David, a Boy of Pleasure

By David Desiree


Author's Ramblings

Should I begin with a disclaimer? ...Hmm, am I missing something obvious here? You see, I'm not entirely convinced of the worth or necessity of disclaimers on each story, and indeed sometimes on every chapter of each story. After all, if a reader gets this far into Nifty, nonchalantly by-passing Nifty's own prominently displayed warning along the way, it must surely be pretty obvious by now what sort of story that person is looking for? While I concede a person might somehow mistakenly find himself on Nifty's home page, didn't it still require at least three more decisive clicks of his mouse to open this particular story? Even then, that person has yet to scroll down through my meandering thoughts before he gets to what he really came to Nifty for in the first place. Still, almost every Nifty story seems to have some sort of disclaimer at the beginning so, just for once, I had better go with the flow. Who am I to rock the boat on my maiden voyage into literary genius? (While the word 'Titanic' springs to mind).

Disclaimer: ...This short story (maybe evolving into a multi-part story) is broadly based on fact, but there's also a goodly amount of exaggeration and even fantasy-fiction thrown in at times where reality might become rather too boring. Any resemblance of the characters in this story to real persons, living or dead, is probably perfectly intentional. If there is the minutest possibility that you will throw your hands up in horror or suffer nightmares after reading raunchy Man-boy stories graphically depicting sexual acts which go way beyond the pale, or you are underage (Hi Kid, run along now, there's a good boy), or it is sadly otherwise illegal for you to read such stories where you live, you are most definitely on the wrong site or living in the wrong place, so kindly stop reading now and leave before it's too late. I have no wish to deprave or criminalise you. If my warning applies to you and you decide to ignore it, I'll... um... probably sulk. Otherwise, I really hope you enjoy my story.

American English (or International English, whatever that is), is not my native tongue because I'm just plain English without the frills. We all know the differences by now, I expect, and those differences are of little consequence these days. But could the same be said for our different perspectives of humour/humor... (there goes my spellchecker again)... or other subtle aspects of our respective cultures? There's nothing much we can do about our diversities now I suppose, even if we would like to, and I therefore know that Americans will stay on their side of the Boulevard (safely on the sidewalk) while us Brits will keep to our side of the Street (safely on the pavement). I somehow have a vision of Aussies and Kiwis loitering on a traffic island in the middle of the road, wondering which way to jump, while Europeans continue to endlessly debate precisely where that road should go, and the Chinese (in China) will debate nothing much at all (if they know what's good for them). Even so, I hope there are enough similarities in all our diverse languages, humour and culture for everybody, wherever they are, to find at least some merit in my bawdy tale, and if it loses something in the translation, I apologise.

I won't be fazed if you print this story out at home, (on an indictment sheet is another matter entirely), or repost it elsewhere (I can't exactly stop you), so long as you keep me as the author after all my hard work, and you don't put it anywhere where underage kids might stumble across it, (though it would certainly be an education for them if they did). By writing this story after all, I mean it to be read and enjoyed by lots of adult males here on Nifty or anywhere else.

You could say this story is by way of thanks to all the past and present Nifty authors who have kept me entertained (and exhausted) for many years now. I have the greatest admiration for them... Thank you very much guys. Thanks also to those unsung heroes who run Nifty. Where would we be without them? (Probably wanking in the bath instead).

I should not need to remind anyone of the possible dire consequences of ever confusing fantasy with reality, but I feel moved to do so. Please do not try to re-enact the sexual activities portrayed in this story (including any subsequent chapters) in real life with underage boys. With few exceptions, it can only end in tears all round. Quite apart from the moral issues, today's willing little boy can so easily become tomorrow's litigator, more so if you're worth a bob or two. If you should ever feel provoked by stories to act out fantasies concerning children, perhaps you should seek help and not read those stories. I'm sorry if that sours the atmosphere a bit, but I felt it needed saying for my own peace of mind. Despite that reminder, I don't actually believe for one moment it happens like that, otherwise I wouldn't be posting a story like this in the first place.

This particular posting doesn't really start at the beginning of the tale which is tentatively hatching in my mind. I thought it better to test the water a bit before I take the plunge into a full multi-part story (if I ever do), so this is more of a fun trial-run really, to see if Nifty accept it, to see what it looks like on the site and to gauge reactions, if indeed, any reaction is forthcoming.

I expect all this blurb might have you nodding off by now, so onto the story without further ado... and I hope you like it. We join the action where cherubic, elfin, 11 year old David is just getting into the swing of things, well, kind of...


