp on the edge of the village. Maria wanted me to `adopt' one of them
and, by doing so, lessen her problems with the authorities.

"It's not really me," I protested lamely; what would I want with a Romanian
child who spoke little Spanish and no English?

"You have this new house," she insisted, "Too big for you on your own."

She was right about that, at least. It was a nice house, well, now anyway.
It had been a wreck, repossessed by the bank; no doors, no windows, no
floors and the little swimming pool filled with rotting vegetation. We had
been talking in the bar about what could be done with it, and I had said
that it was worthless, not even worth the value of the land it stood on, so
much needed to be spent on it to make it liveable. One of the group had
said he wondered what I would offer for it and I replied that I would pay
no more than twenty thousand euros, and before I knew what was happening
the bank that he worked for had told me that they would accept that offer.

One year and eighty thousand euros later, the house had doors, windows, new
floors and a cleaned out pool and I was living in it.

"You could take one of them," Maria nagged on, "Help with the cleaning and
gardening as well as keep you company."

Has anyone ever heard of a child who could help with the cleaning and the
gardening?

"Come with me tomorrow," she insisted, "See them and meet them."

I did, of course; doing what she wants is the only way to quieten a nagging
woman.

"Gregor there, he would be perfect for you," she said, indicating a boy in
his early teens.

I had gone along to her makeshift classroom in the village in the hope of
quelling her demands on me, and now she was pointing out a boy she thought
would be suitable for me to take in. I had spent half my life looking for a
boy to live with, and now Maria was offering me one in order to help her
out!

Gregor, the boy she had indicated, was nothing special, apart from the fact
that he was not overweight, he was in his early teens and he was a boy --
three characteristics that made him special as all boys who fit that
description are special. His face was obviously eastern European; slightly
prominent cheekbones, hair that bordered on fair without ever quite making
it, which hinted at some Russian blood hidden in his background, and just
the faintest touch of almond shaped, blue eyes that may have been the
combined result of the Russian domination and the Mongol invasion of his
country some five hundred years previously. Not pretty, not handsome, but
very definitely boy.

I do not find boys easy to resist, especially fourteen year old boys, and I
investigated him visually with no attempt to hide my interest. Maria, being
a woman, completely failed to notice my interest, but the boy, Gregor, did
not. All boys have a pretty good idea of what is going on when a man eyes
them up, and Gregor was no exception. He intercepted my stare, and though
he did not follow my eyes he knew I was looking at him in as much detail as
was possible, and he probably guessed I was mentally undressing him as
well.

This, as any boy hunter will know, is a critical moment; you spot a
possible target and decide if you are going after him or not. Perhaps
closer inspection reveals that he does not meet your requirements, or
perhaps circumstances make a hunt impossible and, sometimes, you decide
that he is worth tracking. You fix your laser sights on him and he becomes
prey. The moment he spots those tell-tale marks of your sights, he will
react. Mostly the reaction is indifference -- he has no interest in being
hunted by you; there are times when he will simply ignore the fact that he
has been sighted, reject it and by rejecting it tell you he is not willing
to be prey for you or anyone else; and sometimes, just sometimes, he will
acknowledge that he has been sighted and targeted and allow the hunt to
begin.

Gregor knew he had attracted my interest, not difficult as I was not being
subtle about it; there was no need to be as I never expected to see him
again; he was nothing more than target practice -- a boy who was worth
looking at and openly wondering what he would be like naked, without ever
expecting to have the chance to find out.

Maria was talking to him in very basic Spanish and even more basic
Romanian. He had only just started to learn the language and she had
acquired no more than a few words of his eastern European tongue, so proper
communication was far from easy.

"This man wants a boy," she said to him carefully and slowly and failed
totally to notice that his eyes widened with more than just a little
surprise at this information. She did not mean it in the way he interpreted
it, of course, but she didn't see that. "He wants a boy in his house," she
said slowly, waiting till he nodded to show he had understood before
continuing, "To.............." she searched for words he would understand,
"To....do things for him," she settled on.

Gregor's eyes widened even more, which was not really surprising; a teenage
boy's interpretation of that could only go in one direction. I had no idea
of what she was saying as she had resorted to her primitive Romanian, but I
could see the reaction on the boy's face -- surprise, wonder and
amazement, which I believed were the result of him being told that I would
give him somewhere to live in return for him doing some odd jobs around the
house and garden.

More followed, ending with the boy shrugging his shoulders and apparently
agreeing.

"That's settled," she announced with matriarchal satisfaction, "Trial
period of one week. You can collect him from school tomorrow afternoon."

I did, waiting outside Maria's makeshift schoolroom at two in the
afternoon. She brought Gregor out to me and I was more impressed with the
boy standing than I had been yesterday when I only saw him seated.

He was taller than any of the other kids, but that was not surprising as he
was considerably older as well; most were aged around eight or nine with a
couple of what I guessed were eleven or twelve. I estimated him at around
five feet six inches or so and quite solidly built. The slenderness of
adolescence was accompanied by no suggestion of skinniness and his legs
seemed solid, from what I could gather as he was wearing rather tatty and a
size or two too large, jeans.

In one hand he held a plastic carrier bag, containing, I guessed, all his
possessions; he would not have owned much, probably no more than a couple
of tee shirts and some underwear that had been provided by charity. Living,
as he was, in what was no more than a canvas shelter, shared with however
many people there were who had brought him over here from Romania,
desperate economic refugees who scraped some sort of living by fruit
picking and other manual labour, personal possessions were non-existent.

His other hand was grasped by Maria, who was leading him towards me, a look
of satisfied achievement on her face. His face had almost no expression, a
careful neutrality designed to cover any emotions he might have been
feeling as a result of the fate that fortune had decreed for him.

"There you are," she said as she handed him over, "He's all yours now." To
the boy she said, pointing with a finger to make sure she was understood,
"You be good for him."

The boy nodded, again with no expression, and followed me to my car.

There was some expression when he saw my house. It was not a huge house,
modest but attractive and in a good situation, but it must have seemed like
a palace to a boy who had been living in a canvas shelter.

"Mi casa," I said when we got out of the car; "No es grande, pero..." I let
the sentence just trail away.

His eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape. I led him through the small, but
tidy, front garden and into the house. A hallway, a large room that served
as lounge and dining room, kitchen, downstairs toilet complete with shower,
and on through to my pride and joy -- an extension I had had built. All
glass, double glazed to keep warmth in during the winter, it housed my only
genuine extravagance, a full-sized snooker table. It also led out to my
secluded rear garden with its small swimming pool, a pool that was itself
enclosed by a canvas structure with plastic windows, that served to keep
leaves from falling into it, and also to keep eyes from seeing into it --
when I used it I liked to do so naked.

Upstairs I had two en-suite double bedrooms, both with large, king sized
beds. Mine, south facing, had patio doors that led onto a balcony that was
overlooked by no-one -- somewhere else I could be naked. The other
bedroom, I explained to Gregor, was for visitors, not thinking that,
because of our limited communication, I needed to make it clear to him that
he was a visitor and that while he was here, that was his room.

No way was I going to bother preparing anything for lunch, so I took him
down the club for a couple of tapas, enough to keep him going until the
evening meal. The regulars, of course, instantly jumped in, teasing me
about my having a Romanian boy in tow.

"Don't blame me," I protested, "Maria wished him on me."

General laughter and suggestions that I keep everything well locked away,
or his family would arrive when I was out and strip the place bare.

"Doesn't have a family," I explained, "that's why Maria's lumbered me with
him, I think. One less for her to bother about."

"How long you got him for?"

"Trial period of one week is all I agreed to," I told them, which caused
one to splutter into his white wine.

