Date: Sun, 1 Jun 2014 10:13:19 +0200
From: Zachary Blake <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: It Started with His Undies, Chapter 1

IT STARTED WITH HIS UNDIES
By Zachyboy

(M/b, dad/son, incest, underwear, oral, fingering, rimming)

(All the usual disclaimers apply. If your mom or your state legislators say
you shouldn't read this, you probably shouldn't. Turn off your computer and
go watch Netflix. And if you don't like stories about little boys'
buttholes, then buddy, you really took a wrong turn in Albuquerque. This is
a work of fiction. All the characters in this story, living and spread, are
portrayed by letters of the alphabet, and their resemblance to the boners
you may see on your own little boy are purely coincidental. And to restate
the painfully obvious, no little boy in real life likes a grown-up wiener
stuck in his bottom, so keep it in your pants, skippy. The boys in my story
who really start to like it, thank goodness, are only the stuff that Nifty
stories are made of, and God bless us, every one, for writing them. So,
keep your penis safely in your hand and out of your kids like smart
folks. If asked to run, I will not serve, and neither should you. And now
on with the show).

CHAPTER 1. "DADDY, I'M ITCHY"

I don't think anyone really plans on having sex with their 10-year-old
son. I mean, as the kid's growing up, trading his cute little diapers for
cute little Skylanders undies, it's probably not high on your checklist
unless you're from Arkansas and you live in a cabin. It certainly wasn't
top tier on my agenda, but still, here it is. And without a doubt, I'm
hooked on him. And now I guess I should tell you how it all got started.

Benny is 10, and Benny is short for Benjamin. And actually, that's not even
his real name. My wife named him Aiden Benjamin, after her father and some
guy who helped their family in a big way when she was young. But then she
died far too early when Benny was 4, and shortly thereafter he and I
mutually decided we didn't care too much for being named Aiden and we
didn't give an enthusiastic shit about being called Benjamin either, so
Benny was born. Or reborn. Or whatever reinvention kids put themselves
through when they lose their moms. Even young kids. Sometimes it's just a
lot easier to be someone else.

So Benny has always been my little sports boy. Loves soccer, loves
basketball, loves gymnastics, loves karate. He'd take every lesson and sign
up for every league in sight if I'd let him. He's rough and tumble, always
active, 100% pure boy. And I'd be lying if I said he wasn't drop-dead
cute. Little pink lips, a button nose right out of a Renoir portrait, just
the lightest dusting of freckles, eyelashes that were painted on by God
himself. And naked, even more gorgeous. Soft, smooth skin from head to toe,
tiny little nipples, a tight little butt you could dine on (and I have),
and a cut little two-inch cock that grows to all about 3 when he's hard,
which is a lot more recently than it used to be.

And I know how these stories are supposed to start. "I never imagined I'd
have sex with my son," or "I really didn't mean to do it. It just happened
somehow." And I guess in some ways that's true. I intended to keep his
childhood as innocent as I could, even though he certainly had my attention
these past few years when he'd giggle and squirm while I helped him in the
shower, jumping all over me, thrashing like a naked little goldfish, in
hysterics over how wet he was getting me on his way to his pajamas. In his
bedroom, still half-wet, he'd always lay on his floor, giggling like crazy,
legs up in the air, spreading his butt cheeks with his cute little fingers
to give me an unimpaired view of his tiny little starfish, a hole I've come
to know intimately this past year. This innocent, giggly "look what I'm
showing you, I'm so funny" probably would have led to more
eventually. You'd have thought so anyway. But as much as it aroused me, it
wasn't his liberally-offered sneak-peaks at all. Believe it or not, it
started with his undies.

It had been a particularly active day for Benny and he was already upstairs
in my bed, softly snoring away. He'd been extra busy for a Saturday. He had
gymnastics class in the morning, went to a birthday party in the afternoon
at one of those indoor bounce house places, then shared a playdate with a
friend before coming home to ride his bike for a half hour, round and round
our little neighborhood cul de sac, before coming in for pizza, TV, stories
and bedtime.

