by
Part 19: Kolina - II
When I woke up, Chip was playing with my dick. I opened my eyes to find him smiling manically, with his arm plunged under the comforter and his little hand fiddling about in my crotch. The dirty little tyke had grabbed hold of my shit while I was asleep and was unashamedly waggling my hardening little todger from side to side in his clammy little fist. I smiled. Chip was such a beautiful boy. What a pleasant sight it was to wake up to him. Of course Little Cloud instantly firmed up in his grip, and Chip took great delight in bending my stiffie this way and that, jerking it down hard, and eliciting a little jolt of agonizing pleasure. I squirmed into the pillow and let him continue. In fact, he readjusted his grip, taking my fully inflated fuckstick in his tightening little fist, and started jacking it up and down in long, firm strokes. They were good, hard yanks too, designed to induce an orgasm. I knew he was serious when he ducked under the covers and gave it an earnest suck. I could feel his hot little orifice swallowing my dick right to the root. His warm, wet lips around my stiff little pole was heavenly. He was gonna make me cum. I let him.
It didn't take long. I stroked his head, feeling the velvety texture of his recently shorn scalp as he bobbed up and down on my stiffie. After a few short moments my little dick exploded into his mouth and I floated around in pure pleasure as Chip's expert little lips finished me off. He impaled his cute head hard on my cock as I was cumming, eager not to spill a drop of my essence as it pumped onto his expert little tongue. He then licked my cockhead clean and emerged from under the bedclothes smiling smugly, clearly pleased with his work.
'How was it?' he asked, his lips greasy with my boysperm.
'Great,' I replied, 'Glad to see you haven't lost your touch.'
He smiled a self-satisfied smirk. Then another thought seemed to occur to him and his expression changed.
'Your spunk tastes different,' he said.
'Different how?'
'I dunno,' he shrugged vaguely, 'More chalky.'
I giggled. Good old Chip. He had just as keen a palate for spunk as me, with a genuine affinity for the taste of it. Indeed, you had to like it to be able to swallow it so eagerly. Like me, Chip was a true connoisseur, and could detect even the most subtle variations in any spunkload.
My dick for the moment satisfied, I rolled back the comforter and swung my legs out over the edge of the bunk. Then I hopped down onto the floor.
'Come on,' I said, 'Don't you want breakfast?'
He let out a cute little giggle.
'I just had it,' he chuckled.
I laughed.
'No seriously,' I said, 'It's late, we should get over to the dining room.'
'You go,' said Chip, turning over in the bed, 'I'm not hungry.'
And with that he snuggled back under the comforter and curled up in the bunk with only his head poking out. He was probably still traumatized from recent events. I felt so sorry for him.
I left Chip in bed. I hurriedly got dressed and went outside to make my way to the dining hall.
Breakfast was nearly over by the time I got to the dining hall. As usual the place echoed to the raucous din of many chattering boys. I collected my tray of food at the counter and found a table in the corner where I could sit anonymously, trying not to run into anyone or catch anybody's eye. I really wasn't interested in making small talk and it was relatively secluded in that corner of the cavernous room. That particular table was empty. On the next table, just opposite, was a boy sitting on his own. He looked around the same age as me, maybe a little older. He was sitting well back in his chair, having finished eating, and was listening to some music that was being piped directly into his ears because he had an earbud in each ear, with two thin threads of cable trailing down into some unseen device that must have been secreted in his pocket. He was nodding rhythmically and tapping one sneaker-clad foot, looking very mellow. I noticed him straight away because he was the only other boy in the whole room that was sitting on his own. Not only that, he was extremely handsome, and had this beautiful mane of long blond hair. It was down to his shoulders - even longer than mine, and was a healthy golden color, not dull and whitish like mine. It was neat and shiny, unlike my shaggy, dirty-blond mop. In fact, this boy looked generally well groomed and clean cut, with a healthy, radiant complexion, and he was very well dressed. Clearly he was a boy who had a good eye for trendy clothes that also looked good on him. He had classic good looks, an oval face with wholesome choirboy features, prominent cheekbones and a sweet rosebud mouth with lips that were cherry red. It was apparent to me straight away that he was a boy of the highest quality, not only because he had inherently good dress sense and took trouble over his appearance, but because, above all, he was incredibly beautiful.
I focused on finishing my breakfast, and kept a weather eye out for the blond boy. He was settled into listening to his music and seemed very relaxed. But he was cheerful and alert, which infinitely raised his allure. In fact I thought I saw him looking over at me. Perhaps he caught me checking him out, I couldn't tell. As he was listening to his music, he picked up a teaspoon and started amusing himself by repeatedly throwing it up into the air, twirling it like a little baton way up above his head. At the same time he was still nodding his head vaguely to the music and tapping his foot. Every time he tossed the teaspoon aloft, he would look up briefly, tilting his blond head back to steal a quick glance over at me. At least I thought he was looking at me. His seductive eyelashes flashed only a momentary glimpse of his mysterious eyes. I watched him, mesmerized by his beauty, as he went right on tossing that spoon up into the air over and over again. I quite admired his dexterity and the confidence with which he made that spoon twirl so high above his head, and how it fell straight back down into his hand. He caught it squarely in his palm every time without faltering.
After a few minutes of watching him, the blond boy tossed and caught the spoon one last time and finally put it down. He then switched off his music and pulled the earbuds out of his ears, stowing them safely away in a bundle in his pocket, then he got up. He seemed to rise up purposefully and I realized he was coming over. He had undoubtedly seen me looking at him. He marched towards me with a confident stride, all the time his gaze fixed on me so that his objective was by now fairly unequivocal. He was wearing a bright green hoodie that was unzipped, beneath which he had a tight white t-shirt and quite trendy, low slung jeans that were well down on his hips, held up with a broad belt. The tongue of his belt was unsecured and so long that it flopped about waywardly as he walked, dangling across his crotch in a sexy, metaphorical way. He stepped up to my table and he grasped the back of the chair opposite, leaning towards me. I steeled myself for a confrontation.
'Hey,' he said, more by way of greeting than anything else.
I looked up.
'Yeh?'
'Can I sit with you?' he asked, brightly.
I was momentarily stunned. It was a friendly remark. I was slightly taken aback that he was actually asking permission to join me and that he wasn't intending to remonstrate with me.
'Sure,' I replied, gladly acceding to his request.
He grabbed the chair opposite me to sit down. I liked the way he turned the chair around and sat on it back to front, so that his chest was leaning over the back of the chair, facing me with a friendly grin.
'You're new here aren't you?'
He was very open and polite and his tone was overly friendly and gregarious. I looked at his hopeful, affable expression and saw how inclusive this boy was, and how warm and inviting his hazel eyes were.
'Is it that obvious?' I replied, sheepishly.
He giggled.
'Just a bit,' he said.
I smiled modestly.
'You bin lookin' at me,' he went on, in a tone tinged with such certainty that it came out as a statement of fact.
'Yeh, so?' I replied, fully prepared to admit my attraction to him.
'I charge for that y'know,' he said.
I was momentarily thrown because it was a humorous remark, delivered with an absolutely straight face. I couldn't help eliciting a little laugh because it sounded like something I might have said.
'No free previews?' I asked, playfully.
Now it was his turn to laugh.
'Oh, wise guy eh?' he said, giggling.
'I try,' I replied, laconically.
He chuckled, rocking backwards slightly, and as he did so I could see he had perfect white teeth and little braces in his mouth which I thought were cute. It was all lighthearted banter and I sensed both of us relaxing.
'What's your name?' he enquired, indicating that he wanted to make friends.
'Cloud,' I said, 'What's yours?'
'River,' he replied.