"Believe me," he said when he finished choking, "If Maria's got you to take
him in, there's no giving him back!" Since he was Maria's husband, there
was a horrible possibility he might be right!

I fed the boy his tapas and a coke to go with it -- I had several beers
with mine, I felt I needed them!

Back at the house, I felt I ought to make some sort of effort; it wasn't
the kid's fault I was lumbered with him. I went out onto the terrace where
the sun made it warm enough to be naked, but I restrained myself and kept
my shorts on; short shorts and nothing underneath so there was a
possibility that things might hang out, but I wasn't going to be concerned
about that. If they did dangle and he didn't want to see he could bloody
well look somewhere else!

He followed me out like a well trained and faithful dog, watched me strip
to my shorts, but made no move to do anything except stand as though
waiting for orders.

"Sit," I said and pointed to the other wicker armchair, the one I wasn't
using and he obediently went and sat, hands folded demurely in his lap.

`Jesus!' I thought, `What the fuck am I going to do with him?' "Beer?" I
asked; I was certainly going to have another one.

He looked at me blankly; of course he didn't understand a word of
English. "Cervesa?" I tried again and this time those mobile eyes of his
widened once again.

"Quiro cevesa?"

He nodded, almost enthusiastically.

I got up, fetched a couple of cans from the fridge -- I keep a small
fridge just for beer out on the terrace, it saves having to walk in and out
of the house all the time. Actually, it's not just for beer, it's got a few
bottles of wine in it as well.

"Fumar?" I kept it to Spanish this time as I held out my cigarette packet
and he understood straight away this time, tentatively reaching for one as
though scared they might burn his hand, or, more likely, that he would be
clumsy and knock them onto the ground.

That, at least, was something, I thought; he's partly human anyway, he
smokes and he drinks beer. Briefly I wondered if he was even more human and
wanked frequently, but I couldn't ask him that, could I!

He finished his beer and fag in silence and, because there was at least
four hours before I would be getting food ready and I couldn't just sit
there with him in silence, I clambered out of my chair and pointed to the
pool; or to the canvas and plastic structure that enclosed the pool.

"Swim?" I asked, and, of course, he looked blank again. I asked again, this
time moving my arms as though doing some sort of standing breaststroke

Understanding dawned and he pointed at his clothing; he had nothing to go
swimming in. I gestured for him to follow me and led the way to the pool,
where, once inside the gazebo type thing, it was obvious that there was
total privacy. I made undressing gestures, trying to tell him he could swim
naked if he wanted to and left him to it.

I went back to the terrace, grabbed another beer and went to play with my
snooker table.

It was a good hour before he reappeared, dressed as he had been in shirt
and jeans, but with his hair soaking wet. He had been in the pool, another
plus.

Snooker fascinated him and I let him watch me play a few shots before I
offered him another beer and cigarette, showing him that smoking was not
allowed near the table and taking him back to the terrace.

With enormous difficulty and far more patience than I normally display, I
tried to find out something about him. I tried to ask him how long he had
been in Spain, but he misunderstood and told me he was fourteen. My Spanish
was not that much better than his, so we established a `sentence free'
method of communication, never more than three or four words together and
sod the grammar.

"Tu," I pointed at him, "Quantos semanas en Espana?"

`Semanas' puzzled him, so I tried `dia' and when he showed he understood
`day' I held up seven fingers and repeated `semana'.

Success! He frowned, thought and held up four fingers, "Quatro," he
announced, proud that he had remembered how to count.

And so it went on; I asked about family and he said, "Nada," nothing, he
had no family. He liked football and had worked in the fields for two weeks
before Maria spotted him and enrolled him in her school, an unofficial
establishment where she taught the immigrant children basic Spanish so they
could attend real school.

As he relaxed; the several beers he had now consumed may have helped there,
I began to like him more. He was just a fourteen year old kid, scared
shitless at being dumped with me, and even more shitless by knowing that if
the authorities found out about him, that he was an orphan with no means of
support, he'd be whisked away and probably be sent back to an orphanage or
something in Romania.

"From now on," I told him while he was drinking his fifth beer, "All talk
is in English." He might as well learn something useful while he was with
me, I thought. So we started an English lesson.

I pointed to the can he was holding and said, "Beer," repeating it until he
understood and could say the word. He learned that cigarettes were `fags'
and that you smoked them, and we worked our way around the obvious things,
like `chair', `table' and `pool'. Not a lot, but it took quite a time and I
was now getting hungry.

He followed me into the kitchen, watched me prepare a salad and took plates
and cutlery outside when I named them and gave them to him. Outside, I lit
the barbeque, and slapped on a couple of decent sized steaks.

We ate the salad while the steaks cooked, and helped it down with some
chilled white wine, moving on to the red when the steaks were done. By now
he was less than sober -- a fourteen year old, unused to alcohol, gets
pissed quite quickly, but he held it well and the steak, probably the
biggest he had ever seen or even more probably, the first he had ever seen,
helped him absorb the booze. Certainly the steak did not last long, and,
seeing that he could clearly dispose of more, I threw another, smaller one
on the grill and let it cook while we smoked another cigarette.

"Tu es moy benissimo," he smiled at me when he'd demolished his second
steak, and I won't pretend that it does not warm the heart just a little
when a fourteen year old boy tells you he thinks you are very nice.

As it was a Friday, there was football on Sky, so we settled down to watch
it on my other bit of self-indulgence, a sixty inch plasma television. He
sat on the same couch as me, close enough to feel his warmth, close enough
to touch, but, somehow, I restrained myself. I felt wrong about attempting
to seduce a boy when we could not talk to each other, not talk enough to
know if he was willing to be seduced.

Eventually it was time for bed, and I sent him upstairs while I cleared up;
he could start his housekeeping duties tomorrow, today had been enough of
an experience for him.

As I climbed the stairs I could see the light was on in my bedroom and
assumed he had mistaken it for his at first, and, realising his error had
left, forgetting to turn out the light. I was wrong.

He was lying on the bed, just his lower legs under the thin duvet, the rest
pulled aside to reveal himself. My sheets, pillow cases and duvet covers
are made of black faux silk so his pale cream body was arranged on a
background of black and the effect was erotic in the extreme.

He was naked and front on to me, revealing all his boyhood charms, and what
charms! He was still soft, perhaps not completely soft, but certainly not
even half hard. My eyes were riveted on around four inches, four ample
inches, of resting teenage cock, a cock that boasted, joy of joys, a long
foreskin, long enough to make my foreskin loving mind drool. He had pubes,
but only just, and they grew beside the valley between thigh and groin, I
could see nothing at all at the base of his prick.

His legs, teenage legs, were long and slender, but slender only because
they were not yet fully developed -- his thighs promised that later they
would be firm and full -- and they were smooth, not a hint of hair
visible. His upper half was firm and well-developed for a boy of his years,
a boy who was obviously not unused to physical labour, and the brown nubs
of his nipples begged to be fondled and kissed.

He saw the look of shock on my face and his lips quivered, worry, concern,
even perhaps fear showing on his face.

"Non gusta?" he almost whispered.

"Oh, yes," I breathed, "I like, I like a lot." I had to translate that for
him into baby Spanish and his face brightened a bit.

"Quiro?" he wanted to know and I assured him that I did, I wanted him and
all that he was offering.

I had no idea why he was offering himself, guessing that it was a way of
thanking me for the beer, the cigarettes and the food, and if it was, it
was more thanks than I could have dreamed of.

I took off my own shirt and shorts with the light still on so he could see
me naked as well, see my less than soft, thick uncircumcised inches, my
shaved groin and legs, and he looked with interest before I joined him in
bed and pulled the duvet over us, not in order to hide our nakedness, but
to enclose it, to make the contact that was to come more intimate.

