Date: Tue, 12 Jan 2016 18:29:37 +0100
From: Zachyboy <z.blake@mail.com>
Subject: Smell This 15

SMELL THIS 15
By Brad, Mark & Zachyboy
M/b, b/b, oral, anal, sniffing, buttplay

Complete fantasy. Never happened and we don't encourage it. Read, sniff,
enjoy, then go home and keep your hands and your noses to yourself.

What's that you say? You've never donated to Nifty? Here's your chance to
correct that oversight.

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

On with the show.

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BEYOND: BRETT

(Based on characters created by Matthew Mattson in the 2006 Nifty Incest
story "Matt Babysits Lil Brett." See author's note at the end of this
installment for full credit, appreciation and location of the orginal
story).

Well, I thought my little brother Brett would go further with me the first
time we did stuff, but the doorbell rang and my aunt showed up. Plus, I
think I moved too fast and spooked him anyway. That's what happens
sometimes when you're trying to smell your little brother's butthole and
coax him into sex play. The fates line up against you.

I'm Matt and I'm 17. Well, I'm 18 in four months, so I tell everybody
18. And my little brother's Brett, and he's, well, make up whatever age you
need to get your dick hard. I'll say 11, for the sake of good manners, but
you can round him up or down whichever way you like to go. Honestly, when
it's me reading, I usually shave a year or two off the kid. Guilty
pleasure.

Last night when I babysat him, things took a turn for the wet and the
smelly. Watching TV, when he pounced on me, giggling, I lifted his shirt
and tickled his ribs and armpits until he peed in his pants.

"What happened, buddy," I asked him. "It looks like you had an accident."

"Yeah," he said. "And it smells like pee."

He's light as a dream, so I just picked him up, let him wrap his arms
around my neck and I carried him upstairs to help him get into fresh undies
and sweatpants.

But somehow, the ride upstairs ended with me rubbing my fingers against his
little three-inch bone, then having him lift his shirt off and while I
kneeled down in front of him to peel his wet undies off. He stood in front
of me while I pulled his piss-soaked crotch to my face, and I huffed him
wetly, all maple and salt.

I sat him on my lap. Talked dirty to him. Turned him on. Rubbed his boner
through his undies. Reached down a little and fingered his crack so we
could both enjoy the aroma.

"Did you wipe it good?" I asked him. I slippery-fingered his stinky
place. He moaned. I brought my ass-tacky finger up and we both sniffed it
deeply.

"Smells like poopie, little guy," I smiled.

He blushed.

"I gotta do a poopie right now," I told him. "Do you want to help your big
brother take a shit?"

He said, "all right," but when he followed me into the bathroom and I took
down my pants and showed him my big dick for the first time, even
encouraged him to get his face down close and smell it and feel it on his
skin, I think I probably spooked him. His boner was hard, but his eyes were
darting and nervous.

But I was just at the point where I actually coaxed him into smelling my
nuts, just getting him used to the strong musky smell, and I was just two
steps away from having him show me his boner, when wouldn't you know it,
the doorbell rang, and my aunt showed up and she ruined the party.

We had to zip up and go down and meet her. She was bringing us pizza.

I went downstairs, Brett changed his clothes, and that's as far as we got
that night. He fell asleep in his beanbag on the floor, while my aunt was
still watching TV, and wouldn't you know it, she fell asleep on the couch,
so about midnight, I slugged off to bed.

I thought about carrying him up and putting him in bed with me, but didn't
quite know how I'd explain that to my aunt if she woke up first in the
morning, so with one final stare at my brother's sleeping, breathing,
beautiful outline buried deep under his blanket, I hobbled up the stairs
with a pair of blue balls so big they knocked against my legs and made
banging noises on my way to my room.

The next day we were all up bright and early and my aunt promised us
breakfast at IHOP if we could swing by Bed Bath & Beyond first so she could
get a wire whisk and pick out new towels. I've really never understood
women and new towels, because really, old towels work fine.

Five minutes into the boring store trip, I looked over at Brett and he was
standing in front of a catch caddy display, and he was rocking on the sides
of his feet absent-mindedly and his little mouth was open in a yawn, and
when I saw him like that, all I could imagine was his mouth opening like
that because I'd poked my finger up his little hiney hole on my lap last
night and I'd made him open it up that way.

"That's right, buddy," I'd told him last night while I was rubbing it. "It
feels good to have your butthole played with, doesn't it?"

He nodded and moaned in my lap.

But now I watched him at Bed Bath and Beyond, and studied his
all-too-desirable beauty.

He was wearing his red Marines t-shirt with the yellow letters on the
back. He had on his orange Flyers hockey cap from our Uncle Mike back home
in Philly. I picked on him all the time for wearing it. We're in
Nashville. For me, it's the Predators or nothing. But man, his little buzz
cut looked so cute under that dumb little hockey cap, I still wanted to
take it off an lick his neck, the little traitor.

But God, he was pretty. His long black shorts. His white socks and red
tennies with the yellow laces, shoes that were just starting to get a
little bit stinky when he took them off. I knew that because I smelled them
when he got home from school or soccer practice, every day, every single
time.

