By rectificatory (@protonmail.com)
* * * * * *
(bb, nosex.)
"You wanna play some FIFA later?" Rhys asked, continuing his conversation and addressing the cracked screen of the iPhone he held at arms length.
"Yeah, if you want me to keep thrashing ya, I'll be happy to." came Griff's static-y reply.
Rhys neatly hopped down from the last step of the stairs and wandered aimlessly into the living room.
"What you eating tonight?" he asked his friend, the same thing he had asked, or Griff had asked him, every day since the lock-down had started, somehow it had become part of their routine.
"Mum's making something -- pasta, or fish, or something," was response, "You?"
Twisting around and allowing the backs of his knees to collided with the arm of the sofa, Rhys fell backwards, swinging his legs into the air, toes wiggling as his weight was lifted from his feet.
Numerous soft and yielding cushions broke his fall as he landed on his back, still managing to keep his arm outstretched and Griff in view.
"Gonna get a cheeky Nando's delivered." Rhys said, smirking.
"Lucky bugger!" his friend replied in a hushed tone so that his Mum wouldn't hear him swearing.
"Where you at anyway?" Rhys asked, surmising that Griff must be out-and-about, given the poor quality of the video call.
"Mum's just taking us for a drive; change of scenery," Griff said, "We're near... Oh, shi...!"
The sound and image disappeared, replaced by a simple black screen informing Rhys -- `Called Ended.'
"Griff...?" Rhys gasped, his heart skipping a beat.
"Griffith??" he repeated, his mouth going dry as he tried to call his friend but to no avail.
He tried to stand, but tumbled off the sofa, his fingers and toes numb with the sudden shock of the disconnection.
"D-Dad!" he croaked out, his throat constricting in panic.
Pulling himself into a standing position, Rhys staggered towards the door, aiming for the short corridor and the kitchen beyond it where his Dad was busy making a cup of tea.
"Oof! -- Dad!" he called out again, crashing into the door frame as he left the room, bouncing off of it, his breathing becoming shallow.
"Dad! I think something's happened to Griffith!" he called, tears forming in his eyes as his emotions welled up.
BANG!
The front door burst open behind him making him leap into the air in fright.
Spinning on the spot, he turned and stared at the silhouetted form in the doorway.
Silence prevailed for several long seconds as it stared back, unmoving.
"Argh!" both boy screamed in unison throwing themselves at each-other.
They became a tangle of arms and legs; a multi-limbed beast of hugging and kissing.
Jumping for joy, still clenched together, they bounced between the wall and the bannister.
"Oh my gosh!" Rhys cried, suddenly coming to his senses.
"We can't be this close!" Griff finished.
They were not observing the minimum two metres social distance between them, in fact they were lucky if they had been more than two centimetres apart.
Steeping back from each-other they could barely restrain their desire to embrace again after such a long time apart.
"It's okay, boys." Griff's Mum said, closing the front door behind her much more gently than her son had opened it.
"Yeah," said Rhys' Dad, coming out of the kitchen to find out what all the noise was about, "We talked it over, and we decided to bubble together; for you two."
"Oh my gosh, thank you!" Rhys cried, brushing tears from his eyes.
"Thanks Mum." Griff sniffed, rubbing his face as he tried not to cry himself.
"You." said Rhys suddenly, grasping Griff's hand tightly, "Upstairs. My bedroom. Now."
Griffith grinned as he let himself be led towards Rhys' bedroom, two pairs of feet thundering up the stairs.
"Um..." came a small embarrassed voice a few seconds later as Rhys' face appeared over the bannister, "Don't come up for, like, an hour..." he requested of the two adults looking up at him.
"Two hours!" came a cry, muffled by distance and a layer of cloth being pulled past Griff's face.
"Yeah... two hours... at least..." Rhys muttered, distracted as he blindly tried to untie the knot holding his pants up, "We're gonna be... busy."
The two adults chuckled as Rhys scrambled back up the last couple of steps and raced to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
"Cuppa tea?" Rhys' Dad offered Griffith's Mum as he motioned for her to fellow him into the kitchen.
"Please." she said smiling and taking off her jacket, "It looks like we are going to be here for a while."
* * * * * *
(bb, tb, tt, incest, oral.)
Julian held his breath as he added the last of the six slim green bottles to the clutch nestled in his slender arms. Furtively he scanned his path back to the gap in the hedge that led to the small clearing where the other five members of his impromptu little gang--composed of family and friends--awaited the stolen bounty.
"Hey Julian, you're having fun?" called a man jovially as he passed.
"Yes thanks, Mr. S." Julian called back, twisting his body to hide the purloined drinks from view.
Every adult on his way back seemed to want to speak to him, multiplying exponentially the chances of him getting caught red-handed with the latest haul of ill-gotten beverages. As he approached the gap in the hedge he could hear the high, light giggles of Travis, the youngest of the number, as he laughed at a joke that one of the older boys, probably Michael, had just told.
"Keep it down!" he hissed urgently, slurring his own words a little as he handed out the drinks, eager to be free from his burden.
He paused, wondering if he should let his friend Otis have another bottle of the beer, but the choice was quickly taken from him as the boy grabbed it unsteadily and gulped down a mouthful.
"It's fine Jools," said Quinton confidently, smiling at Julian and Otis, "he's only a little bit drunk. You can handle it right, little man?"
Julian thought that he remembered that there was some correlation between how big you are--Otis was small for his young age, even smaller than the younger Travis--how much food you've had to eat--not much, and any he had had was probably burned off by now, judging by the amount of running around Otis had been doing--and a natural ability to `hold your liqueur'--which Otis didn't quite seem to have. But his own head was kinda fuzzy right now.
"Uh-huh!" said Otis just as confidently, burping, hiccuping, then once again descending into giggles.
"Sh!" Julian told Otis, nervously sipping on his own beer.
"It's okay Julian, no-one will hear us here, but do try to keep it down a bit Otis." Callan, the youngsters older brother warned.
"Why's he giggling anyway?" asked Julian wanting to catch up on the goings-on while he was completing his mission.
"I was asking everyone what their favourite word for a penis is." Michael, Julian's class-mate, said with a leer as he supped on his drink.
Everyone looked at Julian expectantly, and he guessed they had all shared their preference without him, and it was now his turn.
"Cock." he told them, "I like cock."
There was a snort of laughter from each of the older boys and an innocent giggle from the younger two due to the repeated use of the `bad word'.
It took several moments for Julian to realize what he had said, and how it had sounded; not as if that was his favoured word, but that he was professing his fondness of the appendage itself. Even though he did think he liked cock in that way, but didn't want everyone to know it.
Nervously he took a swig of his drink and choked as it bubble up into his mouth. Coughing as the excess white froth flowed from his mouth and down the bottle he quickly licked his lips clean, sucked on the head of the bottle to remove the tower of foam pouring out of it, and licked up along the neck of the bottle to catch the overflowing booze.
Suddenly realising what it looked like he was doing now, he turned bright red and trying his best to act as cool as he could, taking another swig of beer and laughing along with the older boys.
"Cool Jools!" Otis said enthusiastically, "I like cock too!" he added, diverting attention away from Julian.
"Has anyone seen a cock before?" asked Quinton, "Apart from their own of course."
"I've seen Cal's" Otis announced proudly, pointing at his older brothers crotch unnecessarily, "It's quite big and hairy."
"Thanks O." said Callan looking half-embarrassed, half-appreciative from his little brothers description of his pride and joy.
"Nice." said Michael, grinning broadly, "Mine's about the same as Cal's; seen it after footie in the showers."
"Perv." said Callan jokingly, "But yeah, it's pretty much the same. I bet you wouldn't be able to tell the difference if they were side-by-side, O."
"Bet I could!" said the boy, looking appraisingly between the two slightly tented pants fronts.
"Everyone's seen mine now!" called out Travis a little too loudly as he deftly dropped his shorts into a puddle at his ankles with one hand, and kept hold of his bottle, without spilling a drop, with the other.
"It's cute." said Quinton, moving in front of Travis and kneeling down to get a better look at the small but extremely hard cock.
"Why's it get hard like this?" Travis asked the onlookers as he gave it an experimental poke.
"It means you're growing up, and getting excited." Quinton told him, reaching out to give it a poke himself.
The other boys collectively held their breaths as they watched Quinton take hold of Travis' cock between his thumb and forefinger.
"Do you play with it?" he asked.
"Like, how?" Travis asked curiously, Otis looking on in fascination at his friends cock.
"Like this." Quinton said with a grin, beginning to stroke the immature cock.
"Mm, no. But I like it!" Travis said with relish, pushing his hips forward in time with Quinton's strokes.
Julian bit his lip, a suddenly, crazy plan had entered his head. He was drunk, they all were, and drunk people do stuff that they wouldn't ordinarily do. Fun stuff. Sexy stuff. Gay stuff that you can blame on the booze. Stuff that you wouldn't do if you were sober, or at least not admit to wanting to do. And anyway, anything that happened would be Michaels fault. It had been his idea to grab the beers in the first place, and it had been him who had stolen the first round too.
"We'll just have a few, just enough to get a little buzz." he had told them, "No-one will know, and it will be fun."
They had all agreed of course, who wouldn't pass up the opportunity to have a drink years before they were meant to be able to.
"It happens to everyone, Otis." Julian said, his voice shaking, "See."
With that he pushed his own shorts down, exposing his longer, but still quite slim cock to the gathered boys.
"Cool." breathed Travis and Otis together.
"If I do that to you," Otis said to Julian, nodding in the direction of the blissfully sighing Travis, "will you do it to mine too? It looks like fun!"
Julian had hoped that one of the older, more experienced boys would offer to play with him, but Otis was actually quite cute, so he wasn't too bothered.
"Sure." he said as he watched Otis drop his short and wiggle his cock at him happily.
"Is this okay?" asked Otis nervously as his took hold of Julian's cock lightly, running his fingers along the length with feathery strokes.
"Yeah." said Julian huskily as he began to wank the smaller cock with a firmer grip.
It was much different than he expected, someone else touching his cock. The boy obviously didn't have the same amount of practice, if any, as he had, but it still felt awesome. Otis' little groans and gasps as his own cock was being manipulated--not expertly by any stretch of the imagination--were a good indication that his own techniques were far from the worst.
"Slow down a bit; yeah like that." Michael moaned as he and Callan stood side-by-side wanking each-other.
All six of the boys lapsed into silence, except for the occasional moan, as the stoked each-others cocks.
"Oh my gosh!" Travis exclaimed as he pointed over to Michael and Callan, frustrating Quinton immensely as he used the hand he had been using to stroke the older boy.
"Michael has got his willy in Callan's mouth AND Callan has got his willy in Michael's mouth." he said with surprised curiosity.
Julian's cock throbbed in Otis' fingers as he watched the display before him, jealous of both of his friends.
"I wanna try that!" Otis announced as he dropped to his knees and engulfed Julian's cock.
"Ow! Don't bite it! Watch your teeth!" Julian warned as Otis started to suck him with abandon.
"Oh!" cried out Travis as a warm, wet mouth surround his cock, ball and all, Quinton's tongue lashing at its stubby length.
The sound of sloppy slurping and high mewling groans were added to the mix as four boys sucked four cocks.
With a squeak, little Travis dry-cummed into Quinton's mouth, which set off both Callan and Michael is quick succession, each shooting a healthy dose of teenage cum into each-other's mouths. Lastly Julian let loose with his own watery cum into Otis' eagerly sucking mouth.
"Wow." said Callan a little uncomfortably, "That was a bit gay, wasn't it."
"Yeah, kinda." said Michael, licking cum from his lips and grabbing his bottle of beer to take a swig, washing the creamy load down.
"But we're drunk, so it doesn't really count." Quinton said, asking the group, "Right?"
"Yeah, I guess not." Julian said, suppressing the disappointment he felt knowing this was likely a one-off.
The two younger boys just shrugged, not really understanding what the problem was, and wanting to do more of this fun stuff, but going along with what the older boys said anyway.
"So," said Julian after a few moments of awkward silence, "I guess if we are drunk, it won't matter if we do some more?"