I suppose I should have asked him if he was sure, if he really wanted to do
this, but the lack of language would have made that impossible, so instead,
I put an arm round him and eased him gently towards me for a cuddle.

You can tell a lot about what sort of sex you are going to get from a boy
from that first cuddle; tentative, shoulders only, contact usually means
you are going to get basic cock and not much more; wild, enthusiastic, leg
entwining cuddles are a fair indication that fucking is definitely on the
agenda; and if it's a sort of half way, but his hands are not passive, then
you can be pretty sure your cock will get dealt with in a satisfactory
manner.

Gregor managed to combine all three. He started by accepting my arm round
his shoulder and he eased in closer so were in contact as far down as our
nipples. I didn't try to force things, just enjoyed what I had and waited
to see what might develop. Gradually he relaxed as body heat worked its
magic and the pressing of flesh together moved downwards to include groins
and then thighs.

He didn't feel tense, but there was a feeling of nervousness, almost as
though he was worried about giving too much too soon, or not enough soon
enough. It was, I realised, his first time and he had no idea what he was
supposed to do.

I helped him by moving my hand, gently stroking his back; I do love a boy's
back, so firm, so hard, but the skin smooth, warm and supple. I sensed a
fractional easing of the nervousness and risked my hand going lower, onto
the firm mounds of his buttocks, just stroking at first and then softly
squeezing.

I could feel him reacting, his hardness pushing at my groin and I softly
eased mine into his. His breathing varied between deep and slow and short,
almost panting as his mind tried to make sense of what his body was
experiencing, and then he made a noise, half way between a muffled grunt
and a moan and he pushed a knee between my thighs and his hand began to
move on my back as mine had done on his.

I kissed him gently on the forehead and then on the nose, telling him he
was beautiful in English and in Spanish, and then tried a lip to lip kiss,
but with mouth closed. He accepted but did not respond; no-one had given
him any lessons in kissing, explained the lip nibbling and sucking that
comes before full tongue in mouth passion, so he simply copied me.

My lips just rested on his, so his did the same with mine. When I started
moving my lips, still with mouth closed, he, after a couple of seconds
delay, did the same. When I opened my mouth, just a fraction, so my tongue
could poke out and brush against his lips, he froze for an instant and then
copied.

Once tongues have met there is no holding back; I opened wider, pushed my
tongue against the tip of his; his lips, not wanting to lose contact with
mine, parted wide enough for my tongue to pass and I was in his mouth. This
time his response was immediate and our tongues twisted together, our lips
pressed hard and his body melted. Not quite all of his body, one bit did
not melt, it did the opposite, his ample teenage erection poking hard into
my groin.

Whatever thoughts had gone through the boy's mind earlier, the `should he,
shouldn't he' thoughts that afflict most teenage boys when they first go
with a man, I knew the only thing on his mind now was sex. Perhaps lust
would be a better description; he'd already committed himself to sex, but
now his body was demanding it and his mind was in full agreement.

Our kissing moved from smouldering to furnace; tongues battling with each
other, searching every millimetre of mouth, hunting for tonsils. His hand
on my back went from uncertain stroking to finger digging frenzy, his knee,
between my thighs, pushed upwards desperate for contact with my balls and
his steel hard cock jammed itself into my stomach. This boy was mine now,
mine to do with as I wished -- I could have turned him and fucked him
there and then and he would have given up his arse without a second
thought.

Much as I like fucking boys, and I do like fucking boys, my urges have
always come second to the boy's needs, and this boy needed to be led to
that final surrender; he needed to give and not be taken. He needed to know
all the pleasures his body could give him and not rush headlong to the
finish before he was even aware of all the other things he could do and
have done to him.

I moved my spare hand, the one that was not engaged in squeezing his arse
and exploring the incredible smoothness of the back of his thigh, brought
into convenient range by the knee that was pushed against my balls, down
between us, pushing it through our pressed together upper halves, so I
could reach and sample his erection.

What a joy that erection was! So hard I could easily discern every minute
ridge in the shaft beneath its cover of warm, velvet skin, skin that my
searching fingers found to be still covering his entire head despite his
hardness. If I had to place an order for a boy to meet my ultimate
specifications, it would be for one with totally smooth legs and a cock,
regardless of its size, that remained fully covered when at it's
hardest. It wouldn't matter if that skin slid easily backwards when
prompted, or if it was a tight fit or even if it was so tight it didn't
peel at all -- I have had wonderful sex with boys who owned cocks like
that -- if there was a little bud of foreskin to play with, to nibble,
then, for me, that was perfection.

Gregor was not small, the soft promise of his equipment was fulfilled by
his hardness; with my thumb and finger tips at the base, that foreskin bud
brushed my wrist; a good six inches of boy tube the thickness of the neck
of a wine bottle, ample to keep any man happy.

He moaned through our kissing when my hand found him, pushing himself into
my greedy grasp, and when I moved that supple skin gently up and down he
redoubled his efforts with his tongue in my mouth.

Within seconds his own spare hand was mimicking mine, forcing its way down
between us to find my own offering to him, a similar length, but adult and
not teenage thick. He grasped it tightly, as though to make sure it could
not escape, and with our tongues still in combat we pulled on each other as
well as we were able between the confines of our pressed together bodies.

I could have lain there with him, mouths glued together, wanking him to a
climax while he did the same for me, but that would have been too soon an
end to the passion that now engulfed us. I broke the kiss, dived under the
duvet and swallowed him whole. No little kisses or nibbles first, just an
instant mouthful of teenage cock; the loving bits could come later, now I
just wanted his glory filling my mouth.

No moan from him this time, a gasp, a deep intake of breath, held for
seconds while I swallowed him, and then released slowly as he adjusted to
the amazing sensations a boy feels when he is sucked for the first time. He
said something -- I have no idea what, but I knew it had nothing in it
that related to a request for me to stop. His body relaxed and his hands
found their way to the back of my head, stroking my hair as I sucked his
cock.

I explored his tiny, unusual pube growth, two little lines of hair that
followed the path of his V; my fingers and lips finding no trace of any
growth at the base of his prick, the point where pubes normally begin to
sprout. I explored his thighs with my hands as well; the fronts silken as
one might expect with a boy of fourteen, but the backs as well, the place
where hair first grows, were as silken as the fronts, not even a hint of
fuzz that my fingers could detect.

His balls were smooth as well, my mouth verified that when it eventually
released his cock and went exploring for itself. He gasped again and
wriggled a bit when I took his balls into my mouth, one at a time to start
with and then both crammed in together; he whimpered and wriggled a bit
more when I gently squeezed a nipple while his balls were still in my
mouth. He said something more, though it was more of a gasp than anything;
I hadn't the faintest idea what his words were, but if it had been an
English speaking boy, from the way his words were said, I expect I would
have heard something like `Oh, fuckin' yes!'

I released his balls from their mouth captivity and returned to his cock,
though I took a brief diversion so I could kiss one silky thigh. I nibbled
his foreskin with lip-covered teeth, and then peeled him a fraction so I
could poke my tongue inside, and I was beginning to like the way every new
experience for him was greeted with a little gasp of appreciation.

This could not continue forever, though, he wanted to play as well,
shifting about in the bed in an effort to get his mouth on my cock, and
that was not an effort I was going to prevent! He took my cock, his first
cock, into his mouth without a moment's hesitation, getting as much in as
he could in his first assault.

He didn't do bad, either, going down well past the head and a good half way
down the shaft before he had to stop. I am not skinny in the cock
department, and getting more than half my thick cock into his mouth was no
mean achievement. I have had plenty of experienced boys, practised cock
suckers, who could do no better.

