Boys need men. Nigel and I learned that pretty quickly, but honestly, we never finished learning how to meet that need. We began, though, with little things.
The younger boys liked to sit in our laps, or in the laps of the older boys. The older boys liked shoulder hugs, pats on the back, or old-fashioned, American swats to the bottom. They liked one on one contact with Nigel and me, one on one attention. That’s what a hug meant, or a pat, or a swat.
As a group, they needed our presence, and we spent all of our time, every minute of it, away from work, with them. Our being with them, helped make it a family.
With all the bodies we had in the attic and the heat that came up through the floor from the house, our little dorm room was cozy; cozy enough that, since it was just us guys, we lounged around in underwear or naked. Boys came from their evening baths and showers in towels which eventually dropped off.
We had a radio, and the boys listened to it at night. I remembered how my mom read to me when I was little, and I found Swiss Family Robinson in German. I began reading from it in the evenings, usually lying on my side or stomach with boys draped all over me, and over Nigel as well. They all seemed to want skin on skin contact, and I don’t mean sexually, though, boys being boys, there always seemed to be an erection around. Nigel and I managed to keep ours under control more, but that’s why I often wound up on my stomach.
The boys enjoyed Swiss Family Robinson, and I quickly found another to read them. Nigel found one, too, about King Author, and began reading from his book at night when I left off with mine. There were games, mainly chess and cards, and one old Monopoly game. We collected magazines, comic books, and boys books like they were gold; they seemed that rare.
One night, while we were all still up, Franz, Reinhart, and Alby snuck up on Bruno and Oscar, and jumped them, wrestling them down, playfully. Other boys jumped in; mostly naked, and it turned into a free-for-all that lasted several minutes. A couple of boy couples wound up frotting more than wrestling.
When some boys wanted naked wrestling the next night and the next night after that, while other boys didn’t want their belongings tossed about, we made a rule confining naked wrestling to Thursday nights when we pushed belongings and some bedding back to clear the floor.
When two of the boys decided one night, impromptu as they came from their bath, to do a sexy dance in their towels for the rest of the boys, it prompted others, and we made Tuesday nights to be Talent Night. Some of the boys were quite good at singing or dancing. Boys being boys, some of the acts were raunchy, like the fart dance three boys managed. We did discover that four boys played piano, and we set about to locate one, though we knew it was hopeless.
That lead to finding out what other instruments boys played, and what hobbies or interests they might have. We had a few artists, a few bookworms, more than a few would be soccer stars.
As Nigel or I sat down with each boy to ask his interests and background we saw boys respond to the individual attention like dry plants to water. The rest of the world knew it, I guess, but it was a discovery for Nigel and me. Boys really do crave individual attention from an adult male. As much as Nigel and I could provide it, we tried. And that was the hardest part of what we did.
All the boys helped with chores; cooking, washing, cleaning, and all the countless little tasks involved in maintaining a household of boys. But they couldn’t help with being adult males to other boys. That was up to Nigel and me.
Once we realized the need, we worked to systematize it. We divided the boys up between us, and made a point to spend a few minutes alone with each boy at least once a week, and longer than a few minutes at least once a month. I made us diaries, logs, and checklists to keep track; after all, I was an engineer.
Some of the men of the house adopted favorites and boys responded. But Nigel and I were the boys surrogate parents. The men would come and go; we would not. So we stayed faithful to our appointments with the boys, even when we were dead tired and simply wanted time to ourselves.
As we learned more and more about each boy, we built a list of little things we wanted to get each one. Nigel and I pooled our money, putting every one of our paychecks into a common pot. From it, we bought food, supplies, and clothes when needed. We received some goods from the Red Cross and some from other sources, but still had trouble stretching our money from one paycheck to the next. From the little extra we might have left, we tried to buy the things we wanted for the boys.
There were times when Nigel and I were so tired and so stretched, we rode the edge of our emotions; back before we learned how to handle such things. I remember one evening when Nigel cried hard on my shoulder; it was after the third time in a row we had to spend on food, the small amount he had saved for new gloves for Bruno. All of Germany was going through privation though, some much worse than ours. It just made it difficult for us at times because we weren’t German, and without the boys to feed, we’d be making good money.