"That would probably be alright?" said Michael questioningly, looking at the other boys for their permission to carry on.
"Yeah." Quinton said, eager to get his cock sucked by someone.
"Okay." said Callan, eyeing his brothers cute little cock.
"Cool, I kinda, maybe wanted to try sucking a bit?" Julian said hopefully, catching Michael's eye.
"Yeah, let's do it!" said Michael with more gusto now that the opportunity for another blowjob presented itself.
The boys switched partners, Travis having to stretch his mouth to receive Callan's girth, Quinton kissing his brother's stomach and dainty balls before sucking his little cock, and Michael running his fingers through Julian's curly hair as his friend knelt in front of him and licked the length of his cock.
* * *
"You want a beer mate?" Mr. S asked the man standing next to him as he pulled one out of the cooler for himself.
"Nah mate, I'm driving." the man responded with a deep sigh.
"No worries," Mr. S said, grabbing a second bottle and passing it to the man, "they're all non-alcoholic anyway."
* * * * * *
(bb, nosex.)
Kory hadn't expected to ever miss school. Well, he didn't miss school exactly, it was more that he missed his friends. Seeing them (and his teachers) on Teams every day wasn't quite the same, nor was it in the evenings when they moved over onto Discord to play games together.
Another thing Kory hadn't expected was that voluntarily take some extra lessons, and do so secretly, not telling any of his friends and making up excuses to why he couldn't play with them every few days.
It was when everyone found out that they would have to wear masks in most places that he started those lessons, realizing how important they when he eventually got back to school and saw his best friend Łukasz.
Keeping the secret from Łukasz for the six months they had to stay home was the worst. He so wanted to tell his friend what he had been doing, hoping the Łukasz would be happy with his effort.
* * *
Now he was stood on the threshold, the school nurse taking his temperature before he was allowed into the school proper, massaging the alcohol gel into his trembling fingers. Breathing heavily and nervously in his mask he scanned the crowd, looking for his friend.
Kory spotted Łukasz waiting in line to enter their first class of the day, so he dashed forward as quick as he dared to fall in behind the other boy. Looking around to make sure no-one would see him, or at least no-one who would try to get him into trouble, he tapped Łukasz on the shoulder.
Łukasz jumped at the unexpected contact. "Hi, sorry," Kory told him, "How are you?"
He grinned at the look of shock on Łukasz's face as he waited for him to reply.
"Hi," Łukasz responded, "I'm doing good, how about you?"
"I'm okay," Kory said, hoping he was being understood as they chatted.
"When did you...?" Łukasz started to ask, but was cut off by a teacher call to the assembled students.
"Class 8-BJ can come in now," the woman announced.
Luckily for the boys they were seated next to each other, the requisite gap between them.
"When did you learn to sign?" asked Łukasz amazed at the effort his friend had gone to.
"Over the summer," Kory told him, "I'm not very good though."
"Well, you're doing great for only six months practice." congratulated Łukasz.
"Five months," Kory corrected, blushing and grinning, "I should have started it sooner though, I feel like a jerk not doing it to help you, it's so hard to learn!"
"I kinda didn't have much choice," Łukasz told him, shrugging.
"Yeah, sorry," Kory told Łukasz, still slightly embarrassed.
"But it's so cool though," Łukasz enthused, "we can chat back here whenever we want, and she'll never know."
"Oh, yeah!" responded Kory. He hadn't even given that possibility a single thought, he had been focused on just being able to talk to his friend now that Łukasz couldn't even read his lips.
He giggled at the thought of the mischief they could get up to, causing Łukasz to frantically shush him with one finger over his mask-covered lips.
"How did you know I was giggling?" asked Kory amazed.
"Your eyes," Łukasz told him, "they look cuter when you laugh."
"Cuter?" Kory asked, wondering if he had mistranslated.
"Yeah..." Łukasz told Kory, a blush creeping up his cheeks and over the edge of his mask, "like... beautiful."
Kory blushed too. His best friend had told him he was cute in front of the whole class, and none of them knew it.
"Thanks," he told Łukasz, "I think you're cute too."
* * * * * *
(tsolo, MM, mast, anal, chast.)
Thirteen-year-old Will sat perched on the edge of the sofa nervously awaiting the return of his dads from their date-night. He glanced at his watch--they were late--as he shifted on the leather seat, crossing his legs and hissing in discomfort, spreading them again as he gingerly rearranged himself.
The front door opened and the two men entered, giggling and whispering to each-other like naughty schoolboys. They presumed their son was in bed and had--as he often did--left the lights on in the living room.
"Dad, can I, um, talk to you for a minute," Will called out.
The men in the hallway fell silent. "Which one of us, Will?" John asked.
"I guess whichever one of you will be least mad with me," he offered in a small voice.
Will heard the men discussing who would go speak to him in low voices for a moment before John entered the room.
"What's wrong," he asked Will, studying the boys pink face and shining green eyes, "are you okay?"
"I guess I had an accident," he told the man, shifting uncomfortably.
"Did you break something?" asked John, sitting next to his son, trying to keep his voice level.
"No," Will said with a shake of his head.
"Did you hurt yourself?" the man asked, a note of concern in his voice as he gave the boy's entire body a once-over.
"Not exactly," the boy said evasively.
John watched as Will fidgeted in his seat. "Are you in pain?"
"Sort of," Will half-answered, "it doesn't hurt, it's just, I don't know, uncomfortable I guess."
"You need to tell me what happened," John said, sounding more stern, "if you want me to help you."
Will had hoped that his other dad would have been the one to come and talk to him. John was pragmatic and was used to taking charge of a situation, sometimes aggressively so, while Lee was more reserved and a better listener.
"It's... I...," Will stammered, not returning his dad's piercing gaze.
"Would it be easier if you just showed me?" the man questioned.
Will closed his eyes and sighed, pulling the front of his trousers and underwear away from his groin, exposing the plastic tube, ring and brass padlock to his dad.
"I see," John said in an amused, pitying and--to Will, scary, but also strangely exciting--slightly lustful voice, "accidentally locked your self up, eh?"
"Yes sir." said Will, sullenly but respectfully.
"Would you like to tell me how this happened?" the man asked.
"Not really," the boy replied.
After several seconds of silence Will looked up into his dad's face and realized that it had not really been a question.
"Okay," Will began, "I kind of accidentally went into your bedroom," he told the man.
"So, you tripped," the man enquired, "and stumbled into our room by mistake?"
"What? No," Will said, confused, "I just walked in normally."
"Hmm," said the man, scratching the stubble on his chin, "that doesn't sound very accidental."
"I guess not," Will agreed, "I suppose I did that on purpose."
"Okay," the man said, "what next?"
"I got your box of toys out of the wardrobe," he told the man.
"Oh," John said, raising an eyebrow, "did I leave the door open then, and you just happened to spot a box way, way in the back?"
"No," Will confessed, "I opened the door myself, and had to move a load of clothes out of the way."
"I see," the man said, gesturing for his son to continue.
It had taken Will a few months to discover where the intriguing toys that his dads used on each-other were kept, sneaking glances into the room as he passed after he had heard them making love, having sex and even--he shivered and grew hard in his pants every time he heard this last one--fucking like wild animals.
"So, I got it out and put it by your bed where you usually...," Will said, said, cutting himself off before revealing that he had been spying on his dads, "where there was some space."
"Then what," John said, not indicating whether he had noticed Will's slip-up.
"I opened the box and got the thing out," he told his dad.
"And it was just laid there, right on top?" the man asked casually.
"No it wasn't," the boy said, "I had to dig through all the other stuff to find all of it. It was right at the bottom of the box in bits."
"So you got the whole kit and caboodle out?" said John, impressed by his son's thoroughness despite his annoyance with the boy.
"Yeah," said Will, blushing as he continued, "I had to find the right sized bits to fit me, the ring that was on the thing was too big."
"Is that the only thing you took out?" the man asked, and when Will nodded, added, "What next?"
"I had to take the padlock out," Will said, cringing as he remembered having an idle thought about checking to see if it worked correctly, but promptly forgetting to in his desire to try the thing on, "to get the ring bit off."
"You seem to have had a very unlucky night so far," John told his son in a faintly amused voice, "all these things accidentally happening to you."
"I guess most of those things weren't accidents," the boy admitted.
"Well," the man said with a sigh, "carry on then."
"I had to keep adjusting the ring bits so that it fit me," Will said, mimicking the actions with his hands, "so that it wasn't too tight or too loose."
"At least you were sensible about it, you could have damaged yourself if you didn't do that," John said, relieved that his son had taken at least some precautions, "but I wonder how you knew to do that?"
"I might have accidentally seen it on the Internet," Will told him with a sheepish grin.
He didn't say that the only reason he looked up what the thing was in the first place was that he had seen Lee wearing it while he made his way to the bathroom after a particularly intense and verbal fuck session with his husband, during which Will had wanked himself to several glorious orgasm whilst listening to his dad begging to be allowed to cum.
"It must have been difficult to put the ring on with your clothes on," John observed.
"I was kinda naked already," Will said.
"`Kinda naked'?" asked the man, "Did your clothes accidentally fall off at some point?"
"No," said Will, shaking his head, "I took them off before going into your room."
"What happened next?" John asked, prompting his son to continue with his tale.
"I tried to put the tube on," the boy said, "but I was too hard."
"I bet." said the man with a knowing grin, "I bet you were hard before we even left, imagining locking yourself up, hmm?"
"Yes," Will breath huskily, "I had to make it go down."
"Did you have a wank?" his dad asked in a low growl, watching his son carefully.
"No, I didn't," Will said, shaking his head and biting his lip.
"Oh?" his dad said, "Did you ice yourself down?"
"Yes," the boy whispered, "with a bag of peas."
"Did you like it?" John asked curiously.
"I...," Will stammered, "yeah, I did."
He remembered the sharp icy sting on his hot and hard cock, for a moment his libido overpowered physics, his dick growing harder from the unexpected sensation before rapidly shrivelling and shrinking.
"Then what?" his dad demanded.
"I put it in the tube," Will said.
"Put what in the tube?" John asked.
"My... My penis," Will stuttered, then with a look from his dad, he corrected himself, "my cock."
"And..." prompted the man.
"And I put the padlock through the hole, but I didn't lock it," Will said breathlessly, "then I got up to look at myself in the mirror."
"How did you look?" John asked.
"Hot, sexy, so horny, I was so hard it ached," Will said panting and licking his lips as he closed his eyes, visualizing his naked, trembling, aroused young body, "like Lee does when he wears it."
"Mm, I bet you did," his dad told him in a low voice, moving closer to press his larger body against the boy's, then you locked it didn't you."
"Yes!" Will gasped, leaning into his dad's warmth.
"Who did you imagine it was locking it?" John asked.
"You, sir." Will moaned, shuddering as his dad kissed him on the top of his head.
"Good boy." John praised.
Listening at their bedroom door as John dominated Lee, Will had felt insanely jealous of his dad as he furiously wanked himself, his lithe, naked body pressed against the woodwork, hand clamped so firmly over his mouth--to prevent him from calling out and being discovered--that he nearly passed out when he climaxed onto the floor.
"Do you like how it feels?" John asked.
"Yeah, I kinda do," Will said quietly, "I mean it's really, really frustrating, and it aches a lot, but sort of feels good too."
"Bet you really want a good hard wank right now, eh?" John asked, a note of mischief in his voice.
"Yeah I do!" Will said, nodding vehemently as his cock throbbed in its plastic prison.
"Well, tough luck," said his dad smoothly, "I've decided I'm going to keep you locked up for a good long while as your punishment."
"But... but...," Will spluttered frantically, "what about school? My friends? Cumming?"
"We'll work something out," his dad told him, "if you're a good boy for daddy."
"Okay, daddy" said Will meekly, but with a broad grin on his face.
"Besides," John lied easily, "I don't even know where the key is."
John enjoyed watching Will's eyes growing wider.
Will enjoyed feeling his own cock growing harder.
* * * * * *
(bsolo, Mb, mast, anal.)
"Nothing!" squeaked Jimmy, sounding extremely guilty as he twisted around to face his Dad, hands held tightly behind his back, clutching something the man could not see.
