Date: Sat, 4 Feb 2012 11:47:31 +0000 From: Ivor Sukwell Subject: You Should Think About It This story is, of course, fiction, fiction and fantasy. It contains, or, more accurately, is all about sex between a man and boys, and if that is not your thing, then I suggest you read no further, you are here by mistake. If you should not be reading stories of this kind, either for reasons of law or age, then if you continue you do so at your own risk. I have warned you, but I cannot prevent you. Should you actually read through until the end, I hope you enjoy what is no more than a masturbation fantasy. As we all know, fantasies of that nature have nothing to do with reality. `You Should Think About It' A story by Ivor Sukwell. "You should think about it," Maria persisted, "It would be company for you and you would be doing so much." Maria was a retired schoolteacher who, although retired, spent three days a week teaching, on a voluntary basis, a dozen or so of the Romanian children who lived around the village. Romania is part of the European Union, so the children had a legal right to be here, though a few of them had a little less right as they had come here without a family. They lived, along with those who had brought them, in a camp on the edge of the village. Maria wanted me to `adopt' one of them and, by doing so, lessen her problems with the authorities. "It's not really me," I protested lamely; what would I want with a Romanian child who spoke little Spanish and no English? "You have this new house," she insisted, "Too big for you on your own." She was right about that, at least. It was a nice house, well, now anyway. It had been a wreck, repossessed by the bank; no doors, no windows, no floors and the little swimming pool filled with rotting vegetation. We had been talking in the bar about what could be done with it, and I had said that it was worthless, not even worth the value of the land it stood on, so much needed to be spent on it to make it liveable. One of the group had said he wondered what I would offer for it and I replied that I would pay no more than twenty thousand euros, and before I knew what was happening the bank that he worked for had told me that they would accept that offer. One year and eighty thousand euros later, the house had doors, windows, new floors and a cleaned out pool and I was living in it. "You could take one of them," Maria nagged on, "Help with the cleaning and gardening as well as keep you company." Has anyone ever heard of a child who could help with the cleaning and the gardening? "Come with me tomorrow," she insisted, "See them and meet them." I did, of course; doing what she wants is the only way to quieten a nagging woman. "Gregor there, he would be perfect for you," she said, indicating a boy in his early teens. I had gone along to her makeshift classroom in the village in the hope of quelling her demands on me, and now she was pointing out a boy she thought would be suitable for me to take in. I had spent half my life looking for a boy to live with, and now Maria was offering me one in order to help her out! Gregor, the boy she had indicated, was nothing special, apart from the fact that he was not overweight, he was in his early teens and he was a boy -- three characteristics that made him special as all boys who fit that description are special. His face was obviously eastern European; slightly prominent cheekbones, hair that bordered on fair without ever quite making it, which hinted at some Russian blood hidden in his background, and just the faintest touch of almond shaped, blue eyes that may have been the combined result of the Russian domination and the Mongol invasion of his country some five hundred years previously. Not pretty, not handsome, but very definitely boy. I do not find boys easy to resist, especially fourteen year old boys, and I investigated him visually with no attempt to hide my interest. Maria, being a woman, completely failed to notice my interest, but the boy, Gregor, did not. All boys have a pretty good idea of what is going on when a man eyes them up, and Gregor was no exception. He intercepted my stare, and though he did not follow my eyes he knew I was looking at him in as much detail as was possible, and he probably guessed I was mentally undressing him as well. This, as any boy hunter will know, is a critical moment; you spot a possible target and decide if you are going after him or not. Perhaps closer inspection reveals that he does not meet your requirements, or perhaps circumstances make a hunt impossible and, sometimes, you decide that he is worth tracking. You fix your laser sights on him and he becomes prey. The moment he spots those tell-tale marks of your sights, he will react. Mostly the reaction is indifference -- he has no interest in being hunted by you; there are times when he will simply ignore the fact that he has been sighted, reject it and by rejecting it tell you he is not willing to be prey for you or anyone else; and sometimes, just sometimes, he will acknowledge that he has been sighted and targeted and allow the hunt to begin. Gregor knew he had attracted my interest, not difficult as I was not being subtle about it; there was no need to be as I never expected to see him again; he was nothing more than target practice -- a boy who was worth looking at and openly wondering what he would be like naked, without ever expecting to have the chance to find out. Maria was talking to him in very basic Spanish and even more basic Romanian. He had only just started to learn the language and she had acquired no more than a few words of his eastern European tongue, so proper communication was far from easy. "This man wants a boy," she said to him carefully and slowly and failed totally to notice that his eyes widened with more than just a little surprise at this information. She did not mean it in the way he interpreted it, of course, but she didn't see that. "He wants a boy in his house," she said slowly, waiting till he nodded to show he had understood before continuing, "To.............." she searched for words he would understand, "To....do things for him," she settled on. Gregor's eyes widened even more, which was not really surprising; a teenage boy's interpretation of that could only go in one direction. I had no idea of what she was saying as she had resorted to her primitive Romanian, but I could see the reaction on the boy's face -- surprise, wonder and amazement, which I believed were the result of him being told that I would give him somewhere to live in return for him doing some odd jobs around the house and garden. More followed, ending with the boy shrugging his shoulders and apparently agreeing. "That's settled," she announced with matriarchal satisfaction, "Trial period of one week. You