Date: Sat, 26 Dec 2009 21:32:04 -0500
From: zackarydillon@hushmail.com
Subject: The Boys of Cockey Hills: Chapter 2

Boys of Cockney Hills
by Zackary Dillon

This story is intended for mature audiences. If you are a minor or not
legally allowed to read erotic material, then please stop reading now. This
story involves sexual relationships between men and boys. If that's not
your thing, then please stop reading now. This story may contain
sado-masochism and bondage, if that's not your thing, please stop reading
now. If you can't separate fantasy from reality, then stop reading now. I
don't endorse or condone any of the actions taking place in this story,
it's just a story. In other words, don't try this at home.

This series was inspired by William Rush's story 'A Christmas in New
Atlantis', but this chapter was inspired by another short story of his
called 'This Love Lost in My Heart'. I don't want to ruin that story for
you, so I'll just leave it at that. If you like this story and want to read
more stories based in the New Atlantis Earth, you can go to
http://www.asstr.org/~pza/ and visit the PZA Boy Archives. If you want to
contact me you can reach me at zackarydillon@Hushmail.com.

Chapter Two
The Boy in the Shower

I thought Jordan would be back soon, but it's been three days and I haven't
seen him. I worry that maybe his parents found out and now they're keeping
him under lock and key, but more than likely the kid just doesn't want to
get naked so soon after his first time, at least I think it was his first
time. Who can tell these days. I can still see that lightly tanned little
ass, the pink little hole nestled between those bubble butt cheeks and I
want to fuck the kid so bad.

The day is rough on me. I keep fantasizing about Jordan, it's not Chris
anymore, even though I'd still like to hook up with him, no my mind is
obsessed with getting into Jordan's boxers.  I should've asked him to come
back, given him a day and time, now I'm at the whim of a twelve year old. I
think I see him walking home from school, but it's some other kid. The kid
gives me a dirty look and flips me off as I watch him walk by. He's not as
cute as Jordan, but he'd do in a pinch, I just wave at the kid and
smile. My cell phone rings as the kid drops out of sight.

"Hello," I say, answering the phone.

"Quince," the voice on the other end asks.

"Yeah," I say, "this is Quince."

"It's Peter," the man says.

I met Peter a couple months back at the local fast food joint, the one the
kids liked to go to because it had this huge playground with slides and all
that. He was looking at this little six year old blonde boy running around
in shorts too big for him. The shorts kept sliding down, pulling the kids
undies with them, exposing his lilly white little bottom. Peter couldn't
take his eyes off the boy, I was sitting behind him and saw the kid's
father watching Peter, getting ready to come over and say something. I
nudged Peter and he looked over and thanked me.

"The MPI is in Town," Peter says. MPI is short for Modern Pederasts
International. It's a group thats been around for five years. The group
caters to men who like boys. They aren't the only group around, there's the
Orthodox Pederasts of Athens too. The MPI is different from the OPA,
because the MPI believes that a boy's job is to please a man. You don't get
involved with a boy because you want to enrich their lives, you get
involved because you want to fill their ass with cum. The OPA doesn't see
it like that, they follow the old Greek philosophy, don't push a boy too
hard, don't try and get them to do anything they don't want to, nurture and
educate them, all that malarkey.

I don't delude myself with that shit, I know I want to bone a boy, not
teach him about mathematics, and I'm not going to tell myself different. If
the MPI is in town, that's a good thing, at least for boy-lovers like
me. It meant that they're expanding out of the city, coming to the
suburbs. The only thing is that you didn't just show up at a MPI meeting,
it was by invitation only. I couldn't help but wonder how Peter, a pretty
piss poor pederast when it came down to it, got an invite?

"Are you sure," I say to Peter, thinking that maybe this was some kind of
abolitionist prank, get all of us sickos together then plaster our pictures
over the world wide web.

"I'm sure," he says, "The guy who invited me, he had this cute little black
lab."

