Date: Tue, 15 Jul 2014 13:20:01 +0200 From: Sam Johnson Subject: Home is Danelaw - Part 2 Home is Danelaw – Part 2 by Sam Johnson (Comments welcome: samjohnson77@mail.com) Donations keep Nifty nifty, and can be made at: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ++++++++++++++++ About forty minutes after we picked up the boy, we approached Marrickville, a large country town at the centre of a dairy farming district. Ed swung the big old station wagon into a newly built service station and restaurant complex. As we came to halt at a vacant bowser, the boy stirred, sighed deeply, but stayed sleeping in the corner. The day was heating up now and the bare skin of his back stuck to the vinyl seat as he moved. The fringe of his light brown hair was damply plastered to his forehead. I joined Ed at the bowser filling the tank. "I think I might keep going, Ed." "All the way to Grantham, eh?" he said with a wry smile. "I've got two months to kill before I go to China...and I haven't been to Grantham in a while, so why not?" Ed laughed. "How long since you've been to the farm?" "About five years," I said. After a pause, Ed said, "You know, his mum'll have the cops out looking for him soon. Nothing surer." "Yeah, maybe. Unless she's relieved he's gone. I'll get him to ring her." "And the Aunt in Grantham? It's a situation that could blow up in a dozen different ways." "It's a bit dicey, isn't it. But the kid, Ed." "Yeah," Ed said with a sigh. "Boy that innocent has to be trouble." I laughed. "We live in hope" "Well, if you get the farm up and running again, let me know," Ed said as the bowser cut off, a little spurt of petrol spilling out. "No," I said firmly. "No chance of that. Not with this China trip coming up." I leaned over a little to look at the boy shifting restlessly in the corner, trying to burrow back into the cocoon of sleep. "That's the last thing I need." I went off to the toilet while Ed finished up and went to pay. I picked up a healthy selection of junk food for the drive and returned to the car. After dumping the food in the front, I went to door where Dane was sleeping, opened it and gently shook him. "Dane, buddy, time to wake up." He opened his eyes, stretched, looked blearily around, taking a few moments to remember the tumultuous reality of his situation. "Come on, buddy – get out and stretch your legs." "Where...?" he mumbled, not fully conscious yet. Finally he started clambering out, but then turned back to look for something. "My tee shirt..." "It's back there," I said, pointing to where it was laid out. "It might be dry now – check it." And more of his situation came back to him. "Jesus...no, I'm not wearing that." Then he sniffed in the direction of his bare torso, worriedly checking for the smell of his urine. After that he made a reflexive sniff of one armpit. He was a little slick with sweat in the afternoon heat, but that smooth pit of his as yet gave off only the freshest tang of boy-scent. "Well, just go to the toilet – you can wash up a bit – then we'll get going." "But I need something to wear," he said. "No you don't. It's a warm day, you've got a good body – it's a perfect match." I looked around the large forecourt area, saw a fat hairy man wearing nothing but a pair of bermuda shorts coming out of the shop's automatic doors. "There, see," I said, pointing, "no shirt required." The boy turned back to the car, seemingly non-plussed. I had to admit, the hirsute porker looked like an entirely different species to the lissom lad by my side. Dane got his sneakers on, then stood up by the open car door. He came just up to shoulder level on me. He hovered a hand near his midriff, a typically body-conscious young teen boy. "Where is it?" he asked, looking across the forecourt. I pointed out the sign for the Gents and he headed off. Leaning against the side of the car, I watched him go, and remained exactly where I was not to miss a moment of his coming back. The perfection of his build was almost painful to watch, the smooth slim boy-body showing the lightest hint of development. His pale pink nipples like little air-brushed spots on him, so subtly photoshopped that you had to look hard to see the soft little nubs. The skin of a boy this age is beyond smooth, touched by pubescent sex magic. I wasn't the only one watching him walk with a self-conscious stride across the forecourt. A businessman at bowser 3 was overt and obvious in his gaze. As Dane passed by a woman and daughter combo at bowser 15, the daughter – similar age to the boy – actually whipped her head around and proceeded to stare after the lad with an almost angry frown, a sort of Who-Goes-There, Where-Do-You-Think-You're-Going, Get-Back-Here