"What've you got there?" Marlon had just asked his son, who had been bending over the coffee table in the living room, examining something laying on there.
Still dressed in his school uniform, Jimmy had deftly tucked the magazine beneath his blazer, and stuffed the corner of it in the back of his trousers in a effort to anchor it there.
"See, nothing," he said, as he brought his hands out so show his Dad and waved them theatrically, almost dislodging the magazine from its precarious position.
"Okay," Marlon said with a wry smile, as he watched his son edge away from the table, deliberately facing the man as he groped blindly behind himself for his school bag.
"Um, homework, gotta go," Jimmy told his Dad as he backed out of the room, clutching his bag in one hand, and the small of his back with the other.
"Fuck. It's the 16th!" he groaned to himself as he closed his bedroom door and threw his bag onto his bed.
Pulling the magazine out from the back of his pants, he stared at the cover, a familiar gaping ass pointed provocatively back at him.
He had been so lucky that this month's issue of Tom Boy preteen action had been partially hidden under the morning newspaper, and that his Dad had obviously not seen it yet.
But Jimmy had recognised the logo, and knew before picking it up what would be there on the front cover.
It seemed so long ago now since he had taken his trip to the Tom Boy offices, with his Dad's permission of course, and had modelled for them.
But, at the time he had `accidentally' neglected to tell his Dad exactly what he would be doing there, and had intended to confess, once there was no possibility of correcting the situation, what he had done.
He vividly remembered taking that pose on the front cover, showing off his freshly fucked ass to Mr Smith behind the camera; it made his cock harden and his hole tingle.
Slipping out of his blazer, passing the magazine from one hand to the other as he used his thumb to flip through the pages, he came to one of the earlier photos in the set.
Standing as he was now, wearing his shirt, trousers, and socks, the Jimmy in the picture grinned sheepishly back up at himself.
He wished Mr Jones was with him now, slipping his large dark hand under his shirt and tickling his lightly tanned flesh beneath it, but he had to suffice with his own hand, rubbing his belly and reaching up to give the hidden nipples a tweak.
Sitting and placing the magazine in his lap, where it rested at an odd angle, being propped up by his rapidly inflating dick, he popped open button after button, trying to mimic the black man's pace.
Now topless, nipple hardened by the cool air of his room and his own pinching, he flipped to the next page, grinning as he saw Mr Jones' tongue burrowing into his innie bellybutton.
Mr Smith had captured the unexpected look of delight on his face as he had experienced that new sensation, and he recalled how Mr Jones' strong hands had held him in place as he tried to dance away.
He stood, dropping the magazine onto his bed, the page falling effortlessly to the next selection of images: photo-Jimmy bending over, just as real-Jimmy was doing now, as his pants were lowered, revealing his plaid boxers clinging to his pert butt.
The black man's playful spank had been firmer than the one he just gave to himself, and he admired the look of shock on photo-Jimmy's face; that had been a surprise, but one he had quite enjoyed.
Jimmy scampered over to his closet, retrieving a half-empty bottle of KY PRETEEN EXTRA and his biggest dildo, tossing them onto the bed next to the magazine, he turned the page.
His Dad hadn't question him about the vast quantity of bottles of lube Jimmy had brought back with him that day, seeming to believe his son when told that they were "free samples."
He was laying on the floor in the new image, legs held perpendicular to the ground as Mr Jones slid his underwear up his slim legs, then tossing them away in the next shot.
Rolling on the bed, and kicking his bag and crumpled clothes out of the way, Jimmy emulated the photograph with difficulty, having to bend his knees to his chest to manoeuvrer his precum slicked boxers past his feet.
Twisting off it's top, Jimmy poured a healthy dose of lube onto the dildo he had christened `Mr Jones II,' and onto his own fingers too, as he started to work on his hole with two fingers, trying to replicate the single digit the real Mr Jones used.
A third and a fourth finger were need to be able to accommodate the girth of the dildo, and Mr Jones's cock that day, but soon Jimmy was ready for the main event.
Lining up the dildo with his hole he attempted to flip the page one-handed to the centrefold, but met some unexpected resistance.
He had wanted to push the head of `Mr Jones II' past his loosened ring the moment that he had laid his eyes on past-Jimmy taking the real thing in the two-page spread.
With a grunt of displeasure he abandoned the dildo, grasping the magazine with both hands, and carefully turned the uncooperative leaves.
A long, barely drying streak of thick white cum had been gluing the pages together, the fresh, familiar smell hitting the boy's nostrils.
"Fuck," he moaned, dipping his finger into the cum, tasting it--yep, it was his Dad's alright--and realising that Marlon had in fact seen the magazine, him, and had blown a massive load all over photo-Jimmy's dusky, writhing body as it was filled for the first time by a black cock.
* * * * * *
(Mb, mast, incest.)
To be in the front is best for a boy,
Beside the driver, for this he will fight.
The view, and the power, bring him such joy.
He'll spend the journey, his soul feeling light.
The Older insists that this is his right,
As first-born he gets to decide their fate.
He will take his throne, by guile or by might,
The matter, he says, not up for debate.
But Younger is shrewd, right out of the gate,
Argues his case, but not with much vigour,
Hiding delight as his foe takes the bait,
His eyes on a prize that is much bigger.
Sat in the rear, deed hidden my map,
The best place of all, his Uncle's firm lap.
* * * * * *
(tsolo, mast, oral [implied], mind control.)
Two boys--one older, one younger--sat next to each-other on the sofa in the living room watching television, happily singing along with the colourful animated characters dancing and cavorting in the advert for Miller's Confectionaries; perfectly in tune, never missing a beat, reciting the catchy ditty word-for-word, just like thousands of other youngsters at the four corners of the world.
At the climax of the song, twelve-almost-thirteen-year-old Reid turned to his younger brother, his bright copper red fringe flopping in front of his left eye, and grinned, lifting a chuck of Brown Nougat that he had just snapped off a large bar towards Bryce's mouth. The eight-year-old boy had broken a piece of the rich, chocolate-covered candy from his own over-sized bar and mirrored his brother's action, moving it towards the older boy's mouth, smiling broadly so that the liberal sprinkling of freckles on his cheeks were brought together.
Both boys moaned in delight as the dark chocolate touched their tongues, Reid's nose scrunching up cutely--a word he was beginning to detest now that he was almost a teenager--gathering his light dusting of freckles to its bridge. Bryce tossed his head side-to-side in over-exaggerated pleasure, shaking his unruly, darker, chestnut red hair to-and-fro. The pair closed the eyes and sucked on the melting outer coating of candy, moaning once more as the gooey honey and almond centre burst through.
For now, Brown Nougat was the boys' favourite confection from Miller's, but it would likely soon be supplanted by the subject of the advert they had been obsessively watching for months. White Delight, Miller's brand new, as yet unreleased, flavour was the talk of every school boy and girl all over the globe. Scheduled for release ready for Halloween, every child in the world hoped for at least one piece in their haul come the end of October.
"I can't believe you get to tour the factory, Reid," Bryce told his brother enviously for the hundredth time, "I'm so, so, so jealous!"
"They wouldn't let you in B'," Reid said, smirking, "they'd be too worried you'd scarf down the whole lot and not leave any for them to sell!"
"I wouldn't!" his brother replied indignantly, "I'd only eat half of it, and bring the rest home for you! Honest!"
"I know you would," he assured the youngster, their green eyes meeting, "because you'd get a visit from the tickle-monster if you didn't!"
"No! Argh! Stop!" begged Bryce between breathless giggled as Reid pulled him close, slipping his wriggling fingers under the younger boy's t-shirt, "You're gonna make me drop my choc-ies!"
Reid laughed at his brother's priorities, but thought too, that he would rather suffer continued feathery-fingered torture than lose one ounce of Miller's addictively tasty sweets.
"You're so lucky your class won that competition," Bryce panted as he flopped back onto the sofa, "like, I thought my classes entry was real good."
"It was super good," Reid assured him, watching as Bryce raised his hand aloft to drop a chunk of nougat into his mouth from arms length, "but I guess the judges wanted something different."
He chuckled as Bryce let go of the piece of candy, watched it fall and snorted as it hit the end of his little brother's nose, ricocheted off, and the youngster scrambled and toppled his seat, trying to catch it before it hit the floor.
"I guess," he told his brother with a shrug.
* * *
"It's probably good he's wearing a mascot suit," Reid thought to himself as he listened to the tour guides slow, monotonous voice as it explained the exhibits, "or we'd probably all turn into brain-dead zombies if we could see his bored face too."
PRIVATE.
NO KIDS ALLOWED.
The words painted on the door startled Reid out of his empty-headed revelry, and the small fact that the door was slightly ajar did nothing to dissuade his curiosity.
The first word clear as day, telling him that he was not meant to go in there. But, if the door was partly open, he couldn't really be blames for `accidentally' wandering in. Could he?
The next part didn't exactly apply to him either. He certainly wasn't a kid, he was `almost thirteen' after all, so it wasn't like he was not allowed to enter. Was he?
He looked around surreptitiously, checking where the guide, his teachers and his classmates were looking. Good, not at him. He could just slip for a minute or two (or five, or ten) and check out what was in there.
It would probably just be some boring offices, or a break room, or something just as dull. But he wouldn't know if he didn't check, would he?
Thankfully, no alarm--or even a creak--sounded as he opened the door just far enough to let him to slip inside unnoticed.
He stepped into a long corridor, darkened windows with contact spots for smart-cards protruding from below each one dotted its length, letters and numbers painted on the floor beneath them, their meaning unclear to Reid.
The boy cupped his hands and pressed his face against the opaque glass, trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside, but the tint was too dark, that or the room beyond was in complete darkness.
Frustrated at the lack of secrets being revealed to him, Reid strode purposefully along the hallway to the only other door visible. When he first entered the corridor, he had not intended to venture so far into the depths of the factory, but he wanted to see something interesting, even if it was only marginally so.
He placed his hand on the tall, plain white door and... staggered forward as someone placed their hand on his back and pushed.
"There you go boy," a flat, but somehow sing-song, voice whispered into his ear.
"Huh?" Reid said, as he gasped for breath and felt his heart pounding in his chest.
"Where were you," his friend asked, suddenly in front of him, "we were gonna stick together, right?"
"Oh yeah," said Reid, feeling cold sweat running down the side of his neck, "sorry, I was just over there looking at that display."
He had gestured vaguely at an exhibit detailing `the history of packaged fudge making', but had the odd feeling that he had, in fact been somewhere else entirely.
"Wow, boring," his friend commented, slightly stung that he had been abandoned for something so banal, "you nearly missed them giving out the free samples!"
"Crap!" Reid muttered as his friend grabbed his shoulder and dragged him over to the guide who was handing out the sample White Delights.
"Mm, nice," his friend moaned as he savoured the flavour of the pearly white candy.
Reid picked up his, the last one remaining on the tray, and just as he got it to his lips, his stomach lurched.
"What's wrong, boy?" asked a soporific voice in his ear, "Don't you think it's delicious?"
"I..." Reid stammered, not understanding why he was hesitating, "Yeah, delicious."
He slid it into his mouth and closed his eyes, and it was delicious.
The white chocolate was firm and creamy, slowly melting on his tongue from the heat of his body. He swirled it around, spreading milky residue all over the inside of his mouth as it continued to dissolve and break open. His eyes shot open as the viscous contents of the White Delight spilled out, sweet and a little bit salty, with an odd tang he couldn't quite place.
* * *
"It's not fair," Bryce complained, "why didn't you bring me any!?"
"I told you," Reid said with a sigh, "they only had enough for the winn... the guys who went there."
"But, you could have brought yours home," Bryce said, "and we coulda shared it!"
"We weren't allowed," Reid told him, "we had to eat them there."
"It's not fair!" Bryce repeated, "At least tell me what it was like."
"It was really good," Reid said simply.
"I mean it," Bryce said, dancing on the spot in frustration, "tell me what it was really like!"
"Oh. My Gosh." Reid said, unable to contain himself, "It was the best thing I ever tasted in my life!"
