Warning: The following is a work of fiction and does not relate to any real person or event. It describes explicit sexual activities between adult men and young boys. If this is not what you are looking for, you have no excuse for reading any further. If it is, then enjoy!

THE PORN BOYS

by

Cosmo

Chapter 6: Loving Yura - II

When I dropped Yura at Nikolayev's house the following morning, it was the first time I had been separated from him since the day we met. It was difficult to believe that we had been together almost every hour of every day since the moment I picked him up from the airport. And now, even at night he was sharing my bed. Last night, he had tired himself out from swimming in the pool. He had used up so much energy that by the time early evening came around, he was exhausted. He actually fell asleep on the sofa in front of the TV. I almost felt like his father when I scooped him up in my arms and lifted him from the sofa to put him to bed. His arms hung down floppily and his little mouth was ever so slightly open as I carried him, unconscious, up the stairs. There is something beautiful and mysterious in watching a little boy sleeping. At times like that, when I observed him sleeping soundly, his eyes innocently closed, his face peaceful and expressionless, it was as though he could have been any ten year old boy. Not the ten year old boy that had been through so much and had all those problems bearing down on him, but a ten year old boy sleeping contentedly, without a care in the world. I put him into my bed and tucked him in, leaving the lights on low, and slipped out onto the terrace for a smoke before I joined him. He slept peacefully all night long. There was no bedwetting, no nightmares and he certainly had no trouble sleeping. It was as though sleeping in my bed had banished his fears and insecurities overnight. At some point during the night he must have turned and attached himself to me, because when I awoke he was turned towards me, his face nuzzled against my arm, and he had one hand placed ever so lightly on my stomach. But he was still asleep, and I think he must have slept better than he had in months. It was as though, even while unconscious, he knew he was protected and with someone who genuinely loved and cared for him. He knew he was safe now.

So it was with a strange feeling of trepidation that I dropped Yura off at Nikolayev's house. He was excited about going over to play with Misha. The company of other children was something he had missed out on a great deal – at any rate the company of other children who were not overtly sexualized like the other boys he had been incarcerated with. Misha would be a good counterpoint to the kind of cock and ass play Yura was used to. He needed that normality. I only hoped he would be able to relax and feel comfortable with Misha.

Nikolayev's house was a big pseudo-Italian type villa, one of a number in a secure compound way over the other side of town, in one of the more affluent neighborhoods. Many of the houses round about were occupied by families with credentials more or less equal to his. They were obviously accomplished, moneyed and successful. It was an exclusive community, and it was apparent from the moment we pulled up at the big iron gates and had to be buzzed inside. The grounds were lush and green and well manicured, with automatic sprinklers and beds of carefully tended shrubs and neatly trimmed hedgerows. The houses were all two or three storeys high, with wide driveways and arched doorways and three-car garages. Some of them had windows so high, it was easy to peer inside and snatch a glimpse of the opulence within.

It was a Hispanic woman that answered the door, followed shortly by Nikolayev and Misha. I exchanged a few polite words with Nikolayev at the door, but declined his invitation to step inside. The Hispanic woman withdrew and left Misha languishing in the doorway. He was dressed only in a pair of loose swimming shorts, already prepared for a day of playing in the pool. He beamed at Yura getting out of the car and appeared so excitable that he was literally hopping from one foot to the other. His swimming shorts looked a bit baggy on him and seemed to make him look smaller than he actually was. But he was still bone dry, evidently not having been into the pool yet. I noticed how he had really clear bronzed skin on his arms and legs and chest. He had quite a lean, taut little body. His bare little boy feet were as brown as the rest of him and when he was standing still they had a tendency to point inwards ever so slightly, giving him an air of cute vulnerability. He was a very attractive little boy. I handed Nikolayev a backpack with Yura's things in it: There was some sun cream along with his Speedos and a change of clothing. I bade goodbye to Yura with an almost subconscious pat on his rump as he scampered inside, and he hopped up the steps and into the house without looking back.