The Juicy Bit
that you came here for

"Owww, Owwwwwww... Oh God...TAKE IT OUT... Oh Gerry, I'm sorry... PLEEEEESE, I've changed my mind... OWWWW", I squealed in sudden panic as the searing pain in my freshly opened boypussy hit me far worse than anything I'd anticipated when I had assured Gerry I wanted this. The sharp anal-agony shot up my spine like a bolt of lightening to explode in my brain, causing my eyes to water while I began to hyperventilate, almost as though I were crying. Hell, I really was crying!

As I lay spreadeagled on my stomach, frantically struggling and dwarfed by Gerry with whom I had earlier pleaded to deflower me, almost smothered beneath the weight of him pressing down onto my thin sweaty back, I wriggled around and tried to buck my ass now, in a futile attempt to throw him off, while that only served to make the pain in my boycunt even worse. I was hopelessly pinned to the bed, unable to escape, though thankfully not yet fully impaled, with my legs still spread open just as wide as when I had eagerly splayed them for Gerry at the beginning, which had caused my narrow pelvis to raise back naturally, (albeit unwillingly by now), to expose my lubricated winking target to him. I had even reached my hand back to guide his rigid love-bludgeon towards my expectant puckered portal.

I instinctively tried, but now found it impossible to close my satin-smooth legs while Gerry used his strong hairy thighs to keep mine stretched apart. There was nothing I could do to save myself, not now that he had lodged inside of me, other than to squeal, plead, cry and wriggle... and none of those things were having the slightest effect. I realised he wasn't going to take his enormous penis out, at least not yet... not until he had finished what he'd started, ultimately to inject spurting hot man-cream from his heavy balls deep into my squirming bowel.

No matter how much I protested, I knew Gerry was imminently going to push-and-shove his thick boycherry-buster much further inside of me, all the way in, to plough up into my soon-to-be ravaged boyfanny, reaming my gripping bumhole mercilessly while bending and twisting me into any position he desired as though I were a rag-doll. That thought prompted my panic even more, so that I renewed my forlorn complaints. "Ohhhh... It hurrrrts. You're killing me... Pleeeeese", I sobbed ineffectually.

Gerry didn't take it out of 11 year old David, of course. After all, by now he was quite used to even the most experienced little boy-whores yelping and wriggling in discomfort at first, whenever he began to plunge his 8 inches of thick man-meat into their accommodating little bums. Now, much as he was certainly going to enjoy ass-fucking this, his very first virgin, he did slightly regret being the man fated to teach this beautiful young creature the unavoidably harsh lesson, demonstrating the mysterious relationship between initial short-lived pain, and ultimate mind-blowing ecstasy, but sadly, it couldn't be helped if David really wanted to be properly shagged and used like a wanton boy-bitch, as he had earlier indicated.

Gerry wasn't about to withdraw anytime soon, not now that his throbbing love-rod had finally overwhelmed and crashed-through this adorable kid's tight ring muscle, the last valiant line of defence which had, in reflex, fought so hard to preserve David's anal virginity. Instead, Gerry knew to hold his dick still for now, just an inch or two inside the bleating lamb, as the stripling's pulsating lovehole gradually became adjusted to the devastating presence of his engorged cockhead. He tenderly kissed the crown of his lovely boy's head, wishing he could do more to comfort the little cherub before continuing, as he knew he must, to eventually build to an unstoppable frenzied crescendo of undiluted animal lust... to thrust powerfully into the depths of the boy, marking the luscious tight anus with a sacred tell-tale red ring which signifies that the timeless rite of exquisite sexual union between a man and a boy has occurred once more... then deep inside, buried to the hilt in boy-heaven, Gerry would soon deliver the first of his many massive loads to complete this wonderous act of primeval love; that classic love of the ancients, which pre-dates all laws, all religions, and all the man-made moralities of modern times.

"Shhh, hush now David", he said soothingly. "The pain will pass soon my poor darling, I promise you".

"Bollocks to his promises... It's easy for him to say... Ouch! ...I seem to remember him saying it wouldn't hurt me very much at all... Owww! ...He even kind of promised he was going to be gentle with me and that I'd enjoy it... Oh shit! ...What must I have been thinking to want this? It had felt soooo gooood when he was tonguing and finger-fucking my slippery lovechute a short while ago ... Arghhh! ...and sucking on his delicious big dick and hairy balls was wonderful... Ugh! ...but this is fucking awful... Ohhhh!", I wailed inwardly to nobody in particular... while outwardly I merely managed to utter a pathetic little squeak.

I was obviously feeling quite sorry for myself as, in defeat and resignation, I gave up struggling and finally lay relatively still, save for the occasional twitch, surrendering to the inevitable and now concentrating on trying to relax my quivering boyhole, urgently hoping the pain of such shattering penetration would ease before Gerry continued to push-on through my decimated pussylips.