But then, how could one compare the hugs of boys and the constant presence of little ones in your lap with paychecks and a little extra rest? Seriously, as corny as it sounds, we wouldn’t trade our little guys for any amount of rest or money.
I met Dietrich Kline just after Günter’s birthday in January. Dietrich was Swiss, heading up the Red Cross in the Cologne district. We met through my work, but someone told him about the boys, and he showed up in my office a few days later with two little boys; four and five. “You have room for two more?” Dietrich asked.
I looked at the boys dubiously. “Dietrich, it’s just Nigel and me, and we work during the day. The boys we have are old enough to take care of themselves. The youngest boy we have is eight.”
“I’ve run out of places for children,” Dietrich said. “These two are brothers, and I’d like to keep them together. Could you keep them for just a day or two?”
I chewed my lip, thinking. I couldn’t imagine these two little boys fitting into our group. It’s not that I thought our boys would take advantage of them, sexually. It’s just that all of our boys, even as young as Alby, were used to some sort of sex together.
“Our boys are street boys, Dietrich,” I explained.
“Are they mean boys?”
“No, Dietrich. It’s just they’re… well…”
Dietrich watched me, waiting.
“Oh, hell,” I said. “We can take them in for a night or two.”
Dietrich grinned and pushed the boys forward. “Meet Willie and Siggy.”
Nigel and I lined up the ceremonial bathing party in front of us that night. It was composed of Bruno, Günter, Reinhart, Franz, and Alby. Since Willie and Siggy were brothers, we had decided that Franz and Alby would angel them as brothers.
“I’m serious,” I told them in my best German. “These are just little boys. Don’t frighten them or try to get them to have sex. Just be nice to them. Clean them up and take care of them like they’re your little brothers.”
Bruno repeated for the others, in much better German.
“Franz fucks his little brother,” Reinhart said, laughing.
“Reinhart,” Nigel said with a frown. “We’re serious. Do you understand what Michael is saying?”
They all nodded, and they did behave themselves that night. We made a small bed for the little brothers in a back corner of the room so that they would be less likely to see the sexual activity that would go on later. I warned all the boys to, “Keep it under the blankets,” for the next couple of days.
The little brothers immediately became little mascots for the group, and champion lap puppies. They were forever crawling into Nigel’s lap or the laps of older boys. They didn’t make it as often into mine because Alby and a couple of the other young boys were usually there ahead of them.
We still had Willie and Siggy a week later when Dietrich tried to give us two older boys. We had expanded our little dormitory by then to take in the entire attic. With help from the men in the house, we’d even managed to make a nice bathroom across the far end of the attic, with a couple of toilets and a shower with three shower heads. But our dormitory was still, basically, one big room.
So far, I was pretty sure that Willie and Siggy were oblivious to all that went on at night in the attic. But we couldn’t keep things like that from older boys like the two Dietrich had with him.
They were nice looking, but unsmiling boys. No boy without a home or family is happy. But I had to shake my head. “They just won’t fit in, Dietrich,” I told him. “They haven’t lived on the street like our boys.”
“I didn’t bring you girls,” Dietrich pointed out, smiling. “Girls are even harder to place than boys, and I worry for them more. Fortunately, we don’t have as many girls to care for.” He leaned forward, solicitously. “Can you not take these two boys for one or two days?”
As much as I wanted to help, it was too dangerous. If word of our little attic nights made it out, it would be the end of everything. “No,” I said, flatly. “These boys will do better with a family. Besides, we still have the last two you brought us.”
In fact, we still had Willie and Siggy a week later when Dietrich returned with another boy. This one was about ten years old. Günter was with me at the office that day, and his eyes stayed on the boy as soon as he walked in; the boy returned his gaze.
“He’s a street boy, Michael,” Dietrich told me. He glanced at Günter, and then leaned closer to me. “I must tell you, they found him with an American soldier last night. They were together, sexually. But Michael, certainly you know that some of your own boys may have prostituted themselves to stay alive.”