Needless to say, on a good, inactive day, my little boy's underwear will
still find their way to the laundry pile in questionable
condition. Freshly-minted 10-year-olds aren't known for their general
wiping prowess and Benny was certainly no exception. A quick swipe with the
TP, and he's outa there, folks. No wet wipes and bidets in his normal anal
hygiene routine.

And I have to admit, that fact had been fascinating me more and more
lately. Turning me on, really. A few weeks ago, I'd found a particularly
skiddy pair of his underwear on the bathroom floor, along with the three
gallons of water he'd splashed out of the tub during his bi-weekly bath. I
picked them up after he scampered off and was just about to toss them in
his hamper when I caught sight of the little brown stain, and God knows
why, decided to give them a sniff-test instead.

My senses were flooded with the scent of pure, beautiful boy. Sweet,
earthy, rich beautiful boy ass. Slightly sweet, slightly sweaty, lightly
musky. It was a scent I hadn't prepared myself for, and it was
intoxicating. Delightful. Delicious. Shutting the door and locking it, I
fished out my cock, which was already hardening and with a pump of lotion
from the bathroom counter, started stroking myself right then and there,
with Benny's lightly soiled, delicious, still-warm undies pressed to my
nose, inhaling every molecule of his sweet little boy hole and not stopping
until I unleashed a wad of hot cum all over the bathroom counter. I used
his undies to wipe it up, mixing my cum into his light brown streak,
swirling the two colors together, and dreaming of doing it to him in the
flesh someday.

After that I was hooked. Benny's undies were my flavor of the day. I'd
eagerly wait until bedtime until he casually, innocently shucked them off
with the careless toss of boyhood, and as soon as he was tucked in bed, I'd
come back to his hamper, breathe deeply of the day's staggeringly beautiful
fresh aromas – sometimes a little poopy – sometimes the tangy smell
of little boy pee to add to the mixture – and I'd stand there in his
room, jacking my hard cock and shooting my cum all over the other clothes
in his hamper. I'd smell his underwear. I'd lick the saltiness of the
crotch. And it turned me on incredibly. And I probably would have let it go
on like that indefinitely, still not wanting to come right out an molest
the poor boy, satisfied instead with my newly-discovered and
completely-unending nightly supply of fresh jack off material, if the
Saturday in question hadn't brought matters to an unexpected speed-up.

Like I said, on that particular Saturday, Benny had been really active. I
mean, he's an active boy anyway, but on this Saturday, he ramped it up
times ten. Between the gymnastics class – you should see him do the
splits during warm-ups, by the way – it's mind-boggling – the bounce
house, the party, the playdate and the bike riding, the poor seat of his
undies couldn't keep up with the contact. Throw in a midday poo for good
measure, and you're talking about a particularly ripe pair of Skylanders
skivvies by the time the day was over.

And like I said, he was in my bed, softly snoring – he'd taken to
sleeping with me after my wife died, and even at 10, I could see no good
reason to kick him out – he'd had a problem with nightmares when he was
4 and 5, and even today, he still doesn't like sleeping in a dark room
alone, even with a nightlight. So in my bed, in his usual spot, I didn't
expect him to be waking anytime soon. He'd had a capful of Dimetapp PM
before he turned in – he'd been a little sniffly toward night's end and
I wanted him to get a good night's sleep – so I gave him a capful of the
grape stuff that usually made him even drowsier than his regular solid
night's sleep, which is saying a lot for a kid who sleeps like a log.

So, hearing his light snoring, or heavy breathing, whichever it was, I
figured I was safe to pick his undies up off the floor of his room and
admire the day's work. It was a large, spread-out stain, but already
dried. I honestly do love the smell of his musky, earthy little ass, but
even I have my limits. I mean, if the thing is caked with the wet stuff,
believe me, I'm not rubbing it on like a mud mask. No, I just like the
heady, sweet smell of his fresh little ass in dried formation. I don't want
to cake it on and roll in the stuff.

