Night of the Pederast

By Rob Loveboy

Edited by Embee


(I do not necessarily condone the content of my stories, I mostly write about experiences of others if I feel the story is unique, building on the adventures of others who kindly share their intimate secrets with me whom shall ever remain anonymous. I strive to appeal to all genres or tastes(?), and WILL NOT write those of rape or abuse)  Please support Nifty and donate who make accessible your reading pleasure … and kudos to the many prolific Nifty authors. Hope you enjoy. Cheers!  … Robert Colt.



I met 30-year-old Jack on one of those gay hook-up internet chat lines. I liked his looks and obviously he liked mine, inviting me to his place that night for sex - an offer I couldn’t refuse. I was usually very leery of such “blind dates” at a stranger's home, fearing two things: one, he wouldn’t look anything like his profile pic; and two, he could be a serial killer. Nervously, I walked up to the door of the small house and rang the bell.


Thankfully, the same good-looking man as in his profile opened the door, wearing only a white satin robe and a friendly smile. Naturally, we casually looked each other over as we shook hands. I was wearing loose khaki shorts, t-shirt and sandals. Obviously Jack liked what he saw, inviting me inside, closing the door, and leading the way to his living room.


What I didn’t expect was to see a kid of about 9 sitting on the floor in front of a television, playing a video game, wearing blue-and-white striped pajama bottoms, and no top. “This is Nicky, a friend’s son. I look after him sometimes when Jenna works nights.” Nicky and I nodded with polite smiles, before his attention returned to his gaming. “Have a seat and I’ll get us a beer,” said Jack.


I thought it odd that Jack would invite a fuc- buddy over when he was looking after a kid, who, judging by the time of night and his attire, was staying the night. It was a little unsettling to me; taking a raincheck to get together another time, crossed my mind.


Jack and I made nervous small-talk, getting to know each other. I had expected a quick roll-in-the-sack, wham-bam-thank-you, type of man. But quite on the contrary! Jack kept the beer coming, and our conversation became more personal about our professions and so-on. I thought perhaps he was stalling for time until the kid went to bed; made sense to me, and I was truly enjoying Jack’s company. We had much in common.


Intent on playing his game, Nicky seemed to ignore the adults, his body motions excited as kids are when involved in such activity. My view of his profile registered a cute kid with longish dirty-blond hair, green eyes, and a wide full mouth. His stretched pajama waistband was slightly lowered, exposing a milky-white contrast that indicated he spent much time in the sun. Even the tops of his feet bore a bronze tone.


“Nice looking boy,” I casually commented to Jack when he returned with another beer.


Jack looked at Nicky and smiled back at me. “Yes, he sure is. Wanna fuck him?” he bluntly asked, sipping on his beer, the smug look on his face could have been read as cynical or serious.


I was taken aback, not knowing if Jack was serious or not. With an edge of uncertainty, I giggled nervously and said, “He’s a little young for that!”


“He’s 9. Age is only a fallacy, my new friend,” he said, leaning back on the sofa, impassively blowing smoke-rings from a cigarette. “It’s what you've been programmed to believe.”


“I’m not a pedophile!” I retorted, debating if I should take my leave.


“‘Pedophile’ is a term meant for men who prey around schoolyards and playgrounds, a ‘one-fits-all’ blanket word, unfortunately misconstrued yet adhered to by society,” Jack said, again, with an air of indifference.


I looked at Nicky, who still appeared absorbed in his game, oblivious to - or most likely ignoring - the obtuse adult’s conversation he was the center of. Always one for a good argument, I turned my attention back to Jack. “So what would you call abusing kids, if not pedophilia?” I asked, scathingly.


“Pederasty!” he stated with confidence, as if I was naive. “A love of young boys, who in turn enjoy sex with men. Boys are much more sexual than given credit for, compared to girls.”


“So what you’re implying is: molesting boys is okay, but not girls?” I retorted, trying to control my temper and not slugging him.


“There you go again with a judgemental term: ‘molesting’,” his lackadaisical attitude infuriating me. “Molestation is cruel; it’s what pedophiles do. Pederasts educate; teach boys the pleasures the body has to offer, without selfishness as to who does what to whom.”


“Nine-years-old?” I laughed, disdainfully, like he was some kind of idiot, hoping to rile him.


“Once again, age is of no relevance, my dear adversary,” he replied, unfrazzled by my cynicism. “We are all born sexual beings … even toddlers practise what is clinically called ‘Juvenile Masturbation’ ... touching themselves sexually.”


I had to wonder why he invited me to his home. Never once in our few chats had I ever mention I was into young boys. Perhaps he had mistakenly confused me with some other sympathizer of his beliefs. I had to admit, though, that I often witnessed my nephew with his hand down his pants, playing with himself while sucking his thumb. But never considered it a sexual act … until now, strangely.


“Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but what would a grown man get from sex with a little boy?” I had to ask. “A sense of power, maybe?” I surmised.


“Power? No-no-no, you are mistaken. The boy is the one enriched with the power. It’s all about him. Being witness to him in ecstasy, his cock throbbing in your mouth on the verge of a dry or wet orgasm because of your efforts … priceless!” he smiled, looking sincere and staring intently at Nicky, his hand under his robe obviously playing with himself.