can collect him from school tomorrow afternoon." I did, waiting outside Maria's makeshift schoolroom at two in the afternoon. She brought Gregor out to me and I was more impressed with the boy standing than I had been yesterday when I only saw him seated. He was taller than any of the other kids, but that was not surprising as he was considerably older as well; most were aged around eight or nine with a couple of what I guessed were eleven or twelve. I estimated him at around five feet six inches or so and quite solidly built. The slenderness of adolescence was accompanied by no suggestion of skinniness and his legs seemed solid, from what I could gather as he was wearing rather tatty and a size or two too large, jeans. In one hand he held a plastic carrier bag, containing, I guessed, all his possessions; he would not have owned much, probably no more than a couple of tee shirts and some underwear that had been provided by charity. Living, as he was, in what was no more than a canvas shelter, shared with however many people there were who had brought him over here from Romania, desperate economic refugees who scraped some sort of living by fruit picking and other manual labour, personal possessions were non-existent. His other hand was grasped by Maria, who was leading him towards me, a look of satisfied achievement on her face. His face had almost no expression, a careful neutrality designed to cover any emotions he might have been feeling as a result of the fate that fortune had decreed for him. "There you are," she said as she handed him over, "He's all yours now." To the boy she said, pointing with a finger to make sure she was understood, "You be good for him." The boy nodded, again with no expression, and followed me to my car. There was some expression when he saw my house. It was not a huge house, modest but attractive and in a good situation, but it must have seemed like a palace to a boy who had been living in a canvas shelter. "Mi casa," I said when we got out of the car; "No es grande, pero..." I let the sentence just trail away. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly agape. I led him through the small, but tidy, front garden and into the house. A hallway, a large room that served as lounge and dining room, kitchen, downstairs toilet complete with shower, and on through to my pride and joy -- an extension I had had built. All glass, double glazed to keep warmth in during the winter, it housed my only genuine extravagance, a full-sized snooker table. It also led out to my secluded rear garden with its small swimming pool, a pool that was itself enclosed by a canvas structure with plastic windows, that served to keep leaves from falling into it, and also to keep eyes from seeing into it -- when I used it I liked to do so naked. Upstairs I had two en-suite double bedrooms, both with large, king sized beds. Mine, south facing, had patio doors that led onto a balcony that was overlooked by no-one -- somewhere else I could be naked. The other bedroom, I explained to Gregor, was for visitors, not thinking that, because of our limited communication, I needed to make it clear to him that he was a visitor and that while he was here, that was his room. No way was I going to bother preparing anything for lunch, so I took him down the club for a couple of tapas, enough to keep him going until the evening meal. The regulars, of course, instantly jumped in, teasing me about my having a Romanian boy in tow. "Don't blame me," I protested, "Maria wished him on me." General laughter and suggestions that I keep everything well locked away, or his family would arrive when I was out and strip the place bare. "Doesn't have a family," I explained, "that's why Maria's lumbered me with him, I think. One less for her to bother about." "How long you got him for?" "Trial period of one week is all I agreed to," I told them, which caused one to splutter into his white wine. "Believe me," he said when he finished choking, "If Maria's got you to take him in, there's no giving him back!" Since he was Maria's husband, there was a horrible possibility he might be right! I fed the boy his tapas and a coke to go with it -- I had several beers with mine, I felt I needed them! Back at the house, I felt I ought to make some sort of effort; it wasn't the kid's fault I was lumbered with him. I went out onto the terrace where the sun made it warm enough to be naked, but I restrained myself and kept my shorts on; short shorts and nothing underneath so there was a possibility that things might hang out, but I wasn't going to be concerned about that. If they did dangle and he didn't want to see he could bloody well look somewhere else! He followed me out like a well trained and faithful dog, watched me strip to my shorts, but made no move to do anything except stand as though waiting for orders. "Sit," I said and pointed to the other wicker armchair, the one I wasn't using and he obediently went and sat, hands folded demurely in his lap. `Jesus!' I thought, `What the fuck am I going to do with him?' "Beer?" I asked; I was certainly going to have another one. He looked at me blankly; of course he didn't understand a word of English. "Cervesa?" I tried again and this time those mobile eyes of his widened once again. "Quiro cevesa?" He nodded, almost enthusiastically. I got up, fetched a couple of cans from the fridge -- I keep a small fridge just for beer out on the terrace, it saves having to walk in and out of the house all the time. Actually, it's not just for beer, it's got a few bottles of wine in it as well. "Fumar?" I kept it to Spanish this time as I held out my cigarette packet and he understood straight away this time, tentatively reaching for one as though scared they might burn his hand, or, more likely, that he would be clumsy and knock them onto the ground. That, at least, was something, I thought; he's partly human anyway, he smokes and he drinks beer. Briefly I wondered if he was even more human and wanked frequently, but I couldn't ask him that, could I! He finished his beer and fag in silence and, because there was at least four hours before I would be getting food ready and I couldn't just sit there with him in silence, I clambered out of my chair and pointed to the pool; or to the canvas and plastic structure that enclosed the pool. "Swim?" I asked, and, of course, he looked blank again. I asked again, this time moving my arms as though doing some sort of standing breaststroke Understanding dawned and he pointed at his clothing; he had nothing to go swimming in. I gestured for him to follow me and led the way to the pool, where, once inside the gazebo type thing, it was obvious that there was total privacy. I made undressing gestures, trying to tell him he could swim naked if he wanted to