As I turned and got back into the car, I wondered if this was what it felt like to deliver your child for their first day at school. I was happy for Yura, but sad for myself. Yura had so utterly filled my thoughts and deeds over the past few days, an eerie loneliness suddenly pervaded my emotions, and as I drove away from Nikolayev's house, the big iron gates shut emphatically behind me with an unsympathetic clang.

I decided to go to my favorite bar. I had nothing else to do, and finding myself suddenly feeling pretty out of sorts, I naturally gravitated towards my old haunts. The truth is I rarely drank these days. In fact, since John's death I had studiously avoided alcohol. I wondered if it was more than a coincidence that I found myself heading for one of the very places that I used to frequent with John. John was very much uppermost in my thoughts since I related the story to Yura yesterday. Of course, what I hadn't told him was how John's death had affected me. Naturally, it hit me very hard. I damn near went off the rails after John died. When there was no longer anybody there to guide me, I was lost in hopelessness and despair. Yes I drank. I drank a lot after John died. I sank into an endless downward spiral of black, blinding grief that threatened to totally consume me. I drank to ease the pain. I sat there night after night obliterating my mind with alcohol. It was all too easy to just let go and allow myself to sink into the mire of a type of morose self-pity that was so profound that it threatened to irrevocably dislodge my fingertips from the cliff of hope and send me tumbling headlong into the abyss of despair. Thankfully, I never looked into that abyss, for if I had, I doubt I would have survived intact. Thankfully, I still had Boyscape. I suppose Boyscape was my salvation. Boyscape gave me something to focus on, and put my circumstances into context. Okay, John was gone. But I had had a good life with him. I was lucky to have known him. I was lucky to have known real love and to have had the benefit of his nurturing and guidance. I wasn't going to throw that away. I knew I had to set aside my grief because it was nothing compared to the problems of the poor boys who turned up at the refuge every day looking dazed and bedraggled. Their lives were chaotic and disjointed and characterized by violence and abuse. I knew that I could make a difference. Perhaps I drew strength from that, and I was bolstered by the certain knowledge that there were boys there who needed me, boys whose very lives depended on me.

The bar was pretty deserted when I walked in. A place that was usually buzzing with activity in the evening, had that sad, washed out, depressing look to it at this time of day. The sunlight was streaming in through the windows, accentuating the dusty, almost fetid atmosphere of the cavernous room. The bare wooden floor, and the unpolished wooden tables dotted about the place looked lonely and uninviting. There were various arcade games flashing away unappealingly in the corner, and there was a juke box playing in the background, seemingly for nobody in particular. I stepped up to the bar.

`What can I get you?' the bartender asked, in a husky voice, busily polishing a glass as he questioned me.

I ordered a bottle of beer and settled on one of the fixed stools by the L-shaped bar. The bartender put a coaster down and served my beer in a frosted glass. I looked around, incredulous at how little the place had changed. There were two leather guys with beards playing pool over the other side of the room, and one wizened old man sitting in a booth by the window eating chicken wings. Towards the back of the room, two big thick-set guys with pony tails and tattoos were sharing a pitcher of beer. The place had hardly changed at all. Perhaps the clientele was older since I had last been in here, but then so was I. Suddenly the bar depressed me. There was no real attraction to hanging out in such seedy places, so I decided to quickly finish up my beer and go.

I visited the restroom. When I came back to finish my beer I found a paper napkin laying next to my glass. It was a small square of white and had something written on it in blue ink.

`Saxon Club. 3pm tomorrow. Come alone.'

The letters were scrawled quite hard into the soft paper, and had been etched into the surface with several passes of the ballpoint. Where had this come from? I looked up and scanned the room quickly. Everything was just as it had been before: the two leather guys playing pool, the old man in the booth, the two big guys with tattoos – no one had moved. I gestured to the bartender.

`Did you see who left this?' I asked him, holding up the little napkin.

He shook his head.

`I was out back,' he said.