My mind was in turmoil. "What on earth am I doing here? ...Oh why didn't I listen to my mum? ...Please mummy, help me! ...Fuck, I'm never gonna do this again, I swear to God... I hope he cums quick so I can go home soon... I wonder what's for supper? ...toasted muffins would be nice."

Such were the confused and almost delirious thoughts of young David as he finally received what he had desperately needed for so long. Everything 'cums' to those who wait, especially to deserving little boys. David didn't realise it then of course, but all his predictably noisy yelling, crying and complaining was actually the somewhat ignominious beginning of what were to be the most wonderfully eventful days of his life. A period of sexual discovery, joy, excitement and amazing adventures which would eclipse his wildest dreams; a breathtaking phase of his life that would run for many years, over the transition from boyhood, through adolescence, and far beyond.

...Bollocks to you too Mr Narrator! And what are you doing here anyway, with all these hunky spunky guys reading my story (Hi Sirs), all looking-on and jerking-off while I'm losing my cherry? (Is nothing sacred anymore?) I don't need you to tell all these nice horny men my story... I can do that for myself thanks!

Um... I'm sorry David. I merely assumed that you were a bit preoccupied being royally sodomised by Gerry here, (Hi Gerry). OK then David... I'll leave you to tell all these nice gentlemen your epic boy-tale, (Hi Guys)... (Gosh, there's so many of you. I do hope you can all see little David there, peeking out from underneath Gerry. Yes, that's right, you can just spot his little legs waving around outside of Gerry's spread thighs... only one so young can stretch his legs so wide, as I'm sure you know. The more observant of you might also spy his little white knuckles gripping the headrail. Binoculars are to be encouraged... you may find them advantageous if you're hoping to get a good look at David's little un-cut willy later on... but strictly NO CAMERAS please... the management of this site will NOT tolerate you taking pictures of him to slap all over the Internet)... Go on David... tell them all your story in your own way, and I'll only narrate for you when I think I need to. Is that OK?

...Thanks Mr Narrator. Yes, that's best I think, and I'm sorry for saying 'bollocks' to you a moment ago sir... only it ain't easy to mind your tongue when it feels like you're having your asshole ripped apart... um... Should I start my story now? ...Oh... er... Where should I begin it sir, please?

I quite understand your unfortunate slip-of-the-tongue David, and in the circumstances, I'm not in the least bit offended that you said 'bollocks' to me. I'm fully aware that it hurts at first... We've all been there you know... well... many of us, anyway. Why don't you just start telling these handsome men your story wherever you think it appropriate to begin, and then just see where it goes from there? Only, try to avoid starting with 'Once-upon-a-time' dear. It's been overdone. Go on... just begin, wherever you like.

...Alright then... I will, and thanks again Mr Narrator. I'll see you later on in the story... um... You can even join-in at my gang-bang scene if you'd like to sir? One more man-cock being put to me won't make much difference either way, I guess... I always seem to lose count after the first fifteen anyhow. Just let me know it's you that's mounting me back there and I'll try to tighten up a bit for you.

Oh thank you David, but I fear my gang-banging days are over, even with Viagra, while your best days are only just beginning, you darling lucky boy. Now get on with your story please, before the nice Nifty moderators become impatient with you. Off you go, and good luck... Break a leg!

...er... You want me to break my leg???

Ohhh... Never mind... Just start telling your story. The men are all waiting for you with bated breath... and I can see many of them already have their flies unzipped.

...Unzipped? ... For me? ...Wow... Should I do a naughty little dance for them first? I've got all night sir.

They didn't come here to watch you dance David... there's other places they can do that. They came here to read your story, so you had better get on with it quickly.


YESSS... Start the story NOW dear boy... Go on... BEGIN, before they all get bored and move on to the next 'quick boy-fuck' story, if they haven't done so already. Look, even Gerry is dozing off!

...OK... ok... sorry... Here goes then...


...Hi Sirs... This is my story... only, I had better wake up from this really weird spooky dream I'm having before I begin telling it to you, because my spelling was awful when I was 11, and we didn't have spellcheckers back then, or even computer thingies... um... things. You see, I ain't 'Peter Pan' or nuffin... er... I mean... nothing... so I won't be 'little boy' David anymore when I wake up... though I sure wish I could be... to do it all over again. It was soooo good and so... right? ...yeah, that's it... right... like it was meant to happen... And I'm real grateful Gerry didn't take it out after all, not until he'd had his manly wicked way with me and anointed my ass-pussy with his delicious copious sperms, by which time I was actually urging him to keep it inside of me, to continue pounding into my annihilated cherryhole harder and deeper, and never leave my hot squelchy little rectum empty, ever again... honest!

...Ahem... Ahem... Ahem...


Oh God, is it morning already? I feel as though I haven't slept a wink.