and left him to it. I went back to the terrace, grabbed another beer and went to play with my snooker table. It was a good hour before he reappeared, dressed as he had been in shirt and jeans, but with his hair soaking wet. He had been in the pool, another plus. Snooker fascinated him and I let him watch me play a few shots before I offered him another beer and cigarette, showing him that smoking was not allowed near the table and taking him back to the terrace. With enormous difficulty and far more patience than I normally display, I tried to find out something about him. I tried to ask him how long he had been in Spain, but he misunderstood and told me he was fourteen. My Spanish was not that much better than his, so we established a `sentence free' method of communication, never more than three or four words together and sod the grammar. "Tu," I pointed at him, "Quantos semanas en Espana?" `Semanas' puzzled him, so I tried `dia' and when he showed he understood `day' I held up seven fingers and repeated `semana'. Success! He frowned, thought and held up four fingers, "Quatro," he announced, proud that he had remembered how to count. And so it went on; I asked about family and he said, "Nada," nothing, he had no family. He liked football and had worked in the fields for two weeks before Maria spotted him and enrolled him in her school, an unofficial establishment where she taught the immigrant children basic Spanish so they could attend real school. As he relaxed; the several beers he had now consumed may have helped there, I began to like him more. He was just a fourteen year old kid, scared shitless at being dumped with me, and even more shitless by knowing that if the authorities found out about him, that he was an orphan with no means of support, he'd be whisked away and probably be sent back to an orphanage or something in Romania. "From now on," I told him while he was drinking his fifth beer, "All talk is in English." He might as well learn something useful while he was with me, I thought. So we started an English lesson. I pointed to the can he was holding and said, "Beer," repeating it until he understood and could say the word. He learned that cigarettes were `fags' and that you smoked them, and we worked our way around the obvious things, like `chair', `table' and `pool'. Not a lot, but it took quite a time and I was now getting hungry. He followed me into the kitchen, watched me prepare a salad and took plates and cutlery outside when I named them and gave them to him. Outside, I lit the barbeque, and slapped on a couple of decent sized steaks. We ate the salad while the steaks cooked, and helped it down with some chilled white wine, moving on to the red when the steaks were done. By now he was less than sober -- a fourteen year old, unused to alcohol, gets pissed quite quickly, but he held it well and the steak, probably the biggest he had ever seen or even more probably, the first he had ever seen, helped him absorb the booze. Certainly the steak did not last long, and, seeing that he could clearly dispose of more, I threw another, smaller one on the grill and let it cook while we smoked another cigarette. "Tu es moy benissimo," he smiled at me when he'd demolished his second steak, and I won't pretend that it does not warm the heart just a little when a fourteen year old boy tells you he thinks you are very nice. As it was a Friday, there was football on Sky, so we settled down to watch it on my other bit of self-indulgence, a sixty inch plasma television. He sat on the same couch as me, close enough to feel his warmth, close enough to touch, but, somehow, I restrained myself. I felt wrong about attempting to seduce a boy when we could not talk to each other, not talk enough to know if he was willing to be seduced. Eventually it was time for bed, and I sent him upstairs while I cleared up; he could start his housekeeping duties tomorrow, today had been enough of an experience for him. As I climbed the stairs I could see the light was on in my bedroom and assumed he had mistaken it for his at first, and, realising his error had left, forgetting to turn out the light. I was wrong. He was lying on the bed, just his lower legs under the thin duvet, the rest pulled aside to reveal himself. My sheets, pillow cases and duvet covers are made of black faux silk so his pale cream body was arranged on a background of black and the effect was erotic in the extreme. He was naked and front on to me, revealing all his boyhood charms, and what charms! He was still soft, perhaps not completely soft, but certainly not even half hard. My eyes were riveted on around four inches, four ample inches, of resting teenage cock, a cock that boasted, joy of joys, a long foreskin, long enough to make my foreskin loving mind drool. He had pubes, but only just, and they grew beside the valley between thigh and groin, I could see nothing at all at the base of his prick. His legs, teenage legs, were long and slender, but slender only because they were not yet fully developed -- his thighs promised that later they would be firm and full -- and they were smooth, not a hint of hair visible. His upper half was firm and well-developed for a boy of his years, a boy who was obviously not unused to physical labour, and the brown nubs of his nipples begged to be fondled and kissed. He saw the look of shock on my face and his lips quivered, worry, concern, even perhaps fear showing on his face. "Non gusta?" he almost whispered. "Oh, yes," I breathed, "I like, I like a lot." I had to translate that for him into baby Spanish and his face brightened a bit. "Quiro?" he wanted to know and I assured him that I did, I wanted him and all that he was offering. I had no idea why he was offering himself, guessing that it was a way of thanking me for the beer, the cigarettes and the food, and if it was, it was more thanks than I could have dreamed of. I took off my own shirt and shorts with the light still on so he could see me naked as well, see my less than soft, thick uncircumcised inches, my shaved groin and legs, and he looked with interest before I joined him in bed and pulled the duvet over us, not in order to hide our nakedness, but to enclose it, to make the contact that was to come more intimate. I suppose I should have asked him if he was sure, if he really wanted to do this, but the lack of language would have made that impossible, so instead, I put an arm round him and eased him gently towards me for a cuddle. You can tell a lot about what sort of sex you are going to get from a boy from that first cuddle; tentative, shoulders only, contact usually means you are going to get basic cock and not much more; wild, enthusiastic, leg entwining cuddles are a fair indication that fucking is definitely on the agenda; and if