Date: Sun, 03 Feb 2019 23:33:37 +0000 From: encolpius1@protonmail.com Subject: What I Want to Do WHAT I WANT TO DO By Encolpius DISCLAIMER: This is fiction. Any similarity to any person or action is coincidental;. Please remember to donate to Nifty. The archive needs you Let's call him J. He is a boy. He is nine years old. I cannot be in the same room with him without thinking the most deliciously wicked thoughts. He is a beauty. Restless, active, moving, like a butterfly, landing here or there, flittering the beautful wings. Or is he is head down, peering at a screen intently, 4th grade seriousness. Or happily chatting about the small gossip of his life. It is all wonderful. Flaming red hair. Bright blue eyes. A dusting of red refreckles across the nose, highlighting his alabaster skin. He is a boy. Neither tall or short, his body shape no different from any other lean boy, or girl for that matter, his age. His voice, high pitched, is not like that of a girls, not really, but not deep, of course. The voice of an angel. But, of course, no 9 year old boy is an angel. He is a devil. Mischevious, forever seeking fun and adventure. boisterous, loud. A boy. I would kiss him. First, I would kiss him. Open mouth, tongue. Then listen to him say how gross it was, putting your tongue in someone else's mouth and swapping spit. He would giggle and make faces but then he would do it again, having done it once, just for curisosity. There would be more giggling and making fun of it but he would keep doing it. I would want to nibble his ear, which would make him laugh more. I would want to get his shirt off. There is nothing wrong in a boy going around shirtless. He is lean and flat bellied, not even having that bit of bably fat pouch young boys can have. Flat with an outie belly button. His chest is thin and as flat as his belly, each rib being visible and his arms are bony and skinny. Am I hard yet? Maybe not. We've all seen shirtless boys. It's not an erotic sight, after all. Well, that's a lie. His body, undefined and underveloped, is sexy as fuck. I pull off my shirt. The contrast is obvious. My chest is thick and muscular, my belly firm and all of it covered in hair. In my imagination, he runs his young hand through my mane that runs up the conter of my torso before exploding across the chest. He is drawn to it as I imagine a young gay boy to be. The touch of his hand is thrilling. The eagerness he rubs the hair and smiles at it, the big joke of body hair, of how he is thinking that one day he will be big and strong and hairy is a turn on but I am not hard yet. Not yet. So far it is all innocent, cuddly and cute. The pants. What sort of underwear does he have on? I would think superhero, Spiderman maybe. It is amazing the transformation. With his pants on, he is a live wire boy but off he is vulnerable and shy. The bulge in front is barely noticeable. He is not hard. He doesn't yet suffer from lust, from the need, from constant desire. But despite that, he can feel pleasure. I have to rub myself. That feels good and relieves the pressure just by a millimeter. Like him, I take off my pants. I am in black boxer briefs and my bulge, accentuated by my thickening cock, is very visible. He looks at it and smiles. We come back to together, me sitting and him standing between my stretched out legs, his body now pressed against my crotch, just the thin fabric of the cotton seperating my skin from his. We kiss again and I lightly sroke the silky feel of his bare torso. I reach behind and squeeze his perfect round firm ass. He is getting the hang of kissing with tongue and it is no longer nearly as silly. He is hard now. I am too. I ask permission. He gives it. It is the most beautiful sight in the whole world: a hairless boy. Excited. From belly button to dick is smooth but the skin lighter where his underwear and bathing suit has covered this best portion, hidden it away from view in an expression of false modesty. He should run naked everywhere. He should never be clothed. It is hard. Sticking straight up. It is the length and size of my index finger. He is cut, which is a shame. But his balls -- my God, his balls -- are the size of a pair of shooter marbles, tcuked up tight against his body. I have to put my hand in the shorts to stroke myself a little to deal with the excitement of it. I reach down and stroke his with just my thumb and forefinger. I have lube - mineral oil, let's say - and I slid my fingers along that hard shaft, like a small steel bar in a velvet sock. I squeeze and massage the cherry red head of his dick. He stops me. Not because it hurts. Instead, he puts his own hand down and strokes himself. His hand is better sized anyway and everyone knows best how to touch themselves. I drink in the sight of J, little beautiful J, stroking his own hard cock, flailing at it. I get naked and stroke myself. His eyes are big at the sight of my cock, mansized but not oversized. I stroke it watching him stroke himself and I feel the intensity of the pleasure of it. The taboo nature of it. I need to suck him. I put him on a bed and he kicks his legs apart. I can get up into his privates, all sweet smelling and having none of the funky musk of puberty. I lick at his taint and he giggles but he doesn't giggle when I clamp my lips around his slender tool. I flick my tongue at the head of it, swirling it around. He sighs again. This feels amazing. I know. I tug at the balls, something he never knew would be pleasurable. I put them, both at the same time, in my mouth and suck. He gasps. He won't cum in my mouth. He can't. He can have dry orgasms, which are powerful and overwhelming , almost painful for the pleasure without the ability to finally just shoot. He begins to squirm, to