Peter is a disturbed man, before the legalization of pederasty, he used to
use code to talk about boys, he still does. Sometimes it doesn't make
sense. 'Black lab' probably meant dark haired boy and 'play', well if I
have to tell you that, you really should be doing something other than
reading this story.

"English Pete," I say, "what are you talking about?"

"I fucked a boy," Peter said, then let out a woop, obviously psyched to
lose his boy cherry.

"I'm happy for you man," I said, "did you rape him."

"Why do you think I'd have to rape a boy," Peter says, insulted.

"Because you have the personality of a pit bull in heat," I say.

"Fuck you Quince," Peter says.

"I'm just kidding man," I say, even though I'm not. "Go on, you fucked some
kid?"

There was a pause as Peter tried to get back on track, then he starts up
again, all excited like it was Christmas in Vermont, "yeah. Cute little
guy, dark hair, slim as a whistle. He was so fucking tight, I didn't think
I'd get in him."

"Did you force him," I say again, trying to figure out how the pit bull got
laid.

"No," Peter says, "he was a slave. The kid's owner left him with me for the
weekend."

"No fucking way," I say, one of my all time fantasies playing over and over
in my head.

"Yes way," Peter says. "The kid didn't fight at all. I offered him a
chicken sandwich and he let me fuck his ass to my hearts content. I guess
this guy was feeding him oatmeal and tuna fish, and I mean oatmeal and tuna
fish, for every fucking meal. Can you believe that? What kind of sick fuck
feeds a kid the same food every fucking meal?"

The kind that wants to convince them to fuck a stranger for a chicken
sandwich maybe, I thought to myself, but I didn't say that, instead I say,
"I don't know man. All weekend?"

"Yep," Peter says, "He just came and got him this morning. Man I fucked so
much my dicks raw."

"I don't need those kinds of details," I say. "Fuck man, why didn't you
call me?"

"No sharing," Peter says. "The guy made me promise."

"Fuck," I say, my mind trying to wrap around the idea that Peter could meet
someone and convince them to leave their slave boy with him over the
weekend. "Who was this guy," I ask.

"He's a friend," Peter says, "He gave me an invite, said I could bring you
along."

"Are you fucking with me," I say in a serious tone, still not sure if Peter
is on the level. "Don't fuck with someone like that man."

"I'm not," Peter says. "It's tonight at the Community Center. They rented
the hall."

"No fucking way," I say, "The hall?"

"Yeah," Peter says, "It's a trip man."

I walk up to the community center with Peter. He's still talking about the
little eight year old slave boy, how he squealed when he fucked him. Peter
tells me the kid cleaned his dick off afterwards with his tongue, that the
boy was a real fucking perv, but I know boys can't be pervs at that age, at
least not that kind of perv. No the kid was just well trained.

When we got to the doors to the hall a man in his mid-twenties and a little
blonde haired boy that looked around twelve, sat behind a table. There were
name tags and little bags full of unknown goodies stacked in rows on the
table.

"Invitation," the older man says, holding his hand out. Peter hands him the
invitation. The man looks at it and then us. "Good," he says, "step behind
the curtain."

We both start to walk towards the curtain, but the man puts his hand out to
stop Peter, "One at a time." He nods towards the little boy and the kid
follows me.

Before I can say or do anything the kid's fishing my dick out of my
pants. He takes me into his mouth straight to the root, of course I'm soft,
so it not that impressive, still, I let out a groan and grab the back of
the kid's head, not wanting him to let go, but I feel a tap on my leg and
the man's watching me, wagging his finger and shaking his head. "Just a
test," the man says, "to make sure you're not crashing."

"Jesus," I say, stroking the blonde boy's hair, "you're a randy one aren't
you?"

The kid smiles and licks his lips, making my cock twitch in front of his
face. He flicks his tongue out across my glans and I groan.

"Quit teasing him," the man says to the boy, pulling him out from behind
the curtain.