it's a sort of half way, but his hands are not passive, then you can be pretty sure your cock will get dealt with in a satisfactory manner. Gregor managed to combine all three. He started by accepting my arm round his shoulder and he eased in closer so were in contact as far down as our nipples. I didn't try to force things, just enjoyed what I had and waited to see what might develop. Gradually he relaxed as body heat worked its magic and the pressing of flesh together moved downwards to include groins and then thighs. He didn't feel tense, but there was a feeling of nervousness, almost as though he was worried about giving too much too soon, or not enough soon enough. It was, I realised, his first time and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. I helped him by moving my hand, gently stroking his back; I do love a boy's back, so firm, so hard, but the skin smooth, warm and supple. I sensed a fractional easing of the nervousness and risked my hand going lower, onto the firm mounds of his buttocks, just stroking at first and then softly squeezing. I could feel him reacting, his hardness pushing at my groin and I softly eased mine into his. His breathing varied between deep and slow and short, almost panting as his mind tried to make sense of what his body was experiencing, and then he made a noise, half way between a muffled grunt and a moan and he pushed a knee between my thighs and his hand began to move on my back as mine had done on his. I kissed him gently on the forehead and then on the nose, telling him he was beautiful in English and in Spanish, and then tried a lip to lip kiss, but with mouth closed. He accepted but did not respond; no-one had given him any lessons in kissing, explained the lip nibbling and sucking that comes before full tongue in mouth passion, so he simply copied me. My lips just rested on his, so his did the same with mine. When I started moving my lips, still with mouth closed, he, after a couple of seconds delay, did the same. When I opened my mouth, just a fraction, so my tongue could poke out and brush against his lips, he froze for an instant and then copied. Once tongues have met there is no holding back; I opened wider, pushed my tongue against the tip of his; his lips, not wanting to lose contact with mine, parted wide enough for my tongue to pass and I was in his mouth. This time his response was immediate and our tongues twisted together, our lips pressed hard and his body melted. Not quite all of his body, one bit did not melt, it did the opposite, his ample teenage erection poking hard into my groin. Whatever thoughts had gone through the boy's mind earlier, the `should he, shouldn't he' thoughts that afflict most teenage boys when they first go with a man, I knew the only thing on his mind now was sex. Perhaps lust would be a better description; he'd already committed himself to sex, but now his body was demanding it and his mind was in full agreement. Our kissing moved from smouldering to furnace; tongues battling with each other, searching every millimetre of mouth, hunting for tonsils. His hand on my back went from uncertain stroking to finger digging frenzy, his knee, between my thighs, pushed upwards desperate for contact with my balls and his steel hard cock jammed itself into my stomach. This boy was mine now, mine to do with as I wished -- I could have turned him and fucked him there and then and he would have given up his arse without a second thought. Much as I like fucking boys, and I do like fucking boys, my urges have always come second to the boy's needs, and this boy needed to be led to that final surrender; he needed to give and not be taken. He needed to know all the pleasures his body could give him and not rush headlong to the finish before he was even aware of all the other things he could do and have done to him. I moved my spare hand, the one that was not engaged in squeezing his arse and exploring the incredible smoothness of the back of his thigh, brought into convenient range by the knee that was pushed against my balls, down between us, pushing it through our pressed together upper halves, so I could reach and sample his erection. What a joy that erection was! So hard I could easily discern every minute ridge in the shaft beneath its cover of warm, velvet skin, skin that my searching fingers found to be still covering his entire head despite his hardness. If I had to place an order for a boy to meet my ultimate specifications, it would be for one with totally smooth legs and a cock, regardless of its size, that remained fully covered when at it's hardest. It wouldn't matter if that skin slid easily backwards when prompted, or if it was a tight fit or even if it was so tight it didn't peel at all -- I have had wonderful sex with boys who owned cocks like that -- if there was a little bud of foreskin to play with, to nibble, then, for me, that was perfection. Gregor was not small, the soft promise of his equipment was fulfilled by his hardness; with my thumb and finger tips at the base, that foreskin bud brushed my wrist; a good six inches of boy tube the thickness of the neck of a wine bottle, ample to keep any man happy. He moaned through our kissing when my hand found him, pushing himself into my greedy grasp, and when I moved that supple skin gently up and down he redoubled his efforts with his tongue in my mouth. Within seconds his own spare hand was mimicking mine, forcing its way down between us to find my own offering to him, a similar length, but adult and not teenage thick. He grasped it tightly, as though to make sure it could not escape, and with our tongues still in combat we pulled on each other as well as we were able between the confines of our pressed together bodies. I could have lain there with him, mouths glued together, wanking him to a climax while he did the same for me, but that would have been too soon an end to the passion that now engulfed us. I broke the kiss, dived under the duvet and swallowed him whole. No little kisses or nibbles first, just an instant mouthful of teenage cock; the loving bits could come later, now I just wanted his glory filling my mouth. No moan from him this time, a gasp, a deep intake of breath, held for seconds while I swallowed him, and then released slowly as he adjusted to the amazing sensations a boy feels when he is sucked for the first time. He said something -- I have no idea what, but I knew it had nothing in it that related to a request for me to stop. His body relaxed and his hands found their way to the back of my head, stroking my hair as I sucked his cock. I explored his tiny, unusual pube growth, two little lines of hair that followed the path of his V; my fingers and lips finding no trace of any growth at the base of his prick, the point where