I battled with my emotions, becoming unsettlingly aroused, with Jack not hiding his lust under the material of his robe - in the literal sense - and obviously not caring if I saw him. The sight of Nicky’s PJ’s riding lower just above the crack of his pale ass as he squirmed, battling something with a sword; the crevice like an arrow-shape pointing downward … had Jack put something in my beer?


Jack didn’t ask; he took my hand lifting me from the sofa, raised Nicky from the floor by his armpit, and led us to his bedroom where he dropped his robe standing naked and erect, before motioning Nicky onto the bed. Looping his thumbs in the waistband, I saw Nicky’s legs flail in the air for a moment, as Jack swiftly removed the boy’s pajama bottoms.


I stared at Nicky’s genitals while Jack stripped me. The boy’s uncut flaccid cock - the length and width of my little finger - was slumped over two grape-size testicles, pinkish like salmon on a bed of white rice in the dim light of the room; the rest of his body was a golden bronze. It was then, staring down at the boy, that I realized Jack had not laced my beer - it was my own curious lust and desire to have both of them, which impaired my better judgement.


Jack was much larger than I. Once he stripped me naked, I dropped to my knees like a dog in heat, taking his large cock in my mouth, my fingers encircling his long sack and stretching it forward - all the while conscious that a 9-year-old boy was watching me - which turned me on immensely ... aided in no small measure by the sight of him pulling on his little cock.


Jack was in charge; he helped me to my feet and the two of us joined Nicky on the bed, nestled between us, our hands caressing his entire body. I soon overcame my reservations, as if hypnotised by Jack the tour guide, as I followed him around Nicky’s young body. I sucked his little nipples; armpits were next on the tour, followed by a trail of saliva from neck to hairless groin, where we paused to taste his boyhood.


I really didn’t want to stop sucking his impressive erection and licking his balls. Each of us planted a purple-and-red love-bite on his groin, before exploring his nether regions. Jack held Nicky’s legs up and we spread his cheeks. Face-to-face we licked and sucked his wrinkly pink rectum, afterwards leaving another hicky on each cheek, before journeying lower to suck his toes.


Had Nicky complained, I would never have done the things I did to him. How could I have doubted Jack’s philosophy that boys were indeed sexual, once shown the way by an experienced man. I wished such a man had taught me when I was younger. I believe That awareness, I believe, was what caused me to justify whatever would happen that night.


It only got better. Jack coaxed Nicky to suck my cock. He was every bit as good as any man, even sucking my balls when instructed to do so by Jack - who also participated, leading by example - and by me on the receiving end, very content. Jack, however, had far greater plans than just allowing me to get off too soon.


I wasn’t sure I could do what was proposed next. Nicky lay on his back holding his legs in the air, his index finger-size erection lazily resting on his groin, between the two large hickies we’d planted earlier - looking like some kind of deformed insect in flight. I hoped for Jack’s sake that the boy’s mother never saw or questioned those very incriminating marks.


Jack greased my cock and positioned it. I stared down at Nicky’s small body and cherub face, deciding that if I inflicted any pain, the mission would be thwarted. Jack must have sensed my reluctance and assured me, “Nicky has done this a few times with me. He’s used to it.”


I wanted to ask if that was true, why then did he appear ready to hold the boy down should he not be used to it? I kept my mouth shut and began easing into Nicky’s rectum, unable to look him in the eye. I concentrated instead on his genitals, pleased to see that at least he was still erect; I took that as a good sign.


As if he wasn’t tight enough, I felt his muscles contract around the head of my cock, making entry all the more difficult. I was no expert when it came to anatomy, but I had heard that it was an involuntary reaction; the sphincter was a one-way valve, being forced in the opposite direction of its design.


“Just push hard, my friend,” Jack instructed. “Short term pain, for long term gain!” he chuckled.


Nicky didn’t seem to be in too much distress, although I couldn’t see his face because Jack had mounted the boy’s chest, for the obvious purpose of using his mouth. But I did see the boy’s hands grasping the bed sheets so tight, that his knuckles were white.


I heeded Jack’s words, knowing myself that sometimes kind intentions of being gentle, only cause extended pain. I pushed hard, inching forward a little at a time, until I felt my groin rest against Nicky’s warm skin. Unfortunately, the eroticness of what I was doing, coupled with the sight of Jack’s swaying hips - indicating he was face-fucking the boy - prevented me from delaying my orgasm any longer.


I experienced a sense of guilt after cumming and watching Jack take his turn after flipping Nicky onto his tummy, the little boy barely visible under the man’s body except for his arms, and his hands once again tightly clutching the bed sheets.


We rewarded Nicky by both of us sucking his dick, balls and ass. I’d never seen a boy have a dry orgasm until an hour later, when Nicky’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body began to twitch.


I spent an unrushed night in bed with them. Oral sex was plentiful and wonderful. I came twice more. When Jack suggested Nicky fuck me, I was only too eager to experience the 9-year-old’s stiffy up me - believe it or not, the first fuck I ever had, having always been a top until that night.


The whole night was an eye-opening experience for me. Nicky was certainly a willing, insatiable  participant. However, I never did go back to Jack’s home for more play-time - once, was all that my conscience could handle. But I did have a newly-formed view of men who loved boys - pederasts, not pedophiles - and all power to them!


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