type of stare that girls are so good at. The boy tried valiantly not to show he'd noticed her looking. But what really did me in was the boy's fresh blonde-like visage. He wasn't strictly speaking a blonde – his short hair graded from brown on top, where he had a bit of tousled length, to almost fully blonde at the sides where the hair was clipped short around sweet little ears. In the bright sunshine, where the short blonde hairs graded seamlessly into peach fuzz then to soft skin, he seemed to give off more light than he received. His eyebrows were blonde and his smile was killer, took all this delicate lit-up aura around him and turned it supernova. The cute young-boy's little nose was just a flat out provocation and scandal. He flicked glances at me as he approached, again hovering a hand around his tummy, adjusting his jeans, fighting off a silly childish grin that kept playing across his lips. "All set?" I said, turning to get in the drivers seat. "Where's the other guy?" "This is where he lives – he owns this place." "Oh." He seemed quite surprised. "Just you and me, bud. Get in," I indicated the passenger seat. He went first to the back of the station wagon to check on his tee shirt. "Oh shit!" he suddenly cried. "I've got clothes in my bag! I forgot all about 'em!" He dragged the bag to him and rummaged through, but came up empty handed. "What's in there?" I asked. He started pulling things out. "Just...two jumpers, some socks, and my jacket. I was in a rush. I was thinking it might get cold, you know, if I slept outside." He gave me a serious look, meant to convey how grave his life circumstances were. "Don't sweat it, bud – we're passing through town – we'll get something from Darcys." He picked up the tee shirt that was laid out to dry, and sniffed the bottom third, still damp with his urine. He pulled a face. "Yuk, stinks," he muttered, throwing it back down. Before closing the back of the station wagon he had another thought, and reached for the plastic orange juice bottle. He frowned, seeing it was now empty. Maybe it had all been a nightmare. Whatever, he quickly dropped the bottle out of sight and got in the passenger seat, shirtless. "Hungry?" I asked, as we pulled out of the servo. He'd been giving the stash of chips and chocolate constant looks. He was starving and, given the go ahead, made straight for the big bag of salt and vinegar chips. "Did you see the way that girl was ogling you back there?" I said as we pulled out onto the highway. "Huh? What girl?" He said it in a tone that hopelessly betrayed his knowing very well what girl. But I was more than willing to play. "You walked past her on the way back from the toilet. You must have noticed her. Very pretty little thing." "Oh, um, yeah I noticed a girl there – I don't think she was ogling me." "I bet if we went back there right now," I continued in low voice, "put her on the bonnet of the car, flipped her little skirt up, you'd find her panties wet through." "Sam!" he cried, laughing. "Gross, man!" After chomping a few chips he said, "But why would she piss herself?" I explained she wouldn't have pissed herself, and gave him a vivid description of her pussy getting all wet and slippery because she wanted Dane's big dick shoved up her. I gave him some technical detail to go along with it. He was fascinated, excited, embarrassed and covered his ignorance with, "Oh, yeah, girls get all wet for sex stuff, I know that..." as though it had just momentarily slipped his mind. He quickly followed up with, "Glenn Rabeson at school, he reckons his older sister got licked out by her boyfriend and it made her sick so she missed two days school. Could that happen?" "No, she wouldn't have gotten sick from oral sex. He's getting his facts mixed up somewhere." "Do you have to lick a girl out before you can do it with her?" "Well, like what we were talking about, a girl getting wet – you have to spend some time getting a girl 'in the mood', get her all excited and wet and ready for you to stick it in. 