The sixty nine position, of course, gave me easy access to his perineum and
his crack and my fingers showed no mercy to either. I made no effort to get
a finger inside him, but I did give his boy cunt a hint of what later times
would bring by gently teasing his sensitive pucker with a finger tip.

It was that which was probably a move too much for him, because his cock
swelled in my mouth, his legs went rigid and he erupted, pumping his seed
into my mouth in four powerful jets. I milked him for the rest but he never
paused in his own sucking, aiding his efforts by grasping me with his
fingers and wanking hard in an effort to make me cream as well, an effort
that got its reward before I had slurped out his last dribbles.

He took all I could produce into his mouth -- I gave him no warning that
it was coming and, knowing I had swallowed his, he swallowed mine. I didn't
know then that mine was his first cock and assumed that because he
swallowed with no hint of gagging or distaste, that he was used to the
flavour and consistency of adult cream.

Orgasms complete, we returned to heads on pillow position, facing each
other, and I put an arm round his shoulder once more. It's always a good
idea to let a boy know you still want him close even after his spunk has
flowed, especially if he is going to sleep with you and you have every
intention of indulging in him again before breakfast.

A combination of good food, alcohol and sex sent Gregor almost straight off
to sleep, and I drifted into slumberland myself, his balls cupped in my
hand.

We shifted about a bit in the night as we slept, so when I woke, as usual,
at about three for a piss, his balls were no longer in my hand. His cock
soon was though, me reaching for it the moment I got back into bed.

He was still asleep when I started on him, fondling him hard, and he may
even have stayed asleep as I wanked him. He did mumble a bit, rolled his
body so it was facing me and I had to wank him back handed, but I didn't
mind that and, anyway, I knew from experience that it's a nice way to be
wanked. Usually, I don't like to waste a boy's spunk, perhaps because I
don't get enough of it, but this time I just wanted to wank him, even more
so as he seemed to be still sleeping.

What dreams, I wondered, were fermenting in his mind as his unconscious
body was stimulated to orgasm? Were they dreams of men, of boys or of
girls?

His breathing changed, but his body didn't stiffen as it would have done at
the approach of an awake orgasm; just a grunt as his cock spurted out its
cream on my stomach. I felt the hot splashes as it landed and thought that
perhaps his sperm had not been wasted; its dried remains would still be on
my skin in the morning.

He was awake next time I felt him, or at least he was awake a few seconds
after I started. Sunlight was streaming through the open patio doors of my
bedroom, open glass doors, that is, the sliding mesh screens that kept the
odd mosquito at bay were still closed, and my searching hand found him
already hard with the morning erection that teenage boys have to dispose of
before they leave their beds.

His eyes popped open on my second squeeze, registering momentary surprise
at the realisation that there was a hand on his cock and it did not belong
to him; the surprise disappeared to be replaced with a smile and he said
something in Romanian.

It didn't sound like the equivalent of `fuck off', so I went down and
sucked out his morning offering. This time he just lay there and let it
happen, and I could tell from the relaxed feel of his body as my hands
stroked it, that just letting it happen was perfect for him. I didn't mess
about with him, just sucked him for spunk, knowing full well that a boy
needs to get that first thing in the morning load out of the way as soon as
possible.

He'd had about six hours to manufacture enough to give me a decent
mouthful, and I accepted it gratefully, tasting it to the full before
allowing it to trickle down my throat.

That duty done, I gave him hand signals that he should remain in bed, and I
clambered out to make some tea and have a quick face shave and teeth brush
while it was brewing. When I returned with tea for us both, plus cigarettes
and an ash tray, his face was a picture -- this was treatment he had
never even dreamt of receiving.

We sat up in bed, my arm round his shoulder, to drink our tea and smoke our
cigarettes, and I thought it was a good time to continue his English
lessons. Fag stubbed out, I slipped a hand under the duvet and felt his
soft cock, lifting it with one finger from underneath.

"Cock," I said. He looked puzzled, so I repeated it and this time he
understood. He tried three times before he got it right, and then I moved a
bit lower and fingered his balls.

"Balls," I said. "Bals," he tried and again I made him keep on till he
managed "Bawls."

He learned `cock', balls' `arse', `wank' and `suck' while we finished our
tea, and by the time we rose for breakfast he had a reasonable command of
English, being able to say `You wank me,' and `You suck me,' quite
fluently. He would need to expand his vocabulary a bit in the next few days
and be able to say `You fuck me', but there was no immediate rush for that;
I had him for a week at the very least.

I couldn't spend the entire day indulging myself in his very indulgable
flesh, so I showed him how to do the dusting and sweeping, including the
patio and upstairs terrace and told him that when he'd finished he could
use the pool and my spare computer if he wanted to play games on
it. Actually, it's not really a spare computer, it's the one I use for
porn, and I knew that he'd have no trouble finding it -- there were three
folders on the desktop called, `boy/boy', `man/boy' and `spanking' and
although he wouldn't be able to read the words, he'd find out straight away
what the content was if he opened them. Since he was a teenager, I had no
doubt that he would open them!

I told him I would collect him at two for lunch and went off down the club
for a round of golf and a chat, my regular morning activity.

My friends were shocked that I'd left him alone in the house, but, as I
said, even our security people would stop a fourteen year old boy
staggering along with a sixty inch plasma under his arm, and anyway, I was
going to collect him for lunch.

My friends were, naturally, curious about him, but the only things I knew
about him were that he was good at kissing, his spunk was delicious and
that he swallowed, and those facts were not facts I had any intention of
revealing. Instead I said that this was a sort of test, seeing if he was
reliable enough to leave alone and that he would do the jobs he was
supposed to do. I wasn't that bothered about the jobs -- as long as his
body remained available that was enough for me, but, again, I didn't say
that to my friends!

When I returned for him, a quick inspection showed that he had, in fact,
done his jobs and he was waiting for me, dressed in the same oversized
shirt and jeans as yesterday and with a big smile on his face. The smile
made him look so kissable that I grabbed him, pulled him in close and
rammed my face against his. His mouth opened instantly for my tongue and I
had half a mind to strip him and swallow his lovely teenage prick, but
lunch called and whilst I would be happy with liquid protein, teenage boys
need more than a mouthful of spunk for food.

As soon as we were back in the house after lunch, he kicked off his scrappy
trainers, peeled off his shirt and lost his jeans without me even hinting
that he might want to get comfortable. I did have a little thrill when I
spotted that he hadn't put on anything under his jeans; this boy was a
quick learner!

I had to fondle him, of course, and kiss him again, even before I got out
of my own clothes, and when I finally got round to that I fondled and
kissed him some more. That, naturally, got us both hard, so I took him
outside, sat him on a lounger in the sun and went down between his already
parted legs, licking his perineum, eating his balls and sucking his
splendid cock until he sighed and gave me the mouthful of cream I wanted
for desert. I'd had him for twenty six hours and he'd already spunked for
me five times and eaten a mouthful of mine -- I was not going to be
handing him back at the end of the week!

I was, though, curious to know more about him, and although he'd now added
`spunk' to his English vocabulary, that was not enough for effective and
detailed communication. Then I had a brainwave, took him by the hand and
led him inside, sitting him down beside me in front of my Mac.

I opened up Google translator, typed in, in English, "You have a nice body
and a lovely penis," and hit the `translate to Romanian' button. I used
`penis' instead of `cock' because I thought he might be a little confused
if Google told him he had a nice male chicken.

He read the incomprehensible words, blushed slightly, grinned a little,
managing to look just a shade embarrassed, and typed in something that
translated as, "Thank you, that is very kind." He thought for a moment and
typed again, which translated as, "You must have sex from me when you
want."