There was split second of silence as the irony of it took hold, and then we both burst into splutters of laughter, guffawing loudly.
'You serious?' he asked, still laughing.
'Yeah, you?'
'Yeah.'
And we both laughed some more.
After a few moments, when the initial novelty had passed, we were able to compose ourselves, and he straightened up.
'Hey Cloud,' he said brightly, by way of greeting, and held out his fist to formally acknowledge me.
'Hey,' I reciprocated, and bumped fists with him across the table.
'So, what's your story Cloud?'
He wasted no time in seeking some background information. Because he was around the same age as me, I trusted him. He was devilishly handsome too, with that immaculate golden blond hair, so unlike my dirty-blond mop, and those cute braces in his mouth. He looked so sweet and innocent with his pretty, choirboy looks. His braces added a touch of vulnerability to his aura, as though to emphasize that he was still a young boy and not quite finished growing. I was sure that was just a façade though. I had the impression that underneath he was not as innocent as he looked, and that his butter-wouldn't-melt visage belied something more rebellious, something unorthodox, dangerous and exciting. And because of that, I was very drawn to him, so I had no hesitation in investing time in conversation with him. I wanted to get to know him.
'I'm a shota boy,' I explained.
'No!' River exclaimed, his mouth dropping open in a big O, 'Seriously? What club?'
'The Saxon Club.'
'The Saxon Club? You're shittin' me!'
I shook my head.
'You know it?' I asked.
'Sure I know it,' he asserted, 'It's the best shota club around.'
'How do YOU know?' I demanded, suddenly curious.
'I'm a shota boy too!' he announced, his tone rising by a couple of octaves, as though to emphasize the coincidence.
'Really? What club?'
'The Tip Top Club,' he replied.
We both laughed at that, acknowledging the slightly comical nature of some of the club names, and the pseudo-respectability that some of them pretended to allude to. But we both knew the tongue-in-cheek humor that was behind some of the names, The Cotton Club, The Kit Kat Club, what a joke it all was.
I knew The Tip Top Club very well. At any rate I knew its reputation. It was known for being a high-end establishment, and it was renowned not just for the beauty of its boys, but also for their friendliness and extroversion. I had met tricks who had been around all the shota clubs, indeed some of them made a career of hanging out on the shota club circuit, so I knew what reputations they all had. At The Tip Top Club, the boys were not just good-looking - pretty boys were a dime a dozen, after all - but they were also genuinely warm and friendly. The boys approached the clients, stopped and took time to chat, and seemed to have a real affinity for what they were doing. It wasn't just for the money either. The consensus was that the boys really were friendly and open and were willing to invest time with clients just chatting, sharing a drink, sitting on their laps, maybe even snogging. At The Tip Top Club the boys were all prodigious strippers. They were real performers and were all quite supple and athletic. They were famous for their naked lap dances, but they were more well known for their naked gymnastics. Those legendary shows were daring and adventurous displays of naked boys enduring the most extreme and sometimes painful acts. I had seen it once, during an exchange visit, and it was quite a sight to behold. It was the place to go if you wanted to see naked little boys performing risky and physically demanding feats - indeed some tricks got off on that, as Guus's famous New Years Eve Bacchanal would testify - but beyond that The Tip Top Club always guaranteed a plentiful supply of precocious little boys showing their shit. There was no limit to the range of naked little boydicks on display, most of them beautifully erect. The Tip Top Club had a reputation for boys who could keep wood - that is they could sustain erections for inordinate periods of time, and without resorting to Viagra. The Tip Top Club had stiff boycock as far as the eye could see, more than even the most prolific boyfucker could ever hope to suck or grope during the course of a single evening.
'So what happened to you?' River asked, determined to get some background on me, 'How did you end up here?'
'I ran off when UNVERO pulled out,' I explained, 'I didn't want to stick around when the fighting started.'
He nodded slowly, assimilating my story. He seemed in complete sympathy with my motives.
'What about you?' I asked.
'Our handler was arrested,' said River, 'we were captured by the VLA.'
That struck a chord with me instantly. It was exactly what had happened to Chip. The news of his handler being arrested only consolidated what we had started to hear about the new provisional government and the changes that were taking place in Verolino.
'How did you get away?' I asked.
'We were released in exchange for VLA prisoners.'
This time it was me nodding in sympathy. We all had our stories to tell.
Just then, River got up and came around the table to where I was sitting.
'C'mon,' he said, holding out an arm as though ready to place it around my shoulders.
'Where are we going?' I asked, looking up at him.
'I'm going to introduce you to the rest of the escape committee,' he said, with a cryptic tone.
I let out a little laugh, assuming that the escape committee was some sort of nickname for the group of boys he hung around with, like some collective noun for the in-crowd of boys at the camp, of which he was undoubtedly the leader.
I got up and he moved towards me so that we were standing quite close together, and I noticed that he was quite a tall boy, compared to me. He towered over me by a good few inches. His shoulder was at eye level to me. But he was slim and nicely proportioned and his trim, well-toned chest and tummy were clearly visible beneath his tight t-shirt. I had no doubt he had a beautiful body under there. He placed his arm gingerly around my shoulders and guided me over to the door. I could feel his strong arm around me, and his grip was firm and reassuring around my shoulders. As we went, I could already feel Little Cloud horning up in my pants, at once excited by this beautiful boy and his sexual allure. See, my instincts had been correct. Not only was River infinitely good looking, he was a shota boy too. He must have been a very popular and prolific shota boy, sexy and dirty, and highly experienced, with a loyal following of regular clients. Boys of such quality were always held in very high esteem. And now this beautiful flaxen-haired youth - this godling, this Ganymede - was walking with me, his arm around my shoulder. Inside, my heart soared. As I crossed the room with River, I felt I had pretty much hit the jackpot.
We stepped outside the dining hall and River escorted me through the camp, walking shoulder to shoulder at a good fast clip. I didn't know where he was taking me, but as we walked, River introduced me to a whole series of boys. If any boy passed us, they acknowledged River, either with a sharp nod or an enthusiastic greeting. The boys he knew well would bump fists with him. They would stop momentarily to exchange salutations and, in doing so, would take a cursory look at me, casting curious and admiring looks in my direction, simply by virtue of the fact that I was walking with him. It made me quite proud to be seen with him.
We crossed the main thoroughfare of the camp where there was a series of UNHCR vehicles abandoned haphazardly. Then we were suddenly assailed by the deafening, whistling roar of supersonic jets. We heard them before we could see them. They flashed by very low in the sky above the camp, causing both River and I to stop dead in our tracks. They were so close it almost made us feel like ducking down. No sooner were they upon us, they were gone. There were three of them, military aircraft, zipping fast across our vista in a V formation. They were Russian-built SU30 fighters, nationalist aircraft with VLA markings, bristling with an array of missiles and bombs tucked under their wings. They were sleek, dart-like aircraft with twin tail fins and canards - frighteningly quick, highly maneuverable and deadly, no doubt enforcing the no-fly zone.
'See that?' said River, as we watched them disappear into the distance, his hand shading his eyes from the glare of the sun.
'They're SU30s,' I said, reciting from memory.
'They're VLA,' River countered, 'letting us know who's really in charge.'
There was a tinge of bitterness in his tone. He clearly resented the VLA, which was not surprising since it was they who raided his club, arrested his handler and took him and his fellow shota boys prisoner.