So I was breathing deeply, enjoying the aroma, and just about to take out
my dick and start stroking like I'd done every other night that week, when
a sleepy little voice from my bedroom down the hall stopped me in mid-jerk.

"Daddy," he called out quietly from my bedroom. "I'm itchy."

I quickly stuffed his undies in the pocket of my sweats and walked down the
hall into the bedroom. He had thrown off the covers, and looked up at me
with sleepy eyes.

"My butt's itchy," he whined softly. "And it won't stop itching me."

"Did you wipe the last time you went poopy, Tiger?" I asked him, and he
shrugged his shoulders. His tired eyes were already closing again.

"Do you want me to wipe you with a wet wipe and put some cream down there?"
I asked him, secretly hoping the answer would be yes.

"Okay, Daddy," he sighed, rolling over on his tummy, and tugging lightly at
his pajama bottoms. He didn't even come close to pulling them down, just
made a half-hearted effort before I heard his light snores start again.

He probably would have gone right back to sleep, but as I stood there with
the prospect of touching my little boy's butthole fresh in my mind,
permission granted and full speed ahead, I figured what the hell, I'd gone
this far, in for a penny, in for a pound.

I slowly peeled his pajama bottoms down and he didn't even budge. His
perfect ass came into view, this time covered in a pair of Buzz Lightyear
briefs, which I made quick work of. I slid the whole thing down his
legs...undies, pajamas, all of it, slid it right down, took it off and
threw it in a heap at the bottom of the bed. He continued his soft snore,
completely unmoving.

My cock was hard as I took my thumb and forefinger, and reaching into his
crack, spread his little cheeks enough to see his itchy hole. Sure enough,
the telltale signs of a wiping gone bad met my eyes. Not too bad. Just a
couple little smudges left behind, but the sight and the smell were
heavenly.

Reaching into my bedside drawer, I grabbed the small pack of baby wipes I
kept nearby for night time smudges and leftover sticky smears when Benny
didn't feel like washing his hands or face before bedtime. Usually those
wet wipes washed off a smudge of jelly or a little bit of a hot chocolate
mustache. Tonight they were going where no man had gone before. At least
not on my son.

I spread his cheeks again with my thumb and forefinger and with a quick
flick of a wrapped-up finger, I ran the wipe across his crack and wiped
away the leftover poop smear. I rolled the wipe to a clean spot, rewrapped
it, and gave his crack one more pass for good measure. All done. He was
clean as a whistle.

He actually sighed when I wiped his ass. It must have felt good to have
that leftover mess cleaned up. I sat there staring at his beautiful little
butthole for what seemed like hours. It was perfectly clean and smooth, not
a hair on it, not a tiny wrinkle out of place. It was a cross between red
and pink. Wet from the baby wipe, it seemed to glisten invitingly in the
dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"I'm going to put some cream on it now, Sport," I said softly. "Just to
stop the itch, okay?"

"Mmm, okay Daddy," he mumbled, somewhere between paying attention and
dreamland.

For a minute I thought of going to the bathroom and getting some Neosporin
or Benadryl cream. That would probably be more therapeutic. My own mom used
to stick a finger full of Vaseline up my hole when I had an itchy butt when
I was a kid. Not much medicine in petroleum jelly, but it did the trick.

But no. As I stared at that perfect hole, I knew I wanted to scratch that
itch just a little at a time, very softly, with something I could enjoy,
too. I reached into my drawer for the small squeeze bottle of Slippery
Stuff I kept tucked in the back for jack-off sessions when Benny was in
school. Squeezing a dab on my pinky, I spread his ass again and put just
the slightest amount of pressure on his tight hole with my pinky finger.

Like a tiny flower, it opened up almost immediately to admit my pinky up to
the first knuckle.