pubes normally begin to sprout. I explored his thighs with my hands as well; the fronts silken as one might expect with a boy of fourteen, but the backs as well, the place where hair first grows, were as silken as the fronts, not even a hint of fuzz that my fingers could detect. His balls were smooth as well, my mouth verified that when it eventually released his cock and went exploring for itself. He gasped again and wriggled a bit when I took his balls into my mouth, one at a time to start with and then both crammed in together; he whimpered and wriggled a bit more when I gently squeezed a nipple while his balls were still in my mouth. He said something more, though it was more of a gasp than anything; I hadn't the faintest idea what his words were, but if it had been an English speaking boy, from the way his words were said, I expect I would have heard something like `Oh, fuckin' yes!' I released his balls from their mouth captivity and returned to his cock, though I took a brief diversion so I could kiss one silky thigh. I nibbled his foreskin with lip-covered teeth, and then peeled him a fraction so I could poke my tongue inside, and I was beginning to like the way every new experience for him was greeted with a little gasp of appreciation. This could not continue forever, though, he wanted to play as well, shifting about in the bed in an effort to get his mouth on my cock, and that was not an effort I was going to prevent! He took my cock, his first cock, into his mouth without a moment's hesitation, getting as much in as he could in his first assault. He didn't do bad, either, going down well past the head and a good half way down the shaft before he had to stop. I am not skinny in the cock department, and getting more than half my thick cock into his mouth was no mean achievement. I have had plenty of experienced boys, practised cock suckers, who could do no better. The sixty nine position, of course, gave me easy access to his perineum and his crack and my fingers showed no mercy to either. I made no effort to get a finger inside him, but I did give his boy cunt a hint of what later times would bring by gently teasing his sensitive pucker with a finger tip. It was that which was probably a move too much for him, because his cock swelled in my mouth, his legs went rigid and he erupted, pumping his seed into my mouth in four powerful jets. I milked him for the rest but he never paused in his own sucking, aiding his efforts by grasping me with his fingers and wanking hard in an effort to make me cream as well, an effort that got its reward before I had slurped out his last dribbles. He took all I could produce into his mouth -- I gave him no warning that it was coming and, knowing I had swallowed his, he swallowed mine. I didn't know then that mine was his first cock and assumed that because he swallowed with no hint of gagging or distaste, that he was used to the flavour and consistency of adult cream. Orgasms complete, we returned to heads on pillow position, facing each other, and I put an arm round his shoulder once more. It's always a good idea to let a boy know you still want him close even after his spunk has flowed, especially if he is going to sleep with you and you have every intention of indulging in him again before breakfast. A combination of good food, alcohol and sex sent Gregor almost straight off to sleep, and I drifted into slumberland myself, his balls cupped in my hand. We shifted about a bit in the night as we slept, so when I woke, as usual, at about three for a piss, his balls were no longer in my hand. His cock soon was though, me reaching for it the moment I got back into bed. He was still asleep when I started on him, fondling him hard, and he may even have stayed asleep as I wanked him. He did mumble a bit, rolled his body so it was facing me and I had to wank him back handed, but I didn't mind that and, anyway, I knew from experience that it's a nice way to be wanked. Usually, I don't like to waste a boy's spunk, perhaps because I don't get enough of it, but this time I just wanted to wank him, even more so as he seemed to be still sleeping. What dreams, I wondered, were fermenting in his mind as his unconscious body was stimulated to orgasm? Were they dreams of men, of boys or of girls? His breathing changed, but his body didn't stiffen as it would have done at the approach of an awake orgasm; just a grunt as his cock spurted out its cream on my stomach. I felt the hot splashes as it landed and thought that perhaps his sperm had not been wasted; its dried remains would still be on my skin in the morning. He was awake next time I felt him, or at least he was awake a few seconds after I started. Sunlight was streaming through the open patio doors of my bedroom, open glass doors, that is, the sliding mesh screens that kept the odd mosquito at bay were still closed, and my searching hand found him already hard with the morning erection that teenage boys have to dispose of before they leave their beds. His eyes popped open on my second squeeze, registering momentary surprise at the realisation that there was a hand on his cock and it did not belong to him; the surprise disappeared to be replaced with a smile and he said something in Romanian. It didn't sound like the equivalent of `fuck off', so I went down and sucked out his morning offering. This time he just lay there and let it happen, and I could tell from the relaxed feel of his body as my hands stroked it, that just letting it happen was perfect for him. I didn't mess about with him, just sucked him for spunk, knowing full well that a boy needs to get that first thing in the morning load out of the way as soon as possible. He'd had about six hours to manufacture enough to give me a decent mouthful, and I accepted it gratefully, tasting it to the full before allowing it to trickle down my throat. That duty done, I gave him hand signals that he should remain in bed, and I clambered out to make some tea and have a quick face shave and teeth brush while it was brewing. When I returned with tea for us both, plus cigarettes and an ash tray, his face was a picture -- this was treatment he had never even dreamt of receiving. We sat up in bed, my arm round his shoulder, to drink our tea and smoke our cigarettes, and I thought it was a good time to continue his English lessons. Fag stubbed out, I slipped a hand under the duvet and felt his soft cock, lifting it with one finger from underneath. "Cock," I said. He looked puzzled, so I repeated it and this time he understood. He tried three times before he got it right, and then I moved a bit lower and fingered his balls. "Balls," I said. "Bals," he tried and again I made him keep on till he managed "Bawls." He learned `cock', balls' `arse', `wank' and `suck' while we