We continued on our way and River led me to a little field, where the camp buildings gave way to a grassy area adjacent to the rear fence of the camp. I hadn't realized there was actually open space within the camp perimeter. It looked out over the woods beyond the barbed wire fence. The fence was quite high, and the uppermost edge was lined with double rows of razor wire. I couldn't work out if the fence was to stop anyone getting in, or to prevent us from getting out. There was a group of younger boys scampering around playing football with a scuffed-looking ball, using their sweaters as goal markers. Their high-pitched shouts and squeals echoed into the morning sunshine. River cut a path straight across the boys playing football, for the most part ignoring them. Strangely, they didn't seem to mind. They seemed to know him and just carried on playing as we walked straight across their impromptu pitch. Clearly River was very popular. But not just popular, he seemed to command universal authority over all the boys that crossed our path. I started to realize River's importance. He was some kind of daddy in this place, an alpha male, someone who had obviously carved a niche for himself, with his very own band of loyal cohorts, and had a good deal of clout.
What I didn't know then was that River was taking me to his room on the other side of the camp. The black-clad security guards eyed us as we walked. They patrolled the camp in pairs, but they rarely interfered, unless you were clearly up to no good. River urged me to ignore them and to just keep walking. He showed me to a block that was somewhat more salubrious than the one I was in, more modern and a lot larger. River explained that these had been the quarters of the commissioned officers when the camp had been an army barracks, so the rooms were slightly more luxurious than the ones for the enlisted men.
No sooner had River opened the door to what was clearly a bigger and better appointed room than the one I had, a much smaller, younger boy, ran up to him and hugged him desperately as he stepped across the threshold.
'Where did you go?' the little boy demanded, tearfully.
The little boy was clearly distraught. River seemed overwhelmed by this reaction. The little boy was hugging him and clawing at him and trying to hide himself in the folds of his clothes, sobbing pitifully. I noticed that, curiously, this little boy was wearing school uniform.
'I went to breakfast,' River explained, trying to prize the boy off him.
'You left me alone!' the little boy shouted, reproachfully.
River smiled adoringly at him.
'You were still asleep,' he tried to explain, 'I didn't want to wake you.'
'You left me alone!' the little boy shouted back at him, repeating his accusation.
'I'm sorry little buddy,' said River, in conciliatory tones.
River was quite tall for his age, so the little boy seemed all the more diminutive standing next to him. River was stroking the little boy's black hair and comforting him as he reciprocated by hugging River's waist. It was clear that there was a lot of affection between them.
The little boy was much younger than River, maybe the same age as Simon-Peter, certainly one of the youngest and smallest boys I had seen in the camp, with quite dark olive skin, not unlike Ten. What struck me about him was that he had the most incredible eyes. I was always a sucker for blue eyes, that was a little fetish of mine, but I swear this little boy had the bluest eyes I had ever seen - like two almost translucent little cobalt crystals. He was unusually pretty, with that thick, black, wavy hair that was almost too long and half covered his ears and was sprouting unruly little tails which were threatening to curl upwards at the back. He had a very clear complexion and an oval face with aquiline features, and small round ruby lips. But most of all, beneath that floppy curtain of black wavy hair that tumbled down over his forehead, was that pair of piercingly blue, almond-shaped eyes. Those eyes were certainly distinctive, and the first thing you noticed about him, not only because they were an almost supernatural shade of blue, but were all the more beautiful because they were vaguely oriental in shape. It was difficult not to be struck by his beauty.
When the little boy had finished sniffling and crying, he finally noticed me standing hesitantly by the door. He slowly looked up from where he had his face buried in the unfastened front of River's hoodie.
'Who are YOU?' he demanded, with a slight tone of resentment.
Clearly he was not enamored with the prospect of River bringing someone back to their room.
'This is Cloud,' said River, introducing me.
I turned to the little boy and held out my fist in greeting. He hid his face back in River's hoodie, either too shy or too reluctant to acknowledge me. River seemed to find that quaint, like he was used to this kind of behavior.
'This is Tallin,' said River, 'he's my brother.'
I knew immediately what River alluded to. Tallin wasn't really his brother. For one thing Tallin looked nothing like River. Appearance wise they were almost diametric opposites. No, Tallin wasn't his real brother. He was his fuckbuddy. His apprentice. It wasn't unusual for an experienced shota boy to take on a younger protégé, just as I had done once with Chip. An accomplished shota boy had an obligation to take a younger acolyte under his wing, to indoctrinate him into the ways of boysex and impart the pleasures of cock and ass play, with a view to grooming him to be a fully-fledged shota boy. But when a shota boy referred to his little playmate as his brother, that implied they were also fuckbuddies. Tallin was River's little adopted brother, just as Simon-Peter had been mine.
Eventually Tallin let go of River and moved over to the back of the room. The room was two or three times the size of mine, and they didn't have bunk beds but twin cots. There was even room for a couple of armchairs and a small sofa bed which still had the impression on the seat cushion from where Tallin's little frame must have been lying just before we walked in. Over by the window was something else I didn't have in my room - a TV - at that moment tuned to the satellite news station, flashing live pictures of the peace talks but with the sound turned down.
River dried the little boy's tears, affectionately wiping them away with his thumbs. Then Tallin went and sat quietly on the sofa bed, his tears now momentarily forgotten, and was soon engrossed in watching the TV. He sat well back on the broad seat so that his little boyfeet were jutting out over the edge. He was so cute, in his little gray schoolboy shorts and starched white shirt, with a perfectly knotted little tie that had diagonal stripes of red, gold and black. Laid carefully on the edge of the sofa was a little gray blazer, complete with the school's crest on the breast pocket.
'Sit down,' said River, gesturing towards the sofa bed.
I tentatively sat down close to Tallin, though not right up next to him. He flashed me a wary glance as I did so, then went back to watching the TV. I was curious about this little boy Tallin.
River told me that Tallin's father was Australian and his mother was Thai, which accounted for his reminiscently oriental features. He was lucky. His looks were an attractive fusion of the best of the exotic elements of his mother, so that his pretty face was the privileged end product of his parents' merged genes, complete with the epicanthic folds of his mother's eyes, though somewhat softened by his father's more European looks. Of course he also had an extraordinarily unique eye color, with that piercing hue of cobalt blue, and he had a cheeky, mischievous expression on his cute little oval face. He had quite high eyebrows, which gave the impression they were permanently raised, so that his expression was always one of surprise. He was such a pretty little thing. The kind of boy that was blessed with smoldering good looks and a perfect physique. He seemed to have this visage of dazed innocence about him - a kind of sultry guilelessness that begged to be expunged. I made a good mental map of his little body, helped by the fact that he was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. His legs were trim and shapely. The skin on his calves and forearms was brown and silky and had a warm healthy glow to it. The tanned olive skin was accentuated by his white ankle sox and his little boyfeet were encased in an expensive pair of limited-edition sneakers that made his feet look almost too big for his body. On his forearms was a fine dusting of peach fuzz. He was indescribably cute.
River caught me looking at him.
'You like my boy?' he asked, raising his eyebrows in query, at the same time openly enunciating that he knew what was on my mind and had no qualms about making me admit it.
The fact that he referred to Tallin as 'his' boy, was enough to confirm my speculations: that Tallin was to River what Simon-Peter was to me.
'You DO don't you?' he teased.
I nodded, smiling guiltily. River was shockingly perceptive.
'Very much,' I confessed.
He elicited a good-natured laugh, almost flattered that I fancied his little buddy.
'Why is he in his school clothes?' I deigned to ask.
'These are the only clothes we have,' River explained, 'It was what we were wearing when we were captured.'
That sounded quite sad. I flashed him a look of pity.
'You both look very smart,' I said, hoping he would appreciate the compliment.
'Thanks,' said River, genuinely chuffed, 'We like to keep ourselves clean.'
'Is he a shota boy too?' I asked, nodding towards Tallin.
River nodded affirmatively.