"Mmmm," Benny sighed. "Feels good, Daddy. Do more."

He instinctively spread his legs as I wiggled the tip of my finger around
in his perfect little butthole, not scratching with my fingernail, but
rubbing slowly and putting pressure on him with the pad of my pinky.

"Itch it deeper, Daddy," he mumbled. "The itch goes way deep inside."

Oh, fuck. This was hot. I took my finger out to lube it up a little
better. Before I did, I brought it up to my nose and sniffed
it. Ambrosia. His musky little ass smell filled my senses. Not exactly
sour, not exactly sweet, just perfectly, naturally boy. It was like light
Colby cheese, or cottage cheese, or something good and unidentifiable,
slightly tangy and warm. Wild and comforting at the very same time. I
touched it to my tongue. I sucked my finger. Sweet little ass taste. I
think I moaned then. Wouldn't be the last time.

I re-lubed my finger and stuck it back into him. This time, I didn't stop
at the first knuckle, but slowly pushed my pinky all the way inside him.

"Oh, Daddy. So good," he whispered with a sigh, still more asleep than an
actual participant.

I wiggled my finger slowly around inside the delicious, gripping heat of
his tiny little ass chamber. I felt the moisture inside along the walls,
the heat and the pulse of his heart in there. Each time I pressed, I felt
him growing looser and looser, made more pliable by the movement of my
pinky.

My own cock was rock hard at this point. I reached into my sweat pants and
wasn't surprised to find pre-cum beading at the tip.

"This is so fucking hot," I whispered to myself. "You okay down there,
tiger?"

No answer at all. He was fast asleep, legs splayed apart, with his dad's
finger up his ass, scratching an itch both of us should have seen coming a
year ago.

"That's okay, baby," I said to him softly. "You just keep sleeping. Daddy's
going to scratch it until it all goes away."

I took my pinky out, smelled and sucked on it again, marveling at the sweet
little boy taste, wishing I would have thought of this years ago, and
reached again for the bottle of lube.

Knowing he was fast asleep, I did three things nearly simultaneously. I
lubed up my much larger forefinger, I pulled his dirty underwear from out
of my sweat pants pocket and gave them a good, long smell, and pulled my
own rock hard dick out of my sweat pants and poured a little lube on that,
too.

"I'm just going to help him, I'm just going to help him," I said in my
mind, over and over like a mantra, not wanting to hurt him, not wanting to
fuck him. Okay, that part's not true. Of course I wanted to fuck him. A
man's dick has its own mind, and I challenge anyone to look at the sight of
my son's perfect, welcoming ass chamber and not want to stick it full of
six inches of dick. (Eight, nine or ten if you read a lot of Nifty).

I sat there for the next ten minutes with liberal lube, coating my finger,
coating my cock, slowly jacking myself while I stuck my forefinger deep
into Benny's ass, scratching his itch, marveling at the sight of my own
thick finger moving in and out of a hole that small. I was finger-fucking
my own 10-year-old son, and he wasn't even aware of it. If anything, all he
gave was an occasional, contented sigh and a deeper breathing, finally
getting that troublesome itch taken care of.

I knew it wouldn't be long before I came. The sight of his asshole with my
finger slowly moving in and out and swirling around deep in the comforting
heat of him was going to push me over the edge soon. But like I said
earlier, in for a penny, in for a pound, if I was going to shoot my load
with my little boy's ass, literally at my fingertip, I was going to step
this thing up a notch and go for the gold.

Repositioning myself on the bed, I kneeled over him so my face was level
with his ass. Removing my finger once again, I continued to jerk my cock as
I bent forward and pressed my nose into his sweet little buttcrack. The
lube I use is odorless, so the scent that greeted me was pure boy. I'd
cleaned him well with the wet wipe before, but the prolonged act of moving
my finger in and out of his deepest recess brought a buffet of new aroma to
the surface, and I hovered there just slightly, enjoying the spicy sweet
boy musk, before leaning in and giving the length of his crack a long, soft
swipe with my tongue.

