David, a Boy of Pleasure
By David Desiree
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).
...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
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
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
...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? ... 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
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,
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,
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
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
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.