'Licking her out' is one way – a very good way, but there are other ways." "So...where do you lick?" he asked. "You've seen a girl's pussy?" "Ah, well, I've seen a girl without any clothes on." "In real life or pictures?" "Pictures – Glenn brought a picture to school." In the pre-internet era, ignorance of sexual matters in a boy Dane's age was quite common. Even in today's porn saturated environment, myths and fallacies abound to a surprising degree. "Did she have her legs spread, so you could see her pussy spread open, where you shove your cock in?" It was all getting a bit much for the boy. He shook his head, adjusting the lump in his pants. "She was just standing beside a tree, with the biggest boobs ever, and, like, you could see her pubes." He gave a little laugh, adjusting himself again. "Right, well, we can soon improve on that." "How do you mean?" "We'll get some porno mags – I would have got some at the servo if I'd known." "Really?" the boy said. "Yeah, that'd be cool," he said with affected casualness. I'd seen his boy-cock in full splendour – I knew the kid had a bit of work to do to accommodate himself once fully roused. And he was pretty damn randy right now. I imagined I could see it on the surface of his bare skin, like a patina of invisible goose-bumps; a slight pricking of his nipples, invisible hairs standing up on his lower tummy; a rosy hue rising in his cheeks. And of course the bold, brash cock lump in his jeans. That spoke volumes. "But first we'll pick up some gear here," I said as I swung into Darcy's carpark. It was a monolithic departments store that towered over the western side of the shopping precinct. "What am I going to wear?" the boy said before getting out, making a final shove at his crotch to flatten the tent. "I can't go in like this," looking down at his bare torso. "Just put your tee shirt on – it's only till we buy something." But the boy screwed up his face. "No way – it's soaked in piss, Sam." "It'll be dry by now, and it's probably cleaner than before you pissed on it." But the boy was adamant. He wouldn't wear it. So he had to settle for putting one of his jumpers on – a big blue hand-knitted thing that looked horribly hot and stuffy in the afternoon heat. Half way across the car park the boy was complaining good-humouredly. "Jesus, this thing itches!" He kept rubbing the woolen jumper up and down, across his sensitive skin, exposing little flashes of his tummy. The amazing thing was, I'd been watching this boy for the last two hours with his shirt off, but now, catching quick glimpses of his tummy as he scratched was a tremendously exciting coup. We located the boys-wear section on the third floor. Dane stopped at the first display of tee shirts, picked up a blue and white striped one, and said, "This one's alright." Then he looked at the price tag and swore. "Forty five bucks! I've only got forty!" And started putting it back. "Dane," I said, picking the tee shirt back up and handing it to him. "You're in my car – you play by my rules, okay? I thought that was obvious." I gave him a look but he stared blankly at me. "Now pick out half a dozen shirts, a couple of pair of pants, whatever else you need." The boy frowned, uncertain. I shoved his shoulder. "Come on. We haven't got all day." The middle-aged woman on duty bustled helpfully up to see if she could help. She told me my son was a very handsome lad – which caused the boy quite a deal of mirth – and made some suggestions, until I politely said we'd be fine just looking around ourselves. If anything, she seemed relieved to be released from her duty. So we got him loaded up with pants and tee shirts – me insisting on one very smart, conservative long-sleeved shirt – just in case we needed to go somewhere fancy. The boy acquiesced with no hint of a frown this time. "Sam – I can't get all this!" he finally said, heaving the great load of clothing over his arms. "Well, let's go and try some of it on." I looked around and spotted the change-rooms on the far side of the large floor. "Over there," I said, pointing. "You go – I'll be there in a moment." He looked over, saw the doorway to the changing rooms and a young woman at a desk beside it. "Do I have to ask...do I just go in, or do I ask her?" He was capable of a quite pronounced shyness at times. It made a powerfully attractive combination with his increasing hints of manliness. "Yeah, just ask her, or walk straight in – I don't think it matters." As he wandered off, I went to the underwear section and picked out half a dozen pairs of undies. Five plain navy blue briefs, similar to what he was wearing, and one small boy's pair with pictures of sailing boats on 'em. I took them to the counter where the middle aged lady smiled politely. I explained to her that the boy had "had a bit of an accident while dozing on the long drive – you know boys that age" and so could I please purchase these now so he could put a pair on right now. She hurriedly waved away my explanation. "That's fine, just fine." She rung up the sale, pausing only briefly to frown at the little sailing-boat pair, before putting it all in a bag. "You know, when my son was that age..." she shook her head. "Dear oh dear. Best to just look the other way, I think." As I took the bag from her, I said, "Or not." Over at the change rooms, when I pushed open the door to the