finished our tea, and by the time we rose for breakfast he had a reasonable command of English, being able to say `You wank me,' and `You suck me,' quite fluently. He would need to expand his vocabulary a bit in the next few days and be able to say `You fuck me', but there was no immediate rush for that; I had him for a week at the very least. I couldn't spend the entire day indulging myself in his very indulgable flesh, so I showed him how to do the dusting and sweeping, including the patio and upstairs terrace and told him that when he'd finished he could use the pool and my spare computer if he wanted to play games on it. Actually, it's not really a spare computer, it's the one I use for porn, and I knew that he'd have no trouble finding it -- there were three folders on the desktop called, `boy/boy', `man/boy' and `spanking' and although he wouldn't be able to read the words, he'd find out straight away what the content was if he opened them. Since he was a teenager, I had no doubt that he would open them! I told him I would collect him at two for lunch and went off down the club for a round of golf and a chat, my regular morning activity. My friends were shocked that I'd left him alone in the house, but, as I said, even our security people would stop a fourteen year old boy staggering along with a sixty inch plasma under his arm, and anyway, I was going to collect him for lunch. My friends were, naturally, curious about him, but the only things I knew about him were that he was good at kissing, his spunk was delicious and that he swallowed, and those facts were not facts I had any intention of revealing. Instead I said that this was a sort of test, seeing if he was reliable enough to leave alone and that he would do the jobs he was supposed to do. I wasn't that bothered about the jobs -- as long as his body remained available that was enough for me, but, again, I didn't say that to my friends! When I returned for him, a quick inspection showed that he had, in fact, done his jobs and he was waiting for me, dressed in the same oversized shirt and jeans as yesterday and with a big smile on his face. The smile made him look so kissable that I grabbed him, pulled him in close and rammed my face against his. His mouth opened instantly for my tongue and I had half a mind to strip him and swallow his lovely teenage prick, but lunch called and whilst I would be happy with liquid protein, teenage boys need more than a mouthful of spunk for food. As soon as we were back in the house after lunch, he kicked off his scrappy trainers, peeled off his shirt and lost his jeans without me even hinting that he might want to get comfortable. I did have a little thrill when I spotted that he hadn't put on anything under his jeans; this boy was a quick learner! I had to fondle him, of course, and kiss him again, even before I got out of my own clothes, and when I finally got round to that I fondled and kissed him some more. That, naturally, got us both hard, so I took him outside, sat him on a lounger in the sun and went down between his already parted legs, licking his perineum, eating his balls and sucking his splendid cock until he sighed and gave me the mouthful of cream I wanted for desert. I'd had him for twenty six hours and he'd already spunked for me five times and eaten a mouthful of mine -- I was not going to be handing him back at the end of the week! I was, though, curious to know more about him, and although he'd now added `spunk' to his English vocabulary, that was not enough for effective and detailed communication. Then I had a brainwave, took him by the hand and led him inside, sitting him down beside me in front of my Mac. I opened up Google translator, typed in, in English, "You have a nice body and a lovely penis," and hit the `translate to Romanian' button. I used `penis' instead of `cock' because I thought he might be a little confused if Google told him he had a nice male chicken. He read the incomprehensible words, blushed slightly, grinned a little, managing to look just a shade embarrassed, and typed in something that translated as, "Thank you, that is very kind." He thought for a moment and typed again, which translated as, "You must have sex from me when you want." "I am very greedy, I will want sex with you all the time." "I not mind." Pause, more typing; "I happy you like my body. Do I do sex good for you?" I leaned across, kissed him on the cheek and breathed, "Very good," into his ear, before typing it. He blushed and smiled, pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "I was surprised to find you in my bed last night," I wrote. He looked puzzled, frowned at me and asked, "Why?" "I am very happy that I did, but I did not expect it," I typed. "But Maria said you wanted a boy and I should sleep with you for a week to find if I was good for you." Realisation dawned, dawned slowly, but still managed to dawn. It's not just Google that can mix up translations! Maria had thought she had said it would be good for me to have a boy for company and do things in the house for me, and that he should stay with me for a week to see if it worked out; what he had heard was something very different! I decided not to try to explain that to him -- far too complicated, especially as he was now sitting, happily naked, beside me. "What did you think when she said that?" I asked instead. "I was surprised that a woman should say that to me, but in Romania boys often do sex with men." "And you?" "No, I have not before now. The house they put me with other boys who had no family was in the country. They put us there so we could not be in city and have sex with visitors for money." "Does that happen much?" "Yes, many boys make money with their bodies. They have to eat." "And when Maria said you should sleep with me; what did you think?" He shrugged, and typed, "You give me place to live; police not send me back to Romania. It is right I should have sex with you for this." This was just a shade worrying; I have paid for boys before, of course I have. When you get to my age, often the only way you can get your hands on something young and reasonably fresh is by paying for it, but this just seemed a little bit too....commercial. "I would rather you had sex with me because you liked it," I typed. He frowned, looked bothered and then nodded, typing rapidly; "I like very much; Romanian boys very much like sex; I like be your boy." Not just Romanian boys who like sex, I thought, they all do, wherever they come from, but this was no time to be pedantic. "You like sex with men?" "With man, yes." He grinned, leapt from his chair and dashed over to get the other computer, bringing it back and opening up the `boy/boy' folder. "Want with boy as well," he typed with a shit eating grin. "Not with a girl?" I