I nodded. “Yes, Dietrich. They did. And that can change a boy. That’s why I try to be careful about who we take in.”
Dietrich studied me for a moment, his head tilted. He glanced at Günter, and then back at me. “Some day,” he said, “you must tell me the challenges you face with your boys. I’m sure I have no idea what you and Nigel are going through.”
We all three turned to look at Dietrich’s ten year old; a thin boy with dark hair and very large, blue eyes. His eyelashes were thick and his eyebrows feathered wide.
“What is your name?” I asked the boy in German.
“Hagan,” the boy answered, eyes meeting mine.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
He shook his head, and I grinned because he obviously understood enough to answer the question. Like many German kids, I was sure he was learning English quickly, and probably more quickly than I was learning German.
“We’ve got room for Hagan,” I told Dietrich.
Dietrich grinned happily and shook my hand. “You and Nigel are good men, Michael. Bless you!”
As Dietrich left, Günter went over to Hagan and led him by the hand to a corner where the two boys spoke quietly. I returned to my work. From time to time that afternoon, Günter ran errands for me or brought me things, always with Hagan tagging along. The two boys obviously hit it off.
When it was time to leave for home, Günter walked alongside me, and Hagan walked alongside him.
“New friend?” I asked with a smile.
Both Günter and Hagan looked up at me. Günter glanced at Hagan and then back to me. He nodded.
And then it dawned on me. “Günter, are you wanting to be the angel for Hagan?”
Günter slipped his arm under my coat and behind my waist as we walked and leaned into me. I laid my arm over the back of his shoulders. “I shouldn’t be surprised, should I,” I mused. “It’s only natural that you make a good friend your own age.” It wasn’t easy to say, but I wasn’t stupid. Günter had just turned twelve. He needed a best friend close to his age.
Günter gave my waist a sideways tug as we walked, and I began to get an erection. It was natural, actually; Günter was my sex mate and physical contact with him triggered a response. Any more response and I’d be walking funny, but I didn’t push Günter away. Instead, I flashed Hagan an encouraging smile so he wouldn’t feel left out, and I caressed Günter’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Günter,” I said. “You aren’t going to stop loving me, are you?”
He hit me lightly in the stomach. “Not funny!” he said.
I stopped, pulled him closer by the shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. “I know you aren’t going to stop loving me,” I said quietly. “And because I love you, I want you to have friends.”
I happened to look at Hagan. He looked like he wasn’t sure what to make of us, so I extended my arm to pull him into the hug. Hagan frowned and backed up. I gave him a “you did what?” kind of look, and a slight smirk, and then lunged for him.
It was hell to do, but once I started, I had to follow through with it, and I thought it was a good, ice-breaking thing to do… I managed to sling one of them over each shoulder without falling.
I couldn’t really walk that way, with the two of them laughing and squirming, and me with a limp. Snow lay fairly thick, just off the sidewalk, and I tumbled us all into it. Günter stuffed snow down the back of my collar and when I wrestled him down, he called on Hagan to help. By then, the ice had broken well and good with Hagan, and he shoved another handful of snow down my back. I pulled him down too, forcing my hands under their coats to tickle them.
We grew wet, quickly, and headed home. Thanks to the snow down my back, I was especially chilled.
You can say something is so, you can even know it is so, and still have trouble accepting it. As we hurried toward the house, the brief fun of play behind us, my heart grew a little heavy. I really wasn’t ready to share Günter; not this way. It wasn’t simply a matter of Günter visiting another bed. It was also a matter of my best friend finding another best friend. I had no illusions; I wasn’t a ten or twelve-year-old. I couldn’t be friends with either of them the way they could be friends for each other.
It turned out that Zeppelin also wanted to be an angel for Hagan. For a brief moment, I hoped Günter would back off and let Zeppelin have him. But then they agreed to both be Hagan’s angel.
Zeppelin and Günter made a bed for the three of them near my bed. Hagan lay between the nine and twelve-year-olds, on his back. Günter and Zeppelin lay on their sides against him, fondling him as the three talked. I lay on my stomach, watching them. Alby lay on top of me, rubbing his stiff, little erection in my butt crack, also watching the other boys.