I was immediately greeted with the taste of salt. It was a warm night, his
crack was sweaty from the close physical contact. It was like salt water
mixed with ginger mixed with the lingering perfume of the baby wipe.

Knowing what I wanted and still stroking my cock, I centered my tongue on
that most precious of treasures, my little boy's asshole, and I feasted
tenderly. I made love to his perfect little rosebud with my eager, dancing
tongue, savoring its beautiful taste and committing the multitude of flavor
flashes to memory. Salt and spice and copper and a hundred other things
that made me moan out loud and made my heart pound in my chest.

I licked lower and smelled and tasted his beautiful little ball sack which
was just in reach of my eager tongue. So sweet, so good. Like cloves. Like
graham crackers.

"Mmmm, baby," I whispered, licking across his balls before coming back up
and eating his ass slowly and deeply. "Daddy has more cream for you,
baby. More hot cream."

I could feel my dick starting to tingle. I could feel my heart pounding
heavy in my chest. It was perfect. This boy, this ass, this night. He was
so fucking hot. This was so fucking perfect.

My cock exploded in my hand, shooting ropes of cum onto the blanket
below. I caught the first of it with my other hand, quickly bringing a
fingerful to his tight asshole and pushing it inside of him. It was so
fucking hot, breeding my own cum deep into his chamber with my finger while
my tongue continued to eat him out.

He moaned at this point, almost in discomfort. Maybe I was pushing too
deeply? I backed off a little, slowed down, but when he started snoring
again, fingered up more of my cum from the bedspread and started pushing it
inside him, too. I don't know what made me do this. The desire to possess
him completely, I guess? To leave this mark of me inside him. To know he
had always been mine, but now he was mine again in an entirely new way.

"Mmm, good cream, Daddy," he mumbled in his sleep. "No more itch now. Feels
really better."

"Good boy," I said in a soothing, soft voice, in between final licks of his
beautiful sweet ass which was now mixed with the bleachy tang of my own
thick sperm. I finished up, pushed as much inside him as I could until none
was left on the sheet. I took a final look at my work, a tiny droplet of my
cum still beaded on the very rim of his star. That one I left, just because
it looked so perfect there.  I knew even then, it wouldn't be the last.

"Such a good boy," I said to him soothingly, hoping he could hear me, even
though he was fast asleep. "Such a good, brave boy, letting daddy put some
special cream inside you."

Tired and happy, I slipped off my sweats, slid in next to him naked, and
turned off the bedside lamp. Instinctively, like he did on all nights, he
rolled closer into my arms and wrapped himself around me. I kissed his
perfect forehead and held him tight, the sweet coppery spice of him still
dancing on my tongue; my sticky, softening cock now pressed against his
little leg, sticking to it as the lube dried.

"Thank you, Daddy," he whispered. "You itched me really good."

And instantly, in the way that only boyhood can manage, he fell deeply
asleep again.

"I love you, Benny," I whispered, kissing him and stroking his hair. "Sleep
good, baby boy. Daddy's got lots of new stuff to show you now. Stuff that
can make us both feel really, really good."

He cuddled to me closer.

"I think you're going to like it," I promised him, drifting into slumber
myself, half asleep, half in a dream.

I yawned, I slept, I cuddled him closer.

Something new and good had just begun.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

(Thanks and a grateful shout-out to the Nifty author known only as "KK" for
his beautiful story "Mike's Poolside View" in which his sweet, sleepy
brothers Taevion and Vytal first introduced me to the classic literary line
"sweet little ass taste," which has haunted me in a good way ever since I
read it. Thanks, KK, who I do not know, but I shamelessly stole that line
from you anyway. Perhaps in another life we can meet and swap little
brothers. God, if only).

Coming soon, Chapter 2: "Benny and the Jets." Thanks for reading.

Peace, friends.
Zachyboy
z.blake@mail.com