Good gracious me, what an amazing dream I had... what I can remember of it, anyway.

Ughhh... What's that? ...Oh dear, I'm all wet and slimy down there... Tut.

Hmmm... For some strange reason, I feel strongly compelled to perhaps begin posting a true story onto Nifty (well, almost true), all about my boyhood experiences. How exciting! I've never written a story before. It might even be fun.

But oh, what if nobody wants to read young David's story? I'd feel so foolish then, wasting my time for nothing. It's hardly as though I'd be writing it for myself now, is it? After all, I already know what happened to little David... because I was there.

Do any of you men wish to read young David's story, I wonder? Mightn't it bore you to tears? You see, as in real life (because little David's story is all about a real life), unfortunately it cannot all be 'wham bam' boy-fucking the whole time, though rest assured, there will be plenty of that too as the story develops. I'm sure there's many other excellent stories you can find if all you're looking for is a quick boy-fuck yarn. If however, you'd like to know what really happened to little David in all its juicy intimate detail, inclusive of all the boring bits (which I just know you'll skip), please drop me a line by Clicking Here ...The server for my email is prone to crash for an hour or so every few days, I've found, much to my irritation, so that mails will sometimes bounce back to senders while it's down, but if you try again later your mail should get through. It can be a bit hit and miss.

Even if only one of you would like to read of David's oral and anal boyhood adventures, it would still be a story worth writing I suppose. If however, I find a relative deluge of emails arriving at my inbox, it would most certainly fire my enthusiasm much more. In that unlikely circumstance, I mightn't get around to replying to each and every mail as promptly as I would wish, though I'd certainly try to answer everybody, albeit briefly because if I spend all my time replying to emails, I'll never get the story written.

So just in case my response to any mails is rather too brief or tardy, in advance let me thank all those who might email me to jolly me along... if anybody actually does. Should I continue? I await your pleasure gentlemen, though not quite in the same way as young David did.

I'm a sensitive soul so please, no flames or overly-harsh criticism, or the sometimes petulant young David, who wants to tell you his delightful tale, might stamp his boyish little feet and launch into one of his pouting sulks again, and clam-up (as little boys do), and then it will be devilishly difficult to open him up again. Believe me, I know him well. It's usually hard enough to get little boys to open up to men in the first place, and once open, they should be encouraged to remain so. So we mustn't scare little David off now, must we... not if we want full access that darling treasure-trove of his young boy- ...um... memories, which only once-special little boys like young David can possess.

Mmmm, I feel a toasted muffin coming on for some reason.

Bye for now, and do take care, please,

David Desiree

E-Mail: Here

PS. Damn it, this is actually harder work than I thought it would be. I don't have the benefit of any higher education, (as 'young David' the bulk of my education was usually much lower down, so I'm not complaining), so I'll be the first to admit I don't always get things right with my writing because I cannot always properly say what I want to say. Consequently, each time I read through, no matter how often, I find silly obvious mistakes with my spelling, grammar, and clarity which my spellchecker simply cannot spot, and which my English teacher would certainly have spanked me for... with relish!

After I've posted, I expect I'll find more mistakes. Please don't send me a mass of emails pointing out such errors, (unless you wish to spank me, of course). Instead I wonder if there's anybody with a fresher eye than mine, who might kindly proof-read for me from time-to-time before I post subsequent chapters, (assuming I do)?

I know proof-reading is not everybody's cup of tea. Thinking it through, we wouldn't want 'the blind leading the blind', so to speak, so any proof-reader would need to have a reasonably good grasp of English (UK or US) and be a friendly easy-going person with a sense of humour, who would be likely to display a meticulous eye for detail... maybe a teacher of English grammar (at school I'd have run a mile from you) or perhaps an experienced decent story writer well-versed in English might be best, so that he could suggest improvements to my style, while accepting that everybody's style is different (and mine seems to change with my mood) so that I won't always follow advice, though I'll always consider it.

I'm aware my style won't be to everybody's taste... I think it's a little different to most styles I've come across, and it needs a bit of tolerance and understanding I expect, which is pretty-much a potted way of describing young David himself, for he was somewhat different too, according to his mother after she'd unfortunately caught him wearing his sister's panties. I know that's asking rather a lot, for a volunteer proof-reader, but as little David used to chirp with his squeaky voice, when playing with his toys, "If you don't ask, you don't get, Mr Badger", and young David got lots and lots of what he wanted, right where he enjoyed it most. But then, he did give so much in return, for he was an extremely giving little boy.

It's not as though any proof-reader would be swamped. I'm in no real hurry to write... it's just a mood and spare-time thing, and I'm only a one-fingered typist so chapters of my story may be weeks or even longer apart, if they ever happen, that is.

Thanks for reading.