'A shota boy in the making,' he offered knowingly, 'And a damn good one too.'
I stared at Tallin, mesmerized by his beauty. He seemed uninterested, probably aware that we were talking about him, but at that moment focused on the TV.
'You wanna know summat about him?' River offered, coming to sit down on one of the low armchairs next to the sofa bed.
He leaned towards me confidentially. I nodded enthusiastically and leaned over, closing the gap between us, anxious to hear his revelation.
'Tallin is a very special shota boy. You know what's so special bout him?'
I shook my head, fascinated.
'He's a bobble boy,' River announced, as though it was some big revelation.
'A what?'
'A bobble boy,' River went on, 'YOU know - he's got an implant.'
'An implant?'
'Yeah,' River nodded, 'A prostate implant.'
'What's that?' I asked, totally flummoxed.
River was nodding knowingly.
'Oh yeah,' he enthused, 'Tallin's little butt is the best.'
Then, when he saw that I genuinely didn't know what he was talking about, he seemed surprised.
'You don't know about prostate implants?'
I shrugged and shook my head, mystified.
'He's the youngest boy ever to have one, far as I know,' River went on.
'What is it exactly?' I wondered.
'It's relatively new,' said River, 'It's when they surgically insert an implant into the wall of the prostate.'
I stared at River, dumbfounded. I was incredulous to the very idea, and suddenly felt quite abashed at my ignorance. I had never heard of such a thing.
River spoke quietly and confidentially.
'It's a little titanium bobble which is attached to the wall of his prostate. You can feel it when you fuck him. It enhances the pleasure for you and for him.'
And with that, River sat back in the armchair with a self-satisfied grin, having let me in on the revelation about Tallin.
'Like an internal piercing?' I concluded, finally making sense if it.
River nodded approvingly.
'Exactly,' he affirmed, 'and when you fuck into him, it'll stroke your dick in just the right place.'
Little Cloud pulsed perceptibly in my pants, hardened by River's invaluable insights.
'Oh fuck!' I gasped, not intending to actually say that out loud.
River was smiling perversely, apparently pleased that I was so aroused by these revelations.
'Isn't it risky?' I asked, 'Having that implanted?'
'No more than a regular piercing or a tattoo,' said River, apparently unconcerned.
'Does it work?' I ventured, almost challenging him, at the same time I couldn't help grabbing at my crotch and absent-mindedly squeezing Little Cloud.
River smiled knowingly and nodded, fully aware of my arousal, and he seemed to have this little evil glint in his eye as he noted my discomfort.
'Oh yeah!' he enthused, 'You've never felt anything like it in your life.'
Which pretty much confirmed my hypothesis. That particular piece of information gave me an incredibly stiff hard-on. My dick pulsed tangibly in my pants, hardened beyond belief. To think that someone had actually taken the trouble of surgically implanting a titanium bobble inside Tallin for the sole purpose of buttfucking. That little boy had actually consented to having his little butt artificially modified, to enhance the pleasure for the tricks who would pay to fuck him. And he could no doubt charge premium rates for the select band of pedos and boyfuckers who would get to sample that magical little chute, who would experience the intense pleasure of burning their throbbing adult fucksticks up his little boy cunt and savor the ecstasy of pulsing out their copious loads deep inside his fledgling butt. My little dick was deliciously hard. If Tallin really was a shota boy, he'd be up for almost anything, and if he had this implant that River was telling me about, the prospect of fucking him had just become infinitely more attractive. As with Simon-Peter, I knew I was going to have to sample Tallin's magical little cunt.
I imagined what it might be like to fuck Tallin. I tried to picture what his quite sturdy, shapely little legs would look like with his knees pinned back against his shoulders, his little boy shit fully exposed and ready for a profound pummeling. I imagined his hairless little sac and turgid little cocklet nestling between his slender thighs, his little boypussy tantalizingly dilated, inviting a thoroughly hard rooting from an older boy, stuffed full of a dick that was much bigger than his and was going to pump his hairless little snatch full to bursting with unripe boyjizz. Oh fuck, Little Cloud was as hard an iron rod in my pants, begging to be rammed into Tallin's little fanny. I wanted to see that little boy's tiny hairless body impaled on the end of my dick, squirming on my pistoning fuckstick, crying out from my hardness as it tunneled deep into his narrow pelvis, seeking to deposit my meager little load right up into the pit of his tummy. I wanted to burn my turgid hairless fuckstick deep and hard into his magical little fuckbox. I wanted to sample the delights of his modified little pleasureport and experience that inordinate ecstasy for myself. Oh yeah, I wanted to have that little boy. I wanted to have him real bad. I just had to experience the satisfaction of emphatically jamming my boydick so deep inside him until it was encased hilt deep in his sweet little honeypot.
Unfortunately, I didn't get the opportunity to pursue those erotic thoughts any further because River turned his attention to what was on the TV.
'You see that?' said River, jerking his head at the TV screen.
It was a news report about the peace talks taking place in Reykjavik. VFOR had brought together the KAPO and VLA leaders and they were negotiating a ceasefire. The talks were being brokered by the Americans, and there was news footage of the leaders all sitting in armchairs, chatting genially, then shaking hands as they stopped for a photo opportunity, and later being chauffeured away in big black limousines and presidential style motorcades with motorcycle escorts.
'What?' I asked, 'The peace talks?'
'Yeah,' said River, with a note of contempt.
'That's good isn't it?'
'No,' said River emphatically, 'It's not good. It's very bad.'
'It means the war will soon be over,' I said, brightly.
'It means a new regime and a new government,' River explained, with a tone of misgiving, 'A VLA backed fundamentalist government that will dismantle the old Verolino.'
River went on to explain how the new provisional government was chasing respectability by shutting down the shota clubs and deporting the handlers. The shota boys were all being sent to camps like this one with a view to disseminating them throughout other parts of Europe. The worst thing of all, was that the new government was seeking integrity by putting the handlers on trial. Right now there were trials going on as the fabric of the old Verolino was dismantled in favor of this new, religious fundamentalist military government. The first thing they had done was to declare martial law, which gave them carte blanche to do pretty much as they pleased. And all this was being endorsed by VFOR and the Americans. River warned me right then that they would be coming after us. He believed that incarcerating us like this, under the guise of humanitarianism, in a UNHCR camp, was just a ruse.
'But Matti told me we could be adopted,' I said.
River huffed contemptuously.
'You don't believe that do you?' River hissed with derision, 'They have no intention of finding families for any of us. They want to get rid of us. Shota clubs and shota boys are an embarrassment to them. Unless you know someone on the outside who's gonna take you, we're all screwed.'
It was a frightening prospect - a nightmare scenario that left me with a deep sense of foreboding. What was worse, the evidence bore out his testimony. The shota clubs were being closed down and the handlers arrested - it had already happened to both our clubs.
'That's why we need to get away from here,' said River, with a grave expression.
'How?' I asked, not quite able to see how we could determine what was going to happen to us.
River turned his head slowly towards me, quite purposefully and deliberately.
'Simple,' he said curtly, 'Escape is the only option.'
At this point I realized that when River had alluded to his friends as 'the escape committee' he was not being facetious. They were actually quite serious about getting out of Kolina.
* * * * * *
I led Chip to a very indistinct and quite ugly-looking building. It was a small, squat, cube-shaped building that was almost at the center of the camp. It stood out amongst the other buildings at Kolina because it had no windows, only ventilation grilles. Inside, I discovered it was a type of boiler room, with plant machinery and generators. I guessed this was the power plant of the whole camp. Inside, it was very dark and oppressively hot. There was only emergency lighting, in the form of light fittings every few meters that were affixed to the bare concrete walls. The atmosphere inside hummed from the enormous generators and there was a constant throbbing in the air, accompanied by the lingering stench of diesel oil.