The whispered German of boys being tender with boys was all around us in the attic, not just from Günter, Zeppelin, and Hagan. It was mainly as friends that our boys had sex together. As Hagan was finding out, every boy came into the group with a new friend or two the first night; an angel or angels. I reached back and covered one of Alby’s little butt cheeks with my hand, giving it a squeeze. Even though Nigel and I were angels to them all, we could never be friends the way the boys were for each other, and that made me sad. I wished it could be both ways.
I looked over to the corner where our two littlest bedded down; the four and five-year-old brothers, Willie and Siggy. If they stayed with us, they’d probably start having sex with other boys at some point. I knew that. But they could do worse. They could do much worse.
Sure, the attic was sometimes rife with sex. Clearly, Nigel and I were homosexuals, and it obviously wasn’t always noble feelings we had toward the boys--all those boys in their little shorts or briefs, and all those naked boys having sex in the moonlight, made it damn difficult to keep a clear head at times. Some of the sex was play, some was simply sex. But there were tender feelings among the boys and I wondered if friendships were being formed among the boys that had real depth, friendships that might last for years.
Nigel and I were doing a good thing, I told myself. I thought about Alby on my back, rubbing his stiff, little erection so happily in my butt crack, and I remembered him and Franz, out in the cold. What would have become of them if we hadn’t made them a home? Then I thought about Peter, and worried for him again. He belonged with us. I never thought otherwise.
Over on their bed, Günter climbed on top of Hagan, belly to belly, and kissed the younger boy on the mouth… a long kiss. Zeppelin pulled back the covers. Günter’s thin legs lay between Hagan’s, and I could see the pale outlines of his perfectly shaped little bottom before Zeppelin got behind him, straddling both the other boys’ legs. The nine-year-old spit into his hand and rubbed it into Günter’s bottom.
As I watched, Zeppelin applied more spit and applied spit to his dick, which I couldn’t see from my angle, but I knew what he was doing. He scooted forward, knees splayed, with a hand in front of him, guiding himself into Günter. Then he fell forward onto Günter’s back, flattening him onto Hagan. Both boys grunted. Then all three boys held on to each other as Günter ground cocks with Hagan and Zeppelin pumped awkwardly into Günter’s behind. I heard Hagan say something, and Günter laughed.
By then, I was rock-hard. I rolled to my back, bringing Alby around on top of me. I settled his hips between my legs and let him know I wanted him to pump, grinding his stiff little member with my big one.
He laid his head on my chest and I hugged his shoulders. I pulled up my knees and held his little hips between the insides of my thighs as he made frantic little rabbit thrusts. It felt damn good, my little boy puppy. I called him that and he lifted his head, grinning, and he panted like a puppy. Then he licked my belly, still thrusting. There would be no trouble getting off with little Alby.
I glanced over at Nigel’s bed. Bruno was on his back. Nigel was at Bruno’s bottom, the boy’s legs on either shoulder. Oscar was sitting over Bruno’s chest, his cock in the other boy’s mouth. I watched Nigel. He had a lean body, and he tended to fuck with his hips. Many of the boys used their whole body to fuck, pushing their middle forward and pulling it back. Nigel was much hotter to watch, his hips moved so damned erotically. His eyes were closed and he was fucking fast.
I liked watching Nigel, my partner with the boys. I was damned grateful for him, and knew I should tell him that more. We needed to talk more about things other than food and cooking and laundry. I wondered if Nigel had thought like I had; that it might be a long time before he could go home; that he and I might be together for a while. I wondered if Nigel and I might form a friendship that could last a lifetime. I wondered if he still wanted sex with me. He sure seemed to enjoy Bruno and Oscar.
Günter stayed home with the other boys when I went to work the following day, and he slept again with Zeppelin and Hagan that night. Alby, though, was ready to step in and take care of me. My little eight-year-old undressed me with the same care he had seen Günter use. Then I undressed him.