I dashed over to the door. Whoever had left it could not have gone very far. I flung the door open and raced out into the parking lot, just in time to see a car exit the lot, its brake lights flashing briefly before turning into the flow of traffic and disappearing. It was the silver grey Dodge Trader. Damn! I had just missed it. I stood there squinting into the distant traffic, but the Trader was gone.

I looked again at the napkin, now half crumpled in my fist.

I went back inside and sat down to finish my beer, looking again at the mysterious napkin.

`Saxon Club. 3pm tomorrow. Come alone.'

A multitude of questions all battled for recognition in my mind all at once. Of course I knew the Saxon Club. It was a well known gay venue. But there were just too many questions. Obviously whoever had left this message had followed me into the bar. It was eerily uncomfortable to think that they had been watching me and I had been completely unaware. It left me feeling cheated and vulnerable. I wondered if it was significant that they had waited until I was alone. This was the first time I had been out without Yura. Perhaps they had been waiting for this opportunity. Staring at the napkin, I snorted, almost laughing to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation. Whoever they were obviously had a distorted sense of reality, and were clearly fond of playing games. Who they were or what they wanted was a mystery to me. But if there was any way of knowing, I was going to make sure I was at the Saxon Club tomorrow. I got up and headed for the door, stuffing the napkin into my pocket as I left.

******

It turned colder as the evening approached. It was difficult to believe, from looking out of the drawing room windows, that it had been warm enough for Yura to have been swimming and playing outdoors at Nikolayev's house. No matter. We were warm now, content and happy. I drew the blinds and Yura curled up next to me on the sofa as the night was drawing in. We cuddled up together watching some inane sitcom on the big plasma TV, sharing a prolonged boymoment. I was so grateful to have him back. The truth is, I had missed him. Even though it was only one day, a matter of a few hours, I missed him terribly. Yura spent the morning with Misha at Nikolayev's house, and I spent the rest of the day languishing around the big empty house on my own feeling miserable and alone. Who could have thought the presence of one little ten year old boy could have such an impact on me?

When I saw Nikolayev's car pull up in the drive, I almost rushed to the door. I threw the door open as Nikolayev was helping Yura out of the back seat. I exchanged a few polite words with Nikolayev, and thanked him. Yura said goodbye to Misha, who was still safely strapped into the back seat, and we waved them off as they drove away. I ushered Yura inside and shut the big heavy front door. There was a brief, slightly nervous pause between us and Yura stood there smiling. I held out my arms. He eagerly filled them. He threw himself onto me with some urgency, and I knew he was glad to be back too.

`I missed you little buddy,' I said, muffled against the top of his head.

`I missed you too,' he said.

I held him out at arms length and took a good look at him.

`Glad to have you back my little fuckboy,' I said with a laugh.

He giggled.

I cannot describe the exquisite pleasure of having this beautiful, sexy, precocious little boy so close to me. This boy who was in awe of me and whom, if I was honest, I absolutely adored. So it was all the more poignant for me, after yesterday when Yura had declared his love for me, that he now wanted to be close to me all the time. In fact, I found that he was suddenly quite insistent at following me about the house, as he had done all evening since his return, wanting to help me. This was particularly apparent in the kitchen earlier when I was preparing dinner for us both, and as I cooked, he sat on one of the high stools and talked excitedly about his day. He told me about Misha's big pool and the big garden and how they played in his tree-house, and about how Misha had just about every games console imaginable. It was so refreshing to hear him talking about ordinary little boy stuff. I knew that at these times he was allowing his natural childishness to surface, for there was never any guarantee that the very next moment he would not be momentarily distracted by some unwanted memory from his past, where he might involuntarily recall some horrible instance of the things that were done to him. I knew how this little boy had suffered, so it was all the more delightful to hear him speaking of the innocent boyish things he had got up to with Misha. I made no mention of my unscheduled visit to the bar earlier. Certainly I did not say anything about the mysterious message on that napkin, which was at that moment still surreptitiously stashed away in the pocket of my jacket.