Brett has perfectly unblemished skin and a voice still high and unbothered
by puberty, which is still a damn long shout away. He has those lovely
blooms of red-pink color in his cheeks you see in the paintings, and man,
as I watched him, he kept putting his hands up to his mouth, touching his
lips, nibbling on his fingernails and finger skin without thinking, driving
me insane.

I looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and I quickly ran a hand
down my pants and straightened my cock out, because I was getting hard just
looking at him.

He was looking back at me, and he was watching me watch him, and because of
what we did last night after he peed himself, he knew what I wanted from
him. I'm not sure he knew exactly what I wanted or the full sophistication
of it, but he knew for a fact that I really liked his butthole, and I
wanted his face in my crotch, and that I liked the way we smelled each
other last night before my aunt showed up and ruined all the fun, damn her.

He tugged on my aunt's arm. "I hafta pee," he whispered quietly, not
wanting anyone around her to hear. Boy-embarrassed, but bladder-urgent.

"Can't you wait until we get home?" she asked him, not really paying
attention.

He shook his head. "Nope."

She was holding one of those wire whisks you scramble eggs with and Brett
was chewing on his index finger, and I thought my dick was going to blow up
in my pants.

"Matt," my aunt said, "Can you take him while I look at towels?"

All I did was motion with my head and my eyes toward the direction of the
bathroom, and Brett had his finger in his mouth, concentrating, trying to
decide whether to follow me, whether to go into the bathroom with me or
not. On one hand, he had to pee. On the other hand, he probably
instinctively knew already that ME in the bathroom was probably going to
end up being a little more than just peeing.

But he also knew our aunt was a million hours away from being done the way
she browses and shops at BB&B, and Brett's bladder was calling the
shots. Plus, the way he quickly reached down and sort of rub-pinched his
peter, I think he was curious, excited and scared all at the same time.

"Fine," he grumbled. And his curiosity, libido and pissload got the best of
him, and he followed me into the bathroom.

The men's bathroom at our Bed Bath & Beyond is small. When you walk in,
there's a sink opposite from the door. Immediately to your left in a little
tiny nook is the urinal, then the stall covers the entire width of the
entire backside of the bathroom. So it's not very big and it's also pretty
private. BB&B isn't exactly swarming with men most Monday mornings. So,
when Brett came in, I was already in the stall, and I'd left the door
cracked and unlocked.

He came in and just stood at the door of the stall for a minute, looking
through the four-inch crack in the door, just standing there. I'd gone in
and sat down on the toilet seat waiting for him. I motioned with my finger
for him to come in.

"I hafta pee," he said cautiously. "You know. Before you do any stuff on
me."

"Come on, little guy," I urged softly. "I'll let you pee."

He looked back one more time at the door he just came in from, almost like
he was going to bolt like he nearly did last night when I asked him to
watch me poop before the doorbell rang. Talk about saved by the bell in
that one.

Sitting in the stall watching him through the crack, I honestly thought he
was going to bolt again and chicken out, but curiosity got the best of him,
and he came into the stall and then he did something that made he know I
had him in a surprisingly participatory mood. He turned around and closed
the stall door and he locked it.

He walked over to where I was sitting on the toilet and stood there between
my spread legs, and I reached my hands up and slowly slid them onto the
sweet little globes of his ass and just ran my hands all the way up his
back inside his t-shirt. And I could feel him just shiver in anticipation
and in fear from the stimulation of my hands against his bare skin, the way
he did last night when I fondled and I held him.

"You're so pretty Brett," I whispered. "You make your big brother feel so
good."

He melted into me a little. "I saw you watching me," he said. "It kinda
makes me feel good."

And I just sat there rubbing my hands up and down his back, and ever so
slowly and I just leaned my face forward right into his shorts-covered
crotch and took a deep, deep, hit of his little boy crotch. It was just a
little bit sour and generating solid heat, with just the tiniest bit of a
dried piss smell, but it was Brett's little boy crotch and I loved
everything about it.

"Oh fuck," I whispered. "You smell so good, Brett. I can smell your little
wiener."

"Please, Matt," he whined. "Smell it later. I hafta go pee."

So, not wanting another accident like last night – well, really that's
not true, I COMPLETELY wanted another accident like last night, but I knew
this wasn't the place for it – I stood up and moved him in front of me
and pulled his body firmly against me so his back was tight against my
lower belly.

"What are you doing?" he said.

"Shhhh," I told him. "Let me help you, buddy." I felt him shrug and relax.

I pulled his red t-shirt up and pulled it back over his head so it was
hooked behind his neck. His t-shirt was still partially on, but now his
whole white chest was exposed, smooth and tiny and nipple-perfect.

I ran my hands down his chest and across his tiny titty dots and down his
belly and slid my fingers into the waistband of his shorts.

"Hey!" he giggled. "That tickles!"

His little laugh sent blood surging through my cock.

I hooked my thumbs slowly into his shorts and his undies and pulled them
down and let them fall to the ground and pool at his ankles. His bare
bottom leaned back against my jeans, just below my crotch. I could smell
its soft hot stink-scent rising up in the air, and even with his cheeks
unspread, his butt's mere appearance came with a bare, soft sweetness in
the air. I wanted him so badly I could taste his air-flavor in my mouth.