"Aw!" Bryce moaned, "You didn't have to tell me that. I want one even more now!"
"But you told me to tell you!" Reid grumbled, "And you'll get loads when we go trick or treating, anyway."
"Yeah, but that's like a week away." Bryce moaned.
Reid was about to retort when their parents called up to them that it was bedtime for Bryce.
"Fine!" he shouted back down to his mum and dad, leaving Reid's room, "See you in the morning, bro."
Moments after his younger brother had disappeared around the door frame, Reid laid back on his bed, arched his back, thrust his hips into the air and shuffled his pyjama bottoms down to his knees. He didn't worry about Bryce reappearing--or to a lesser extent his parents interrupting him--as he had been the one to teach his brother how to do what he, and probably both of them, were about to do.
Reid had delighted in showing off his growing dick to Bryce, and instructing his eager partner how to pleasure himself with both hand and mouth. It had been a revelation to discover that Bryce enjoyed sucking him and drinking down his sweet and salty immature load almost as greedily as he devoured Miller's candies. He always returned the favour, many times over in fact, as he liked nothing more than helping Bryce experience perpetual paroxysms of pleasure induced by sucking his cute cocklet.
Reid licked his fingers to lubricate them, and discovered to his joy that they still tasted faintly sweet from when he had handled the White Delights earlier in the day, and he began to lightly rub his rapidly growing dick. He took in a slow, deep breath as he stroked his dick from base to tip, and exhaled just as slowly, as his fingers slid back down the length, tugging his foreskin along with them.
A low murmur escaped his lips as the darker tip was exposed to the cool air of his room, only to be covered again as he repeated his cycle of inhaling and caressing his dick. He sped up his stroking as he started to pant, trying to match the rhythm between fingers and lungs, teasing his flared glans, now totally uncovered, as he played his instrument masterfully.
Far too soon he found himself biting his lip, curling his toes, pressing his thighs together, and the fingers of his other hand gripping the sheets as his orgasm rapidly approached. With a grunt his actions went out of sync, furiously pulling at his twitching dick, and holding his breath as he showered his taut stomach and slim torso with translucent cum.
He collapsed, spent, back onto his bed, taking slow, steadying breaths as he gently played with the cooling pools of cum on his sweaty body. Scooping up a significant glob of it, he moved his fingers automatically to his mouth, sucking them clean of the almost entirely white juice.
Fingers still in his mouth he stopped and tried to figure out why his cum tasted `different'. It wasn't that it tasted `wrong', just that there was something... missing? He felt like the last time he had tasted it, it was... sweeter or creamier, perhaps?
He tried to dismiss the odd thought as he scooped up the rest of his cum, sucked his fingers clean, and tried to relax before he had to go to bed himself.
* * *
Up until now, Reid hadn't had a nightmare in years, but for this past week he had had one every night, robbing him of a good nights rest. And the most frustrating and disturbing thing about them was, even though he always awoke panting and sweating, he could never remember anything about them, except that they all took place in the Miller's Confectionaries factory.
He had tried to tire himself out each night by wanking an increasing number of times, each time falling asleep with the taste of this thinning cum on his tongue and lips, lapping it up in the hopes of it acting as a potion to ward off bad dreams.
"Are you sure you want to come trick or treating?" Bryce had asked him the night before Halloween, having noticed the dark rings under his brothers eyes and his grumpy, sleep-deprived demeanour, "I'll be okay to go by myself."
"I'm fine Bryce," he assured his little brother with a yawn, looking at himself in a mirror "besides, with these bags under my eyes, I really do look like a vampire."
"Yeah, you do," Bryce agreed, trying to laugh at Reid making light of his condition.
"And I don't want you hogging all the White..." Reid felt that weird tug in his stomach that he had felt at Miller's factory again as he said the name of the candy, and saw a brief, half-remembered vision of something odd too, "...Delights if you go out alone."
* * *
"Have fun!" called Reid and Bryce's parents as they ventured out to trick or treat.
"Where should we go first?" asked Bryce excitedly, already fiddling with his glued-on neck-bolt, "Mr Fitzgerald's place?"
"Yeah," said Reid, batting his brother's hand away from his neck, "I saw him a couple of days ago, and he said he'd have loads of sweets. And stop messing with that, you'll pull it off."
"Sorry," Bryce apologised as he started to skip along the path.
They wandered along the crowded street, pausing to watch the Miller's Confectionaries mascots waving to the throng of trick-or-treaters, and waved back at a couple themselves. One in particular seemed interested in Reid and Bryce, watching them intently until they turned a corner and moved out of sight. Bryce felt an involuntary shudder pass up his spine as they passed with a different--but identically suited--mascot escorting two teenage boys in the opposite direction, a weird glazed look in their eyes, and an odd tenting in the front of their costumes.
Bryce pulled Reid's attention back to their endeavour, yanking on his older brother's arm as he almost passed their destination, and guiding along the path.
"Trick or treat!" they yelled in unison as Layne Fitzgerald opened his door.
"Well," the man said, smiling at the two boys, "I don't have to ask who you two are."
He looked between Reid and Bryce, a mischievous glint in his eye, "You're a vampire," he said, pointing at Bryce, "and you're a Frankenstein," he added, pointing at Reid.
"No!" Bryce wailed and giggled, "He's the vampire," he told the man, gesturing with his thumb towards Reid, "and I'm Frankenstein's monster!"
"Oh yes, so you are," the man chuckled as he retrieved as bowl of candy from the table just inside his front door, "I suppose I should give you a treat for coming out with such excellent costumes, hmm?"
"Yes please!" said Bryce, wearing a broad grin and holding out his hands.
Mr Fitzgerald gave them both a small selection of sweet, including a coveted White Delight.
"Nice!" said Bryce, staring at the white chocolate longingly, "Thank you!"
The boys turned and walked away from the man's door, Bryce sliding his almost empty bucket of sweets along his arm so that he could unwrap his first White Delight.
"Oh, it's so delicious," he moaned, biting in to it.
Bryce chewed on it for a moment, trying to decide what the creamy, gooey middle tasted of.
"Oh," he said again in amazement, "it tastes just like your..."
"Cum..." Reid whispered, the colour draining from his face.
Memories flooded back to him as he grabbed Bryce's jaw a little more roughly than he and shouted in the startled boy's face.
"Spit it out!" he yelled, panicking, "Spit it out, now!"
"O-okay," said Bryce, his voice quivering and eyes shining with tears, "w-what's wrong Reid?"
"Don't swallow it," Reid stammered, eyes wide and fearful, "don't ever eat any more, promise me. Promise me!"
"I-I promise," Bryce said in a small voice, "but I don't understand Reid, you're scaring me."
"What up?" an approaching voice asked.
Reid looked up and away from his brother to see his friend walking towards them, he had a White Delight held between thumb and forefinger, poised to pop it into his mouth.
"No!" he called out, darting towards his friend, knocking the candy out of his hand.
"What the fuck mate?" asked his friend incredulously, but Reid was distracted, looking about wildly.
He spotted a young girl about to place a White Delight on her outstretched tongue and sprinted over to her, grabbed it, and threw it away--she started to cry.
Reid spotted a trio of boys a little older than himself and ran towards them, snatching the White Delights from their hands, dropping them to the ground and stomping on them--one of the boys shoved him away angrily.
He saw a father give a girl he knew from his class holding a handful of White Delights, rushing over he swept them from the man's palms, kicking them into a nearby drain--the man took hold of Reid's arm.
"Are you okay Reid?" he asked kindly, but looking very shocked.
"No... You don't... You can't... Please..." he rambled and begged, unable to gather his thoughts as visions of what his saw in the factory filled his mind.
"I'm sorry," said a small voice, making Reid's head snap around to look in its direction, "but my brother has been having lots of nightmares and I think he should go home. I'll be okay to keep trick or treating with my friend."
Reid's blood ran cold as he saw a Miller's Confectionaries' mascot crouching low next to Bryce, seemingly whispering into the unnaturally still and vacant eyed youngster's ear.
"Okay, let's get you home Reid," said the girl's father, tightening his grip on the boy's arm and starting to march him in the direction of his house.
"No! You don't understand!" said Reid frantically, trying to pull away, throwing back his head and shouting into the heavens.
"White Delight is boy cum!"
* * * * * *
(bsolo, bondage, sex toys.)
"Trick or treat!" called a young, high voice as Layne Fitzgerald opened his door.
"Oh my gosh! It's Spider-Man!" the man cried back in amazement as if he had not already seen three other Spider-Men this evening, "Wow Spidey, I'm your biggest fan!"
"Really!?" came the delighted voice from behind the form-fitting Lycra mask, "That's so cool!"
"Yeah," Layne said, nodding animatedly, "and I think you deserve a treat for saving all of our butts all of the time."
He grabbed a small handful of various candies, and a single, tightly wrapped, limited supply white chocolate emblazoned with gold WD lettering, and dropped them into `Spider-Man's' pumpkin shaped bucket.
"Thanks, mister!" the diminutive superhero said as he waved goodbye and walked away from Layne's door.
In short order there was another frenzied rapping at his door, and opening it he saw the Jones brother smiling back at him.
"Trick or treat!" they yelled in unison.
Layne decided to amuse himself, knowing the brothers would take his open trick with good humour, and mislabelled the costumes, only to be corrected by the younger brother. After they had left, the youngster eagerly opening the coveted white chocolate, he heard a small disturbance in the street, and someone shouting about `bacon'?
* * *
Countless Harry Potters, Captain Americas, Iron Men, Cowboys, Witches, and other Halloween staples passed by Layne's door before a trio turned up who he did not recognize.
"Trick or treat!" said the youngest boy in a sing-song voice.
Blond, and wearing only a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a pair of flip-flops, he stood with his hands behind his back, and beamed up at the man. The next oldest boy was dressed the same, except for being barefoot, and was the spitting image of the youngster. Clearly they were brothers, and Layne assumed that the smaller boy was copying his older brother's costume.
A third boy stood a step behind them, only seeming to be a couple of years older than the big brother--and fully dressed in shoes, jeans, and a t-shirt--and had an air of confidence and control about him. Layne guessed that he was in charge of the two younger boys for the night.
The stark similarity between the brothers outfits led the man to guess that they were dressed as characters that he was not familiar with.
"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked curiously.
"I'm Dan," said the smaller boy, pointing at himself, "and that's Jersey."
"Oh," said Layne, still none the wiser about who they were meant to be, "and that's...?"
"That's Tracy," Dan told the man, "he's in charge of Jersey, and me tonight."
"Okay," Layne said as he dished out the candy to Tracy who was holding the only sweet bucket between the three of them.
As they turned and left, the man noticed that although Dan had simply kept his hands crossed behind his back during their encounter, Jersey was wearing a paid of handcuffs. He marvelled at the fact that they had an eye for detail, the cuffs had been repainted from their original dull, plastic grey to a convincing metallized sheen. It was only when he heard a faint clink as they turned back into the street, that he wondered if they were actually real.
* * *
More generic figures visited Layne, Army Men, Firefighters, Police Officers, Zombies, Ghost, and a cohort of other Ghouls before he got another surprise.
"Trick or treat!" the boy said to announce his arrival as he shuffled from foot to foot.
"Oh my gosh! It's Spider-Ugh..." Layne started to say as he cast his eyes over the boy's costume, and they came to rest on a startling detail, "... Man. It's a big... I mean, I'm your biggest fan!"
The boy giggled and danced on the spot, twisting his hips to accentuate the obvious bulge at his crotch.
Layne couldn't help but stare at the well-defined dome-topped cylinder and a pair of spheres outlined under the tight Lycra. But it was the dark, damp, presumably sticky stain at it's rounded tip that caught the man's attention.
"Are you going to give me a trick or a treat, mister?" the boy asked.
"Um, aren't you supposed to do a trick if I don't give you a treat?" Layne asked the boy's groins.
"I guess," said the boy with a shrug, reaching around behind himself to rub his bottom, "but I've got three tricks already."
"He's a treat," the man mumbled, grabbing a handful of candy and thrusting it towards the boy, who looked a little disappointed.