Now Yura was on the sofa next to me, his top half laying across me, his beautiful bare little boy feet drawn up onto the sofa and his elbow propping him up across my lap. I had an arm along his flank, with my hand resting on his hip. He was freshly out of the shower, warm and smelling of a mildly scented soap. Looking down, I could see his wet hair, still ruffled from the shower, where it stuck up in a little whirl on the top of his pretty little head. He was laying there swaddled in the loose folds of my big toweled bathrobe. It was far too big for him, but he insisted on wearing it. He claimed he never had one of his own and that he liked the idea of wearing something of mine. So I gave it to him. His slight little frame was almost lost in its folds, and the long sleeves flopped over his little hands so that only his fingers were poking out. He cupped an enormous mug of hot chocolate between his hands, from which he took the occasional sip. As he did so, he giggled to himself.

`What?' I asked.

`Fuckboy,' he laughed, in his Russian accent, quietly, as though almost talking to himself.

The term had stuck in his mind from when I had uttered it earlier on his return. It was funny when he said it. Evidently it was new to him and he seemed to think it amusing. Or else, he liked the sound of it.

`You're a dirty little fuckboy,' I whispered.

He laughed, and said in Russian, `Yeh, fuckboy, that's me.' Then he switched modes and stunned me by saying, in almost perfect English, `I like fucking.'

Pleased with himself, he looked up at me with a satisfied smile. I smiled back, nodding approvingly. It may have been slightly unorthodox language, but his English was definitely improving.

We were enjoying this random, almost reckless banter. I was discovering that he could be quite engaging when he was relaxed, and was actually quite witty and light-hearted. The change in him had been quite dramatic. It was a stark contrast to the reticence he displayed when he had first arrived, when he had seemed unsettled and ill at ease.

He took another sip of his hot chocolate, and put the mug down on the coffee table to the side of the sofa. He was very mellow and relaxed. He laid down across my lap, so that he was facing up at me, looking thoughtful and content for a few moments. He reached up and placed his little hands on either side of my face, drawing my head down towards him. His palms were hot against my cheeks from where he was holding the mug. I lowered my head and kissed his little mouth. His lips were sugary and tasted of chocolate. As he was laid out across me like that, I slipped a hand into the open front of his bathrobe, and stroked his smooth boy chest, tracing circles around his pink little nipples. He wriggled and purred in contentment. I felt the tangible musculature of his chest and pinched one of his nipples for good measure. He closed his eyes momentarily in appreciation, then went on watching me intently. He was totally relaxed as he laid there, passive and yielding. I felt his clean, silky, flawless skin, taking in the fine ridge down the centre of his chest, all the way down to his tight little abs and the beginnings of a little six pack. His cobalt blue eyes sparkled from the glare of the TV. God, this little boy was so unbelievably beautiful and he had such a perfect body, I doubted I would ever tire of looking at him.

I stripped opened the front of his bathrobe and asked him to take it off. I wanted to feel his body properly and appreciate his beauty once more. He immediately complied. I moved over and he raised himself up. He took off the bathrobe, then laid face down on the sofa completely naked. I loved the way he was so comfortable in his nakedness. His lack of shyness still took my breath away, even now. I admired the curvature of his perfect body, his smooth back and the dip of his waist, the swell of his perfect butt, and the backs of his slender legs. His arms were folded under his head, resting his chin on the back of his hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa and reached over to give his little shoulders a squeeze, as though giving him a massage.

`Hmm, that feels good,' he murmured, his eyes closed, `Do it some more.'

I massaged away, squeezing the hard little muscles across his shoulders, digging my fingertips into his shoulder blades and all along his upper arms and the base of his beautiful boyish neck.

`You're good at that,' he said.

`I'm trained in holistic massage,' I reminded him.

`Massage... cooking... fucking... you do everything good,' he remarked.

I laughed and carried on, using my strong fingers to really manipulate his muscles, and he was starting to get very relaxed. I continued my ministrations on him, feeling my way from the deltoids in his shoulders, right down his smooth back to where his lats formed a hard ridge at the root of his spine. My big hands encircling his slim little waist, and then down over his perfect little butt, and back up again.