I write my first name down and the man throws the tag away and tells me I
need a nickname, no real names here. I write down "Wang" and Peter seeing
this, writes down "Wing", thinking it's funny. I shake my head, but we're
in.

There aren't that many people inside, maybe forty or so. There are a few
boys there, some with collars around their necks, a couple of them have
leashes attached to the collars, slave boys most likely. All of the boys
are dressed, even if they're only wearing a thong or speedo.  I shake my
head, remembering my time with my uncle.

There are a few booths lining the wall, Pete and I take a walk around to
check them out. One has a monitor, on the screen a picture pops up of a
wide eyed tow haired little tyke, his mouth stretched wide around a large
cock. He looks to be eight or nine, his hair is curly and the boy's got a
nice little tan. The next picture shows the cock shooting cum directly into
the boy's mouth, filling it up. The last picture shows the boy with an
indescribable grimace, obviously taking the cock in a hole other than his
mouth. Another picture pops up of the boy naked with the price of
ten-thousand dollars blinking over and over on the screen. The boy's for
sale. I move on, not interested. Even if I did buy a slave boy, I don't
want a used boy, I want one with their cherry still intact. If I buy a boy,
I want to be the first cock he feels sliding up his backside. I can't see
paying that much money to be with a boy who's so stretched out, he can eat
a cookie and smile while you're fucking him.

Pete's still ogling the screen, this time staring at a knock out gorgeous
little ten year old boy with curly black hair and bright red little lips,
sucking, fucking, crying, then posing. Fifteen thousand dollars for the
little guy. The advertisement says he's guaranteed to please. I shake my
head and push Peter away from the screen so we can move on. He looks back
over his shoulder, the man at the booth is smiling.

The booths are all doing the same thing, selling boys, either by the hour
or straight out. I'm beginning to feel sorry about coming along when I see
him, this little blonde haired angel, maybe nine or ten, standing their
rubbing his bottom. A man's holding a cane, lecturing the the boy. There's
a sign next to him. Virgin, enslaved for a year, refuses to have
sex. Beaten regularly, strict diet. All that means shit to me, what I'm
looking at is the kid's eyes, they're deep blue and so fucking sad. I want
to reach out and touch the boy, but I don't. He sees me looking at him and
the kid just glares.

"How much," I ask the man standing next to him.

"He's gorgeous isn't he," the man says, like he's selling a horse or a used
car.

"How much," I say, looking at the boy, standing there in a pair of lycra
shorts, his little package clearly visible.

"Ten thousand," the man says, turning the boy around so I can see his cute
little bottom.

"Why would anyone spend ten thousand on a boy that wont let you fuck him,"
Peter says, shaking his head.

"They wont," I say, "I can give you five-thousand right now."

Peter looks at me, shocked, then blurts out, "you can't buy the boy."

"Why not," I say.

"Five thousands a little low," the man says, "eight thousand."

"You're neighbors will burn down your house," Peter says, trying to talk me
out if it, "think about it man."

"Five thousand and I'll transfer the money now," I say, not even knowing
why, just knowing that when I look at this kid he just seems too fucking
sad to leave to fate. The other boys, they've lost that part of themselves,
the part that says, 'life isn't a complete bowl of shit', this boy
hasn't. I don't want to see him lose it either.

"Right now," the man asks, looking at the boy.

"Yep," I say pulling out my smart phone, "just give me the account number."

It takes ten minutes, a bit of paperwork, and the boy's holding my hand as
I walk through the rest of the show. He's crying, upset. I want to say
something to him, let him know it'll be alright, but he wouldn't believe
me, so I just drag him along. Peter's complaining, asking me how I expect
to hide him from my housing association. I tell him to let me worry about
that.

"What's your name," I ask the boy.

"Cumslurper," the boy says, an embarrassed look crossing his face.

"I know what he named you," I said, "what's your real name?"