only occupied cubicle, Dane looked round in surprise, reflexively covering himself a bit. He was wearing the blue and white striped tee shirt, and just his undies underneath, and was about to pick up a new pair of pants. The undies were only just staying up, the stretched waistband not doing its job very well. He kept making quick tugs at 'em to keep them reasonably decent. "The tee shirt looks alright," I said, looking both at him and the many reflected images of him in the small multi-mirrored room. "Yeah, it's okay," the boy said, checking himself out. "Will I get it?" "Is it big enough? You might need the next size up." I took the jeans from him, put them aside. "Stretch your arms up." After another impulsive tug up of his undies, he raised his hands in the air, looking at the effect in the mirrors. His undies were hopeless, slipping at the back to show half his tight little butt, and at the front the band only stopped slipping down once it rested on the base of his penis, where his boy sex jutted out a bit. He couldn't leave his arms up for long before reaching down for some corrective action on the slipping cotton briefs. "You're underpants aren't worth the material they're weaved from, Dane," I said, and was pleased to see the red-cheeked boy laugh. "They got stretched in the car..." he said, as if in explanation, which was a bit odd, given my rather central role in his ordeal by urine. "By your cock being too big?" I asked. "Ha! Yeah, right!" Then continuing with a more overt fishing attempt: "It's not that big." "Your cock's a pretty good size, buddy," I said seriously. "Above average, definitely." "Really?" "For your age, absolutely. And still growing. That's why that poor girl at the servo was all pouty and put out. She could tell by the way you walked. She knew you were packing heat." "Bullshit," the boy scoffed. "That's bullshit...isn't it?" "Well, I might be doing her more credit than she deserves, but she was responding to your stud heat – no doubt about that." Some nervous laughter from the boy. He said, "I had a girlfriend earlier this year at school, but nothing much happened." "You didn't even get your hand between her legs?" "Ha! Geez! Ya know - almost once!" The boy suddenly blurted a barely comprehensible tale of himself and Glenn being with their girlfriends at Glenn's place, and Glenn had done something which had caused both girls to run away, although Dane was a little too over excited in the telling to make a lot of sense. As he told his tale, Dane began worriedly squeezing at his boy-package, trying to quell the sudden surge of arousal. It's a reliable bit of old black magic – say the word "sex" three times to a thirteen year old boy and he'll change into a horny toad. Only kissing him will make him charming again. I came close. "Here, let me fix 'em," indicating his droopy undies. "They're too stretched," he said, making another effort to squash his erection flat to one side. "Leave it," I said, tapping his hand away. "Take your tee shirt off." "Huh? But I like this one," he said. "But I want you to take it off," I said. After a final, obsessive straightening of his undies, he started lifting the tee up over his head, showing the tender flare of his rib cage. I took over adjusting the soft cotton undies on him. At the back, with the palm of my hand, I slid them up and over and around his half-exposed butt. My hand spanned almost the entire width of his tight little cheeks, and he repeatedly dipped his knees, discarding his tee shirt, as I kept sliding the soft fabric on his smooth bottom. Just in his underpants and socks, he was massively, fully erect. He couldn't stop flicking glances at himself in the mirror. His loose undies were held up by his hard-on that still bent inside them hard to one side. He reacted skittishly when I rubbed his hard penis – twitching and curving away, laughing and grabbing at my hand and saying, "Shit...geez, Sam, I'm getting a stiff..." I think it was a bit much for him – surrounded by three mirror images of his fully aroused form, so he couldn't help but see his own embarrassing arousal and so get more embarrassed by it, and so get more and more aroused – a rather giddy feedback loop. I hooked one finger in the loose band of his undies, tugged him toward me, back dead centre of the brightly lit change room. "Stand still a minute, Dane. I want to get a proper look at you." I moved to take his undies off. As soon as I unhooked them from his cock, got them around the perky rise of his butt, they fell directly down the length of his smooth legs into a little puddle round his ankles. He looked down at himself, gave a classic boy-gulp at his stiffie sticking out. His foreskin