"Gotta pee bad," he whispered, wiggling back against me. Brett wasn't tall
enough for his asshole to be lined up with my cock. My cock was more lined
up with where his tailbone was, but that's okay. I just pulled him back
against me and I slowly reached down and put my thumb and forefinger around
his beautiful pink little cock. He gasped when I touched it. Gasped, then
relaxed.

It was just the perfect size for a little brother, it was probably as big
around as the tip end my ring finger and about as long as my ring finger
from the second knuckle to the end. And I just wrapped my fingers around it
and I held it up over the bowl, and he just let out an exhale of breath and
with a quivering sigh, he let his bladder go, and his piss shot out into
the toilet. Beautiful warm piss I felt vibrating through his little tube as
it flowed out of his little piss stalk. His body twitched and
happy-shivered as he let it all go.

He pissed with a long satisfied sigh, and I slowly moved my index finger
upward so I caught the bottom edge of his piss stream as it came out, right
at the tip his piss hole, just to let some of that piss dribble down onto
my fingers and back into the half-cupped palm of my hand. And pretty soon
his bladder was completely empty and he just stood there dripping his final
drops, tensing and squirt-dribbling, not knowing what to do next.

Slowly, I brought my wet fingers up to mouth. He looked up at me.

"Gross," he giggled. "That's my pee, Matt! You're gonna get pee-sick!"

I just moaned out of need. I put that finger in my mouth and I tasted that
tangy, salty piss. And he just looked at me wide-eyed in wonder that I
would acutally taste his piss. Lick it off my fingers. The stuff that he
peed! And I was licking it up! Drinking it down!

"Eww," he giggled again.

And oh fuck, it was good. It was strong but not bitter. Oh God, his piss
tasted great. My cock was leaking in my pants.

"Good piss," I told him. "Salty and good, little buddy."

I tugged on his shorts again. He looked confused.

I said, "Trust me. Get naked."

He looked a little scared, but he did what I asked. With prompting and
help, I had him step out of his little shorts and his little undies,
difficult because his shoes were still on, and then I took his t-shirt off
the rest of the way. Now he was naked, except for his shoes and socks, and
I just picked him up with both hands, one hand under each armpit, and I
lifted him up to stand on the toilet seat.

His eyes grew wide when I hefted him up.

"This is naughty," he said. "We're gonna get caught."

"The door's locked," I said quickly, surprised at the husky-low need in my
own voice. God, my cock was hard. "No one can see us in here."

He looked at me, nervous, but eager. Almost comical, bare naked and still
dick-soft, balancing on the toilet seat with those red stinky tennies with
the black treads and the yellow laces. I could jack off smelling those
tennies alone. And here they were now, the only thing he was wearing on his
bare-naked body. Like a game of strip-poker gone sexily out of sequence.

He was almost eye to eye with me as he stood on the toilet seat, and I just
pulled him to me and I just held his naked little body next to me and I
just nuzzled his neck and smelled the strong, sweet smell of unwashed boy.

"Oh fuck," I whispered. "You smell so good, Brett."

He giggled and pressed his little dick in my face. His dick. His crotch,
and his hairless V.

"Smell this," he said proudly, pushing it in my happy face.

And God, I did. Unwashed and raw. Not dirty at all, just good, warm boy. I
nuzzled and smelled him, and oh fuck, he was so warm and beautiful my cock
was aching in my pants to be in him, or on him, or anywhere near him.

I just stood hypnotized by the smell of him, hungry-nuzzling my nose into
his neck as I slid my hands down his back and over the slight curve of his
smooth, white cheeks, and before he could object, I just quietly slid my
fingers into his crack.

"Oh!" he said quickly. "Matt! That's my poop place!"

And again, he wasn't dirty down there, he was just unwashed, so there was
just the most beautiful, glistening tacky glaze right in the bottom of his
crack and across his hole, and I let my fingertips just touch that pucker,
that special, secret place of his, so hot and so stinky-perfect.

He pushed his crotch forward against me in instinct. Until last night, this
was an unknown feeling for him. Nobody'd ever touched his little hole
before. This is what he used to make poopy! Nobody's ever made it sexy
before!

"That's it, little guy," I whispered in his ear. "Push it back. Make it
feel good."

He whimpered, a sweet high-pitched puppy noise deep and soft in his throat.

I pushed my slippery stink-finger just a tiny bit harder into his pucker
place, to test his reaction, and he instantly went up on his tippy-toes. He
moved forward a little as if to get away, but there was really nowhere for
him to go, so I nuzzled his neck and pulled my finger back immediately, and
began to gently to stroke the forefinger of each hand against his little
wet stink-wrinkle, and I whispered into his ear "Just relax, buddy, I won't
stick it in, I promise. I'm just going to rub on the outside and make you
feel good."

I didn't want to make him uncomfortable at all. I just wanted to show him
how good a boy can feel.

I kissed his sweet neck as I rubbed my fingers around and around his greasy
little button, dipping down into the dimple right in the center, pushing
just ever-so-gently on it each time, not penetrating him at all but just
simulating his little anus. Letting him know how good it could feel to have
somebody play with his butthole.