When I finished, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my balls and cock dangling over the edge, with Alby standing naked between my legs. His little cock had begun a rise from between his legs, and he came forward for a kiss and to press his little erection against my cock and balls. I knew little Alby well by then. He liked rubbing his stiffy on me and Günter, and he liked my balls, sometimes wrapping my scrotum around his twig of a cock. So I held his little bottom, pulling him tight between my legs, while he held my face and kissed me as well as an eight-year-old can kiss.
Alby wiggled his hips, rubbing us together, and I grew hard quickly. He leaned back, grinning, and pulled my cock up between us with both hands.
“My little angel,” I said with a smile, squeezing his smooth little bottom.
He jacked me two-handed, not too hard because he knew I didn’t like it too hard. I pulled his little bottom so that he was tight against me, and I rolled back onto the bed, carrying Alby up with me, between my legs. He laughed.
He felt good there, and his little hips ground; he obviously enjoyed it as well. I rolled him to his back and bent over him, sucking his stiffy up like a hungry puppy, the way he sucked Günter. After I took him, trembling, through a little, dry orgasm, I rolled him to his tummy and lay on top of him, holding myself up on my hands. I fucked up and down between his soft little butt cheeks, and I confess, I watched Günter and other boys around the room, until I shot cum up Alby’s back. Then I held him, like a kid holding a teddy bear, and kissed the back of his head as we fell asleep.
The next night was Friday night, and as much as I enjoyed Alby and did not want to hurt his feelings, I actually thought about seeing if Nigel wanted to visit my bed. I didn’t, though. I was actually hoping Günter would come back to our bed. He didn’t.
That night, I lay on my back, with Alby reversed over me. I sucked on his little cock and balls while he jacked me. And I was damn grateful that Alby liked doing things with an ancient twenty-two-year-old like myself, because, honestly, I liked doing things with him.
The bed shifted. Someone else had gotten on. I lifted my head between Alby’s skinny, little legs, trying to see up over his butt. It was Bruno. Bruno smiled back at me as he slung a knee over me and knelt astride my middle. Bruno was already lubed, and I lay there, bemused, with Alby’s cock in my mouth, trying to keep my head up to watch, as Bruno pointed my cock up and sat down, taking me in.
He was warm and slick as he slid onto my cock, and his bottom settled into my lap. I closed my eyes and laid my head back. He felt really good.
I wrapped my arms around Alby, hugging his belly to my chest, and I just sucked. From the sounds, I assumed he was sucking or playing with Bruno’s cock. Bruno, rocked in my lap. I moaned gratefully, and bucked with him.
Bruno stayed in my bed that night. Alby settled in, backing up to my side, his bottom against my hip as I lay on my back. He hugged my arm, using my bicep as a pillow.
Bruno lay down on me, belly to belly, and smiled down at me. He was thirteen now, and had pubic hair; the first boy I had had sex with, who had it. I wanted to play with it, but Bruno wanted to talk.
“I want to fuck with you, long time,” he said. “You like?”
“Yes,” I whispered with a grin, cupping his butt with my free hand. “I’m jealous of Nigel.”
Bruno laughed lightly, and wiggled his butt under my hand. “Sometime I fuck you,” he whispered. “You have strong butt. I like I see your muscles.”
He covered my mouth with his.
I liked Bruno. I respected him. In a way, he was a partner with Nigel and me, and a hard worker. He was Head Boy, and truth was, he was as in charge more times than Nigel or I. I kissed him back and squeezed his butt, and we grew hard again.
We frotted, while kissing, and after we came, Bruno just stayed there, lying on top of me, bunching a pillow under his face, next to my neck. I pulled the blanket higher over his back, and, under it, I stroked the soft skin of his back and bottom.
The next day was Saturday. It was early February, and bitterly cold. Peter came home that morning. He came to us alone. “Is Heinrich here?” he asked, worry written all over his face. “I can’t find Heinrich.”
“No,” we told him. “We haven’t seen Heinrich.”
Peter’s eyes teared up, and at that moment, it was easy to remember that he was only a fourteen-year-old boy. I clapped my hand on his shoulder. “We’ll help you look,” I told him.