still completely covered the glans, tightish, like a virginal sheath needing to be torn. Despite his impressive boy-size, his penis still had the tender quality of immaturity, as though he still needed to be rubbed and ripened a little more. And the sheer, perfect straightness of his hard pale shaft – another trait of pubescence, as though a boy's sexual excitement at that age takes place at a higher level, not yet dulled and muddied with adult engorgement. "Stand up straight," I said. "Arms by your side." "Sam..." he muttered. "It's too...stiff." But he did as I said, jigging on his feet a bit, flicking glances from me to the reflection of himself on either side, so that he could even see the flex of his buttocks as he shifted on his feet. "Chest out," I said, standing beside him, putting a hand on his lower back, the other on his young chest, guiding him to a manly stance. "Good boy," I said. "Feet slightly apart. Good. You're a fucking stud, Dane," I said, getting a predictably scoffing laugh from the lad, but he checked to see if I was serious, and I was serious. I got behind him. Hands on his shoulders, running down across his chest, the early development there, a soft hint of future musculature. I felt his small pale nipples, the non-existent little nubs suddenly springing into hard little points as he twisted and curved his upper body in response "Show me your biceps, Dane," I said, bringing a hand to grip him there. He automatically raised his arm to flex his bicep. It was perfect – a sweet poignant little boy lump, but with a genuine kernel of hardness. "Good hard stud muscle," I said, pressing my thumb into the apex. "Good boy. That's fucking hard, bud." So that he was having a lot trouble standing still, fidgeting boyishly, regularly clenching his butt as he made his too-stiff cock lurch and buck. He was well past the point a lad would normally jack himself off with a fast hard snarl. "You should get naked more often, Dane," I said. "Ha-ha." He gulped. "And flash my stiffy everywhere." "Sure." "Walk down the street in the raw," the kid continued facetiously, but loving it. "Well, no, I wouldn't recommend that. But in the right places, say in the change-rooms at a public pool. You should walk around naked, show the men your sex..." I moved to his side a bit, running a hand down his front, across his tight tummy to his smooth white pubic mound, the part of him that looked so white and naked and virginal. "No way...I don't flash myself...perverted." "Not for boys your age, Dane," I said, and started ever so lightly caressing his fiercely hard cock. "You're supposed to show your sex to the menfolk. Puberty is a visual spectacle. Men should be allowed to see your cock getting bigger, your constant erections, your first pubic hair starting to grow. It's important for men to know when a boy starts producing semen." I plucked at his tiny fringe of dark pubic hair, tightly hugging the base of his penis. "Then men know to take an interest in a boy, to help him become a stud who will fuck lots of pretty little girls in service stations." He gave an impatient grunt. I got behind him again, the boy's face showing serious signs of sexual frustration. I put my hands on his tight, slim little hips. "You've got some serious fuck power here, Dane. Stud power, buddy. You can see it, you can feel it." And right now I could feel it humming in him, like a nuclear core. A couple of times he reached to his painful cock and squeezed the knob, pinched the foreskin down over the end, gave a frustrated little grunt. "I want to see you fuck, Dane," I said, letting his hips go, reaching into my top pocket. "Huh? A girl...?" the dazed boy murmured, looking around but seeing only his own nude arousal beaming at him from all directions. I pulled out a little bottle of body oil and unscrewed the cap. "One step at a time, bud. Walk before you fuck, and all that." He watched closely as I squeezed a generous amount of runny oil onto his cock, quickly taking him in my hand to coat and rub him. "Ah – fuck – Sam!" His hips recoiled like I'd burnt him, his hands shooting in to ward off my sudden stimulation – it was too much – the boy was instantly one exquisite slippery squeeze away from blowing his load. "Come on," I said with a laugh, letting his glazed cock go, taking him by the arm and guiding him forward, closer to the mirror in front. "Wha-?" "Lean against the mirror, like I'm a cop about to frisk you." "Why?" he said, not hesitating to take up the position. "Good boy." I formed my fist into a ready-for-masturbation shape, and poured oil all over it, got it completely coated and slippery. "What are you going to do?" he asked, not so much curious