As he left, Layne noticed a small circular protrusion at the rear of the boy's costume, just between his butt cheeks, and a faint, low, constant buzz followed the boy as he disappeared onto the street.
* * *
After a more usual--and less weird boner inducing--costumed boys filed past Layne's door he was visited by a father and son.
"Trick or treat, Sir," the boy murmured in a low, servile voice, head bowed respectfully.
The man was dressed in a fine white robe with gold and purple trim, the boy in leather flip-flops, a ragged loincloth and a simple leather collar--a Roman Senator and his slave boy.
Layne admired their hustle, the boy pleading his plaintive case, asking the man--who he constantly referred to as `Sir'--to contribute enough candy for him to buy his release from his `Master'.
He gave the boy an ample amount of sweet to bolster his purse, which the imposing man took in his stead.
* * *
More boys streamed past Layne's door, none of them memorable until what appeared to be a lone boy turned up wearing something very peculiar.
"Th-rick ur t-eet!" slurred the boy who's only piece of real clothing was a pair of baggy shorts.
"Who are you supposed to be?" asked the incredulous Layne as he looked between the small boy and the teenager who came up behind him a few moments later.
"Th-per-da-mun!" the boy tried to say, sounding indignant.
"Who?" Layne asked, looking to the teen for clarification.
"Spider-Man," the older boy told him, sighing, "see, spiderweb ropes across his chest, and that's a `spider gag'."
"And it was..." the man asked.
"His stupid idea, yes," the teenager grumbled, looking embarrassed, "so can we just have some chocolate and go?"
Layne handed out a loose handful of sweets to the drooling boy, and they left.
* * *
A parade of boy whose costumes lacked the originality--and strangeness--of his last visitor rumbled past Layne's house.
"Trick or treat!" the next boy called gleefully.
Layne couldn't help but state at the amount of pale skin on display. The boy was clad only in a pair of metallic ankle and wrist cuffs, a collar, and a bizarre device adorning his diminutive dick, clearly showing off the pulsing pole it encased.
"Who are you supposed to be?" the man asked warily, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.
"I'm Eli Riggs of course," the boy said, rolling his eyes in the way youngster do when asked a question with a seemingly obvious answer, "you know who I mean!"
`Eli' thought that the man must just be playing dumb and really know who he was, if only because of the way the man was ogling his dick.
"I made these myself," `Eli' told the man proudly, indicating the pieces of his costume, "they're papier-mâché covered in aluminium foil, not real metal of course, but they look cool, don't they."
"Um, yeah," Layne agreed blankly.
"My cock cage broke though because my dick got too hard," the boy said, ignoring Layne's hesitance, "look here."
The boy turned to show the man where the meticulously recreated genital accessory had split, revealing the hardened pulp inside.
Layne was glad of a proper excuse for staring at a boy's hard, throbbing dick so that he could get a good look at the forbidden flesh partly hidden behind its `metal' bars.
"You really don't know who Eli Riggs is, do you?" asked the boy, surprised.
"No, I don't," Layne said as he continued to inspect the boy's handiwork.
"Here, give you your phone." the boy told him, which he did, blindly trusting the youngster with the expensive device, "There, have a look at that."
Layne tore his eyes away from the boy's jewels to look at his phone. The boy had loaded a story onto it, and he read with mounting excitement.
`Eli' watched as the man scrolled, the front of his joggers tenting as he read the adventures of the boy's namesake.
"Wow..." Layne breathed as he reached the conclusion.
"Great isn't it," the boy said excitedly, "give me your phone again."
The man handed over his phone and the boy tapped away at it.
"Are you loading another story?" the man asked hopefully.
"No," the boy said, noticing the disappointment in the man's face, "that's my profile, why don't you join up, and we can chat on there later?"
"Yeah sure!" Layne said as he took his phone back, quickly registering an account, "Here, have some candy."
He held out the bowl and allowed the boy to take as much as he waned as he finished filling in his details.
"There," he said, smiling at the boy, "I've followed you."
"Nice," the boy said and turned to leave, "thanks, mister."
* * *
For the rest of the night Layne ignored the knocks at his door and the cries of "trick or treat", instead he spent his evening stroking his rampant cock, browsing ShotaPlanet, and blowing his load when he discovered a stimulating collection of rendered images featuring Dan, Jersey, and Tracy.
* * * * * *
(tsolo, tt, oral, anal, chastity, bondage.)
Will sat perched on the edge of the bathtub waiting for his dad to join him. The thirteen-year-old boy was naked, except for the plastic cage wrapped tightly around his throbbing, leaking cock that had been denied his touch for more almost a week. His feet were angled awkwardly, pushed up on tiptoes to save the tender flesh of his soles from the ice-cold tiled floor.
"Do I have to?" Will asked as John, his dad, stepped across the threshold to the room.
"Of course you don't," the man said, smirking as Will let out a sigh of relief, "if you don't want to be unlocked until the end of next week, that is."
John had confessed to the relieved Will the morning after the boy had `accidentally' locked his own cock up in the chastity cage that he in fact did have the key to unlock him, but would not be doing so, and keeping `little Will' under wraps for two weeks as a punishment.
Will had tried to negotiate a lighter sentence as he was already felling horny beyond belief, but his dad hadn't relented. He had however offered an alternative, reframing his son's punishment as a challenge that, if he could endure it, would result in an unspecified reward in a fortnights time.
To his surprise, Will eagerly took him up on his offer, and they drew up terms. The boy would have a `safeword' to use if the cage became too burdensome, and would have it removed with his punishment becoming a more traditional grounding.
Will could still go out to see his friends, play on his games console and use the Internet, but would have to suffer the frustration that went along with not being able to have a wank whenever he wanted.
In fact, John had been so impressed with Will's ability to bear his burden--not that he told the boy, keeping up a sternly disapproving demeanour when discussing Will's punishment--that he once again made the boy an offer.
"But I've got the most pubes of all my friends," Will lamented, looking down at the insubstantial tuft on his pubis nestled above the brass padlock holding his plastic prison together, and reached under his balls to run his fingers through the sparse, wiry hairs that sprouted from them.
"Well, I like my slave boys to be smooth from the neck down," John informed his son, brandishing the disposable razor towards him, "so you loose them, or stay locked. Your choice."
"You've never had a slave boy before," Will scoffed.
"Haven't I?" countered John, enigmatically.
"Fine," sighed Will, trying to read his dad's inscrutable face.
"Fine isn't good enough," the man said firmly as he looked his son intently in the eyes, "it's either yes, or no."
"Yes, Sir," Will said with only the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice, "I am your slave boy, and I should be hairless and smooth."
John grinned as he lathered up Will's crotch, and shaved off the meagre hairs adorning his groin.
Will would never have thought he could feel so naked. After his beloved pubes had been removed, John moved on to what only the most generous person would call a moustache, and shaved the almost non-existent stubble from his top lip--to Will's slight chagrin as his lip was definitely above his neck.
He had expected his armpit's to be denuded, the scraggly hairs expertly removed while he tried his best not to laugh at the ticklish strokes of the razor. What he hadn't expected was for his dad to spread shaving cream over his arms and legs, and swiftly remove the downy hairs growing on his limbs.
It felt oddly good--but weird--for his entire body to be so smooth, and as he ran his fingers across his naked skin, he could appreciate why his dad liked it.
* * *
"Mm, sexy," Lee, Will's other dad, said, arching an eyebrow as he looked his husband and son up-and-down.
"Eww, don't be pervy, dad," Will complained with a giggle, surreptitiously adjusting his tightening cage.
"It's not my fault that your dirty little mind thought I was talking about you," the man joked, smirking at his son, "I was actually the Roman God standing beside you."
"I'm only a Senator," John said as he adjusted his robe.
"With a slave boy who should be punished with a spanking for speaking out of turn," Lee said as he glanced at Will, "perhaps?"
"Someone's going to get a spanking tonight," John said as he ushered Will towards the front door.
"Promises, promises," Lee muttered to their retreating forms, just loud enough for John to hear him.
"Okay slave boy, time to earn your freedom," John said to Will imperiously as the door snapped closed behind them, and they strode out into the pleasantly warm night.
"Yes, Master," Will said softly, unable to hide a grin as he followed behind the man.
An hour-and-a-half later, the haul of candy that Will had managed to persuade out of the various householders that he and his dad had visited would have pleased the boy in previous years, but now it fell short of the--almost unrealistic, in Will's opinion--goal that John had set him to gather to `buy his freedom.'
He had thought his acting had been impeccable, almost convincing himself at points that he was a lowly slave boy seeking funds to pay off his debt to his master, to earn the right to be a citizen--and unknown to all the adults they had visited, to earn the right to have access to his pulsing, drooling cock again.
Will certainly looked the part, his costume appeared utterly authentic--mostly because it was. The ragged leather loincloth was a little too large for him, and looked misshaped and awkward to wear--it was, which added to his convincing performance; the well-worn leather collar with an extra loops on the buckle where another brass lock could be added--which his dad offered to fit for `realism,' refusing to confirm or deny if he still had the key to unlock it if Will wore it; and a pair of Will's own broken in leather sandals--which he was glad to be wearing, and not barefoot as Lee had suggested, given that his feet were already aching due to his dad's uncompromising walking pace.
* * *
"Knock on the door, slave," John commanded as his son scurried past him to stand on the welcome mat.
"Yes, Master," Will responded quietly, head bowed low.
They had kept to their roles as they walked from house to house, which did nothing to diminish the ache in Will's trapped cock.
He knocked three times, and waited for the occupant--Mr Fitzpatrick? Mr Fitzgerald? Mr Fitzwilliam? Will couldn't remember--to answer.
"Trick or treat, sir," Will murmured in a low, servile voice as the light from inside the house fell upon him, "may this slave trouble the good sir for a piece of candy to help buy his freedom?"
"Oh," said Layne Fitzgerald as he looked between the boy in his minimal outfit, and the man in his resplendent white robes with ornate purple and gold trim.
"Speak up slave," John barked on cue, "this fine upstanding citizen deserves your respect!"
"My apologies, Master," Will said, a quiver in his voice as he spoke marginally louder, "my apologies, good Sir."
"He doesn't..." Layne began to say, worried for a moment that the boy was in real trouble until he noticed the slight smile on the boy's face, and the man gave him a theatrical wink, "Yes, s-slave, speak up."
"If I am able, Sir," Will said, speaking clearly and with great deference, "to fill Master's amphora with candy by nights end, I will be allowed my freedom."
As he spoke, Will gestured helpfully towards the stylized Halloween candy bucket held lazily in the Roman Senator's hand.
"Is he a good slave, Senator?" Layne asked man.
"He has been until this now thirteenth year," John said as he cast an appraising eye over Will's bowed form, "but of late he had been somewhat deceitful."
Layne watched as a fleeting look of guilt passed over the boy's face, and he wondered if the choice of character for the lad had been influenced by his misdemeanours.
"Hmm," said Layne grandiosely, considering the bounty that he should bestow on the slave--the boy, he corrected himself--"this amount should suffice to aid in his goal."
He picked up a handful of sweets, and shielding them from the boy's inquisitive view, deposited them in the `amphora'.
"Thank the Citizen for his contribution," John commanded, "just what you are worth, and nothing more."
"Thank you, good Sir," Will said bowing obsequiously, and unable to stop himself wincing at his dad's description of the amount of chocolate he had received.
His Master--his dad--had been giving out these snarky little comments with each donation, and he didn't know if the man was being truthful or not in his assessment of the haul. His pail could be brimming over, his release already guaranteed, or it could be almost empty, and the man was filling him with false hope. Not knowing excited and worried him in equal measures.
"Good night, Citizen," John said with a nod towards Layne as he turned to leave and called out to Will, "come, slave."
"Yes, Master!" Will said as he turned and followed a pace his dad, and called out behind him, "Thank you, Sir. Goodnight, Sir."
* * *
"Cool, is he really a slave?" the mid-teenage pirate asked with a laugh as he elbowed one of a pair of younger boys in the ribs, encouraging him to laugh along with him.
"Yes he is, young privateer," John informed the youth.
"Will he suck my dick then?" he asked as he guffawed and grinned at Will's reddening face.