"My thing is all hard," he whispered to me, and I looked down and sure
enough. His little boner was pointing straight up toward his belly
button. I reached around with my other hand and stroked it softly between
my thumb and forefinger like I did last night, and he moaned quietly,
letting me do it.

"It feels good, doesn't it buddy? It feels good to have your big brother
play with your wiener."

"Uh-huh," he nodded sleepily, his eyes closed and a smile on his face,
mouth parted, seconds away from drooling at the dual pleasure, front and
backside.

I pulled my finger out of his butt crack and I backed my head away from his
neck and I brought my finger up to my nose and I smelled his essence. And
fuck, oh fuck, he smelled so good.

It was the smell of new boy hole, pure and young, and musky and
earthy. Like spring, like virginity. His most private, intimate spot, and
God it smelled so good.

"Turn around, Brett," I told him. "Turn around and put your hands on the
wall."

He looked confused. Scared. Excited. But he did what I asked.

He turned around, reached up and touched the wall over his head. I spread
his legs. Frisking position. So hot. So sexy. Naked except for his socks
and tennies. Legs apart. Little balls dangling down. I put my palms on his
globes, thumbs at his entrance and pulled his butt cheeks apart.

As he bent further forwards, I parted his sticky cheeks, in my mind,
actually heard them pull their stickiness apart, and like a dying man, I
buried my face.

"Oh wow," he gasped as my tongue found purchase. "Oh wow, Matt, wow!"

Like a man dying of hunger, I ate his sweet little virginal hole until
tears came to my eyes.

I pushed him further against the bathroom wall. On my knees, I face-mashed
his slit-split, spread those perfect cheeks apart and as hard and as deeply
as I dared and I rammed my tongue directly into his special, spicy
treasure. He moaned as my nose and lips and my tongue fucked his anus. I
was rewarded richly with the strong sweet cheese of his little boy ass
bait. Like fake deer urine left in the woods for a hunter. It exploded on
my tongue like nothing I knew. It was something beyond ordinary. Something
gourmet and uncommon. The wildest pepperjack. Parmigiano Reggiano. Cheeses
I wouldn't know until years later as a grown-up.

I gobbled and groaned as I ate his little hole, beyond caring if anyone
came in. Beyond and beyond and beyond. I tongued him wildly, ravishing his
flavor, gobbling that virginal little hole, just letting that greasy butter
just melt on my tongue and slide down my grateful throat. He tasted so ripe
and raw and real. Oh fuck.

I was eating my brother's hole in the bathroom of a Bed Bath & Beyond. Oh
fuck. Oh God, he was so hot. He was so fucking hot. I could just eat his
hole forever, but I knew we had to go. Our aunt would be waiting. I
couldn't even finish us. It made me want to cry. It would have to wait
until we got home.

So hairless and skinny and smooth and pretty. And the color in his cheeks
and the flavor in his ass. "Oh God, Brett, I love your perfect ass taste!"

"Please Matt," he moaned, pushing back against my invading tongue, "We
hafta go back out to Auntie. She'll wonder where we are."

"Please buddy, just one more lick," I begged. "Just one more taste of this
asshole."

He pulled away and shook his head no.

"We hafta go," he whined. "Later. Do it more later. I like it."

He redressed quickly. Before he pulled his shorts up, on my knees, I pulled
him to me. Smelled his little hard peener. Took it in my mouth quickly. He
gasped. I gave it five long sucks. He gripped my head and gasped
again. This was brand new to him too.

"Oh wow," he whispered. "You sucked on my wiener!"

His voice was breathless. Shocked.

But we had to go. Damn, it was wrong! It was so unfair, I couldn't finish
this for him. For me. For us! I'd been waiting forever for this. Hoping
he'd someday be old enough. And now he was. And we were stuck at a stupid
store, instead of at home where we belonged.

I took his small hand with his perfect long fingers and I pressed it to my
leaking cock. You could feel my dick leaking through my sweats.

"When we get home," I promised him. "I'm going to suck your cock good,
little buddy. As long as you want it."

"Really?" he said quietly, and his eyes got wide.

"Really," I said. And I made him smell his butt smell on my finger.

He close his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Good," I told him. "That's a good boy. Smell your little butt smell,
Matt. That's you. You smell GOOD."

"Yeah," he nodded quietly, rubbing his boner through his shorts and looking
at me, smiling nervously, excited. "My butt smells GOOD."

He squeezed my cock, not once, but twice. Then a third time.

"When we get home," he said breathlessly, all wide-eyes. All nervous
excitement.

"Let's do more butt smells when we get back home."

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SWALLOW: JEFFREY

His name is Jeffrey, and it is 1963, and he is in your 5th grade homeroom
at Our Lady of Sacred Agony, where you've been teaching for the past ten
years. You've seen boys come and go, and even had many of them in many
ways, but Jeffrey is special.

"Jeffrey," you call to him while the other children are working quietly on
their arithmetic problems, "Will you come into the coat room with me and
help me empty all the pencil sharpener shavings into the garbage can?"

He stands up quickly with a nervous smile, because he knows what this
means. You follow him in with your classroom's four pencil sharpener
receptacles in your hands. None of the children look up from their papers.