typed and he shrugged dismissively. "Boy more fun." He looked at me for confirmation before adding, "You like boy?" "Lots," I agreed, "Boy better for sex than girl." Another huge grin while he typed, "Me boy." I had to tell him, "You good sex," my reservations disappearing fast. "You do this with me," he typed, opening up a clip of fucking in the `man/boy' folder; "And this if want," opening another clip of a serious spanking in the third folder. "You want that?" "Yes," he typed, letting the clip run on, showing the boy's red arse being pummelled by the man who'd thrashed him, "Boy fuck good after!" I hugged him and he offered up his mouth for kissing, somehow managing to type "You suck me now?" while his mouth was full of my tongue. It wasn't much more than about half an hour since he'd last pumped seed into my mouth, but I was in no mood to argue, especially when he broke the kiss and stood so I could get my lips round his cock. It wasn't the thick, creamy load of his first thing in the morning offering, but it was fourteen year old boy spunk and that always tastes good! With the aid of the computer I told him that he could live with me, but on certain conditions: sex was to be only when he wanted it, and that he could sleep alone if he needed to. He shrugged both those off, saying he was a boy and boys always want sex. I told him I liked him naked and would prefer him to be that way as much as possible and he grinned, telling me that if he was naked all the time I would want his cock lots, so he would always be naked. Then I suggested that he remove his few pubes so he was smooth all over and he grinned again, said it was obvious I liked my boys young and asked me if I would fuck him if he shaved. "Possibly," I said, keeping my face straight before we both collapsed in a fit of giggles. If truth be told, I am more of a front than a back person -- I just adore teenage cock. Yes, I much prefer it with a decent foreskin, but if it has a short one, or even had the misfortune to be mutilated and suffered from circumcision, I will still give it all the care and attention it deserves. I love the look of it, the feel of it; I love it in my mouth, in my arse if that is what the owner wants, and I simply cannot get enough of the cream that spurts out of it. That does not mean that I deny myself the pleasure that the rear of a boy can give -- eating teenage hole makes a pleasant change from sucking his cock. Eating and fingering boy cunt is, of course, a prelude to fucking it, and whilst, if a boy is only prepared to offer cock I do not object, if he offers his hole as well, I do not refuse. Gregor offered me his cunt, and I accepted. I didn't wait for him to shave; I simply took him outside into the sun having grabbed some lube, and positioned him for eating. On his back, knees up by his shoulders and my mouth buried in his crack. He squealed at the first lick of my tongue on his pucker, shuddered when I pushed it inside him, moaned like a well-paid whore when I got it past his virgin ring and shuddered and whimpered as I probed him as deeply as I could. Yes, I adore cock; I could live on cock alone -- teenage cock that is -- but the moment I am munching on boy cunt my mind switches to fuck mode, and now I had got started there was no way Gregor was going to get up from here still a virgin. He knew it and I knew it and we both wanted it. I ate him until my mouth ached and then I lubed him and put a finger inside him and the whimpers that he had made when my tongue went into him were nothing compared with the noises that came from him when my finger pushed its way past his defences, opening the unbelievably tight ring of his sphinctre and poking itself into the tight, hot, wet, velvet sheath of his fuck tunnel I used my mouth now on the smooth flesh of the back of his thigh as I fingered him -- I could have reached other places, but a boy's legs are so sexy and I had not had nearly enough of Gregor's smooth legs yet, so I was more than content to kiss, lick and munch on them while I worked on opening him up. One finger, two fingers, three fingers, and all the time the boy was whimpering, gasping and moaning, wriggling his body, trying to get more of me inside him. I could see his cock jerking and bouncing as I chewed on his leg and worked my fingers inside him -- I left love bites on him from his arse to the back of his knee and anyone seeing those could have no doubts as to what caused them and what must have happened next. And happen next it did. Fingers out and cock in as a replacement. Three fingers had just about opened him enough to accept my thick cock, although at first he squealed with pain as I got the head inside his ring, a ring that snapped shut behind my helmet as though I had put my cock in a vice. I let him get used to the initial pain, pain that any boy feels on his first fucking -- and often for the next few as well -- then pushed an inch or two more inside him, wondering, as I always did when I fucked a boy, how marvellous it was that his cunt should open wide enough to take thick cock, and revelling, as I always did, at the feel of that gripping, hot, velvet sheath that my prick was pushing into. Once fully in I fucked him from pain to bliss; long, slow strokes to show him what heaven was and then hard and fast to make sure he wanted to go there again and again. My cock battered his prostrate and he wriggled and squirmed and squealed, gasping for breath and wondering why he felt so wonderful and how he had managed to live for fourteen years without this and knowing that for the rest of his life he would crave for cock inside him. I used my hand on his cock now -- a boy in his first fucking needs his cock to be worked as well, the sensations in his arse are too intense to be suffered on their own -- and I wanked and fucked him to orgasm, an orgasm that, despite his previous one being less than twenty minutes before, was as intense as any he had ever felt in his life, probably more intense: for this was the first one that his prostrate had been involved in. His spunking contracted his bowels around my thrusting cock in a grip that could have only one ending and, shortly after his prick had shot spunk up over his stomach and chest, my prick spurted seed inside him. Slowly, so slowly, he lowered his legs and equally slowly my softening prick slipped out of him. I pulled his limp body close, his sperm sticky between us, and kissed him deep and long. He was my fuck boy now, I owned him and I knew from the look in his eyes that he wanted nothing else. It was two years before Maria bothered me again, two amazing, sex-crammed years. Gregor at sixteen was just as delicious as he had been at fourteen; his cock was bigger -- full adult size now at a fraction over seven inches -- and his