As we ventured further inside, deeper into the usually uninhabited recesses of the machinery and pipe-work, there was evidence secreted amongst the installations that this was where the shota boys at Kolina preferred to hang out. River told me that all the former shota boys in the camp had made this their secret hidey-hole, where they all surreptitiously congregated away from the observations of the UNHCR and out of sight from the prying eyes of the camp security guards. This evening, River had invited me to a secret meeting, and he had been quite insistent that I should bring all the other shota boys I knew.
Chip and I worked our way through the maze of machinery and pipework and behind a series of enormous generators. You could feel the heat coming off them. Behind the generators, there was a hidden space, a void that seemed to serve no purpose other than to provide ventilation for the generators. We halted just at the point where a six foot diameter pipe ran horizontally the entire length of the room, and disappeared through one of the steel bulkheads in the wall. And there, behind the generators, in that oppressively confined space, we found twenty or thirty other boys all congregating in hushed silence. Some were sat cross-legged on the floor in little clusters, others had perched up onto the pipes and were variously lying down or hanging off them, or had sat with their legs dangling. Yet others had secreted themselves into the alcoves and were nonchalantly slouching in the corners of the grimy concrete walls.
River had been sat back against an enormous wheel valve that was quite low down and off to one side of the room. But clearly he was at the centre of the little throng of boys around him, naturally the focus of this little assembly, and quite obviously in charge. The boys immediately close to him got up to welcome us. They all gathered around us and escorted me and Chip over to the corner where there were some rather threadbare blankets on the concrete floor. There was also a dilapidated sofa pushed up against the wall. The sofa had obviously seen better days, probably an abandoned accoutrement from one of the accommodation blocks, brought in here to provide some semblance of comfort to what was otherwise a bare and forbidding environment. The dark red fabric of the sofa was soiled and holey, so that the yellow foam padding of the upholstery was showing through in places. About five boys had squeezed onto the sofa. Other boys were sitting way up on the back of the sofa, propped up against the wall, while others perched on the arms at each end. Yet more boys were using the seat cushions which had been removed and were variously lying around on the floor, providing additional seating. Those boys who had no seat just sat on the blankets, which were equally as dirty. There were signs of where successive boys had been sitting and smoking. There were cigarette butts, ash trays, empty cigarette packets and spent matches. It was like they had set up a little chill-out area to hang out in. It was funny, I thought, that whenever boys get together, they seemed to have a preference for subterranean places like boiler rooms and cellars, and their set-up reminded me very much of Spider and Kenni and the other boys we had met hiding in that bombed-out cellar. Left to their own devices, all boys gravitated towards dens, hideouts, tree-houses and forts. Tribalism and belligerence came so naturally to them. Conflict and the struggle for dominance was inherent in all boys. “Lord of the Flies" was testament to that.
'Everyone, this is Cloud,' River announced, as he saw us come in.
River introduced me to his friends, and I introduced Chip, and then we had all bumped fists, we nodded our acknowledgements and I sat down with them. River gave me a cursory but affectionate slap on the shoulder, as if to demonstrate that I was a friend and should be welcomed.
'They're from The Saxon Club,' River added.
This revelation seemed to draw admiring grins from the other boys, and there was a subdued little gasp of deference. They were clearly impressed. They cleared a little space for us on the sofa, spreading themselves out and enthusiastically surrounding us with a warm glow of friendliness and affection, and they all looked at me with admiring grins, smiling and giggling. I felt instantly accepted by them. They seemed to be very interested in me because they said I had a funny accent which they thought was quaint. It was clear that I was not Verolene in origin. But they lavished me with compliments about my cute accent, and how they liked my pretty face and shaggy blond hair. I knew straight away that these were my kind of boys. I looked about me and saw the approving, longing, affectionate look in River's hazel eyes as he stood in the center of the room, and my dickie hardened ever more stiffly in my pants. I could feel the mutual attraction between us. I knew then, even amidst the exuberant yammering of the other boys, as I stared right back at him, that I was falling for this boy in a quite emphatic and unexpected way.
'Okay, listen up,' said River, raising his voice above the general hubbub of the assembled boys.
There was an instant hush, the atmosphere only pervaded by the sound of the generators, and all the eyes in the room were on River. The boys in the alcoves, the boys perched up on the pipes, the boys squeezed onto the sofa, and the boys spread out on the floor, all turned towards him.
What followed was a rather inspiring and revealing insight into just how organized this group of boys were. River talked of their plans to escape and how they had formed themselves into a series of small teams. Each team consisted of four or five boys, and each had their own individual destinations. It was felt too risky and unwieldy to all try to flee the camp at once, or to try and travel together. So they were going to do it in stages. They had worked out exactly how to get out of the camp, and they had contacts on the outside that were going to help them. Their objective was to get across the border into Zachyna - neutral territory. They had worked out routes, hideouts, resting places, everything. They were extremely organized and detail oriented. The plan wasn't foolproof, but it was ingenious, and listening to River briefing this rag-tag group of boys on what they had to do had overtones of some secret military operation. I admired their dedication to their mission, and their focus was quite impressive. I had no doubt that River's universally acknowledged authority was what was keeping this whole motley collection of boys motivated and unified. He was a natural born leader.
When the meeting broke up, everyone was sworn to secrecy. Then, with a minimum of fuss, the bare, dimly-lit room slowly emptied, and the boys all slinked off back to their individual rooms. They went a few at a time, staggering their departures and spreading themselves out so that the security guards didn't get suspicious. It was beyond me that they had managed to keep their little gatherings secret at all.
River himself stayed behind until all the boys had left. By then Tallin had fallen asleep face down on the large horizontal pipe. The pipe was probably twice as wide in diameter as he was tall, and it was warm to the touch. The little boy was stretched out on the top with his head turned to one side and his cheek cutely pressed against the hard, painted metal. His eyes were innocently closed. His white school shirt had separated from his gray school shorts, and the shorts had slipped down his butt a little as he stretched out, so that the waistband of his tighty-whiteys was clearly visible. His hip was exposed where his shirt had ridden up, and you could see part of the smooth, tanned skin of his back and little ribs. His olive skin tone contrasted nicely with the whiteness of his shirt and underwear. He looked very cute.
As the last of the boys took their leave, and the room slowly emptied, River saw me looking at Tallin, probably noting the longing way I regarded the little boy's pretty body where his shirt had exposed his young skin so tantalizingly. And of course I couldn't help thinking about that implant - that magical little bobble that Tallin had inside him, which River had described as like nothing you had ever felt before. He stepped closer to me and leaned in confidentially, as was his style.
'He's VERY spunkable no?'
I liked River's terminology. Where did he get words like that from? He was just like me, using his own particular brand of shota boy parlance. What was more, he seemed to have complete sympathy with my sentiments and understood exactly what was in my heart. Of course, he was right. Tallin was very spunkable.
'Tell you what,' he suggested, 'why don't we swap?'
'Swap? What do you mean?'
He nodded towards Chip, who was at that moment hovering by the exitway waiting for me.
'Your fuckbuddy for my fuckbuddy,' River explained.
'Oh he's not…' I started to say.
