Date: Mon, 27 Aug 2001 10:42:56 GMT+01:00 From: satyricon@talk21.com Subject: A Boy Beyond His Years chapter 1 This document contains Adult Material. If it is illegal where you live to view adult material, leave now! If you find Adult material offensive, you may also leave now. If you have not left, then it is assumed you are either not illegal And/or not offended. So sit back and hopefully enjoy. Feedback is cheerfully encouraged! If anyone wants to send me their own stories. A Boy Beyond His Years - copywrite Satyricon He can't be more than twelve or thirteen, the boy I'm watching. He's standing there, next to his mother; fidgeting, bored while she picks through the pile of clothes on the market stall. Dragged out to the flea-market, on a lazy Sunday morning, his blue eyes glance around, searching for something to grab his attention. A slight breeze flicks his sandy hair from his freckled forehead. I have a book-stall on the market, and its from there I'm staring now. The market won't be busy for a couple of hours yet, so I have the luxury of time - time to fantasize about the parade of youths, dragged here by their working class mothers. Most of them are your average, scruffy, wouldn't look twice, teens. Then, occasionally, I'll get one like this. He has that perfect build - you know, the one that says "I'm old enough to know what you're thinking, but too young for you to do anything about it!". Kind of like the middle one from Hanson, but more city than beach. Cute, but trying to be a man. Do you get what I mean yet? My eyes move down from his white tee-shirted chest, towards his crotch. He's wearing sandstone jeans, the colour of which mirror his hair. My vision tunnels in on his fly region, trying to make out any bulges. After five or six seconds of staring, his hand move into my focus, and rubs across his cock. I look up - does he know I'm watching? No. He's looking in the other direction. He glances at his mother - she's still absorbed in the clothes, and then looks round, like he's checking for anyone watching. He still doesn't see me, and no-one else is looking so... He's putting his hand down his jeans! He's adjusting himself, and, he's squeezing his cock as he does it! There's no mistaking those movements. He takes his hand out, leaving, quite clearly now, the outline of his manhood. Hard. He's looking away again now, in the same direction as before. What is it he's looking at that's turning him on so much? There's nothing over there but.. But the toilets. The public washrooms for the market. They were built in the sixties together with the market, and haven't been refitted since. And for good reason. You see, they don't get used as toilets as such (at least, not by locals, who have all heard the stories). The people who use these lavatories are after a different kind of relief. I'm sure I don't need to be explicit to get across what I'm talking about. And so, locals won't go in them. Mothers warn their kids not to go near them, in case a 'bad man' should get them. And lets face it, there are enough of those in modern society (says me, a man staring at a twelve year old's crotch). But anyway... This boy is staring at the toilets and getting off on it. And he must be local - only local people would be on the market at this time in the morning. He must know what goes on in there - it doen't make sense. He's looking at his mother now, some indecision in his face. Suddenly steeling himself, he walks over to her. He says something to her, and points away, in the direction of a stall selling cheap computer games. She looks at her watch, and replies to him, presumably telling him how long he can be. He nods, and I read from his lips that he's replying, "Okay." to her. Walking away, towards the computer stall, he glances over his shoulder. His mother is once more absorbed in examining clothes, and, seeing this, the boy turns, mid-stride, and paces away. Straight toward the toilets. Well, what can I do? Before I can answer this, I find I've already done it. I've pulled the shutters down on my stall, stepped out, and started tracing the boy's steps. Nobody pays any attention to me when I pause outside the toilets and glance around, so I assume nobody sees me enter. And frankly, with my hard-on raging inside my trousers, I don't care! -------- It's the smell that hits me first, stale urine, stale shit, and stale semen. I breathe it in deeply, letting the odours infect my body - an infestation of decrepitude. The walls are a grubby yellow, the floor dirty brown tiles. The air is warm and damp. Walking into the toilets is like being transported from a crisp clear mountain peak, to a festering, humid swamp. Yeah, it turns me on. I enter the toilet proper. A line of six cubicles to my left, graffitied and doorless; washbasins in front of me; and a row of urinals to my right. It is at the last that the boy is standing. At first, my heart