"I am very greedy, I will want sex with you all the time."

"I not mind." Pause, more typing; "I happy you like my body. Do I do sex
good for you?"

I leaned across, kissed him on the cheek and breathed, "Very good," into
his ear, before typing it.

He blushed and smiled, pleased and embarrassed at the same time.

"I was surprised to find you in my bed last night," I wrote.

He looked puzzled, frowned at me and asked, "Why?"

"I am very happy that I did, but I did not expect it," I typed.

"But Maria said you wanted a boy and I should sleep with you for a week to
find if I was good for you."

Realisation dawned, dawned slowly, but still managed to dawn. It's not just
Google that can mix up translations! Maria had thought she had said it
would be good for me to have a boy for company and do things in the house
for me, and that he should stay with me for a week to see if it worked out;
what he had heard was something very different! I decided not to try to
explain that to him -- far too complicated, especially as he was now
sitting, happily naked, beside me.

"What did you think when she said that?" I asked instead.

"I was surprised that a woman should say that to me, but in Romania boys
often do sex with men."

"And you?"

"No, I have not before now. The house they put me with other boys who had
no family was in the country. They put us there so we could not be in city
and have sex with visitors for money."

"Does that happen much?"

"Yes, many boys make money with their bodies. They have to eat."

"And when Maria said you should sleep with me; what did you think?"

He shrugged, and typed, "You give me place to live; police not send me back
to Romania. It is right I should have sex with you for this."

This was just a shade worrying; I have paid for boys before, of course I
have. When you get to my age, often the only way you can get your hands on
something young and reasonably fresh is by paying for it, but this just
seemed a little bit too....commercial.

"I would rather you had sex with me because you liked it," I typed.

He frowned, looked bothered and then nodded, typing rapidly; "I like very
much; Romanian boys very much like sex; I like be your boy."

Not just Romanian boys who like sex, I thought, they all do, wherever they
come from, but this was no time to be pedantic.

"You like sex with men?"

"With man, yes." He grinned, leapt from his chair and dashed over to get
the other computer, bringing it back and opening up the `boy/boy'
folder. "Want with boy as well," he typed with a shit eating grin.

"Not with a girl?" I typed and he shrugged dismissively.

"Boy more fun." He looked at me for confirmation before adding, "You like
boy?"

"Lots," I agreed, "Boy better for sex than girl."

Another huge grin while he typed, "Me boy."

I had to tell him, "You good sex," my reservations disappearing fast.

"You do this with me," he typed, opening up a clip of fucking in the
`man/boy' folder; "And this if want," opening another clip of a serious
spanking in the third folder.

"You want that?"

"Yes," he typed, letting the clip run on, showing the boy's red arse being
pummelled by the man who'd thrashed him, "Boy fuck good after!"

I hugged him and he offered up his mouth for kissing, somehow managing to
type "You suck me now?" while his mouth was full of my tongue. It wasn't
much more than about half an hour since he'd last pumped seed into my
mouth, but I was in no mood to argue, especially when he broke the kiss and
stood so I could get my lips round his cock.

It wasn't the thick, creamy load of his first thing in the morning
offering, but it was fourteen year old boy spunk and that always tastes
good!

With the aid of the computer I told him that he could live with me, but on
certain conditions: sex was to be only when he wanted it, and that he could
sleep alone if he needed to. He shrugged both those off, saying he was a
boy and boys always want sex. I told him I liked him naked and would prefer
him to be that way as much as possible and he grinned, telling me that if
he was naked all the time I would want his cock lots, so he would always be
naked. Then I suggested that he remove his few pubes so he was smooth all
over and he grinned again, said it was obvious I liked my boys young and
asked me if I would fuck him if he shaved.

"Possibly," I said, keeping my face straight before we both collapsed in a
fit of giggles.

If truth be told, I am more of a front than a back person -- I just adore
teenage cock. Yes, I much prefer it with a decent foreskin, but if it has a
short one, or even had the misfortune to be mutilated and suffered from
circumcision, I will still give it all the care and attention it
deserves. I love the look of it, the feel of it; I love it in my mouth, in
my arse if that is what the owner wants, and I simply cannot get enough of
the cream that spurts out of it. That does not mean that I deny myself the
pleasure that the rear of a boy can give -- eating teenage hole makes a
pleasant change from sucking his cock. Eating and fingering boy cunt is, of
course, a prelude to fucking it, and whilst, if a boy is only prepared to
offer cock I do not object, if he offers his hole as well, I do not refuse.

Gregor offered me his cunt, and I accepted. I didn't wait for him to shave;
I simply took him outside into the sun having grabbed some lube, and
positioned him for eating. On his back, knees up by his shoulders and my
mouth buried in his crack. He squealed at the first lick of my tongue on
his pucker, shuddered when I pushed it inside him, moaned like a well-paid
whore when I got it past his virgin ring and shuddered and whimpered as I
probed him as deeply as I could.

Yes, I adore cock; I could live on cock alone -- teenage cock that is --
but the moment I am munching on boy cunt my mind switches to fuck mode, and
now I had got started there was no way Gregor was going to get up from here
still a virgin. He knew it and I knew it and we both wanted it.

I ate him until my mouth ached and then I lubed him and put a finger inside
him and the whimpers that he had made when my tongue went into him were
nothing compared with the noises that came from him when my finger pushed
its way past his defences, opening the unbelievably tight ring of his
sphinctre and poking itself into the tight, hot, wet, velvet sheath of his
fuck tunnel

I used my mouth now on the smooth flesh of the back of his thigh as I
fingered him -- I could have reached other places, but a boy's legs are
so sexy and I had not had nearly enough of Gregor's smooth legs yet, so I
was more than content to kiss, lick and munch on them while I worked on
opening him up. One finger, two fingers, three fingers, and all the time
the boy was whimpering, gasping and moaning, wriggling his body, trying to
get more of me inside him.

I could see his cock jerking and bouncing as I chewed on his leg and worked
my fingers inside him -- I left love bites on him from his arse to the
back of his knee and anyone seeing those could have no doubts as to what
caused them and what must have happened next. And happen next it
did. Fingers out and cock in as a replacement. Three fingers had just about
opened him enough to accept my thick cock, although at first he squealed
with pain as I got the head inside his ring, a ring that snapped shut
behind my helmet as though I had put my cock in a vice.

I let him get used to the initial pain, pain that any boy feels on his
first fucking -- and often for the next few as well -- then pushed an
inch or two more inside him, wondering, as I always did when I fucked a
boy, how marvellous it was that his cunt should open wide enough to take
thick cock, and revelling, as I always did, at the feel of that gripping,
hot, velvet sheath that my prick was pushing into.

Once fully in I fucked him from pain to bliss; long, slow strokes to show
him what heaven was and then hard and fast to make sure he wanted to go
there again and again. My cock battered his prostrate and he wriggled and
squirmed and squealed, gasping for breath and wondering why he felt so
wonderful and how he had managed to live for fourteen years without this
and knowing that for the rest of his life he would crave for cock inside
him.

I used my hand on his cock now -- a boy in his first fucking needs his
cock to be worked as well, the sensations in his arse are too intense to be
suffered on their own -- and I wanked and fucked him to orgasm, an orgasm
that, despite his previous one being less than twenty minutes before, was
as intense as any he had ever felt in his life, probably more intense: for
this was the first one that his prostrate had been involved in.

His spunking contracted his bowels around my thrusting cock in a grip that
could have only one ending and, shortly after his prick had shot spunk up
over his stomach and chest, my prick spurted seed inside him.

Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his legs and equally slowly my softening
prick slipped out of him. I pulled his limp body close, his sperm sticky
between us, and kissed him deep and long. He was my fuck boy now, I owned
him and I knew from the look in his eyes that he wanted nothing else.





It was two years before Maria bothered me again, two amazing, sex-crammed
years. Gregor at sixteen was just as delicious as he had been at fourteen;
his cock was bigger -- full adult size now at a fraction over seven
inches -- and his frame had filled out, but the essentials remained
almost unchanged.

His lower legs had just a touch of fine hair on them, but between knees and
eyebrows there was not one single strand of hair on him. He had to shave
his pubic area daily, but the rest of him was still naturally smooth,
nothing on his thighs, nothing under his arms; he was still perfect teenage
fuck flesh.

He had lost none of his appetite for sex, either, still happy to unload his
balls five or six times a day. We had established a routine which suited us
both: I would deal with his wakening erection, sucking him to fulfilment
while he lay back, completely passive, just enjoying the sensations he was
receiving from my mouth, and rewarding me with a decent helping of made
overnight boy cream. Breakfast and he had to dash off for school, never any
time for more play as we stayed in bed together till the last possible
moment, but the moment he returned just after two in the afternoon, he
stripped and offered himself for the fucking he had been craving all
morning.

Usually he had his fuck lying on his back so I could deal with his cock
while I was inside him; we had agreed long ago that spunk squirted onto
flesh and allowed to dry there did not class as wasted protein, and after
his fucking he would walk around with sperm dribbling down his body, often
from around his throat when he shot hard. Lunch outside in the sun, his
sperm drying on his golden tanned flesh, then a mess around in the pool
and, refreshed, return to me to be sucked once more.

Evenings were spent cuddled together watching films or football, and,
inevitably, he found the need to feed me once more before we retired to bed
where he would fuck me. No variety in this fucking -- I lay on my front,
revelling in the weight of his teenage body on me and his seven teenage
inches inside me -- and he'd fuck me slowly till he eventually pumped out
whatever he had been able to manufacture in the hour or so since I last
sucked him.

It was an evening fondle that Maria's phone call interrupted. Gregor's
delightfully hard and well-foreskinned cock was throbbing gently in my
hand, my balls were feeling comfortable and well looked after as they
nestled contentedly in his hand; nothing exceptional, nothing unusual, just
a man and his fuck boy enjoying each other as nature intended.

"Another favour," Maria's voice said, "An urgent one; I need to find him a
home very quickly."

"Why the hurry?" I asked, not fully concentrating because Gregor's cock was
in my hand and he was playing with my balls and neither of those was an aid
to concentration.

"Before he is noticed," she said, "He will be shipped straight back if
anyone finds out he is here."

"Why?"

"He is twelve years old," she managed to sound conspiratorial, even on the
phone.

"Twelve?" I squeaked, "What would I want with a boy that young?"

Gregor's hand stopped juggling my balls; he didn't let go or anything
stupid, just stopped moving them around.

"Look after him, keep him hidden until he looks a bit older," the totally
impractical Maria said as though that was a mere nothing. A twelve year old
with no papers and no family would be picked up the moment he set foot on
the streets and shipped off back from whence he came.

"Might that not be the best thing for him?" I wondered to Maria who snorted
back that if he had wanted to be in Romania, why had he come here?

I promised to think about it, talk things over with Gregor -- he lived
with me as well and he might not want to have to share his room with a
twelve year old boy. Naturally, I did not mention that Gregor had not spent
one single night in `his room' from the moment he arrived.

"If he pretty, I fuck him," Gregor said as soon as I put the phone down.

"You what?"

"If he pretty, I fuck him," Gregor repeated, "I want fuck young boy. You
also," he grinned at me.

"If he was thirteen............."

"I fuck him till he thirteen, then you have as well," Gregor interrupted me
with a smirk.

"I've never fucked a boy of twelve," I said faintly, as though that was
some sort of excuse for wanting to wait a year.

"Me not also, but want to," Gregor's grin was huge and his cock was
throbbing hard in my hand.

I looked at his seven ample inches and wondered if it would fit in a twelve
year old boy cunt; it would, of course, I knew that, boy's holes stretch to
amazing dimensions from an early age, but the image of a young boy slowly
being impaled by Gregor's length was vivid; vivid, disturbing and very,
very horny.

I needed to think, and Gregor knew me well enough to keep quiet for a
bit. He knew me well enough not to let go of my balls as well and I
continued to slowly squeeze and stroke his rod while my mind worked. Idly
fondling a boy's hard cock can be an aid to concentration, especially if
the subject under consideration involves boys and cock.

The real problem wasn't the age of the boy Maria was planning to land me
with, it was the fact that it was another boy. I was getting far too much
pleasure from having a naked Gregor around and always available for me to
wish to jeopardise that because of a second boy who may well not be so
amenable to our lifestyle. That he was only twelve was an added
complication in that he was therefore illegal, not just as a person but as
a sexual companion. The age of consent here is thirteen and fourteen where
he came from. I would not normally consider a boy of only twelve, but I was
honest enough with myself to accept that the matter of a few months was
only hair splitting, and that if a twelve year old wished to suck my cock I
would not refuse the opportunity. All men have secret lusts for young boy
flesh -- most keep those lusts so secret they never even recognise they
have them; others know, but do nothing about it except perhaps some night
time fantasies; others indulge. I had not indulged in flesh that young
since I was fourteen, over half a century ago.

Slowly I explained my thoughts to Gregor and he dismissed them.

"You sleep with boy, he not tell," Gregor said simply. "Who he tell? He not
tell anyone; he tell anyone and he sent back to Romania."

That was true, of course; in order to complain the boy would have to reveal
himself, and that he was not going to do.

"He not like us naked, he have not to look," Gregor equally dismissed my
fears about the interruption to our dress code, "But he boy, boy always
look cock." And that was certainly true; however modest and shy a boy might
be about revealing his own possessions, there was no boy on earth who would
not look long and hard at someone else's.

"You leave me," Gregor stated, "If he pretty I talk him, we take him, we
fuck him. If he ugly he go Romania."

"But what if he isn't as keen on doing it as you are?" I asked; not every
boy automatically wants a man to get at his bits and use his hole.

"What choice he have?" Gregor shrugged, "Fuck or Romania."

I had qualms about it, of course I did. It wasn't right, it was no more
than blackmail; the boy would, to all intents and purposes, be nothing more
than a well-treated slave -- if it is possible to describe being fucked
regularly as being `well-treated'. I tried to rationalise it, but I had to
admit to myself that it was, in real terms, no more than I had done with
Gregor. I had taken him because I hoped that I would be able to seduce him;
that he had got there before me, offered up his flesh without complaint
because he accepted that it was part of the deal he had entered into. It
did not alter the fact that I had taken him in because I wanted to suck and
fuck him.

I agreed, part of me hoping that the boy would be fat and ugly and Gregor
would want nothing to do with him.

It wasn't to be, of course. Life shows you a path you know you should not
go down, but you take it anyway and go on down it, always hoping that it
will peter out, become impassable and you will have to turn back before it
is too late, but it was too late the moment you first put a foot on it.

The boy was neither fat nor ugly. He was about four feet eight, scrawny
from being underfed; a narrow, aquiline face with pale straw hair and ice
blue eyes that made him a living demonstration of the fact that his native
country had been subject to a Russian army of occupation a couple of
generations ago. I could sense Gregor licking his lips with anticipation.

Gregor took the boy outside while Maria fussed about, telling me how
important it was that I should take the boy in, give him a home so the
authorities would not have a reason to send him back to some awful
orphanage somewhere in deepest, darkest, Romania. I half listened, my mind
on whatever it was that Gregor was telling the boy.