"Yes he will," John said mildly as he heard a soft gasp from behind him, "for a price."
"Really?" asked the teen curiously, but with a note of scepticism in his voice.
"Make me an offer," John requested, gesturing towards the teen's bucket of candy when he looked confused, "he is buying his freedom with sweets".
"This much?" the teen asked.
"A little much for one as unskilled as this slave is," John said, so about half would be appropriate."
"Wow," the teen said as Will heard the candy being exchanged, "he's seriously gonna give me a blowjob for that!?"
"Yes," said John sternly, "and it had better be a good one."
Will was shocked that his dad was pimping him out, and for what sounded like a pitiful amount of candy. He hadn't discussed why he had locked up his cock, or why he found the situation he had gotten himself into so exciting. It wasn't about sex, not really, it was more the lack of control--depriving himself of the control to decide when, or if, he could wank or cum, that got Will hot, and now that his dad had the sole control, it was hotter than anything he could have imagined.
Not that he hadn't been desperately trying to get himself off over the past few days, resorting to fingering his own butt to try to relieve the mounting ache in his over-full balls. But he lacked the skill and practice to make himself cum by just manipulating his own rapidly swelling prostate, leaving him far more frustrated than ever.
That isn't to say that he hadn't cum though, a wet dream on the third night of being locked resulted in him sobbing apologetically into John's chest, fearful that he had accidentally circumvented his punishment, and remorseful at his attempted deliberate relief now that the hazy, horny fog had lifted from his brain.
His dad had hugged him tight and told him that he was surprised that Will had lasted so long without bursting, but advised him not to try to get himself off again, as he would consider that cheating and extend Will's punishment.
"What are you waiting for, slave?" John asked in an annoyed sounding voice.
"N-nothing, Da...Master," Will stammered as he walked over to the teen and dropped to his knees.
"Shit," said the teen as he stared down at Will, "you're really gonna do it, aren't you!"
"I-," Will said as he swallowed hard, "I am, Sir."
"Don't," John said to the teen as he reached to unbutton his pantaloons, "the slave will do that for you."
Will frowned as, with trembling hands, he unbuttoned the teen's pants, pushed aside the boxers, and fished out the long dark dick. He knew he could end this with a word, but as each moment of indecision passed, his cock throbbed in the tight confines of cage, urging him on.
"Just imagine it's chocolate," Will thought to himself as he closed his eyes, opened his mouth and slid the dick across his tongue.
It didn't taste as bad as Will had been expecting, a little sweaty and salty from being enclosed in the teens pants for the last couple of hours as he walked the streets, but his precum was kinda sweet, just like Will's own. He bobbed his head on the thickening shaft, trying to complete his tasks as quickly as possible.
"Damn, that's good," the teen moaned as took hold of Will's head, and started to thrust his dick into the boy's mouth a little more vigorously.
As teens are prone to have, the recipient of Will's blowjob had a hair-trigger, and was soon unloading into the boy's mouth.
"Thanks, slave," he called as he and his friends departed, leaving Will kneeling on the floor, a sour look on his face.
* * *
"There you go, Will," John said as he helped his son to his feet and handed him a white chocolate, "it'll help take the taste away."
"Thanks, dad," Will said popping the candy into his mouth.
It didn't take the taste away as his dad had promised, but did make the cum coating the inside of his mouth taste sweeter and creamier.
"Are you okay, son?" John asked.
"I dunno," Will said quietly.
"Talk to me," John insisted, "please?"
"I don't think I like cocksucking," Will told his dad solemnly.
"I'm sorry," John said as he hugged Will.
"No, it's okay," Will said, slightly muffled by his dad's broad chest, "I wanted to try it at some point, and now I know I don't like it that much."
"'That much'?" asked the man.
"I mean I didn't like doing it," Will said as he frowned, trying to find the right words, "but I liked being told to do it. Does that make sense?"
"It does," John assured his son.
"But," Will said, suddenly nervous, "what if they start telling people I'm a cocksucker?"
"They won't," John told him confidently.
"How do you know?" Will demanded.
"You remember Roger, from the club Lee and I go to?" John asked.
"Yeah, I think so," Will told him as he scrunched up his face, trying to picture the man.
"That was his son you just blew," John told Will.
"Oh," said Will, relieved, "but what about the other two?"
"His nephew, and his nephew's boyfriend," John said, "who are probably really jealous they didn't get sucked off by a cute boy such as you."
Will blushed and smiled, happy that the nights events would remain between the five of them.
"Well, slave boy," said John as he easily slipped back into character, "you still have not earned your freedom."
"No, Master," Will said as he bowed his head, "may I be permitted to continue my trick or treating?"
"You may," said John as he strode away and Will fell into line, a pace behind him.
* * * * * *
(Xb, anal.)
"I wish for in--" Alfie A. Dunn, just Al to his friends, blurted out as he gazed at the Genie stood before him.
The old oil lamp clutched in the twelve-year-old's hand felt pleasantly warm to the touch, despite having rested in the cool air of his Grandfather's attic for what must have been many, many years judging by the thick layer of dust covering every surface.
The young boy's boredom had led him up a rickety ladder, into the dark and grimy space, and straight to the dull gleam of a bronze spout sticking up from a battered old packing crate.
Only a thin layer of dust marred its surface, preventing Alfie from reading the intricate Arabic script engraved upon it, which he wiped it away with ease, rubbing lamp with the scrunched up sleeve of his jumper.
"Young Master, I must caution you--" the stout, muscular, tan-skinned Genie who appeared before the boy said, cutting him off in mid-flow.
"That you can't give me infinite wishes," Alfie said, finishing the Genie's spiel with a dejected moan, "yeah, I know, I've heard all the stories before."
"No, young Master," the Genie told him in a low, rumbling voice, an edge of wariness to it as it spoke, "it is within my power to grant infinite wishes--"
"Then, I-wish-for-infi--" Alfie told the Genie in a triumphant rush, not pausing for breath between any of the words.
"YOUNG MASTER," the Genie said warningly, raising his voice to forestall the boy's misguided enthusiasm, "you must know; each wish requires a payment, and you must--"
"I don't care," Alfie informed the Genie with an abundance of boyish confidence, "I wish for infini--"
A raised, ring adorned finger stopped Alfie in his tracks, "Young Master, please heed my words," the Genie counselled the boy in a softer voice, "you will suffer the grave consequences of your impatience if you do not listen to my advice."
"Okay," Alfie said, nodding blithely, "I WISH FOR INFINITE WISHES!"
With an exasperated sigh the Genie nodded, and a bright flash of silver light emanated from the lamp.
"Young Master, your wish is my command." it told the boy solemnly.
"Cool," Alfie crowed happily, a wide, beaming grin spreading across his face, "I wish for--"
"Young Master," the Genie said with a slight smirk and gleam in its eyes, "you must first render payment."
"Oh, okay," Alfie said, a little annoyed at his wishing spree getting delayed, "you want me to free you from the lamp, right?"
"No, young Master," the Genie told Alfie, a devious grin forming on its lips, "I am very happy with my abode, as I hope, you will be too."
"What do you mean?" Alfie asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
The Genie gestured for Alfie to look down the spout of the lamp; he did so, but only for a moment.
"W-what is that!" Alfie cried, blushing deeply as he viewed the scenes of debauchery being played out inside of it.
"Young Master, that is `The Lamp'," the Genie explained with a crooked smile, "a club where Jinn receive payment from their `Masters'. This artefact is but one of many entrances to it."
"You don't expect me to do that stuff, do you!?" Alfie asked as the troubling and titillating images ran through his head.
"Yes, young Master," the Genie said, licking his lips voraciously, "you will be taken there for one minute of subjective time for the entertainment of myself and my brothers for each wish you have made."
"Oh," Alfie murmured softly as some of the tension filling his body left him, "if it's only for a minute, that's not so bad. But what does `subjective' mean?"
"Young Master, it means that while you are in `The Lamp' one minute will pass in your world," the Genie said with lust-filled relish, "and one month will pass within `The Lamp'."
"One month!" Alfie squeaked, "but I can't... not that stuff... it's... eww..."
"But, young Master," the Genie said, "these are the terms you agreed to for receiving your wish."
"But I didn't know that, and--" Alfie spluttered, trying to think of a way out of the mess he had got himself into.
"No, young Master, you didn't" the Genie agreed cutting him off again, "nor did you know that you must make all of your wishes, and pay for each of them too."
"But how can I make infinite wishes?" Alfie asked the Genie, shocked by the deal he had unwittingly made.
The Genie regarded Alfie with a predatory leer as one of its hands closed around his wrist, "Young Master, you cannot, but for now we shall take them retroactively, including any wishes you have previously made--whether they have been granted or not!"
An hour later Alfie gingerly climbed down the ladder, and shuffled bow-legged towards his bedroom.
"I wish I had never found that stupid lamp," he muttered to himself, then regretted it immediately.
* * * * * *
(bsolo, tsolo, mast, peeing, poop [kinda].)
It had all started accidentally for twelve-year-old Easton.
He had been engaging in one of his favourite activities: teasing pervy old men on ChatBoule by rubbing his steel hard boy-cock through a pair of tight green undies, and had gotten a little carried away, cumming in said undies.
The pervy old man was naturally delighted at the outcome--although the boy wasn't; wanting to mess with more pervs that night before unloading his balls in private.
That changed however when the pervy old man requested that Easton seal the cum-soaked undies in a Zip-tight bag, and send them to him in the mail.
Initially grossed out, but quickly becoming curious, as the pervy old men sent Easton his address via text chat, the dark-skinned boy did as he was asked and sent the jizz-stained undies to him the next day after school.
Two days later Easton received an unexpected but welcome surprise; $50 deposited in his PayBuddy account, along with a note from the pervy old man thanking him for his sweet boy-batter.
But that was before, back when he had just been some random kid on the Internet selling his spooge-covered undies to random pervs maybe a few times a month.
Now however, he was an entrepreneur with a `legitimate' business to his name, selling dozens of premium boy-basted-briefs to discerning customers per week.
He had gathered a trusted group of friends; friends of friends; friends of friends of friends; and even a few family members to do things to `custom-made'--or at least that's what the advertising said--briefs (and other styles of underwear) that their parents complained that they did accidentally.
* * *
"Hey Kenny," Easton said, walking up to a red-face, slightly chubby ten-year-old Asian boy who was the latest addition to his little empire, "how're you doing?"
Kenji Yamato didn't pause in his frantic peddling on his exercise bike as Easton watched the young boy's sweat trickling down his dusky frame, pooling at the bike's seat and soaking into the dark blue jockstrap.
"Yeah," panted Kenny, smiling at his older brother's friend, "I'm doing good."
"Great," said Easton enthusiastically, "but you should slow down a bit. You're really popular since you're new and cute, so you've got to soak at least 3 more pairs today, `kay?"
"Oh, sorry," Kenny said nervously, slowing to a stop as Ben Orson, a ginger-haired kid, came over to him and indicated that it was time for a fresh jockstrap.
"No problem," Easton told him, pausing to eye up the Asian boy's tasty looking dick which would be receiving its warm and wet newbie's bonus come end of business.
* * *
"Hey Donny," Easton called to the groaning and convulsing broad-shouldered fourteen-year-old Jamaican Rugby player currently unloading a potent deposit of thick teenage sperm into a pair of camouflage-patterned trunks.
"Hey," said Donny Hawthorne with a nod as he regained his breath, "you coming to the game on Sunday?"
"Sure, should be a good match," said Easton conversationally as he watched Donny step out of the trunks and hand them to a small blond-haired boy next to him.
"Probably got another one in me," Donny told the young boy, groping his balls and gently stroking his half-hard cock, "maybe just a `first-timer' size one though."
"Sure," said Billy Lowe as he slipped the trunks into a Zip-tight bag and labelled them accordingly, "how's about a pair of kiddie's Spider-Dude trunks, there's a new game coming out soon, should sell well?"
"Nice idea," said Easton, smiling at Billy, and typing some notes onto his jPad, "I'll order up some of the new design too. Are you up for doing some modelling?"