sinks - he looks as though he's only taking a piss. Maybe he doesn't know what goes on in here...maybe he just needs to take a - - but no. As I move closer to him, I can see the slow, languid, strokes he is making with his fist. My hard-on pulses as I take the urinal next to him. As I reach down to my fly, I realise we haven't made eye contact yet. My hand reaches inside my pants, grasping my cock as I stare at his. His delicate hand is moving from the base to the tip and back again, of his four inches. The head glistens with precum. Fiercly, I yank my dick from my pants. My boner bobs up and down in front of me. And then, the boy giggles! My eyes dart to his face and find his eyes locked on my midriff. He giggles some more, and licks his lips: and he looked so innocent! I start to stroke my shaft, and his eyes light up. For a minute or so, we both continue stroking, when all of a sudden the boy looks up at me, as if only just noticing I have a face. He pauses his masturbation, and scrutinizes me. Finally he says, "You're kinda cute. For an old man." Now, I'm not that old. Forty-five in September. But to a twelve year old, I guess forty-four is ancient. I reply, "I bet this old man could teach you a thing or two." He gives me this really mischievious grin, like I've said something funny. Glancing down at both our cocks he says, "Are you sure?" And before I can reply, he's down on his knees, a hand around my dick. I feel it twitch in his hand as he lowers his head closer. An inch before his lips touch, he pauses, and softly blows, cooling the precum that has gathered. His tongue slips out and licks my piss-hole. He looks up and cryptically says, "Mmmmm.... just like daddy used to make." Looking down at him, "You've done this before then?" Disdainful look up, "What d'you think?" "I think.... I think you talk too much." He seems to consider this, just for a second, "Maybe." And his mouth opens and his head goes down, taking my full seven inches deep into his throat. His lips close around the base of my shaft, and he sucks, making the blood pressure in my cock rise to a painful ecstasy. "Oh God yes!" He releases the pressure, and starts to move up and down my shaft. His youthful lips softly trace the veins which are protruding. His hand has moved to his own dick, and is stroking in time to his movements on mine. "God kid, you're good." By way of reply, the boy moves up a gear, and increases the speed at which he bobs up and down my shaft. My cock is covered with his spit, which runs down the shaft and dampens my pubes. I can feel the pressure build. Its like an itch, between my balls and the base of my cock. And it can't be scratched, so it gets worse. Maddening, that I can't be released from it. And the boy's movements make it worse. And the worse it gets, the better it will be. An anatomy of orgasm. Once you're aware of how everything occurs you can hold it, like I'm doing now. Postpone the moment when I release my cum into his throat. The itch is so insanely painful. I need the release! I need it... "I'm cummin' kid!" And I fill his mouth with semen, so much it dribbles from his lips. I literally gush the stuff. It pours out of me, and..... ..... and, as so often happens when I orgasm, I get a memory. I'm fifteen, and minding my year old niece. I've given her her bath, and she's lying in front of me while I dry her, her little chubby legs waving in the air, revealing her baby slit. Not that I'm turned on, she's only a baby, but I'm fifteen. Cunts are few and far between. So a bend down, for a closer look. My face is inches away, I could lick her if I - and she pisses on me. Little girl piss just gushing out, running down my face, into my mouth. She literally gushes the stuff. It pours out of her, and..... .....and the memory breaks, and I'm back in the toilets, my dick in a twelve year old's mouth. My cum drips from his chin. He's still sucking and swallowing the last of the cum. My knees feel weak in the wake of my orgasm. He hasn't cum yet. He's still beating his four inch pecker. He releases my cock, and licks round his mouth with his tongue. Just like he's had a goddamn sugared donut! He looks up, sweeping blond hair from his forehead with his free hand. Blue eyes sparkle. "Good?" I laugh, "Jesus kid. Where'd you learn to do that?" He looks away, and says, solemnly, "I'm a natural. Or at least, that's what my dad said." There's an awkward pause, where neither of us know what to say. Even through the moment, he still strokes his dick. "Are you... are you sure you're okay doing this? I mean..." I gesture to my cock. He glances down at his own cock. It's still rock hard. Developing a smile again, he looks up. He gestures with his dick. "Sure looks like I am, don't it? Don't you worry about my problems. Well, except one...." And, as he stands up and heads for a cubicle, I don't need telling which of his problems is mine. To be continued....