Yura was really into it, and as I had come to expect, became very thoughtful and relaxed. I knew from experience that a really deep massage sometimes had that effect. The TV was babbling away in the background and Yura was very quiet. He laid there silently with his eyes closed for a very long time. But I knew he was awake, and his mind was very active. I waited until he was ready to talk.

`Mark?' he said at last, as my massage was pressing him down into the sofa cushions.

`Hmm?'

`Do you think I'll ever see Vladik again?'

So that's what was on his mind.

`I don't know,' I said, `I don't think anyone knows.'

`I wish I could see him again,' he confessed, `I miss him.'

He said it with such longing in his voice, it was clear to me that this boy Vladik held a very special place in his heart.

I continued massaging his perfect little body all over. It was nice to see him so relaxed and mellow. He was thoughtful and introspective, almost comatose. Then, after a good long pause, he broke the silence once more.

`Mark?'

`Hmm?'

`Please fuck me?'

It was a plain, unpretentious request, almost a question. Coming so soon after his thoughts of Vladik, I wondered if sex was just his way of assuaging the hurt he carried with him. Perhaps getting fucked was the only thing that could soothe those painful memories.

I leaned over and whispered against the back of his head as he was lying there.

`You're so fuckin' horny, little buddy.'

`Horny little fuckboy,' he said, in English. And then with a sad sigh, he reverted back to Russian and said `There's no hope for me.'

That seemed an extraordinary thing to say, especially coming from the lips of a ten year old boy. It was so insightful and revealing and I wondered if it was an acknowledgement of how his sexual experiences had affected him. It was statements like that which convinced me he had a maturity way beyond his years.

He turned over on the sofa so that he was facing up and grabbed at my sleeves, looking up at me longingly. His little dick was already hard and pulsing perceptibly in his crotch, sticking straight up, rigid with horniness.

`Do me Mark. I want to feel you inside me.'

`God, you're insatiable little buddy,' I said, instantly aroused by his plain talking.

`Is that good?' he asked, humorously, obviously unfamiliar with the term.

I smiled, and with that I leaned over and kissed him, resting my big palm over his stiff little boydick, and clasped it tightly. I could feel it burning hot and as hard as wood. Yura took a long deep breath and exhaled with pleasure, closing his eyes.

`Ooh,' he sighed, `You're so good to me.'

He put an arm around my neck and drew me closer, his tender young lips kissing me softly all around my mouth, and he whispered into my ear.

`Fuck me Mark. Fuck me hard. Make me feel it.'

I drew back and looked into his eyes earnestly, disarmed by his forwardness.

`You're really fuckin' special little buddy, you know that?'

He shifted, lifting himself from the sofa and got down on the floor. I moved aside and watched what he was going to do. Kneeling down, he grabbed his little boydick with his fist, pulling his foreskin back quite hard, revealing the soft pink head of his dick, and gave it a good hard tug. A little moan of pain escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes in pleasure. Then he turned, leaning forward onto the seat of the sofa, and presented his sweet little butt to me. He laid his head on the sofa and looked back at me over his shoulder.

`Fuck me Mark. Please fuck me one more time.'

I cannot describe the feeling I had at that moment, having this sweet little fuckboy kneeling there in all his beautiful nakedness, literally begging me to fuck him. What strange set of circumstances had conspired to bring about this perfect moment? He was just so adorable, so remarkable, and so special to me. There was nothing I wanted more than to bury my cock firmly into his perfect little preteen body. I was already hard and not about to decline his request. I hurriedly shed my clothes, discarding everything unceremoniously on the floor. Once naked, I scooted up close behind him, running my hands over his back, feeling the smoothness of his flawless skin and appreciating the beauty of his boyishness. His body was burning hot to the touch, and he was almost panting with anticipation. God, that was so sexy. But I made him wait. I leaned over him, planting kisses all over his back. The tip of my cock brushed the smooth skin of his sweet little bubble butt as I did so, and he almost swooned. But he was patient. I kissed his back from between his shoulder blades, all the way down to his butt and I pressed my face into his crack, licking it up and down, relishing his clean boyish scent. He moaned, but didn't move. I parted his smooth little ass cheeks and located his shiny little rosebud. I licked around it, using plenty of saliva, getting it really wet and sloppy, finally tonguing his boyhole with a deep thrust of my tongue. He gasped and jerked his head back in ecstasy.