"Kyle," the boy says.

"That's your name from now on," I say, "Cumslurper, what a fucking retarded
name."

The boy looks at me, not saying a word, he's got this curious expression on
his face. He wipes the tears from his face with his free hand and resigns
himself to fate. A couple people compliment me on the boy.

"Attention," a voice says over the loudspeaker. "Abolitionists are
protesting at the main entrance to the community center. We recommend that
you leave the premises through the back door to avoid any altercations."

The message repeats a few times, some people are sticking around, but I
head towards the back door, making sure Peter is following me. The men at
the booths are packing up. It's over, the abolitionists are here and
everyone knows what that means. There's never any violence, just a lot of
picture taking and name calling, being a pederast isn't the in thing these
days, at least not in this neck of the woods. I sometimes think I should
move to New Athens, where pederasty is hip, so I don't have to worry about
someone finding out my 'secret', then I realize it doesn't matter. I work
for myself and no one I work for is going to care what I am as long as I do
my job. I'm getting to the point that I want people to find out, just so I
don't have to worry about it anymore.

I'm walking fast to my car, little Kyle following beside me. I open the
door and he gets in and crawls in the back, buckling up without even being
told to. Peter gets in the passenger side and I'm turning around just as I
see the abolitionists coming round the back. They're holding signs and
shouting. It all reminds me of the '80s, when slavery first started to
boom.

I drive home not saying a word. Peter is talking to the boy, but the boys
not talking to him. He's quiet, I'm sure wondering what going to happen to
him. The boy can't sit still, he squirms trying to get comfortable and I
realize he was probably beaten recently.

"We're almost home," I tell him, the boy just looks at me with a frown.

I pull my car into the garage and close the garage door behind me. No ones
out, so I'm pretty sure they haven't seen the kid. It's all dawning on me
now. I just spent the five thousand dollars I was going to use for a
vacation to New Athens to buy a boy that didn't want to have sex. I shake
my head, buyers remorse.

Kyle follows me in the house, Peter following behind him, looking at the
kid's ass. I hold out my hand and the boy takes it. I lead him to my spare
bedroom the one I have my computer set up in. I stop Peter and tell him to
go wait in the living room, he's frowning, probably hoping he'd get a peak
at the kid without any clothes on. I pull out the sofa bed and smile. The
kids not smiling. He thinks I'm going to try and get him to fuck me.

"You sleep here," I say. "This is your room, just don't touch the computer,
alright?"

He nods, looking around at the movie posters on the wall. I sit down at the
desk and gesture for him to come over to me. He walks over and I turn him
around and pull down his shorts. He's not wearing anything underneath and I
can see his bottom, covered in bruises and welts. I shudder wondering how
anyone could beat a kid like that.

"That must hurt," I say.

He just nods again, not even bothering to look at me. I pull his shorts up
and tell him to stay put, I'll be right back. I go to my bedroom and grab a
t-shirt, then bring it in the room and toss it to him.

"Put that on," I say to him, "so your butt doesn't hurt so bad."

He looks at me and for the first time he speaks. "Thank you," he says,
little tears forming at the corner of his eyes. I watch him slide the
t-shirt on, then he pulls his shorts off and hands them to me. I reach out
and pull him closer to me.

"Don't cry," I say, holding him by his shoulders. "I'm not going to punish
you for no reason Kyle. I would never do that, okay?"

He nods again, but he wont look at me. I brush his hair out of his eyes and
leave. Peters in the living room sitting on the couch. He's watching a
reality show about boys singing, only they're doing it in just body
paint. The little brown haired tyke on the screen is sporting a stiff
little boner, but man can that kid sing.

"I think you should go," I say, "the kids really shook up."

"I told you not to buy him," he says, shaking his head.

"I had to," I say.

"I know," he says. "You're going to regret it though."

"Maybe," I say.