I was about to explain that Chip was not my fuckbuddy, at least not officially, but then thought the better of it. If he wanted to trade fuckbuddies that was fine by me. I had no reason to expect that Chip would be averse to that proposal. On the contrary - Chip was so entrenched in his perversity that he would probably welcome the idea. River was gorgeous, and Chip would relish a good rooting from such a good looking boy. Hell, knowing Chip, he'd give River the works. He'd service River's virile little fuckstick with relish and gusto, and take River's cock every which way, in his sexy little butt, in his expert little mouth, and take River's spunk in his ass, down his throat or anywhere River chose to squirt it. Knowing Chip, he would elicit at least two or three good cums out of River. That was what I liked about Chip. Chip had a predilection for spunk. He was a true spunkboy - loved playing with other boy's cocks and eating their spunkloads. He was quite accomplished at felching, cumswapping and snowballing. The dirty little tyke was addicted to it.
I didn't reply to River's proposal, but I knew that a kind of deal had been struck between us. I told Chip to go back to our room without me and not to wait - I wanted to talk to River some more. Then River gently roused Tallin, helping him slide down off the pipe and had one of the other boys escort the sleepy boy back to their room.
That left River and I alone. We both knew it was deliberate. We each individually contrived to be the last to leave in the hope that we might be left alone. It worked. After everyone had left, and the last footsteps echoed from the exitway and eventually petered out altogether, we found ourselves alone in that dingy, smelly plant room, with the generators throbbing away manically in the background.
River looked over at me from the other side of the room. I was standing by a solitary pipe near the wall. The pipe ran vertically from the floor all the way up, disappearing into the ceiling. River stepped up to me with a quite affectionate, intimate kind of expression. He pushed me up against the pipe, looking as though there was something confidential he wanted to share. He stretched out his arms, one either side of me, pinning me against the pipe, trapping me between them. Then he looked at me earnestly, his face only inches from mine. He had such clear, unblemished skin, and a very healthy, youthful complexion, crowned with that long, golden blond hair. Once again, I marveled at how beautiful he was. I looked back into his hazel eyes. His expression was flushed, but full of longing, and I knew what he wanted.
Then he kissed me. I let him. He leaned in and insinuated his tongue deep into my mouth, gently but inadvertently knocking the back of my head against the pipe. He pressed into my lips quite hard and I could feel the little braces on his teeth. Surprisingly, they did not get in the way at all. In fact it made his kiss all the more erotic. He was good. I felt every pout and twitch of his lips. His experience was tangible. The way his proficient little tongue explored my mouth smacked of knowingness and sexual promise.
Coming up for air, he broke the kiss and pulled back a little.
'That feel okay?' he asked, almost in a whisper, as though to enquire how I liked it.
'It feels great,' I replied, 'Why?'
'Some of my tricks like to joke about my braces,' he explained, 'They say kissing me feels like kissing a cheese grater.'
I laughed.
'What's so funny?' he asked, on the verge of being offended.
'Nothing,' I replied, still giggling, and closed in for another kiss, 'All I can say is I love cheese.'
He giggled, flattered and relieved, as we kissed again. I quite enjoyed kissing his braced mouth. I let my tongue explore the articulated cavity of his mouth, roving slickly over his scaffolded teeth and dueling with the tip of his tongue. He was quite an accomplished kisser. Again, it was him that broke the kiss.
'So whadya think?' he asked, looking me straight in the eye, 'You wanna fuck around for a bit?'
It was a bit gauche, but I quite admired his no-nonsense approach and the way he made it sound so inconsequential, a mere trifle, as though he was inviting me round for coffee. I nodded emphatically. Of course I wanted to fuck around with him. Like he even needed to ask.
My answer was to kiss him again, this time with more passion. I leaned forward and met his lips with mine. As he stood there, pinning me against the pipe, I could feel Little Cloud horning up again. There was something very arousing about the way River restrained me there, against that metal pipe, with that slightly threatening, dominating stance.
Breaking the kiss once more, he flashed me a sly smile, exposing his braced teeth, which looked so white and slick and clean. I wondered what it was like to have that sweet mouth wrapped around my dick and what his blowjobs were like. Just as that thought went through my mind, he reached down between us and took my hand and placed it firmly on his crotch. He held it there, using my palm to press into the front of his low slung jeans. At first I thought all I could feel was a handful of bunched up fabric, but as I squeezed, I realized it was not fabric at all. What I was feeling was a handful of quite substantial boy meat. It was his cock, and it was rock hard in his pants, firm and long. Its dimensions were tangible enough to confirm that his dick was certainly on the large side. I almost gasped with delight. He must have been a very popular shota boy, I thought, with a boydick like that. Oh fuck, I almost envied the tricks that had enjoyed that cock. I bet it was beautiful and spunked good and hard. I couldn't wait to play with it.
'Is that all yours?' I asked, digging my fingertips hard into his package.
'You like that?' he replied, challengingly, almost in a whisper.
I nodded, almost panting with anticipation, and kissed him again lightly on the lips, by way of acquiescence. He closed his eyes in pleasure and drew his blond head back slightly, clearly aroused. Then he opened his hazel eyes and looked me up and down. He did it so deliberately, so obviously and so suggestively, I could tell he must be very experienced.
'I knew you liked me,' he muttered, 'I like you too.'
He had no idea how much I liked him. I had to hug him, almost throwing myself against him, still squeezing his crotch with one hand and wrapping the other around his tall, slim, youthful frame. He went on kissing me, moving down the side of my neck.
'You spunk?' he asked, almost as an afterthought.
I nodded eagerly.
'Can't wait to taste it,' he said.
I realized from the way that River was talking that he was a boy after my own heart - sexy and dirty; a hot and horny little shota boy, just like me, who could suck and fuck with consummate ease and wasn't fazed by anything sexual. And he liked to talk dirty. He had a filthy mind, just like me, and wasn't afraid to express it - just like me. And even as he said that, Little Cloud was pulsing against the front of my pants, straining to be released.
I went to unbutton my shirt, but River stopped me.
'No, let me,' he insisted.
So I did. I put my hands down and he took over undressing me. It was infinitely more arousing for both of us that way, and he knew it. He pulled my shirt out of the waist of my pants first, then one by one, his tactile little fingers loosened my buttons. Taking a deep breath, he paused before opening my shirt, ratcheting up the frisson until it was in the red. Then he quite deliberately peeled open my shirt, exposing my chest and tummy. He gasped.
'Oh fuck, Cloud,' he exclaimed, 'You're fuckin' gorgeous.'
His phraseology was just like mine.
His eyes roved all over my body approvingly, and then he looked me straight in the eye.
'Shit! I need to suck you off right now,' he said, breathless with impatience.
He carried on kissing me, his hands warmly feeling my exposed chest and tummy, stroking me up and down. He was kneading little handfuls of my flesh as he felt me up, almost as though he was gauging the substance of my slim, hairless frame.
'I wanted to fuck around with you the first moment I saw you,' he murmured.
'You're making my cock so hard,' I said, showing him that his dirty talk was working.
'I'm gonna make it so hard it's gonna fuckin' burst,' he replied.
Oh fuck, this boy was so dirty. He was even dirtier than me, if that was possible.
'Let me suck you,' he said, like there was no time to lose.
I nodded enthusiastically.
He sank to his knees and loosened my belt, stripping open the front of my pants, then he dug his eager fingers into my underwear, and lowered the front of my boxer briefs. Little Cloud fell out, stiff and pulsing, already at full mast. River pulled my jeans and boxers right down to my knees to get better access, at the same time exposing my body almost completely. My opened shirt was already thrown back over my shoulders, so he had a good view of my physique. He seemed to like it. He knelt there for a few moments, holding me in place with his arms wrapped around me, his palms resting warmly on my naked butt. He was just looking at my stiffie, but he was looking at it so closely that his eyes had nearly crossed. Then he closed in and took the head of my stiffie between his sweet rosebud lips, pulling my butt forward so that he could take the full length into his mouth. His braces scraped gently against the sensitive skin of my shaft as it sank into his wet little cavity. It was heavenly!