`Oh fuck!' he cried out plaintively.

`Yeah,' I exclaimed, triumphantly, `No one's ever done that to you before, have they?'

I tongued his hole some more, and I could tell he was loving it. Then, licking my fingertips, I slowly massaged two fingers into his crack and felt around for his little boyhole. I pressed into his hole and it yielded easily. I sank my fingers in as far as they would go, feeling the hot, velvety smoothness of the inside of his little chute, and I knew my cock belonged in there. I fucked my fingers into him hard, connecting with his gland, and he winced. He yelped, but didn't protest. I did that two or three times and he yelped each time. God, his little yelps were such a turn-on. I almost wanted to hurt him just so he could go on yelping for me in his high pitched little boy voice. I dug my fingers into his soft, yielding hole as hard and as far as they would go, and, with my fingers still inside him, Yura curled around to look at me, tilting his head to the side.

`Take me Mark,' he said, with some urgency, `Take me hard.'

And with that he turned around, mustered up a good mouthful of saliva, and spat emphatically onto my cock, looking up at me tauntingly. He was goading me, spurring me on. His hot spit was a real turn-on, and I watched his big glob of saliva spreading and dripping from the end of my big cock. I regarded him with a kind of lust I had never felt before. I had never experienced sex like this. It was as though this kid was taking me onto a whole new level. I reached over and pushed the back of his head, forcing his sweet face back down into the sofa cushions. I lined up my big cock with his little hole, took a firm hold of his slim hips, and fucked it into him with all my strength. I buried my cock all the way into his hole in one swift, almighty thrust. He yelped even louder than before. Slowly, my iron pole of hardness enveloped itself in his yielding softness, and he rocked with me as I tried a few hard thrusts. I fucked him slowly for a good few minutes, and then roughly and mercilessly, barely giving him time to breathe. His hot little body felt so good. Looking down, the sight of my cock disappearing between the cheeks of his perfect little boy butt was exquisite. As I pistoned into him, his narrow little frame seemed barely big enough to accommodate my big cock, which must have been stabbing right up into his abdomen. His hole was obscenely stretched, impaled on my cock. God, what a sight. Then he started with the dirty talk.

`Harder,' he begged me, between yelps, `Fuck me harder. Hurt me.'

God, this little boy was so into it. He was jerking his head back in ecstasy, and pushing back to meet my thrusts, as usual in perfect synchronization, and letting out little high pitched squeals each time I hit his gland.

We went on like this for a good long while. He was almost breathless from his exertions, panting like a little dog. For me, that was all the more erotic. Eventually it got too much for him. He slowed me down and, as he was apt to do, wanted to change positions. Wordlessly, he let my big cock slip from his hole, and he turned over onto his back. He settled himself comfortably on the rug, his little dick still hard and pointing up insistently like a little flagpole. He raised his knees up to his chest to give me access to his hole, and invited me to resume fucking him. I got into position above him, looking lovingly into those beautiful blue eyes. It was a perfect boymoment. I stared deep into his pupils and I saw something really special in his mysterious cobalt blue eyes: I saw the love and adoration he had for me reflecting right back at me.

`Fuck me, fuck me!' he urged, anxious not to allow the momentum to diminish.

My cock was still wet with spit and precum, and as hard as steel. Lowering myself over his diminutive little body, I took him hard, just the way he liked it. As I did so, I could see the pain and pleasure in his face as he bore the force of my assault.

`Fuck my little ass,' he went on, `Fuck it hard.'

I gave him a few expert thrusts and his little body shook with the force of my fucking into him, but I had barely resumed our fucking when he stopped me. He pushed his palms flat against my chest, and I stopped, my cock still buried in his ass.