"You wont be nailing those boys now," he says, as he walks to the door,
"once people see you with him, every boy in the neighborhoods going to
steer clear of this place."

"You're probably right," I say, even though I knew he was.


I turn back to the television and see that they're bring out stools with
large dildos attached to them. I decide to turn the tv off just as a little
red haired tyke is lifted up in the air by the announcer so he can take a
seat on the dildo and stool, before the TV flickers off I hear the little
boy wail as he's slowly lowered down onto the huge phallus. The last thing
I want right now is to get aroused.

I walk into the kitchen and grab a beer. I sit at the kitchen table
wondering what I've done. I hear the boy in the bedroom, he's apparently
jumping up and down on the mattress to the pull out couch.

"Don't jump on that," I shout to him, trying not to sound angry, "you'll
ruin it."

The jumping stops and I shake my head. The kid is a beauty, but I'm not
sure if he's ever going to give in and have sex. I'm not a professional
trainer, if a professional couldn't get the boy interested, how was I going
to?

A couple hours later I look in on the kid and he's fast asleep, the t-shirt
has ridden up around his waist and I can see his soft circumcised penis
sticking out. The tip is red around the end, like its sore. I wonder what
happened to it, but I decide I'll wait 'til tomorrow to ask questions.

In the morning I wake up and Kyle is standing at the foot of my bed, his
hands behind his back, not a stitch of clothing on. I look at him wondering
what's going on.

"Why are you standing there," I ask.

"Master made me wait for him to wake up," the boy says, "so I could watch
him masturbate."

"You had to watch him masturbate," I ask.

"Yes," he says, "or I watched him with Cumbucket."

"Cumbucket," I ask.

"He was master's other slave," the boy says, blushing.

"Well you don't have to do that anymore," I say, "but if you want to stay
you can watch me."

I watch him as I slip my erect cock out of my boxers. The boy's expression
doesn't chang, he just looks at my hand moving up and down my shaft. I look
at his cute little body, wishing he had a stiffy.

"Get your dick stiff," I said.

"No," he said, "you can't make me."

I shook my head, realizing he was right, so instead I started to groan and
thrust my hips in the air, giving him a bit of a performance. I watch as
the boy looks at me, surprised at my reaction. Soon, despite his best
attempts, his penis starts to stiffen. It's only three inches long, but
what it lacks in length it makes up for in charm. It's tan like the rest of
his body, with a cute light pink head that just seems to want to be
sucked. The boy's hand moves down to his crotch and I watch him as he
starts to stroke his little rod.

"Stop that," I say, shocked that the boy is masturbating in front of me. "I
don't want you touching yourself without permission, ever. If you do I'll
have to punish you."

He looks at me his bottom lip puffed out, if you didn't know any better,
you would've thought I'd just told him he'd be sleeping in the yard for the
next year. I realize his previous master had allowed him to pleasure
himself, certainly one of the reasons why he had never had sex with the
man. I thought for a second he was going to cry, but instead he just got
this angry little frown and puts his hands back behind his neck.

I continue to jerk off, moaning as I slow down, trying hard to make it
last. When I finally cum, it shoots high up in the air and lands all over
my stomach and chest. I scoop some up and hold it out to the boy. He looks
at me, his nose wrinkled in disgust and shakes his head. I smile and stand
up, then head for the shower.

"Come on," I say, "It's time to wash up."

The boy enters the shower behind me. I figure his old master must have made
him help him while he bathed. The boy grabs a sponge and lathers it up and
starts to wash my front, steering clear of my semi-hard cock. He does it
quickly, obviously wanting to get it over with. He leaves my penis for
last, but I see it in his eyes as he debates whether or not to continue,
the shame.

"Kyle," I say, he looks up at me, "You don't have to come in the shower
with me if you don't want to, okay?" He nods his head. "Go on," I say,
pushing him out the door. "I'll finish up. You wait out there until I'm
done."