You close and lock the coat room door. It's dark inside and he comes to
you.

You reach down and tug at his little snap and zipper on his school
shorts. You pull them down and his little spike pops up. Boing! Already
erect. You fiddle it between your finger and thumb. It is slightly wet and
stick on the tip. Jeffrey is uncut. You let him taste his own fluid. He
sucks it off your finger.

You put your finger in his mouth. He sucks it and gets it wet. You pull his
tightie whities down and slowly insert your finger into his butthole as he
moans. He stands there hard against you as you finger his little 5th grade
vagina.

You remove your finger and smell it deeply. His ass smells like magic and
boy.

He is unwashed and sweet-smelling, rich-smelling, and you want him that
way. You rub his scent all under your nose so you can continue to smell his
aroma on you as you reach back and finger him again. Deeper this time. You
finger and smell him as much as you can.

You remove your finger and placing your hands on top of his head, you lower
him down to his knees. You nudge him down into proper position for what he
was meant to do. Born to service men this way.

You unsnap your own teacher's standard-issue trousers. You unzip. Push them
down to your knees. Push your underwear down. You can smell your own
cock. Your pubes, your dick, yearning to be free. He smells them
too. Smiles nervously.

You nudge his head forward with your hands. He opens up and takes your
flacid penis in his mouth. He's done this before for you. Three other
times. The first time was difficult. He didn't know what to do. He was
scared and his teeth scraped you.

But now he knows what to do. You still smell his ass on your upper lip as
he sucks you.

He nurses on your penis like a mama's teat. It grows in his mouth. Grows by
wild leaps and bounds quickly. Soon it is a mouthful of hard cock that
makes him drool and gag. But he fellates it anyway. He sucks it expertly as
you rock his head back and forth encouraging him to take it deeper, in
spite of his gags.

"Here it comes," you whisper to him. "Here it comes."

He sucks faster, much faster, as he tenses up and

"Nnnnghhh," you whisper quietly into the dark coat room as you grab his
head hard, pull him into your crotch, and listening to his final gag,
unload your semen into his sweet, hot, 5th-grader mouth. You put your
finger up to your nose and you breathe in his ass musk as you wet his tiny
tonsils with your thick liquid need.

He gulps and swallows, winces at the taste, but like a good 5th grade boy,
swallows every drop.

You rub his head and smell your ripe shit finger again.

"Good boy," you tell him, still smelling your finger. "Pull up. Back to
your seat."

You pull up your own pants and empty the pencil shavings into the metal
wastebasket by the door. They clang on the sides, metal to metal, as you
tap them empty.

Composed, you unlock the door and the two of you walk back quietly to the
classroom. None of the other children have paid the least bit of attention
to your absence or return. Jeffrey sits down at his desk and resumes his
arithmetic. You sit at your desk and watch him, quietly sniffing your
finger.

Later, when the year's class photo is taken in the gymnasium, the rest of
the students line up neatly. Some sit in front on chairs, pretty legs and
uniform socks lined up, all in a row.

"Jeffrey," you say. "Come down here. Sit in front."

He does as he's asked. None of the other children worry why.

He sits down Indian style and looks up at you.

You smell your finger again. The scent of his tight, wet ass remains.

The photographer snaps the picture and you smile softly at Jeffrey as he
holds his arithmetic workbook.

You smell your finger deeply and Jeffrey smiles back at you, with a warm
load of your semen still swimming happily in his tummy.

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TIGER: ZACHARY

Sweetest Zachyboy, writes J. from Sidney, "I don't know why, but the name
"Zachary" does it for me. So cute, so winsome, so utterly boyish, so
redolent of innocent, carefree boyhood and the utterly blissful "tiger
stripes" that inevitably result.

Now, I'll tell you a little about boys I've known who made stripes in their
pants as love messages for their mothers. Well, actually two of them were
more inclined to actually fill their pants as love gifts for their mothers,
but I know that you're fascinated by boypants with slight remnants or hints
or echoes or rumours, not by boypants that have suffered the full
catastrophe, so small details like that can easily be altered when the tale
is told.

In the case of the Zachary I knew, the intimate and quite deliberate
markings were not specifically a love gift, but certainly a statement.

Our young protagonist grew up in a village near Horsham in West Sussex in
the early 50's of the last century. His mother was a pharmacist, an
efficient mother but not a particularly warm person, and his father, sadly,
had been killed in the war.

The household with a single mother and an only child (particularly one who
happens to be a boy-child), is precisely the scenario likely to give rise
to eccentric behaviour cycles, often involving bedwetting or pants-soiling,
or at least epic skidding.

One morning, when Zachary was about six and Mother was helping him dress,
he asked her why he had to wear underpants. In fact, he had already
noticed, with alacrity, the bottom-splodges he made in his pants, and he
already knew that he enjoyed making them and enjoyed seeing them and
admiring them.

Mother replied, "Boys wear underpants to keep their trousers from getting
dirty inside."

Zachary took this as permission, almost as an instruction. Mother's words
seemed to imply that boys were expected to skid their underpants, perhaps
even required to. After all, that was the raison d'etre of underpants
according to mother; to be made dirty.