as urgently needing something sexy to happen. "I'm not going to do anything," I said, "but you are." I brought my fist under the lithe curve of the boy's arched form – put it near the head of his straining cock. "Now show me how you fuck, stud." "Wha-?" He wasn't at his mentally most acute right now. But every tiny little blonde hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. The body electric knew what to do. Indicating my oil-dripping fist, I said, "This is a girl's tight little pussy, and your job is to fuck it. See if you can destroy it with your big stud cock." The boy, with an excited little laugh and jiggling his knees a bit, peering down at the oily orifice of my fist, said, "What, so, like, stick my dick in...?" "That's it exactly, bud." And with a big excited silly grin, the boy began to position himself – spread his stance a bit, push his hips forward to bring the tip of his cock to my firm, unmoving fist. Then, like the cute dabs of a kindergarten finger-painter, he poked his knob gently against the opening of my fist. But I had it curled up nice and tight and there would be no easy slipping it in for the boy. He again adjusted his position, hands on the mirror, feet a little wider - the slender young form of him on magnificent display - and jabbed a little more purposefully at my fist, but still got nowhere. "Sam," he said with a frustrated laugh. "Make it bigger." "No. You fuck it harder," I said. "You're carrying on like a little boy trying to suck his thumb. You've got a stud cock – use it." It stung him a bit. He reached a hand down to grapple slightly with my fist. I kept it as immobile as I could, but the determined boy tilted it slightly and jammed his cock at it with good strong thrust. He didn't get it in, but it forced his foreskin right back over his glans – the boy made a sharp intake of breath, pulled back for a quick peek at his cock before he quickly put it back and made another powerful thrust. I made sure to let him get a small way in, and he gave quit an aggressive little grunt and straight away thrust again, harder, and then quicker again and again with sudden ragged breaths. "Good boy," I said. The colour had risen in his cheeks and he had a gorgeous snarl starting on his face. With a good feel for it, he jammed his boy-cock fully into my tightly resisting fist – I felt the tiny tickle of his pubic hair and the padded press of his pubic bone – but only for an instant – the boy was in a hurry, and he started unleashing some urgent, sexy little boy-fuck moves. Not proper in and out fucking, but furiously fast little grinds and jabs, trying to get his knob rubbed just right – hard and fast and nasty. I now adjusted my grip to properly masturbate him. I pumped my slippery fist to try and match his frantic burst of rabbit fucks. In an instant he was savagely excited, making some angry grunts, getting too hot too fast, the grunts quickly turning to a rising whine. His tender little knob started appearing out the end of my fist, as a blur, a painfully swollen purple that looked like it might pop like a grape. He was never going to last long – but the savagery of his pace took my breath away. And I helped him belt to his orgasm just as fast and frantically as he could get there. He let out a stifled yelp, taking tiny steps forward, little butt clenched hard, then almost genuflected back out of my hand at the final too-exquisite peak, before he burst into his hot liquid orgasm, made a lovely string of little humps and bucks, grunting with spittle, neck tendons straining, as he shot his little squirts of boy-milk into my hand, running down on the carpet, spattering the mirror a little. My slick oiled fist turned instantly to a milky spermy cock bath, sloppy and dripping with the generous flow of his boy juice. As he came to a slow shivery finish, he very quickly flinched out of my grip, his cock suddenly too tender to touch. After some dazed breaths, he became concerned with easing his foreskin back down over the head of his cock. I was about to suggest he let it be, wait till his erection went down, when there was a sudden startling knock at the door. "How is everything gentleman?" the middle-aged woman enquired with polite professionalism. "Splendid, thanks," I said, putting a calming hand on the boy's thigh, who was now frantically grabbing for clothes, anything to cover himself with. "We should be out in just a minute." "Did everything fit alright?" And the exquisite agony suffered by both me and the boy, as we fought down a volcanic eruption of suppressed laughter, was almost as intense as the boy's magnificent sexual display. Almost. End of Part 2 (Comments welcome: samjohnson77@mail.com)