"Me?" squeaked Billy in surprise, blushing deeply as Easton nodded, "Yes please!"
* * *
"Hey, you got a minute?" a girl's voice asked as Easton continued to make his rounds.
"Yeah Viv," said Easton, stopping and leaning against a wall, "what's up?"
"I want to blacklist McGregor," she stated flatly.
"Ugh, what's he done now?" Easton asked, already knowing the answer, but hoping against hope that he was wrong.
Seventeen-year-old Vivian Tyler was Easton's fixer, an innocent--but in reality, far from it--looking girl who always wore pig-tails, handling all the horny, pervy men that they sold to.
"Not paying up," Viv told him with an `I told you so' look on her face, "again. Even after I threatened to tell the FBY, Fullingham Palace Guards, and Methuselah P.I. what he had been asking my `little brother' to send him."
"Fine, cut him off," Easton said with a reluctant sigh--McGregor was one of their biggest spenders, when he settled his bills that is--"and you can send him a pair of your panties as a parting gift if you like. I know you've been wanting to do that for ages."
"Nice," said Viv with a devilish grin, "he won't know what's hit him, the cheapskate."
Easton shuddered, he really liked Viv, but she could be really scary at times.
* * *
"Hey Fabio," Easton called, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as he approached the Latino boy.
"Hey man," Fabio Serrano called back, a look of concentration on his face as he squatted by a drainage hole, "has that new batch of Crocade come in yet? We gonna need it if you want me to keep up with demand."
"Not yet," said Easton apologetically as an acrid smell hit his nostrils.
"Ah," moaned twelve-year-old Fabio in relief as he clenched his butt cheeks, cutting off the yellow stream flowing through the once pristine boxers.
Easton had to admire Fabio's control because, once Easton started to pee there was not stopping him, come hell of high water--"pun intended," he thought to himself with a silent giggle.
"Thanks," said Coby, who this week had his hair dyed electric blue, as he took the pair of boxers that Fabio had slipped down his bronzed legs, swapping them for a fresh, unsullied pair.
Coby Honeycutt licked his lips with undisguised fascination and desire as he watched the amber torrent pour out of the front of the formerly white boxers as Fabio let loose once more.
* * *
"Hey Elton," said Easton cautiously as he came to the final stop of his rounds.
He couldn't help turn up his nose in distaste--but at the same time staring, transfixed, at the artistry playing out before him--as he observed the eight-year-old boy.
Elton Harris lay on his back, knees pulled up to his chest, exposing his spread, snowy-white butt-cheeks to the room.
Lazily, he picked up a pair of plain white briefs and carefully turned them inside-out.
With infinite care he painted a perfectly proportioned skid-mark along the back of the briefs before bringing the close to his face--way too close in Easton's opinion--and examined the streak in detail.
Sealing the briefs reverently away, he seemed to notice at last that he wasn't alone.
"Hey," Elton said, grinning at the look of discomfort on the older boy's face, "those pervs are keeping me busy, eh."
"Yeah," muttered Easton, trying not to make eye contact with the boy, shuffling nervously on the spot.
Luckily he was saved by a ping from his jPad; "Sorry, gotta go," he mumbled as he scurried away, ignoring Elton's calls of farewell.
* * *
Easton looked at the message on his jPad and smiled; someone had ordered a `Manager's Special'.
Retiring to his office he checked the order he grinned broadly, digging through his small stock of underwear of all shapes, styles and shades to find his favourite kind.
Stripping off and reclining in his cool leather chair he started up his computer and logged into ChatBoule.
"Hey," Easton said pleasantly, "long time, no see."
"It has been a while, hasn't it?" said the pervy old man as he watched Easton lustily.
"Yeah, it has," he replied, rubbing the bulge in the front of his tight, green undies.
* * * * * *
(Mb, mast, anal, sex toys.)
"Okay everyone, take twenty," Mr Giles called to the gathered boys and girls, turning to a particular black haired boy and adding, "Şakir, a word, please."
"Yes, Mr Giles," Şakir answered, and shuffled towards the man, head bowed as the other kids whispered to each other and pointed at him.
Mr Giles directed the boy into a store room off of the main hall with a friendly smile, and gentle hand on his shoulder.
* * *
"I'm sorry, Luke," Şakir told the man's shoes as soon as the door closed, isolating them from noise of the other children.
"It's okay sweetie," Luke told him, cupping Şakir's face in his hands, tilting the boy's head up so that the youngster's dark brown eyes looked up into his own bright green ones.
He leaned down and kissed the boy lovingly on the lips, "I have an idea for how we can sort your little problem out."
"Really?" Şakir asked the man excitedly, a broad grin spreading over his face.
Luke gestured for the boy to move towards a stack of boxes and lean on them, planting his hands firmly on the rough wooden surface.
With one hand holding the boy lightly in place, he began to unzip the back of Şakir's costume, using his free fingers to tease the skinny ribs embossing the tight fabric.
When the zip reached the bottom of the opening, Luke's hand slipped easily inside and cupped the pert, underwear clad cheek.
"Stop it," Şakir whispered playfully as he pushed back and squirmed against the invading hand.
Luke ignored the boy and gripped the elasticated band on the boy's trunks and pulled them down, exposing a perfect olive coloured peach to his lustful gaze.
"Not here," Şakir whispered more urgently as the man raked his fingers over the taut flesh.
Deftly the man tapped the insides of both of the boy's feet with his own foot, spreading them apart and giving his hand room to delve past Şakir's hole and tight ball sac to take hold of the slim shaft beyond.
"They'll catch us!" Şakir warned, barely whispering now, his head twisting to face the door that he was sure Luke had not locked.
"Oh, but I think you'd love to be caught," Luke told his young lover, lowering himself onto the boy to pin him down, his finger now teasing the pulsing, leaking stalk, "that's what this is telling me."
"No," panted Şakir, trying to throw off the man's weight so that he could hump Luke's skilful fingers, "not today, we've got rehearsals."
"Mm, but you're so horny right now that you can't stop yourself," Luke breathed into Şakir's ear as he expertly manipulated the boy's dick, "but I guess you're right, and we need to work on that idea."
Left frustrated as the man's finger retreated, Şakir tried to refocus on the purpose of their visit to the store room.
"I'm sorry, I'm trying to waddle, I really am," he told Luke despondently, knowing his part in the production hinged on giving a convincing performance.
"I've got just the thing," Luke assured him, placing a wide, heavy glass butt-plug onto the top of the box, right in Şakir's eyeline, "an old friend, you always move so cutely when he's up here."
Luke gave Şakir's ass a playful spank, punctuating the point he was trying to make.
"Yeah I do," the boy said with a giggle, fondly remembering the times when Luke had plugged him after a long, slow, sensual fucking, "but have you got any lu--UBE!"
Luke had pulled back, releasing Şakir from his imprisonment under the man's weight, then squatted down behind the boy, took a round butt-cheek in each hand, and prized them apart.
Leaning forward he buried his nose in the cleft and with a wide, surprising lick started to apply a tick layer of saliva around and into the boy's quivering hole.
The familiar tastes of sweet and salty sweat, and the musky earthiness of Şakir's ass assaulted Luke's tongue as he lapped, sucked and nibbled around the ring and deeper into the boy's soft centre.
"Oh fuck," Şakir groaned, biting down on his costumed, padded arm to stop himself from crying out from the pleasure that Luke's probing tongue was giving him.
The boy spread his legs wider, pushing his ass back against his more experienced, older lover's face as the words of encouragement he tried to speak descended into lust-filled moans.
Smiling at Şakir's grunt of displeasure as he dislodged himself from the delicious peach, Luke popped his thick thumb into the slightly gaping ass, widening it as he sought the boy's pleasure button.
Drawing himself up to his full height, and leaning heavily on the boy's lithe body once again, he twisted Şakir's torso around so that their mouths could meet.
Şakir passionately made out with his long-time man-friend, tasting the intoxicating flavour of his own ass on the man's lips and tongue.
Luke found his target and massaged it, delighted to feel Şakir start to buck underneath him, and moan loudly in frustration into his mouth as he pulled his thumb out of the boy after several pleasurable minutes keeping him on the edge of climax.
Şakir whimpered at the loss of the spine tingling sensation as the man broke their kiss and raised himself again to stand up straight, shifting behind the boy.
The sharp sound of a zip being lowered could barely be heard over the boy's needy panting as he wiggled his bottom invitingly, trying to get Luke to finish him off.
"Please," he begged, turning to look at the man with pleading eyes, "don't stop, I need--Oh!"
Luke pressed the head of his tick cock against the boy's slicked ass, asserting a constant pressure as the bulbous tip spread the gently yielding ring.
With a popping sensation, the man's glans were swallowed by the hungry hole, drawing the thick shaft deeper, scraping it, with a hiss of pleasure from Şakir, over the boy's immature gland.
"So full,"--"So tight," the pair moaned in unison as Luke bottomed out in his little lovers spasming rear, and began pumping his cock in-and-out of Şakir's eagerly accepting bottom with short, rabbit-like thrusts.
"You're gonna be doing the rest of rehearsal full of my white sauce," the man told the gasping, mewling boy as he approached his limit.
With a bestial grunt, the man pushed deeper still into the Şakir's hole, convulsing as he plastered the boy's walls with hot, thick jizz.
Şakir crowed joyfully, his own climax triggered as Luke's copious cum basted his quivering insides.
The boy's meagre load was plastered over the inside of his costume, thick material and artificial feathers conveniently hiding the damp spot forming there.
"I wonder if they heard us?" Luke teased as Şakir's laboured breathing slowed, and he pulled his wilting cock out of the boy's ass.
"Shut up," Şakir moaned, the pink patches on his face deepening as he strained his ears to hear the shocked murmurings of his fellow cast members, "they didn't."
"Oh well, maybe next time," Luke mused as he picked up the butt-plug and aligned it with the boy's twitching hole.
"I guess, but we'd--eek!" Şakir squeaked, quickly covering his mouth and staring at the door again as the cool glass touched his hot, throbbing hole.
It was still a bit of a stretch to get the plug through the boy's well-prepared sphincter, but with a pleasant, audible pop it passed the widened ring and slide into place, just barely resting on Şakir's still sensitive prostate.
"That's our twenty minutes," Luke informed the boy, zipping up the back of his costume and helping him to the door, "let's get back to it."
* * *
On the stage the other kids were still mingling about as Mr Giles approached.
"Okay, places people," he called out, "now the Pilgrims are going to escort the turkey over to the Natives."
The gathered boys and girls had given the pair questioning looks, presuming in hushed, gossipy tones that Şakir had been taken away to be dismissed from the production.
"Yes, Mr Giles," the flush-faced Turkey said as he took his position between a boy and girl in traditional Puritan dress, smiling at them, and replaying his tryst with Mr Giles in his head as he waited for their cue.
To all the kid's collective surprise, Şakir managed to waddle convincingly over to the group of his fellow actors dressed as Natives, his tail feathers swaying side-to-side as he squeezed his buttocks around the invader buried deep in his tail-hole.
* * * * * *
(Mb, oral, anal, incest.)
"Wow, it's pretty warm in here!" Marty marvelled as he surveyed the interior of the crisp, white dome.
"Well, not too cold at least," Jeff pointed out to his younger brother, crawling past the threshold to the igloo proper. "It would be warmer if we could have made the walls thicker though."
Marty rolled his eyes as his brother down-played of his skill. "Yeah, but who else on the street has got an igloo that actually stands up on its own?" he asked, gesturing widely with his arms in the general direction of the nearby houses.
"No-one, I guess," Jeff said with an embarrassed grin. He hadn't expected the first practical application of his structural engineering degree to be this, but nonetheless he was mostly pleased with the outcome.
"We should celebrate!" Marty declared, unzipping his thickly padded jacket.
"That's a great idea," said Jeff, starting to turn around to exit through the tunnel, "I'll go get us some colas."
"No!" giggled Marty, reaching up and grabbing a hold of Jeff's arm, dragging him back, "I mean celebrate--spelled f-u-c-k!"
"Oh!" said Jeff as he took hold of his own jacket's zip and started to unfasten it, "I like your idea better."