When I open the door again, he's fidgeting with his penis, he looks up, not
expecting me to catch him. He's got this look of dread on his face,
obviously expecting the worst. He sniffles and arches his back. so his
penis is sticking straight out in front of me, like he's presenting a
target.

"Did he hit your penis," I asked. Kyle nods, tears streaming down his face,
anticipating my punishment. "I'm not going to do that," I say. "I'll spank
you, but I'll never do that."

He looks at me, like I'm crazy, not believing me, I can tell. I pull him
inside of the shower and hand him the bar of soap and the sponge. He washes
himself, looking at me as he soaps his body up. He knows he's not supposed
to touch himself, so When he's done he hands me the soap and I lather up my
fingers. I softly stroke his stiff little cock, under the guise of washing
it, but he gasps, looking at me as I do it.

"Just say no," I say, "and I'll stop." He doesn't say anything, he just
leans back against the wall, allowing me to stroke his little rod. It
stiffens between my fingers, until it's hard as a board. I know he's going
to cum soon, so I pull my hand away and say, "all done."

"I think it needs to washed more," he says, looking at me with these
pleading eyes.

I shake my head and point him towards the door, "not right now it doesn't."

The boy gives me a dirty look, so I throw a towel over his head and start
to dry him off, laughing to myself. One day and I've gotten farther than
the other guy had, or had I? I began to wonder exactly what the man had
done with the boy.

"Kyle," I say, "I know you had sex with your other master, didn't you?" The
boy shakes his head. "If you're lying to me, I'll have to punish you," I
say, patting his bottom with my hand. He shudders. "What did you do with
him," I ask.

He was quiet for a second, then he says, "I jerked him off and let him suck
me."

"You ate his stuff too," I say, "that's why he called you Cumslurper,
wasn't it?" He nods his head as he looks at me, blushing. "Did you ever
suck him off," I ask.

He shakes his head, I think he's telling the truth. I finish drying the boy
off and lead him out of the bathroom. I grab a clean t-shirt and he pulls
it on, covering his nude body. I get dressed soon after and head into the
kitchen. The little boy stands there, his hair messed up, still a little
damp.

"So," I say, "He lied about you being a virgin."

"No master," the boy says, a serious look on his face, "Master was quite
large, I wouldn't let him put it in my hiney or my mouth."

"Will you let me put it in your hiney or mouth," I ask, as I crack an egg
and let it drop into a hot pan. The egg sizzles as I wait for an answer,
when none comes I look at the boy.

He's got a sad look on his face. He doesn't want to do either of those
things. He knows it will hurt, even if I'm smaller than his previous
master.

"I'll suck your juices master," he says, trying to meet me halfway.

"If you'll suck my juices," I ask him, "why can't you suck my cock?"

He waits for a second and then looks at me and says, "If you promise not to
put it in my hiney, I will."


"Alright," I say, "that sounds fair."

The lusty monster inside wants it now. He wants to see those little pink
lips wrapped around my cock as I stroke his dark blonde hair, but I wont
force him, that would be the worst thing to do. He's nearly broken, I
couldn't see it before, because he was angry, but I see it now. The shame
is all over his face and he's so sad.

"Kyle," I say, "I never want to hear the name Cumslurper again." He looks
at me, wondering where I'm going with this. "It's a horrible name to call
anyone. You're not a cum slurper, you're a sweet little boy and no one
should make you do anything you don't want to."

"Can I touch my penis master," he asks.

"Not right now," I say. "But I'll let you do it when it's time."

"When will it be time master," he asks, reminding me of a child asking his
parents how much longer it's going to take to get to grandma's house.

"I'll let you know," I say, as I finish up breakfast.

We sit in the living room and Kyle plays a video game. He's smiling as he
fights an alien horde invading earth. I look at him and I feel this
connection, one born of shame. I was always ashamed when I was a boy, my
uncle forcing me to do things, then turning my mind around 'til I thought I
liked them. I couldn't see myself doing those things to this boy, but I
knew I wanted to.