`Mark, fuck my ass as hard as you can.'

I pulled away, slightly repelled.

`I don't want to hurt you,' I said.

`I can take it,' he said, `It's the only thing that makes me feel really alive.'

I was stunned – momentarily stopped in my tracks by his statement, with its deeper overtones and implications. Perhaps he really did need rough sex to make him feel good, almost as though he was addicted to it.

`Do it,' he barked, `Do it for me.'

I already knew there was something of a masochistic element to his fucking. He was always begging me to hurt him, but I had always considered it a manifestation of his bravado, his boyish exuberance. But to ask me to make a concerted effort to deliberately hurt him was new territory for me.

`Please Mark,' he pleaded, `I need this.'

I was so turned on by this sexy kid, so full of desire for him, I took a deep breath and held my cock just at the opening of his little hole, and I could feel him bracing himself beneath me. I was so anxious to please him, I unleashed the full force of my energy upon him.

This new, forceful and violent fucking that we now embarked on felt almost the extreme opposite of what we had started out doing a short while ago, when he was relaxed and mellow and I was massaging and comforting his little body. But he was enjoying it. He was enjoying this fuck so much that he wriggled his hips as I thrust into him, expertly moving his boyhole around so that my cock was hitting the sides of his chute as I stabbed it into him, and he was feeling the full force of my thrusts. And he took it. He took everything I gave him, bearing my assault with all the bravery and fortitude of an Eagle Scout.

At the same time, I could see that he had worked his hands down to his boycock and had grabbed his little hairless balls in one hand, squeezing his little sac roughly. With the other hand, he squeezed his little boycock and was jacking it furiously. That was so sexy, seeing him pulling his little dick like that with his tiny fist. I slowed down, and gave him a few long thrusts, pulling nearly all the way out and quickly shunting my cock back into him, hard. I was shocked to see there were traces of blood on it.

`God, that's blood!' I gasped, almost absent-mindedly thinking aloud.

I could see Yura focus on my dick as I fucked it in and out of him, and his eyes widened. It was blood alright. I must have torn the lining of his little chute and my cock was smeared with ripples of bright red blood mixed in with all the precum and slime. Seeing that, Yura quickened the pace on his dick. It was the catalyst which finally brought him to a climax. His stare was fixed on my cock as I continued thrusting in and out, and he was gasping `Oh fuck, oh fuck...' as his orgasm was building. From the urgent tone in his voice, he knew it was going to be a big one, and his anticipation was tangible. Finally, another plaintive cry as his orgasm gripped, and his little dick squirted. He continued jacking it and spunked like a little porn star, with a copious amount that I didn't think was possible for a boy his age. He spunked with such force that his boycum went way up into the air, spraying us both. Little jets of his hot little boy cum sprinkled my chest and stomach and there were tiny little droplets of clear boyjuice covering his smooth chest. God it was so beautiful.

I pulled my still hard cock out of his little ass and was amazed by how much blood there was on it. A couple of tiny rivulets of watery reddish slime trickled out of his hole. I reached for a wad of tissues from the box on the coffee table nearby, and wiped his hole and my dick. Momentarily dazed by his cum, Yura laid on the floor beneath me breathless, his little chest heaving rapidly. He was shiny with sweat, and it was running from his temples and forehead. That was one of the things I really loved about him. He felt his orgasms so intensely that it took him a few moments to recover. In those moments he seemed innocently intoxicated by the feelings induced by his own body. It was so sweet.