wiggle. It is beginning to be overpowering. On pure instinct, he begins to buck his hips, pushing his dick in and out of my mouth. He's face fucking me. He's never fucked anything but he is fucking my mouth. I just let him go and lick and flick at it as it pushes back and to across my lips. Then he pulls out and, like many grown men, finishes off his orgasm with his own hand. I watch him as he does. The heavy sighing breaths, the closed eyes, tightly shut, the tension in the body, all coiled and ready to spring. The look on his face is ecstasy or pain. THen he scrunches it up, his face, like tasting a sour lemon and takes in a single deep breath. Then his whole body relazes. He smiles and then laughs, laughs loud and long. It is the funniest joke ever. I tell him he is sexy and wicked. But he is not done. He can orgasm many more times. In fact, he never loses his hard on. I let him have a go at mine, expecting little. He grabs the shaft and strokes a little, then smiles, surprised at the stiffness of it. He puts the head of it in his mouth and blows on it. I tell him to suck and to watch his teeth. He tries but can't get much in, just past the head and he gags some. But he learned from me and uses the tongue and he strokes my shaft as he does because he is a smart and perceptive boy with a natural talent. I hope as time goes along, he will plesasure many more boys and men. Blowjobs are wonderful and, despite not being an expert, this one is to. But I have agenda. And that agenda starts with me servicing him again. I ask him if he is ready for me to suck him again. He is. I smear some lube on my hand. His hard dick goes back in my mouth and, this time, he knows better what he wants. He face fucks me from the start. I reach betweeen his thin legs and massage his hairless taint, rubbing against his undeveloped prostate from the outside. That sends shivers of delight through him. Then I sneak a finger back, into the ass cheeks. I massage his what must surely be a beautiful pink virginal rosebud. He doesn't stop me, not for the pleasure flooding over him him from the touch and the mouth. My other hand is up on his torso rubbing that, a body composed of skin and bone and small muscle. I slide the finger into his ass. He gasps, surprised. But he doesn't stop me. I crook the finger and find the button, massageing his prostate proper now and he gasps again. I work on his cock so that my finger can add to the pleasure. I want him to know that being violated can be intensely great. I tell him that I want to fuck him. I want that cherry ass. For this work, a big dick is counterproductive. Of course, any man sized dick looks big to a boy. I tell him it will be all right. I know it will hurt, at least some, at least at first and I tell him that. I tell him how much I hunger for him, how much I want it. I will be gentle. I will tend to his pleasure because I want to fuck him and then fuck him again later and the next day and the next week, as long as he remains beautiful and hairless. It requires lube and I am generous with it: on my dick, in his ass. He climbs on my lap and I angle my dick to get to the cherry head of his virginal ass. I angle there and slowly slide it in. He makes a face of pain. It hurts but he doesn't stop me. He wants to please me. I get it all the way in and we stop. I want him to get used to it. It is a strange sensation and I fill him up. My lap swallows him up and my dick splits him open. I shirt and move and he leans back against my chest. I cup his dick and balls, my arms wrapped around him. I lift him up and let him slide up and down on my dick. I am fucking a 9 year old boy. The bare skin of my dick is sliding back and to across the bare skin of his ass. He wiggles on my lap as I lift him up and down. He understands the motion. He is beginning to feel the pleasure of it, the beauty of bottoming. He is hard, in my hand, his little dick has stiffen, his small balls tightened as he moves up and down on my stiff prick. I feel incredibly masculine, devouring this boy, taking his virtue from him -- the virtue he neither desires nor needs. He needs a dick in his ass. He wants it now. Goddamn. I am fucking a 9 year old boy. I want to slam him down on a bed on his back, legs up and just pound that tight little ass. But I don't. Gentle. Gentle at least as long as I can. My balls are tucked against my body. The tightness of his ass is working on me. I can caress this thin, wiry body as I fuck him, feel the hardness of his bones, the stiffness of his dick. I don't have to lift him anymore. He gets it. He wants it. He is hunched over me and on me, now bouncing up and down on it. He is letting himself get fucked far harder, far faster than I would have done as he is getting lost in the ecstasy of taking it. I can't hold out. He is too tight and he wants it too bad. I feel the pressure growing, the pleasure building. Then I don't want it to stop. I need it all more and more. I want him. I want to devour him, eat him up. I want to pound his fucking little ass, to own that little ass. He wants it too. And now, I know it has to stop. The pleasure is too great. It is too much. I can't breath. I can't think. I just fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I shove it up into his ass, pound him. Only the pounding makes sense. I barely him him moan and groan, barely hear him over my own grunts. I am going to die. I will die fucking his sweet little ass. I know I will. Then, just when I can't stand it anymore, pure and total relief. A wave of ecstasy sweeps over me. I fill his ass with my hot cum. Pure, perfect peace. He is a beautiful boy. Red headed and freckled and slender and a voice high pitched and young. I have such wicked wonderful thoughts about him.