The doorbell rings and Kyle looks at me, wondering what he's supposed to
do. I wave my hand so he knows he can keep playing the game. I walk to the
door and look through the peep hole. I was expecting Peter, but it isn't
Peter, it's Jordan. He's standing there in a pair of khaki shorts and a
black tank top, fidgeting on the steps, looking around hoping no one sees
him. I open the door and smile.

"Hi there," I say. "What's up buddy?"

"Can I come in," he says, looking over his shoulder.

"Sure," I say, stepping aside. He walks past me and stops when he sees
Kyle.

"Who's he," he asks.

"That's Kyle," I say.

"Kyle," I say, "this is my friend, Jordan. He does odd jobs around the
house."

Kyle looks at him, certain that he knows exactly what kind of odd jobs
Jordan does, then says, "hi."

"Hi," Jordan says, then looking at me says, "maybe I should come back."

"No way," I say, "you don't have to leave. Kyle's cool."

"I don't care if you stay," Kyle says, "It's master's house."

"Master," Jordan says.

"I bought him last night," I say. "He's a slave."

"Why does he have clothes on," Jordan says, "I thought they had to run
around naked."

"No," I say, shaking my head, "only if you want them to."

"Oh," he says, then looks at Kyle again. "Why is he a slave," Jordan asks,
straight and to the point.

"I don't know," I say, "I never asked."

"My mommy sold me," Kyle says, not even bothering to look away from his
video game. "She needed money."

"Well there you go," I say.

"She sold you for money," Jordan says in a horrified voice.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "It was a long time ago. I'm over it."

I knew that the Kyle wasn't over it, how could anyone be over something
like that.

"Lets not talk about that," I say, putting my hand on Jordan's shoulder and
guiding him to the couch. I sit down beside him and ask, "what brings you
around Jordan, ready to earn some more money?"

He looks at Kyle and blushes, then says, "I just wanted to hang out."

"That's cool," I say, "but you know I wouldn't mind having you do some
stuff for me, if you're up for it."

He jerks his head towards Kyle his eyes getting big, I whisper in his ear,
"he doesn't care, don't be shy."

"I need twenty dollars," Jordan whispers, looking at me.

"Well I have twenty," I say in a low voice, "do you want to do what we did
last time?"

Kyle looks over his shoulder, hearing us whisper and says, "I can hear what
you're saying."

I want to send Kyle away, but I have other ideas. I look at Jordan and
smile, then say, "Jordan let me suck him last time he was over and he's a
bit shy."

"I don't care if he sucked you," Kyle says in a matter of fact voice. "I
bet he'd give you forty if you sucked him."

Jordan's eyes get big and he blushes, he starts to get up but I grab him
and pull him back down on the couch, then I tell him, "don't be like
that. Kyle doesn't care. He's seen more boy's have sex than you can
imagine."

"Only three actually," Kyle says in a matter of fact way, "Cumbucket,
Courtesan, and Dufus. Well there was that boy at the convention in San
Francisco, but I can't remember his name."

"See," I say. "He wont care."

"What if he tells," Jordan asks.

"Who am I going to tell," Kyle says, "I can't leave the house."

I was starting to like Kyle more every time he said something. I look at
Jordan and he looks at me. I place my hand on his thigh and say, "what if
you and Kyle did something together?"

"What do you mean," Jordan says.

Kyle's staring at me, wondering the same thing. I say, "well Kyle wants to
learn how to suck a penis, I thought he might suck yours, then you can suck
mine together."

"I don't want to do that," Kyle says.

"It'll be fun and I'll give you both a reward," I say.

"I want money," Jordan says.

"What kind of reward," Kyle asks, curious.

"Whatever you want," I say, "as long as it's reasonable."

Kyle looks at Jordan then me, before I can say anything else he pulls the
t-shirt over his head and stands there naked and says, "I'm in."