"Yeah, you know I've wanted to try fucking outside," Marty reminded Jeff as he took off his jacket, laid it out as part of a makeshift bed, sat on it, and began to tug off his wellington boots.
"Technically, we're not `outside' if we're in an igloo," Jeff pointed out, removing his jacket, jumper, and shirt, adding them to the pile.
"It's close enough," Marty said as he rolled onto his back, wriggled his de-socked toes at his brother, and yanked off his trousers and underpants in one motion.
Jeff was greeted by the sight of a very erect four-inch boy-cock bobbing in the cool air and looking ready for action. Stripping off one layer at a time, and watching Marty struggle to pull off his own jumper and shirt as one single piece, he was soon as naked as his brother, and sporting his own six-inch throbbing man-dick.
Joining the younger boy on the stack of warm clothes, he reached up to run his fingers through Marty's hair. "Do you want to be on top?" he asked.
"Yeah," said Marty with a lick of his lips, and he knelt, shuffled towards Jeff's feet, and positioned himself between his older brother's legs. Bending forward he began to lap at the head of the erect dick, moaning happily as the thick, salty precum started to flow. Tracing the bulging veins with the lip of his tongue, he slathered his brother's length with hot saliva. When he got to Jeff's large, firm balls he buried his nose in the dark curly hair. "Fuck, you stink of ball-sweat," he groaned, engulfing one testicle, then the other, and sucking on them greedily. "I love it!" he said a few moments later, letting the orb fall from his mouth.
"Get your butt up here, so I can loosen you up," Jeff commanded with a lust-filled groan. He reached out and roughly grabbed the youngsters hips, pulling them towards his head as Marty repositioned himself. With a hand on each cheek, Jeff parted his brother's buttocks, staring at the small, tight brown star that twitched with excitement. Delving into the smooth valley, exploring the crevice and puckered hole with an expertly probing tongue, Jeff tasted the uniquely mingled flavours of boy-ass and boy-sweat.
"Yes! Tongue-fuck me!" Marty demanded a moment before slipping the head of Jeff's fat prick past his lips and teasing the leaking piss-slit with the tip of his tongue. He squirmed and pushed back against the talented tongue, his own dexterous little muscle working its way beneath his brother's foreskin, peeling it back as he swallowed more and more of the thick shaft. Humming with delight as Jeff's dick filled his mouth and throat, Marty bobbed up and down, savouring the silky texture and musky tang of the pulsating pole.
Reluctantly removing his tongue from the deliciously dank cave, Jeff pushed his brother's ass away from his face just enough to issue a warning. "You better stop that if you want me to fuck this cute little butt." He added a playful but sharp slap to the right cheek, gasping in pleasure as Marty grunted and his throat tightened.
With a pop, Marty pulled off his brother's dick, thin strings of drool connecting his lips with the purple head. A quick lick of his lips broke the strands. He twisted his body, clambering over the sweaty form below him so that they were face to face, their lips meeting. "I forgot how fucking good my ass tastes!" he said breathlessly after breaking his hot, wet kiss with Jeff.
"Yeah," said Jeff, licking his lips and pulling his brother back down for a second round, "you got the best tasting ass anywhere, dick-breath."
Marty giggled and deliberately exhaled into his brother's face. "It's your dick that's giving me dick-breath, ass-breath!"
"Oh! How insulting!" Jeff said with mock offence, bringing his hand up to his forehead, and affecting a fake swoon, "I don't think I want to fuck that scrawny little backside of yours any more."
"Nu-uh! It's not up to you," Marty said boldly, shimmying back along Jeff's body, reaching behind himself, and grabbing hold of the upright dick possessively. "This is mine, and I'm gonna fuck myself on it, and you can't stop me." He raised himself up onto his knees, straddling his brother's hips, and poking at his spreading, quivering hole with the head of the long, hard stalk. Exerting a constant pressure and lowering himself onto the bulbous tip, Marty slowly took the pulsing dick into his warm, welcoming hole.
"Holy shit!" Jeff exclaimed as the head of his dick popped past Marty's sphincter and the boy deliberately tightened it, redoubling the grip on the man's aching shaft. Inch by inch it was squeezed into a velvety vice, the narrow tunnel contracting as it scraped across Marty's well-loved prostate. "You gonna take it all in one go?" he asked his brother hopefully, and received a smirk and a nod as the only response.
Marty groaned as Jeff's dick bottomed out inside him, then sighed contentedly. With a gentle rhythm he flexed his ass muscles, stimulating his brother's dick and drawing out passionate moans from Jeff's lips. "Beg me," he demanded, staring intently into his older brother's eyes as an involuntary shiver of icy-cold pleasure ran down his spine, "beg me to ride your dick."
"Please," Jeff begged, his eyes fixed on Marty's devilish expression, "ride my dick."
"Call me your `best dick riding little bro'," Marty whispered, unable to stop himself from squirming on Jeff's dick as he exercised the power he held over his brother, and prickles of cool pleasure peppered his back.
"You're the best dick riding little bro a big bro could ever ask for," Jeff said, breathing heavily. "So ride my dick right now, or I'm gonna turn you over and fucking plough you into the ground!"
"Mm," said Marty with a low, sexy moan, and a sly grin on his rosy-cheeked face, "I never thought you'd ask." Closing his eyes with a soft sigh, he started to pull himself up and along Jeff's dick, feeling the rim of his tight pucker clinging to the thick shaft as he went. With a small whimper of delight as the engorged head ran over his boy-button, Marty let just enough of his brother's dick leave his warm love tunnel, keeping only the head inside him.
Jeff let out a guttural growl as his eyes fell shut, and as his shaft was freed from its restrictive prison, a cool breeze played across the slick, sensitive flesh. "Yesss," he hissed as after what felt like an eternity of teasing by his brother, the youngster's hungry hole swallowing his throbbing, needy pole once more.
Rolling his hips and panting quickly, Marty fucked himself for all that he was worth on the pulsating phallus, squeaking in ecstasy with every sharp jab of the flared end on his swollen gland. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears like the wind through the leaves surrounding the garden, the sweat which appeared on his pink, exposed skin barely had time to form before being swept away into the cool evening air.
"Fuck! I'm cumming!" Jeff grunted, grabbing Marty's shoulders blindly and pulling him down into an impassioned kiss. As he unloaded shot after shot of thick, creamy cum deep into his younger brother's bowels, his cock swelling and straining in the narrowing passage, he wrestled Marty's tongue into submission.
On top of his older brother, and held firmly against him, Marty spewed forth an equally copious, but much thinner and more translucent stream of his own jizz. Sandwiched between the two heaving, flushed bodies the immature spunk quickly cooled, bonding them together.
"Mummy? What are those two boys doing?" a small, girlish voice asked.
Lazily, Jeff and Marty opened their eyes and looked in the direction of the sound.
Stood at the edge of their garden, on the footpath next to the road, they could see a young child and her mother above the puddled remains of the igloo's wall.
"Don't look Tiffany!" the startled mother told her inquisitive daughter, covering the little girls eyes. She quickly shuffled her away from the lurid sight, and giving man and boy a withering, reproachful look.
"Fuck," Marty breathed, surveying the collapsed remnants of the igloo, "are we so hot we that we melted it?"
"Yeah, we are," Jeff said with a chuckle, "and we'd better put some pants on before we really get into trouble."
* * * * * *
(xb, nosex.)
Rex lay on his bed, curled up into a tight ball, staring at the glowing red numbers on his bedside clock. His heart beat with each flash on-and-off of the two dots separating the hours from the minutes. The minutes that were passing tortuously slowly now that the appointed hour was close. His parents had warned him that he must not get up a minute before six o'clock, so he waited and watched as the time slowly ticked along to five-fifty-seven.
He knew what he was getting for Christmas this year even though he would have liked it to remain a surprise, and he discovery had come about accidentally over several days.
While rummaging through the food cupboard looking for a snack one evening, he had chanced upon several cans of Peterson's Premium Pet Food. However, at the time he had thought little of it, assuming that they were a present for one of his parent's friend's pets.
The next clue came when he had been banned from going into the garage and noticed that the thermostat next to the door had been adjusted to keep the room warm. He thought that he occasionally heard muffled sounds coming from inside the room as he passed.
The final part of the puzzle fell into place when he had detected the faint aroma of leather when passing his parent's bedroom. His nose had led him to the bottom of their wardrobe where several unwrapped gifts lay, most prominent among them a collar bearing the name-tag Davy.
The minutes ticked over to zero-zero. Rex tossed his blanket off himself and leapt out of bed. Quickly he stripped off the trunks and under-shirt he had slept in, casting them aside into the dirty clothes basket before rummaging around in his chest of drawers for a fresh set of underwear. Throwing on a t-shirt and pair of shorts he bounded out of his bedroom towards his parents room, and after a moment of in decision he decided to wake his dad first.
"Dad?" Rex whispered loudly, "It's after six, can we go open our presents please?"
All the response Rex got was a low grunt and an involuntary kick of his dad's leg beneath the blanket.
"Dad?!" Rex asked a little louder, and giving his dad a gentle prod.
When it appeared that he would get no answer from his dad, Rex stepped back, ready to walk around the bed to try to rouse his mum. But just as he turned his head he saw his dad's eye open and a broad grin appear on his face.
"You are awake!" barked Rex in mingled frustration and delight.
"Morning Rex." his dad said as he threw off the covers, yawned widely, and stretched before rolling out of bed.
"Mornin'" his mum added as she crawled out of bed too.
It took far too long, in Rex's opinion, for his parents to get ready as he waited eagerly at the bottom of the stairs for them to join him.
"Yes!" Rex yelled with a howl of delight as he entered the sitting room and saw the arrangement of dozens of presents. "Can I open him first, get him out of his cage?" he asked his parents, staring avidly at the largest present by the tree.
"Him?" asked Rex's dad questioningly.
"Um, yeah. I kinda figured out that I was getting a pet." Rex confessed, blushing and loping to the smaller pile of presents next to the wrapped cage and retrieving the one containing the collar, guided by scent alone. "His name's Davy, right?" he asked, tearing open the colourful paper to reveal the shiny silver name-tag.
"Okay Rex, but do it carefully, you don't want to frighten him." Rex's dad told the excitable youth.
"I won't." Rex promised, kneeling next to the gift-wrapped cage and carefully using his nails to slice open one of the corners. "Hey Davy," he said softly to his new pet who looked back at him with an odd toothy grin on his face, "Do you wanna come out and play?" Rex watched with delight and the dark haired head nodded and Davy shuffled eagerly where he sat. "Good boy," Rex complimented Davy.
With great care Rex peeled back some of the red and green patterned paper to expose the cage's door. It was closed with a pair of simple latches at the top and bottom which Rex released easily, swinging the door open. In a blur, Davy jumped out of his cage and pounced on Rex, pinning him down.
"Wanna wrestle, huh?" Rex said with a grin as he rolled over, taking Davy with him and pinning his new pet down instead. Leaning closer, Rex nuzzled into Davy's neck, sniffing at the thick dark hair. "Hey!" he yelped as Davy reversed the reversal and ended up towering over him again.
Back and forth they went, jockeying for position, neither remaining on top for more than a few seconds before they eventually had to pause for breath, Davy staring down at Rex as they both panted.
"He's fully trained you know," Rex's mum told him, "when you've had enough, just tell him to `sit' and he will."
"Okay," Rex said looking up at his pet, "sit!"
Davy scrambled off Rex and trotted over to the sofa, neatly jumping up onto the cushions and sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees, gazing at Rex.
"On the floor, silly," Rex told Davy with a giggle as he retrieved Davy's new collar.
"`kay Rex," Davy said uncrossing his legs enough to slide off the sofa and reposition himself on the floor. "Is that my collar?" he asked as he saw Rex approach.
"Yeah, there you go," Rex said, looping the collar around Davy's neck and buckling it loosely, "now you're properly my human-boy."
"Thanks," Davy said, grinning broadly.
Watching as Rex danced on the spot yipping excitedly and wagging his golden haired tail madly, Davy thought that the dog-boy would be a good master to him.
* * * * * *
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