He tried to smile, but the smile twisted and tears flooded down his cheeks. Peter threw himself into my arms. “I haven’t seen him in three days,” he said, sobbing so hard I could barely understand him.
All of us went looking for Heinrich that day, but didn’t find him. Peter wanted to stay out that night, in case Heinrich returned, but we brought him home with us; it was too cold out since Peter wouldn’t be selling himself to someone for the night. We didn’t want that anyway, and he certainly was not in the mood.
We made him eat. Afterward, Nigel and I sat Peter between us on one of the couches in the attic. Some of the boys started to sit around us on the floor, but we shooed them off so Peter could feel free to talk. We wanted him to talk to us, and for once, he did. We found out a lot about Peter, and about Heinrich; how they became friends before the end of the war, when they were both called up for the ‘defense of the fatherland’ with the last of the Hitler youth. They never saw action, though. Events moved too quickly.
The two boys stayed together, even as the allied armies swept past them. Somehow, they escaped capture, tossing away their weapons and finding civilian clothes. They made their way home to Cologne, only to find their homes were gone, along with their families. They survived, and they learned how to survive using their youth and bodies.
As he talked, Peter grew tired; the pauses in his narrative grew longer. The poor kid had gotten hardly any sleep for three nights.
Bruno and Oscar came and took Nigel to their bed. I glanced over to my bed. It was empty. Alby had bedded down with Franz and Reinhart. Günter was still with Zeppelin and Hagan. So I was in no hurry for bed myself.
“I miss Heinrich,” Peter said quietly, laying his head over on my shoulder.
Peter had gone with an American on Wednesday night. The American had a car and Peter slept in it. The next day, he thought Heinrich might be with whoever bought him the night before. But when Heinrich didn’t show up that night, Peter began to worry. He evidently stayed out in the cold, getting little sleep, while he looked for his friend. He did that Friday night as well.
I pulled Peter’s head into my lap. He pulled his feet up into the couch, and I stroked his hair, even after he fell asleep. I laid my head back and tried not to worry about Heinrich. That wasn’t easy. A million things could happen to a kid who was selling himself on the street. Finally, I fell asleep.
I woke when Günter laid a blanket over Peter. He was naked, obviously just out of bed.
Günter knelt at my feet, his face close to Peter’s, and he looked sadly at the older boy. Günter stroked the fourteen-year-old’s hair, but Peter didn’t stir. He was sound asleep.
Günter looked up at me and shook his head. “Sad Peter,” he said softly.
Günter’s brow furrowed. “You want be angel to Peter?” he whispered.
I swallowed, and shook my head, trying to think through what Günter was asking. I was barely awake.
“Peter want you be angel,” Günter whispered.
I nodded. “Yeah, I know he does.” I smiled. “But, I’ve missed you,” I whispered.
Günter stood and took my hand, giving it a tug. Carefully, I got out from under Peter, putting a pillow under his head. Then Günter led me by the hand to my bed. He undressed me, and laid me back on the bed. Then he crawled in with me, scooting back into my arms.
“Oh, damn, I’ve missed you, angel,” I murmured, spooning him.
Günter reached back and patted my hip. He left his hand there, and I fell asleep.
When I woke in the morning, Alby was in bed with us, too. I had a naked boy snuggled on either side. I nuzzled Günter’s hair and then Alby’s. I was happy. My boys were back, it was Sunday morning, and I had a morning hard-on.
I lifted my head and looked around. Most of the boys were asleep. Peter was still sleeping. I was glad for that; the kid had to be exhausted. I felt briefly guilty thinking about sex while we still didn’t know what had happened to Heinrich. But sometimes, when you’ve been stressed for a long time, your spirit simply rebels against any more. I had a hard-on and I really felt the need to get off. It had been a couple of days and I wasn’t used to going so long without.
Carefully, I moved my hip; the one Günter was draped over. I tried to feel if he had an erection like me. It felt like he did. Under the covers, I slid my hand down his back and over his bare bottom, extending my fingers down between the backs of his legs.