"See," I say, "you don't think he's going to run around telling everyone he
sucked your penis or helped you suck mine, do you?"

"He told me about those other boys," Jordan says, still worried.

"You don't even know them" Kyle says, "so what's the big deal?"

"Come on buddy," I say, unbuttoning Jordan's shorts, he doesn't resist, he
just watches me, this worried look on his face. "It'll be fine," I say.

"I don't know if I want to suck you," Jordan says.

"You think I do," Kyle says, "I'm doing it for a reward."

Jordan looks at us, his penis is out now, half hard and twitching as it
grows. I run my finger along the length and Jordan starts to get this
dreamy look. "It'll be fine," I say.

The boys are laying on the floor, one on top of the other. They're sucking
each other's little cocks. I didn't tell them to do that, Kyle was the one
that was supposed to suck Jordan, but somewhere along the line, in their
passion, they got carried away and now they're in a lurid little
sixty-nine. I smile, stroking my cock as I watch, not letting myself get
too excited, just keeping a bit stiff. I don't want to ruin myself for the
next act.

I hear Jordan whimper from the bottom of the pack. Kyle is a forceful boy,
he took control right way, pushing the little hispanic boy down and laying
on top of him, saying, "suck me too."

The boys are really getting into it. Kyle moans humping his little hips,
thrusting in and out of Jordan's mouth. I think to myself that I would've
spent ten-thousand easy to be with this boy, even if he never let me fuck
him. Kyle's something special, I can tell. He's got moxy, or whatever you
call it.

Jordan's at least two years older than Kyle, but you wouldn't know it, the
twelve year old is about the same size and both of them are completely
hairless. The only way you can tell Jordan is even close to being a
teenager is the sweet juice he shoots when he cums.

"Oh," I hear Jordan moan and I know it'll happen soon. I watch the two
boys, Kyle's slowing down, drawing out Jordan's pleasure, Jordan doesn't
want it to last, he just wants it and starts to hump his hips up off the
ground. Kyle takes his cock out of his mouth and giggles, looking over at
me, wondering if I think it's funny. I just smile and continue to watch.

"Don't stop," Jordan says, "I'm going to cum."

"I want to cum too," Kyle says, poking his dick at his new friend's
lips. Jordan groans and takes the boys little stiffy back in his
mouth. Kyle lays on top and just licks Jordan's cock, pulling the skin
back, so he can twirl his tongue around the head. He seems to know what
he's doing and I suddenly realize this probably isn't the first boy he's
done this with.

"Is he bigger than Cumbucket," I ask.

Kyle looks at me for a second, this kind of sadness in his eyes, then says,
"yeah, Cumbuckets only seven."

I imagine what his little buddy looks like, wondering if he's as cool as
Kyle is, because right now, Kyle is the coolest kid in the world to
me. Jordan starts to moan again, only this time I hear this rapid breathing
coming from Kyle and realize he's cumming, it's silent, but he's there. I
wonder if Jordan knows that the little dick poking in and out of his mouth
at a fever pitch is actually having an orgasm. Before I can say anything
Jordan lets out a high pitched whimper and his body goes rigid as his dick
flexes in and out of Kyle's mouth, filling it with his small dollops of
fluid.

Kyle doesn't take the boy's dick out, he just sucks it, letting the juices
shoot. I see him swallowing, then with a plop, his mouth lets go and Jordan
is panting, looking down between his body, like he can't believe what's
just happened. Kyle smiles and says, "feels good don't it?"

"Yeah," Jordan says, breathing heavy, "did you cum yet?"

"Yep," Kyle says, rolling off the other boy.

The two of them kneel down, naked, their dicks slick with spittle looking
at me, knowing what's supposed to happen now. I lean back and smile, taking
my hand away from my six inch stiff as a brick cock.

"You guys rest for a bit," I say, "then you can start on this."

(To be continued in Chapter 3)