I looked down. River's gorgeous blond head set to work on my stiffness, his long mane of golden hair brushing against my thighs as he gnawed eagerly on my hardened boycock. It occurred to me, even as I threw my head back in ecstasy, that this was the second time today that I had my cock in another boy's mouth. Not that it bothered me. I knew I was good for another cum - maybe two - given the right motivation. It was as though I could never get enough. No matter how many times my little dick spunked, I could always go back for more. I could never get enough of this - the unbridled pleasures of cock play; the unparalleled ecstasy of a boy's hot, wet lips around my hardened shaft, the thrill of ejaculating my meager little spunkwad into his suctioning orifice; that pretty head impaled on my hairless fuckstick. How could I ever tire of such immeasurable rapture? This beautiful boy, whom I had met only a matter of a few hours ago, this flaxen-haired boy-god, was making me feel so good, it was clear to me that blowjobs were his specialty. I only hoped mine felt as good as that - alas I couldn't self-suck like some boys I had known. I had seen them do it. Some boys could contort their bodies in such a way that they could get their dicks into their own mouth. But I couldn't do that. Don't think I hadn't tried. It was probably just as well, since I would be most likely sucking my own dick so compulsively I would have no kidspunk left for my tricks to suckle on.
As River sucked, he was salivating so copiously that his spit was soon running down my shaft and dripping off my hairless balls. His mouth sure was sopping with saliva, which helped to lubricate the sensation of his braces grazing my cockhead. It was almost unbearably pleasurable. The roughness of his braces on my hot, hard little column of boyflesh ratcheted up the sensitivity so much that little volts of electricity were radiating from my balls and shooting down the insides of my thighs and up into my tummy. In no time at all, he inflated my dick to such a point of expectation that I knew I couldn't delay it any more. The rising pleasure was quite insistent - relentlessly approaching with a ferocity that I hadn't felt in a good long time - one of those orgasms that is so powerful that it was going to make my hairless little body quake to the very core. River knew when I was gonna cum. He was quite clearly a prodigious and accomplished cocksucker and detected my imminent orgasm with stunning accuracy.
Suddenly, River pulled back, quickly replacing his mouth by grabbing my aching shaft in his fist. He jacked it frenetically, determined not to lose the momentum, expertly rubbing across the exposed head on the downstroke to ensure maximum stimulation. It was the technique of a master cockboy who clearly knew how to manipulate a turgid cock - even if it was only my little boycock. As he worked it between his expert fist and tactile little fingers, he looked up at me, grinning a forced smile.
'Cum on my braces,' he urged, and bared his teeth for me.
I could hardly believe it. He was knelt there before me, still jacking my dick frantically with his powerful grip, and he tilted his head back with his teeth bared, his braces exposed.
Oh fuck! I was gonna fill his pretty mouth, braces and all, and his expectant grin, and the sheer perversity of what he was doing just made my orgasm arrive all the sooner. This dirty, sexy, precocious boy was coaxing a powerful orgasm out of me, and I knew I was gonna spunk real hard over his opened lips and glaze his braced teeth real good. The pleasure so overwhelmed me that I cried out - letting out a desperate little moan of urgency and expectation - almost a cry of panic because this scale of pleasure was quite unfamiliar to me. My cry echoed off the bare concrete walls. River closed in, jacking my dick with a firm, tight grip and I couldn't help putting my hands on his head - somehow holding that beautiful blond head in my hands was a way of steadying myself before allowing the blind rapture of my approaching orgasm to overwhelm me. The pleasure was so profound that my tummy muscles started to spasm and my little star was going into fibrillation in sympathy with the unbridled trauma they knew was coming. My vision became cloudy and opaque and I lost myself in the warm, unquantifiable bliss that gripped my entire body. The intensity of the moment was focused entirely on my cock, which exploded in a big damburst of boycum that came out in one big spurt. It was as though all my boyspunk was ejected at once, and one big splat of almost transparent kidspunk came out with such force that it splashed into River's opened mouth, drenching his braces and teeth in watery kiddiecum, running in little rivulets down his chin and dripping onto his chest and tummy. My little dick tightened up and seemed to pulse so tangibly that I didn't think it could get any stiffer - but it did, at the same time trying to eject a few more tiny jets of whatever remaining kidspunk my little hairless balls could muster. The last few muted pulses were barely more than a dribble as my orgasm tailed off, and I suddenly felt so weak and unsteady that I had to hold onto River's head until I had regained my senses. River meanwhile swallowed my boyjizz, greedily gulping down every last drop.
When he was done, River got up off his knees and took my hand, gently guiding me over to the dilapidated sofa. I half hopped and half shuffled over to the other side of the room, since my pants were still pulled down around my ankles. Spent and still reeling from the intensity of my cum, River laid me down on the grimy, derelict sofa. The contractions of my cum had been so powerful, I felt like my whole midriff had been wrenched violently. It was almost like recovering from cramp. For a few moments I reclined on the sofa with an arm draped over my face, my chest and tummy rising and falling as I hyperventilated. My dick was still pulsing gently, as though trying to assimilate the intensity of that orgasm, and struggling to regain its equilibrium. My cockhead was still drizzled with kidspunk, and my balls were still drenched in River's spit. I laid there recovering, my dick hurting slightly, my whole hairless crotch wet, with my pants still around my ankles and my shirt hanging open.
Without saying anything, River got up and started getting undressed. He stripped quickly, as though anxious to seize the moment, and I liked the way he unfastened his long belt and the way he adroitly discarded his trendy t-shirt and low slung jeans. River had a smooth, silky little body that was svelte and well defined. He had a beautiful physique. His proportions were perfect. He was lean and tight, with not a trace of fat, just the outline of his muscled thighs and calves, the unmistakable signature of his boyishness. And he was quite boyish in the true sense - a perfect example of delayed adolescence. He was actually quite underdeveloped, as yet unspoiled by the ravages of adolescence, which told me that puberty was still a little way off for him. It was a nice thought that the boyfuckers could go on enjoying that pretty little body for a while longer. His balls were small and tight, almost indistinct in their tiny little dome of skin, barely discernible at the base of his good sized dick. Sure, his dick was big for his age. It was long, just like his limbs, very straight, but firm and perky, pointing upwards nicely at a perfect angle, the pinkish head just peeking out of the tight foreskin. He had prominent shoulders which accentuated the way his torso tapered down towards his waist. His tummy was as tight as a drum, with a slight groove down the center, forming a little dip where his innie belly button was. His chest had beautiful pecs which were clearly defined, the flat little nipples perfectly placed on the apex of the slightly convex muscles, sheathed under that flawless young skin. It was so smooth and creamy, clear and unblemished, almost translucent, so that you could see the bluish veins beneath, and it had a matt texture to it, like alabaster. He was like some proverbial mythical youth, straight out of some ancient Greek fable. Fuck, he was beautiful. His body was just like his face: utterly perfect. He was the quintessential shota boy, with a body to die for.