With his little boy spunk still wet on both of us, I wiped all the reddish slime off my cock with the tissues and continued jacking it. My cock was rigid with desire and my own cum was now extremely overdue. Yura sat up, evidently having recovered sufficiently, and started licking the head of my cock as I jacked it, especially the super sensitive frenulum underneath. His hot little tongue worked all the way down the shaft of my cock to the root, even licking my balls for good measure. He must have known what the most sensitive areas were. God, his little tongue was superb. Watching his little mouth gliding so expertly over my cock and balls provided the last essential stimulus I needed to take me over the edge. It was way too sexy. The urgency to cum overtook me. I just knew I had to spunk his little face. Still jacking my cock with a strong, rhythmic movement, I rose up on my knees and he instantly knew what to do. He positioned his beautiful little face just beneath the tip of my cock with his little mouth slightly open. His little tongue was poking out at a point, the hot, wet tip barely touching the head of my cock. He did everything right. It was almost as though he knew exactly what to do. The sight of his pretty little face just there, that pink little tongue, that sweet little mouth... I exploded all over them, letting out an urgent gasp, feeling the extreme pleasure of it even before my orgasm arrived. It was so intense, as were all my orgasms with him, that I nearly collapsed with the force of my ejaculation. My cock spasmed violently and I squirted out several good strong blasts of cum, streaking his little face, lashing his cheeks, nose and eyelids. I could see my cum falling into his open mouth. His little tongue worked to catch as much of my cum as he could. Even as I squeezed the last drops from the tip of my cock into his mouth, he was using his little fingers to push as much of my cum as possible into his mouth, and held it there. Instead of swallowing it all, he pursed his lips, pouting and showing me how much spunk he was holding in his mouth, and I saw it frothing and bubbling on his tongue. And then, in one big gulp, he swallowed, and it was gone. He even wiped his lips with the back of his hand. God, he was such a little spunkboy.

My urgency now relieved, and feeling satisfied, I was able to relax and enjoy the afterglow of that fantastic cum. Leaning back against the sofa, I sat down on the floor next to him, both of us naked and exhausted and still covered in his boycum. He still had some of my cum drying on his face. Yura leaned over me, his little head moving over my chest, and started to suck his own cum off my skin. For better access, he got astride me, sitting on my lap, facing me, and I could feel his hot little tongue lapping my chest and abs like a little puppy dog, licking up every drop of his own cum. I watched him lovingly. As I did so, he raised himself up, planting his little mouth over mine and fed me his own cum, his hot little tongue squeezing it through his pursed lips into my mouth. I sucked in his sweet boyspunk with relish and swallowed it all, even licking my lips. God, it was so erotic.

His work now done, Yura fell onto me as we kissed, and sitting there naked on the floor, I hugged him in my arms. His hot, naked little body was kneeling astride me, and I could feel the hot wetness of his little boycunt, still leaking traces of blood and slime, and the boyspunk on his skin now smeared all over me. His chin rested on my shoulder and he was still a little groggy and distant.

`Thank you Mark,' he said.

He was always thanking me. He was such a dirty, filthy little spunkboy, but his manners were impeccable.

`Did I hurt you?' I asked, solicitously, feeling slightly remorseful.

`I'll be okay,' he said, reassuringly.

`God, you can really take it little buddy,' I remarked, genuinely impressed, `I've never known anyone take cock the way you do.'

`I learned that in the children's home,' he said laconically, `I've been taking cock since I was six years old remember, some even bigger than yours.'

I couldn't see his face, but somehow I knew he said it with a smirk. I laughed at his boyish boastfulness. He was so endearingly cocksure and self-confident. He giggled, perhaps realizing the humor in what he had just said.

`You're such a sweet little fuckboy,' I exclaimed, kissing his forehead, which tasted salty with little boy sweat.

He hugged me tightly, lovingly, his little arms gripping me with real affection, and I could feel his warm hands stroking my back. It was another perfect boymoment.

`You're really amazing little buddy, you know that?'

`Really?'

`Oh yes,' I said, `And you know what else?'

He waited, resting his head on my shoulder, his hands still rubbing my back.

`I think I'm falling in love with you little buddy.'

There. I said it.

He raised his head, holding onto my shoulders at arms length, and looked me straight in the face, smiling. His happiness was tangible, as though he had been waiting for me to say just that.

`Do you really mean that?'

`Oh yes,' I said, nodding affirmatively, `You're really fuckin' special to me.'

******

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