So, per instruction, that was precisely what Zachary spent the rest of his
childhood and teenage years doing. Toilet paper was used sparingly, and
often eschewed altogether.

Zachary attended school in Horsham and came back to the village each
afternoon on a school bus, and then had to walk a little way along a rural
lane. And his particular delight most days if the urge was there, was to
take a poop, without toilet paper of course, behind a tree or a hedgerow.

In those days of steam trains when most little boys in England were "train
spotters," our hero Zachary was a "bus spotter." He knew about every type
of bus, single decker and double decker in the whole of Britain and all her
dominions overseas. At weekends and during holidays, Zachary would go into
Brighton to spend a day bus-spotting, and before returning home, it was his
habit and his delight to take a poo without paper in a garden bed in one of
Brighton's many public parks.

Those were the halcyon days when most English boys changed socks and
underwear only twice each week, usually on Sunday and Wednesday mornings,
and with all the pride of an artist, Zachary observed and admired the
gradual building-up of each masterpiece over the days. His skids were not
exactly a love-gift for his mother, but a statement or assertion of his
status as a BOY.

Girls wipe. Boys skid.

Girls are fastidious. Boys are dirty.

Skidding his underpants was to him an expression of his boyhood, his way of
saying firmly to his mother, almost defiantly, "puer sum," "I am a BOY."

Mother never said anything to Zachary about his dirty little ways. She just
soaked and rubbed and scrubbed uncomplainingly, as English mothers did in
those days. But Zachary assured me that even if she had challenged or
chided him, he wouldn't have cleaned up his act one bit. He would have gone
on eschewing the toilet paper, perhaps even more defiantly.

Only once did he hear his skiddy ways referred to. He had an aunt who was
Matron at a boarding school in Edinburgh. Once when Auntie was visiting
when Zachary was 13, he overheard his mother remarking to her that Zachary
never wiped himself adequately and always left marks in his underwear.

Aunt replied casually, " Oh, all boys are like that. None of the boys at
school wipe themselves properly. There's nothing you can do about it. The
more you nag them about it, the dirtier their underwear becomes."

Zachary, of course, was enthralled and thrilled by what he heard. His
aunt's remark seemed to confirm all that he believed about boys and their
underpants and their boyish ways. It was affirming to him to know that he
was part of a Nationwide Movement of Dirtyboys. And it was arousing to him
to hear his "problem" spoken about, to know that Mother DID notice, and
that his statements WERE read.

At that moment, he vowed never to use toilet paper again, unless he passed
a particularly sloppy one that would result in an unmanageable mess if
there wasn't some vague attempt at mopping up the worst of it. The paper
could take the brunt, but the underpants would still sop up the remnants as
Zachary walked or ran or sat down or played, or perhaps even rode his bike.

That's what underpants are meant for. That's their raison d'etre. If they
remained clean, they would lack any sense of purpose. They would have an
identity crisis.

After all, that's what his mother told him when he was only six years old.

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PIANO: MICHAEL

Due to being a financially-challenged single parent, Michael's mom
unfortunately cannot continue to pay for Michael's piano lessons.

Michael loves playing the piano and is upset he's going to have to give
them up.

I tell him I'll give him lessons for free, as long as he does the whole
lesson naked. He shouldn't tell his mom, or he'll have to stop taking
lessons. Michael's cool with that.

With free lessons and a well-kept secret by Michael, Michael's mom is happy
too.

We're all happy.

And you should smell that plastic chair when he's gone home.

Mmm.

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BED: BRETT

So, picking up where I left off, let me tell you something about breakfast
at IHOP. It's kind of hard to enjoy your pancakes when you can still taste
your little brother's butthole on your tongue. You sort of hate to ruin it
with the old-fashioned syrup dispenser.

Every time Brett took a bite of his sausages, all I could think of was his
little sausage, the little smoky link I'd sucked in the bathroom stall
about 30 minutes ago before my aunt got her towels, checked out, and we
headed for breakfast about three blocks down the road.

How she didn't notice the boner in my sweat pants or the pre-cum stain on
the front of them as I sat next to her in the front seat, I have no
idea. Or maybe she did, but aunts are polite. Either way, licking Brett's
spread ass in the bathroom, and giving his little cocklet five cursory
promise-sucks before he put his shorts back on left me straining and
draining, peaking and leaking.

We finished breakfast, my dick deflated back to normal, and she dropped us
at the curb in front of our house where my parents were still gone and I
was still watching Brett, technically babysitting until that afternoon when
they got home from work.

It was eleven in the morning when I glanced at the phone, and then at
Brett's ass, so you know, as far as I was concerned – straight up to
bed! Brett giggled as I swatted his ass cheeks and I chased him up the
stairs. He landed on my queen bed with a plop and a sigh.

"Suck it again," he said to me, giggling, jutting his hips up and pointing
his little crotch in my face. He wasn't hard, but I'd take care of that in
a hurry.

I sprawled out on my back next to him and put my hand down my sweats and my
undies. My dick still felt glazed and sticky where my pre-cum had leaked
out earlier in the store bathroom.

"I want to play some butt games first," I told my little brother. "Why
don't you stand up and do a little dance for me, buddy. Take all your
clothes off and do a little dance."