River climbed up on the sofa and straddled me, sitting astride my hips, looking down into my eyes. It was lovely to feel his body on top of me. I smiled up at him submissively and waited to see what he was going to do. My dick was spent, and it would be a little while before I could cum again. Strangely, he didn't demand anything from me. All he did was thrust his hips forward. He threw himself over me, lowering his pelvis so that his erection was digging into my tummy. Then he rubbed the underside of his pretty dick on my belly. He leaned forward, adjusting his knees slightly, and pressed the burning mass of his hardened boycock into the yielding softness of my tummy. I was quite sensitive there, ordinarily quite ticklish, but the feeling was exquisite. If he was gonna frot his dick to orgasm like that, I knew that pressing hard into another boy's tummy as you cum was almost as good as fucking his butt, but visually much more spectacular. One way of showing respect and admiration towards another boy was to anoint him with your cum, just as I had done that first time with Simon-Peter. Smearing your kiddiecum on another boy's hairless body denoted an act of veneration. It was very erotic for the boy being spunked on too. River just seemed to know all the most erotic things, and he must have done this before. In fact, I wondered if this was what he did with Tallin. Maybe when he wasn't fucking that little boy's magical little cunt, he was frotting his dick on Tallin's tight little tummy and smearing his boycum all over Tallin's olive-skinned little body. River was certainly familiar with the technique, thrusting his hips down expertly into the dip of my tummy, warmly burying his hardened boyshit into the natural cradle of tight young muscle. When River started thrusting forwards, I knew it was to stimulate his frenulum. The warmth of my belly on the underside of his dick was definitely doing it for him. He said nothing the whole time, just looked into my eyes every now and then, smiling affectionately, and intermittently lowering his chin so that he could look down at the head of his dick peeking up from my tummy on the upstroke. Feeling his hot, hard dick on my sensitive tummy was one of the nicest feelings, and pretty soon I knew my flat little tummy was gonna be glazed with his jizz. I couldn't wait to see that beautiful cock spunk up for me. I wanted River's hot, creamy, gooey kidspunk all over me.
When he felt his cum approach, he let out a series of hard breaths and groaned quietly, and he quickly altered the angle of his thrusting into my tummy. It suddenly became more acute, urgent, faster and more pronounced - the urgency to shoot his spunk took over, and he seemed to hover above me for a moment, his thrusting temporarily halted, and we both looked down at the pink head of his dick resting warmly on my tummy. Then, his turgid little fuckstick duly delivered his meager little load all over my tummy, and he commenced thrusting even as his dick was squirting. He was quite underdeveloped, as I said, so his little boy spunkload was barely a couple of spoonfuls, and it didn't come out with any force, merely a tiny spurt, which flowed from his piss-slit like a leaking tube of gel. But it was a lovely orgasm, quite clearly a hard and intense one, which left River sitting astride me looking slightly shaken. And he was smiling manically, his little braced teeth peeking from between his contented lips. Fuck, he was good.
When he had finished spunking, River thrust into my tummy quite hard a couple more times, smearing the underside of his still stiff dick in his own spunkwad. Then he lifted his boyshit off me and used his cock to rub it all over me. It was a lovely gesture, which made it more messy and sloppy and all the more erotic for me. He rubbed his kiddiecum all over my tummy and even up as far as the groove in my chest. I loved it when spunk was deposited there. His kidcum had a lovely whitish gloss to it, and a velvety consistency that was quite thick and sticky. He knew I wanted to taste it, so he dipped a couple of fingers in the sticky little puddle and, still straddled above me on all fours, stuck them into my mouth. I giggled, sealing my lips around his fingers, sucking them clean, and relishing the opportunity to taste his spunk, thus reciprocating the honor he had shown me. River's boyspunk tasted very neutral, mostly salty with just a hint of sweetness to it. It tasted just like he looked: pleasant and very inoffensive. I treated his spunk with the deference it deserved and made sure I licked up every drop, using my own fingers to wipe his greasy jizz off my skin. Meanwhile, he lowered his head and moved down so that he could kiss my tummy and lick my abdomen where his kiddiespunk had trickled out. He sure knew his spunkgames, which was confirmed all the more emphatically when he came back up and kissed me while he still had some of it on his tongue. I attached my lips to his and he willingly tongued it into my mouth. I licked eagerly, poking my tongue into his mouth and sucking it off his braces. I sucked in what I could of his cumwad, then spat it back into his mouth, just for good measure. He liked that. I think I had accumulated a big enough gobful of cumspit for him to get a good taste of his own boyspunk. He thanked me for it later.
* * * * * *
River quickly became someone I liked and trusted very much. He was very special to me. And because he was so special, he was the only person I ever told about Ciggy. He was the only one I ever felt would be remotely interested, and I probably would never have ever mentioned Ciggy had he not asked me straight out. Finding ourselves alone, having enjoyed each other's bodies, we entered a period of contemplative repose after our little cockgames, and we talked.
We were lying on that clapped out sofa in that dingy plant room, still secreted in that dimly lit space behind the generators, by now both sated and happy. But because the atmosphere was quite dry and humid, we hadn't bothered to get dressed. We were both still pretty much naked, lying there with all our hairless shit openly on display. I was lying down with my pants still around my ankles, the remnants of River's kidspunk still wet on my crotch and tummy. I loved the smell of sexual fluids mingling with my scent, drying on my skin. It was a nice counterpoint to the chemically oily smell of diesel that permeated the atmosphere. River was lying alongside me, stretched out on his side. He looked so slim and lithe, and his upper hip had a beautiful little dip in it from the curve of his torso as he was propped up on one elbow. His slender legs looked so long, stretched out like that, with his beautiful feet pointing away from his body. His large boydick, so tumescent and potent earlier, was now nestling floppily in his crotch, flecks of his kidspunk still encrusted around the wrinkled crown of his foreskin. His dickie was dangling downwards much like the unfastened tongue of his belt when he had walked towards me in the dining hall that very morning. I was actually quite enjoying looking at River's body. He was so utterly perfect. I only hoped he enjoyed looking at me equally as much.
'So, do you know anyone on the outside?' River asked me, 'Someone who can smuggle you out of Verolino?'
I hesitated for a split second before answering. It had occurred to me to say nothing, but in that split second I decided I liked this boy enough to want to be frank with him. I trusted him, so I resolved to be honest with him. I decided to tell him everything about Ciggy. I told him how we had first met; how we had spent that first night together in my room at The Saxon Club; how we had showered together and about that golden afternoon when he had driven me out into the Verolino countryside just before UNVERO pulled out and the whole regime had gone to pieces. I told him how Ciggy did things for me; how he put his arm around me, was considerate and kind, bought me milkshakes and took me on that picnic where he had invited me to escape Verolino with him. I told him about Ciggy's plans to buy a seat on that transporter, to make his way to Turkey and then back to his home in America. I told him about Ciggy's dead brother, Allie, and how he had tragically drowned, and how Ciggy still suffered feelings of guilt and loss. I also told him how I thought Ciggy had been killed when the last transporter was shot down during the UNVERO withdrawal, and how I learned that Ciggy was alive when Chip told me that he had come looking for me at The Saxon Club after I had absconded with Simon-Peter. I told River everything.
When I had finished talking, River looked down at me earnestly, still propped up on one elbow, and he took a single little breath. I could see his tummy tighten as he inhaled.
'Do you love him?' he asked, plainly.
It was a simple, straightforward question, with a serious tone, and yet it took me by surprise. I didn't know how to answer it. I opened my mouth, but no words came to mind. I realized that it was the first time that question had even arisen. I'd never thought about it before - at least not to the extent that I had been obliged to vocalize my feelings. River waited, perhaps mindful that I might never even have considered that possibility.
I shrugged, looking around the room, as though searching the ceiling for inspiration. I must have hesitated for too long because River demanded an answer.
'Well? Do you?'
I looked him straight in the face and focused on his pretty hazel eyes.
'Yes,' I said finally, after a prolonged pause, 'I think I do.'
River nodded, slowly and purposefully, as though that was exactly the answer he expected - at any rate the only one he considered appropriate. He seemed to understand exactly.
'Then you must go to him,' he affirmed.
'But I don't know where he is.'
'I'll help you find him,' he said, benevolently, without a hint of doubt, not even acknowledging that it was in any way a challenge, 'You must find him. It's your only hope.'
* * * * * *