His skin was soft and warm there, and very smooth. His perineum, though, was taut, and I rubbed it gently.
Günter stirred, and moaned softly. He lifted his head and looked at me, his clear blue eyes, sleepy.
“Sorry, angel,” I whispered. “I just really need to do something.”
He nodded sleepily, and under the covers, I felt his hand close around my cock. He smiled then; I was incredibly hard.
Günter pulled his knee up, rubbing the inside of his thigh on my upturned erection. I closed my eyes and my mouth fell open slightly.
Günter moved up over me, working a knee between Alby and me. Alby rolled away. That left Günter straddling my middle, and he sat up, taking both our cocks into his hand. Günter stroked them, studying them. Then with a smile, he fell forward onto me; belly on belly.
“Someday, I think my cock be as big as yours,” he whispered.
I wrapped my arms over his shoulders. “Bigger,” I whispered.
He grinned and ground his pelvis on mine. “You make precum good,” he said.
I nodded. I was dripping.
Still smiling, he moved up, his cock and balls sliding up my belly. Using spit with precum, he backed again. I felt my cock bow just slightly before I felt his tightness slide over my crown and grip my shaft. He sat back. I pulled my knees up, cupping Günter’s bottom with the tops of my thighs. He held my shoulders, I held his hips, and he rocked, rubbing his cock and balls on my belly. We kissed, and he ground harder.
The bed creaked, rhythmically. There was no avoiding it. The boys were used to sleeping through such sounds, though, and few stirred.
I wanted to last longer, but my Günter felt so incredibly good; his twelve-year-old warmth sheathing my cock, his tightness at my base… and the way he moved, fucking my belly. I shot oceans.
Though I tried to be as quiet as I could, Günter made more noise than normal, crying out softly when he came, and then he sat up abruptly, settling all the way down onto my cock. He stared down at our bellies.
“I come, Michael!” he whispered loudly. “I come!” He swept his fingers over my belly and they came up wet. He licked his fingertips and his eyes lit up. “I taste nice!” he said, surprised.
I took his hand and rubbed his fingers over my belly as well, then held his fingertips to my tongue and licked. “Oh, damn, Günter,” I whispered. “You do taste nice.” I glanced down my belly to where his cock curved thickly up from between his legs. The crown was wet, so I grabbed his hips, pulling him forward. “Let me suck the rest out,” I said with a wink.
Happily, Günter slid forward, his cock wagging closer and closer to my face until I lifted my head and caught his crown in my mouth. Günter fell forward over me and I held his butt to steady him while I swallowed the length of his shaft, and in the process, cleaned him. I bobbed. I tongued his slit, and I tasted a final drop of his clear, watery, first cum.
Günter pumped. We both got into it, me holding his little bottom and sucking for all I was worth while he pumped and clutched at my hair. His second cum was barely a drop, but it was pretty spectacular… sound and movement-wise.
He collapsed back down me and I realized that Willie and Siggy, the four and five year old brothers were standing beside my bed, watching, open-mouthed.
“Oh, shit!” I murmured. I glanced across at Nigel’s bed. He was watching. He looked at the little brothers and then back at me, cocking an eyebrow.
I looked around the room. Boys everywhere were watching us; except Peter. He was still sleeping, and I was glad for that. I looked at the little brothers whose mouths were still hanging open. I glanced around at the others in the attic, many of whom were staring at me, and I shrugged. “Günter’s first cum,” I said, stupidly. My eyes rolled up to the ceiling; I couldn’t believe I said that.
Bruno translated, and several boys cheered. Hagan and Zeppelin got up from their bed and came to my bed, patting Günter on the back. Best I could tell with my little German was that they expected a taste that night.
That saddened me a little. Günter coming to my bed the night before didn’t mean he was back for good.
Siggy, the four-year-old, leaned in for a closer look at Günter’s
cock. He even lifted it on his fingers. I lay back with a groan, staring up
at the ceiling. I’m going to jail, I thought. That’s
how this has to end up.
Well, a couple more chapters to go. :) Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter. :) My email address is firstname.lastname@example.org, and thanks for all the encouragement!