Brett giggled, and standing up on the bed, almost falling over as he got
his balance on the mattress, took his t-shirt off first, doing a goofy sort
of hula dance that was supposed to be sexy, but really just looked silly,
until his perfect little nipples and tight tummy came into view, and then
it became sexy in a heartbeat.

He started to pull his pants down but then said, "Wait, my shoes. I still
got my shoes on."

"Sit," I told him, and he plopped his butt down on my legs and extended his
feet.

I untied one tennie, pulled it off, reward by a rich, little-boy heat and
sourness, right on the edge of stinky, but not over the moon yet. I did the
same with the other one, huffing deeply as I did, enjoying every strong
smell of him, every rich nose-flavor. I peeled his socks off. They were
slightly damp. I put his sticky toes to my nose and inhaled. Pure boy. I
licked between his toes and sucked one into my mouth.

"Hey!" he giggled. "Tickles."

"Now give me my show, buddy," I told him. "Hop up and do your strip show
for me."

He hopped back up, got his balance again and slowly, more seductive than
silly this time, slowly pulled his shorts down, then his undies which I
grabbed from his hand and instantly sniffed, enjoying the tang of the dual
tiger stripes in the crotch of his tighty whities, the epic skids, the
proof in the pudding, the essence of Brett saying, I am BOY.

I pulled my own sweats down. Shucked down my undies. Kicked them all off
down the bottom of the bed. My hard dick sprang free and Brett just stared
at it.

"You got a big one, Matt," he whispered, impressed. "A great big one with
lots of hair."

"Show me your butt, buddy," I nodded at his bottom. "Turn around and dance
for me and show me your bottom hole."

He turned around and swaying his hips, he spread his cheeks and his perfect
pink starfish came into view. It was peppered with brown specks before, but
five hard minutes of eating it in the bathroom and left all traces of
residue behind. Now it was just shiny clean, but the scent wafted up
anyway. The universal truth of boys, I read in a story once, is
ABC-SAT. All Boys Cracks are Stinky All the Time.

I stroked my cock and watched my brother's asshole wink.

"Push your finger in it, Brett," I urged him. "Push your finger in and
smell it."

"It won't go in," he complained, pushing against his dry anus.

"Wet it first," I told him, feeling the tip of my cock ooze. "Wet it with
spit and push it in."

He sucked his long slender forefinger into his mouth, lubricated it
sufficiently, and slowly, reaching around, slid it up his back door with a
wince and a hiss.

"Feels weird," he said with a grunt. "Really pokey."

"Get it in there good, buddy," I encouraged him, slowly jacking my cock
while I watched him. "Push it in good and then give it a smell."

He did what I asked and brought his finger to his nose.

"Smells like butt-poop," he giggled.

"Let me smell."

He giggled and stuck it under my nose. Rubbed it under my nose actually, so
when he pulled away, the invisible pasty smell of him remained. Not poop
smears. Just sweet, invisible dookie butter.

"Sit on my face, buddy," I told him. "Squat your butthole right on my
nose."

He giggled. "That's nasty."

"I know," I nodded, but I was so hungry for his smell. "But do it for me,
please. Rub it on my nose, buddy, as hard has you can."

"Ha!" he giggled as he squatted and spread his cheeks apart before coming
in for a landing.

His anus touched my nostrils and I almost died of pleasure.

"Smell my stinky butthole," he giggled, and he mashed it up against me. And
oh Lord, did I smell him. It was mostly gone, licked clean in the store
bathroom, but what remained was heavenly. Sweet like french dressing. Like
buttermilk biscuits. I huffed him and I licked him and I had to take my
hand off my dick or I would have cum right there having him squat on my
face and anus-feed my nose like that. And even after moving my hand, I was
still close to cumming. Just a second away from shooting, he excited me so
much

"Lay on my face buddy," I whispered at him. "Lay down with your head by my
cock and your weenie in my mouth."

He nodded, quivering and hard, his little boy bone actually twitching in
anticipation seeking my mouth like an eager little missile. As it slipped
between my lips and I made suction around it I heard him sigh and felt him
shiver.

I don't know at what point or at what age boys develop the natural instinct
to pump in and out, pump up and down when their cock makes contact with a
hole – mouth, cunt, ass or otherwise – but Brett knew just what to
do, and he took to fucking my mouth like a prepubescent champ. I could
smell his hairless crotch. Spicy and pissy, like maple and graham crackers.

Suck your ring finger down to the middle knuckle. That's what it felt like,
sucking Brett's cock. That size. That thickness. Only harder, like
steel. And a salty maple piss-treat.

His head was exploring its way around my cock, timid but excited. First I
felt it scratch across his head, his little buzz cut tickling my
shaft. Then I felt him rub it on his cheek, then I felt his little nose as
he burrowed into it and smelled it like he did last night. I felt him
smelling me everywhere. My dick. My balls. My pubes.

"Oh yeah, buddy," I mumbled around a mouthful of his mini-cock. "That's it,
buddy. Smell my dick."

And then, sweet wonders, I felt his little tongue flick out and tentatively
swipe at the goo on my head.

"Yuck," he said and I heard him make spitting sounds.