Gregor returned with the boy, who was not looking particularly ecstatic
about the possibility of coming to live with us.

"We take Petr," Gregor told Maria, and that was that.

"What did you say to him?" I asked Gregor on the short drive back.

"Tell him he sleep with us," Gregor grinned. "He not happy, but I make him
want to."

Whatever the boy's thoughts on the matter were, I knew he would be taking
Gregor's seven teenage inches up inside him in the very near future, and
that, whatever I might think I wanted, that my slightly less than seven,
but considerably thicker inches, would be following soon after.

I saw how Gregor intended to `make him want to' the moment we got
inside. He stripped, as he always did, the moment the door was shut, and
motioned for me to do the same. Since he was, as always when dressed,
wearing the absolute minimum -- in this case, trainers, trackies and
shirt -- he was naked in seconds, the new lad staring in a mixture of
amazement, and bewilderment as Gregor revealed himself in all his sixteen
year old hairless glory. The bewilderment increased when I added my much
older than sixteen, equally hairless, far less glory for his attention.

He looked away, looked back, looked at sixteen year old cock and then at
almost seventy year old cock, blushed, swallowed and decided the best place
for him to be looking was anywhere but at cock.

Gregor barked something Romanian at him and the boy looked shocked before
saying something that clearly meant `NO'.

Gregor simply slapped him hard across the face and repeated his bark. The
boy shook his head and Gregor slapped him again, almost knocking him of
balance. The boy's eyes screwed up; he obviously wanted to cry and I was
far from sure I wanted this to continue.

As though he had read my mind, Gregor said, "This leave for me," and I
didn't say what I had been about to. Once more Gregor barked at the nearly
tearful boy and this time he slowly kicked off his shabby trainers, pulled
off his shirt and with obviously huge embarrassment, undid his ragged jeans
and allowed them to drop down his scrawny legs to puddle round his ankles.

Another bark from Gregor and the boy slowly stepped out of his discarded
jeans, peeled off his socks and stood, wearing now only less than clean,
once white, briefs. Gregor looked him in the eyes and slowly raised his
hand, a silent announcement that another slap would be on its way.

Not wanting another slap across his already smarting face, the boy pulled
down his briefs, allowed them to fall to the floor and, as fast as he
could, covered himself with his hands. Gregor flicked with his fingers,
indicating that the boy should remove his covering hands and, face red with
shame as well as with Gregor's slaps, the boy slowly moved his hands aside,
tears leaking now in streaks down his cheeks.

I had to admit that, for a boy of his age, what he had to show us was worth
looking at. He was, naturally, complete, with a foreskin that would
obviously not retract to reveal the hidden glans when he was hard. He was
not hard now, but very soft, fear and embarrassment are not great cock
hardeners. In size it was about the same as my middle finger, perhaps two
and a half inches long and, like the rest of him, thin.

Gregor sat, staring at the boy's hairless groin as though he was willing
that little cock to harden, but twelve year old Petr was in no mood to
spring an erection.

Once more Gregor spoke and the boy looked horrified, shaking his head from
side to side violently. Gregor shrugged, reached out with a foot and
dragged his own jeans across the floor towards him. Carefully, knowing that
the boy was watching every move, Gregor extracted his leather belt from his
jeans, doubled it, wrapped it round his wrist, leaving about a foot
free. It needed only one guess what he intended to do with it and I
expected the boy to instantly comply with whatever it was that Gregor had
told him to do.

Instead the boy had no chance to do so. With his other hand, Gregor grabbed
a handful of pale straw hair, dragged the boy towards him and forced him
across his knees. Without a further word and still with a handful of the
boy's hair in his left hand, Gregor swung his belt and landed a hard smack
on each of Petr's undernourished arse cheeks. The boy yowled and Gregor
looked across to me.

"Me tell him to be naked; he say no so I hit his face. He get naked. I tell
him suck my cock and he no do it, so I show him he want to do it."

He hit the boy again, and he wasn't gentle. The boy howled and tried to put
his hands behind him to stop the belt from landing again, but Gregor simply
aimed lower and hit him across the back of his thighs.

The boy yelled, twisted and tried to escape, but escape is not possible
when your hair is being grabbed. Gregor said something, did not get the
response he wanted, and leathered the boy again, arse or thigh, wherever he
could see flesh to hit. A dozen or more, in rapid succession, and the boy
was a howling, crying, sobbing, convulsing creature whose only thought now
was to escape from the pain.

Gregor spoke again and this time the boy snivelled something different, for
Gregor let go of his hair and the boy almost fell onto the floor, crawling
over to his torturer and putting his head between the sixteen year old's
knees. His face reached for Gregor's fully upright cock, for whom spanking
the boy had obviously been a turn on, opening his mouth for Gregor to guide
his length inside.

"Now he want suck cock," Gregor grinned at me; "Soon he know what spunk
taste." He said something to the boy who gave no reaction, his little fists
grasped round Gregor's shaft, his head bobbing up and down -- anything to
avoid further punishment to his red and painful arse and thighs.

Gregor grinned across at me, obviously enjoying the control he had over the
twelve year old almost as much as he was enjoying the feel of those young
lips round his cock.

"Young boy suck," he smiled, "Feel very good."

Surprisingly, considering the punishment he had just metered out, Gregor
began to softly stroke the sucking boy's hair with one hand and back and
shoulders with the other, saying something softly in his incomprehensible
language.

"Tell him he suck good," Gregor translated for me, "Tell him when spunk he
swallow all."

I suspected that the twelve year old's knowledge of spunk was, at best,
theoretical, and that Gregor unloading in his mouth was going to be a
surprise for him! Fortunately for the boy, it was afternoon and Gregor had
already spermed twice for me, and, anyway, the regular milking I gave him
had long since meant that his only really thick load was his first one in
the morning when I sucked him awake. The boy would get a reasonable
mouthful, but nothing he was likely to be unable to cope with.

I watched the straw topped head bobbing up and down, young mouth bravely
suctioning on the adolescent erection; I gazed at the slender, scrawny
young body between Gregor's full, smooth, maturing thighs, and I hardened
fully as well. Gregor thrashing the boy's arse had started me off, now
watching twelve year old suck sixteen year old completed my rising. I knew
what I was going to do once the boy had swallowed Gregor's sperms.

I was beginning to worry that an onset of jaw ache would prevent the boy
from completing his set task, but Gregor must have had the same concern,
because he stopped stroking the boy's back and moved his hand round to
place it over the boy's fists where they gripped his shaft, holding it
upright so he could use his mouth. Gregor started moving the boy's fists,
easing them up and down, encouraging the boy to wank him as he sucked. It
had the desired effect, Gregor began to breathe more heavily and slowly,
his eyes closed and his body began to stiffen. Suddenly he stopped
breathing, every muscle in him tautened, his toes poked straight out and
his hips thrust his hardness deep into the boy's mouth.

The twelve year old's eyes widened with shock, his cheeks bulged and I
could see him fighting a gag reflex as Gregor was obviously spunking,
filling what space there was in his mouth with hot, slimy boy cream. The
boy gripped Gregor's cock tightly, scared to stop having it in his mouth
while he bravely tried to swallow. I saw his throat constrict and open as
he fought to overcome his instinct to spit out the stuff that had suddenly
spurted into him, but swallow he did. I watched him gulp it down and then
Gregor's hands eased his mouth off the cock he had been sucking. Gregor
himself eased up the last drops and pushed the boy back down to lick up
those and complete his task.

"Gregor," I commanded when the boy had finished his spunk eating, "Over the
arm of that chair now!"