"Wipe it off, buddy," I encouraged him. "Wipe off the sticky stuff but then
suck it, Brett. Be a good boy and suck it for me buddy."

He took my blanket and wiped my cockhead dry. I felt him pick a hair off
it. Then suddenly, in what I can only describe as sheer heaven, I felt his
little warm mouth wrap around my dick head, and suddenly my little brother
Brett was sucking me.

He didn't take me deeply and he didn't do it well, but that awkward, novice
blowjobs was one of the best ones of my life.

"Oh yeah," I mumbled into his dick, while he pumped in and out of me. I wet
a finger, reached behind and started rubbing the outside of his anus like I
did in the bathroom, only this time, I pressed in softly, pressed in
further, and POP! I felt my finger slide into his rectum to the first
knuckle.

"NNNGH!" he grunted with a mouth full of my cock. I felt his butthole
nibble at my invading digit, but he didn't lose pace, he kept on
sucking. He was pumping in and out of my mouth now to beat the band.

I pulled my finger out, wet it with more spit, and pushed it back into
him. Even deeper this time to the gateway of his second spincter, where
with a good steady pressure, it finally sunk into him and found it's way
deep into his colon.

"NNNNNGHHHH" he moaned loudly, and extended groan of penetration.

He pumped madly into my mouth, mashing my face with his spicy hairless
pubis while I pushed my finger in harder, deeper, the heat of my brother's
rectum all around me, until I couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, had to
blow my load in his fumbling, sucking mouth.

"FUCKKKKKK" I grunted and I pushed up into him. I heard him
gag. Cough. Sputter. Spit, but I couldn't stop it. Had to cum. Cumming in
him hard. Cumming in his mouth. Took my finger out of his ass. Held it
under my nose while I came. Smelled his butt. Creamed his mouth. Came on
his tongue on his lips and his face, smelling his musk. Smelling his sweet
ass.

"Cum for me, buddy." I said, sticking my finger back in him. "Cum for me
good."

"Mattttttttt!" he cried. "I hafta pee! I hafta pee!"

"Do it buddy!" I mumbled, my mouth getting numb-fucked. "It's not a pee,
buddy. Just let it happen."

He pushed, and shivered. I pulled my finger out and rubbed it under his
nose.

"Smell your stink while you cum, buddy. Smell it deep."

He rammed. He pushed. He shuddered. He seized.

I heard him squeal out, "EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" and he hip locked in place and
dry-twitched in my mouth, hip-ramming my face so hard it hurt.

"Tickles!" he gasped joyfully. "Tickles so hard!"

He lay over my face completely spent. My slime-coated butt finger still
smeared invisible stink-atoms under his nose. I brought it back up to mine
and I took another hit. Licked it clean. Flipped him over and pulled him to
my chest.

"That was good, buddy," I told him softly, resting him on my chest and
kissing his little neck and rubbing his little stubble head. "You did a
good, good job."

He was still wiping my cum from his face. "I couldn't eat your stuff," he
said. "There was just too much of it. It makes me gag like spinach."

"That's okay, buddy. You did good. You did really, really good."

"How come you like smelling my butt so much?" he giggled.

"I don't know," I shrugged, hugging him close. "It's just who I am. And it
smells really good."

"Do you wanna smell my poop? Like have me poop on you or something?"

"I wanna watch it," I said honestly. "I wanna watch it come out. But your
butt smell is different. Butt smell and poop smell are two different
things. Poop's like mom's casserole," I told him. "You need to work up to
it. Butt's just like a burger from McDonald's. Related, but way easier."

He giggled and nestled into me. I smelled his buzzcut and I nibbled my
teeth on his earlobe. He laughed.

"I like butt smell," I told him honestly. "Butt's just better."

He reached around and poked his finger up his asshole. He giggled, smiled
mischeviously and held his finger up in front of me.

"Butt's just better," he echoed, in a pretty good impression of me.

He wiped the finger under my nose and he smiled when I moaned.

"You like it?" he asked. "You really like my butt smell?"

"I do," I moaned and it was really hard not to cry.

He smiled, my little brother, and he stuck it in his hole again.

He stuck it in his butthole and he wiped it on me where I could smell him
at his best.

"Plenty where that came from," he giggled, and he hit me again.

I moaned out loud as he gave me extra samples. The last one he gave me, he
went really deep.

"Smell it," he whispered as he brought it to me smiling. "Smell it, big
brother...

"Smell this."

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Authors' Note:

"Beyond: Brett" and "Bed: Brett" are based on characters created by Matthew
Mattson in "Matt Babysits Lil Brett," Nifty Gay Incest, January 2006. The
author's "to be continued" at the end of that solitary chapter never
materialized, so humbly, we offer our own sweet conclusion here, with
gratitude for Matthew's spectacularly-scented original which has been a
point of inspiration and enjoyment for nearly a decade. An early prototype
of the kind of stuff our sniffworks became, his original work is not to be
missed. Thanks, Matt M, if you're still out there, buddy. A groundbreaker
for sure.

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/matt-babysits-lil-brett

Until fate brings us together again, my friends, deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

Love,
BM&Z
Your Brothers in Sniff

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