Gregor obeyed with a smirk, he knew what was coming. I grabbed some lube,
there was always a jar or a tube handy everywhere in the house and garden,
greased his hole and went in without even trying to finger him open
first. Normally, when we fucked, we did it slowly; I usually ate Gregor out
and fingered him for quite a while before fucking him, and he would finger
me wide while sucking me before he got his seven inch tube inside my cunt,
but this time it was different. I wanted to demonstrate who was the real
boss in this house; I wanted young Petr to understand that Gregor had to
obey me just as he had been made to obey Gregor, and I also wanted him to
understand that his duties were not going to stop at sucking cock.

I gestured to the boy to move and stand where I could look at him as I
fucked Gregor; partly I wanted to gaze on his slender, pre-teen form, and
partly I wanted to find out if watching me fuck the older boy would harden
up his little cock which had stayed down all the time he had been sucking.

His little hand crept round to his cock, fondling it as he watched, wide
eyed, at the fucking taking place no more than a pace or two in front of
him. He hardened as I pounded Gregor's arse, his little delight almost
doubling in length but nothing at all in girth. A measurement later that
afternoon would show him to be just a fraction under four inches but still
no thicker than my middle finger, and thinking about that slim prick inside
me brought me off inside Gregor. Perhaps having a twelve year old around
might have some benefits after all!

Fucking finished, Gregor sent Petr off to have a shower and generally clean
up while we prepared lunch. I did a simple mixed salad and got a pile of
pork chops and chicken fillets out to do on the outside grill, while Gregor
set the table and dug a couple of bottles of white wine out of the chiller.

Petr joined us outside as we were having a pre-lunch smoke and wine. He was
still a bit uncomfortable with his nakedness, but at least this time he did
not try to cover himself with his hands, although he did blush and fidget a
bit when both Gregor and I looked at him with unconcealed interest. He
accepted a cigarette with hesitant eagerness and a glass of wine with a bit
more hesitation and uncertainty. Gregor, though, had deliberately selected
something that was not too dry and after a tentative sip, the boy slurped
it down happily enough.

Twelve year old boys are not wild about salad, but he fought his way
through some and looked a lot happier when I put some chops on to
grill. Whilst they were cooking, Gregor started questioning the boy,
telling me what he was asking and what the boy's answers were.

He frequently went red and muttered his answers to his plate, but, given
the circumstances, that was not surprising. Yes, he told us, this was the
first time he had been naked for people to look at him and, yes, he did
find it embarrassing, especially because both Gregor and I kept staring at
his cock. Yes, he was old enough to know that his cock was not just for
pissing with, especially after what he had been made to do with Gregor and
after he had watched me stick my prick up the older boy's cunt, but he had
never thought about doing things like that. Yes, he did play with himself
when he was in bed and yes, he did sometimes get a funny feeling when he
played with it for long enough, but no, nothing came out when that
happened, nothing like the stuff that Gregor had spurted into his mouth.

Yes, he understood that was spunk and that eventually he would produce that
as well, but he hadn't done so yet. Of course he had heard that men fucked
boys, but the nuns at his orphanage had beaten into him, and everyone else
there, that even thinking about those things was evil and would send him
straight to hell. No, he didn't believe in hell, but the nuns were a bunch
of vicious old cows and none of the boys he knew of had dared to try to
experiment with each other because if the nuns found out they would whip
the skin off the backs of any boy they thought might even have wondered
about doing such things.

All of this took a lot of prising out of him, though another couple of
glasses of wine helped, and there was a period of silence whilst he
devoured four chops and two chicken fillets -- probably more food than he
normally had in a week.

He went a very deep shade of red when Gregor asked him if he had liked
sucking cock and he said it wasn't bad. He did giggle a bit and explained
the reason for that was because he had been thrashed to make him do
something the nuns would have whipped him for doing and that Gregor would
not have to take a belt to his arse again because he now knew that if he
was going to live here he would have to suck cock and be naked all the time
and he didn't mind that now because he was getting cigarettes, drink and
food.

I got Gregor to ask him what he really thought about sucking cock and the
boy went deep scarlet, muttered something to the floor, went silent and
then muttered again.

"He say it ok," Gregor translated, "He not mind it. He think spunk taste
funny, but he happy to eat it. Then he say he want to know what feels like
have it sucked."

"Show him, then," I grinned at Gregor, who promptly got up from his chair,
crossed to the boy and knelt between his skinny legs. The lad looked
surprised, but parted his legs when Gregor pushed at them, and the look of
surprise changed to shock when Gregor took his soft, skinny cock into his
mouth.

The boy's eyes shut tight, his body stretched and I could tell from the
expressions and movements of his lips that he was not finding either the
sucking or Gregor's wandering hands as they explored his legs and chest, in
the least bit distasteful. Gregor gobbled him for about ten minutes while I
smoked a cigarette before coming off, smiling at the boy who's now open
again eyes beamed back, and asking him something. I could guess what it was
-- what do you always ask a boy when his cock has been sucked for the
first time?

The reply came with a huge smile; "He say he like it much," Gregor
translated, "He say he know why he have suck my cock, your cock. Make feel
very good." Gregor ran his hand over the boy's skinny thigh, fondled his
finger thick four hard inches and gave me a wicked grin. "Now I make him
feel better," he said and pulled the boy to his feet, leading him over to
the airbed on the terrace. He lay the boy down on his back, knelt, pulled
the boy's legs up, telling him to hold them, and then dived his face into
the boy's crack.

This was as much a surprise for me as it was for Petr; Gregor had never
shown any desire to eat arse and I had never forced him to, but now he was
going for it almost in a frenzy.

Petr squealed, wriggled, gasped, moaned and panted; low noises, louder
noises, noises of delight and lust as Gregor munched, sucked, licked and
tongue probed; a concerto on a boy having his arse eaten for the first
time.

When Gregor finally had to stop, his mouth being unable to take any more, I
said, "Thought you didn't want to do that."

"Man, no," Gregor agreed, "Young boy different." To finish things off he
had a snack on Petr's not yet fully dropped balls, which produced some more
interesting sounds.

"Don't try to fuck him too soon," I warned Gregor when we were all back at
the table with fresh cigarettes, "You are not small and we don't want to
hurt him."

Gregor grinned; "Eat him, finger him for one week, then fuck him."

I had other plans regarding twelve year old Petr and fucking, and in bed
that night I had him on top of me, his four inch, finger thick prick as
deep inside me as it could get and, because he couldn't yet spunk, he kept
at it till sheer physical exhaustion brought him to a stop. I knew from
what happened inside me and on top of me, that he had at least four dry
orgasms, but dry ones don't stop a pre-teen boy, they only slow him down
for a minute or so.

He was far too thin to stretch me, as Gregor did so delightfully; too short
to poke deep inside and far too inexperienced to have any idea about the
arts of fucking and far too skinny and scrawny for his twelve year old body
to have enough weight to press me into the mattress, but all those
deficiencies he more than made up for with his enthusiasm. A young boy, not
yet mature enough to produce sperm, had discovered fucking and he was lost
in the wonder of it.

As for me, I had no urge to change roles, to plunge my prick into his
skinny arse as I knew Gregor was lusting to do; the idea of fucking a
pre-teen boy did not excite me, but actually being fucked by one was the
hottest, sexiest thing I had ever experienced.

I looked forward to him being older, able to feed me the cream of boy I so
enjoy, but in the meantime, his slender, non-spunking cock would be
spending a lot of time buried in my cunt. A sixteen in my mouth and a
twelve in my arse.......life was looking good. And even when he aged a bit,
reached fourteen or fifteen, his cock would still be skinny, longer but
still skinny and he could fuck me with that for as long as he wanted to!



Thanks for reading; feel free to let me know if you enjoyed it.