frame had filled out, but the essentials remained almost unchanged. His lower legs had just a touch of fine hair on them, but between knees and eyebrows there was not one single strand of hair on him. He had to shave his pubic area daily, but the rest of him was still naturally smooth, nothing on his thighs, nothing under his arms; he was still perfect teenage fuck flesh. He had lost none of his appetite for sex, either, still happy to unload his balls five or six times a day. We had established a routine which suited us both: I would deal with his wakening erection, sucking him to fulfilment while he lay back, completely passive, just enjoying the sensations he was receiving from my mouth, and rewarding me with a decent helping of made overnight boy cream. Breakfast and he had to dash off for school, never any time for more play as we stayed in bed together till the last possible moment, but the moment he returned just after two in the afternoon, he stripped and offered himself for the fucking he had been craving all morning. Usually he had his fuck lying on his back so I could deal with his cock while I was inside him; we had agreed long ago that spunk squirted onto flesh and allowed to dry there did not class as wasted protein, and after his fucking he would walk around with sperm dribbling down his body, often from around his throat when he shot hard. Lunch outside in the sun, his sperm drying on his golden tanned flesh, then a mess around in the pool and, refreshed, return to me to be sucked once more. Evenings were spent cuddled together watching films or football, and, inevitably, he found the need to feed me once more before we retired to bed where he would fuck me. No variety in this fucking -- I lay on my front, revelling in the weight of his teenage body on me and his seven teenage inches inside me -- and he'd fuck me slowly till he eventually pumped out whatever he had been able to manufacture in the hour or so since I last sucked him. It was an evening fondle that Maria's phone call interrupted. Gregor's delightfully hard and well-foreskinned cock was throbbing gently in my hand, my balls were feeling comfortable and well looked after as they nestled contentedly in his hand; nothing exceptional, nothing unusual, just a man and his fuck boy enjoying each other as nature intended. "Another favour," Maria's voice said, "An urgent one; I need to find him a home very quickly." "Why the hurry?" I asked, not fully concentrating because Gregor's cock was in my hand and he was playing with my balls and neither of those was an aid to concentration. "Before he is noticed," she said, "He will be shipped straight back if anyone finds out he is here." "Why?" "He is twelve years old," she managed to sound conspiratorial, even on the phone. "Twelve?" I squeaked, "What would I want with a boy that young?" Gregor's hand stopped juggling my balls; he didn't let go or anything stupid, just stopped moving them around. "Look after him, keep him hidden until he looks a bit older," the totally impractical Maria said as though that was a mere nothing. A twelve year old with no papers and no family would be picked up the moment he set foot on the streets and shipped off back from whence he came. "Might that not be the best thing for him?" I wondered to Maria who snorted back that if he had wanted to be in Romania, why had he come here? I promised to think about it, talk things over with Gregor -- he lived with me as well and he might not want to have to share his room with a twelve year old boy. Naturally, I did not mention that Gregor had not spent one single night in `his room' from the moment he arrived. "If he pretty, I fuck him," Gregor said as soon as I put the phone down. "You what?" "If he pretty, I fuck him," Gregor repeated, "I want fuck young boy. You also," he grinned at me. "If he was thirteen............." "I fuck him till he thirteen, then you have as well," Gregor interrupted me with a smirk. "I've never fucked a boy of twelve," I said faintly, as though that was some sort of excuse for wanting to wait a year. "Me not also, but want to," Gregor's grin was huge and his cock was throbbing hard in my hand. I looked at his seven ample inches and wondered if it would fit in a twelve year old boy cunt; it would, of course, I knew that, boy's holes stretch to amazing dimensions from an early age, but the image of a young boy slowly being impaled by Gregor's length was vivid; vivid, disturbing and very, very horny. I needed to think, and Gregor knew me well enough to keep quiet for a bit. He knew me well enough not to let go of my balls as well and I continued to slowly squeeze and stroke his rod while my mind worked. Idly fondling a boy's hard cock can be an aid to concentration, especially if the subject under consideration involves boys and cock. The real problem wasn't the age of the boy Maria was planning to land me with, it was the fact that it was another boy. I was getting far too much pleasure from having a naked Gregor around and always available for me to wish to jeopardise that because of a second boy who may well not be so amenable to our lifestyle. That he was only twelve was an added complication in that he was therefore illegal, not just as a person but as a sexual companion. The age of consent here is thirteen and fourteen where he came from. I would not normally consider a boy of only twelve, but I was honest enough with myself to accept that the matter of a few months was only hair splitting, and that if a twelve year old wished to suck my cock I would not refuse the opportunity. All men have secret lusts for young boy flesh -- most keep those lusts so secret they never even recognise they have them; others know, but do nothing about it except perhaps some night time fantasies; others indulge. I had not indulged in flesh that young since I was fourteen, over half a century ago. Slowly I explained my thoughts to Gregor and he dismissed them. "You sleep with boy, he not tell," Gregor said simply. "Who he tell? He not tell anyone; he tell anyone and he sent back to Romania." That was true, of course; in order to complain the boy would have to reveal himself, and that he was not going to do. "He not like us naked, he have not to look," Gregor equally dismissed my fears about the interruption to our dress code, "But he boy, boy always look cock." And that was certainly true; however modest and shy a boy might be about revealing his own possessions, there was no boy on earth who would not look long and hard at someone else's. "You leave me," Gregor stated, "If he pretty I talk him, we take him, we fuck him. If he ugly he go Romania." "But what if he isn't as keen on doing it as you are?" I asked; not every boy automatically wants a man to get at his bits and use his hole. "What choice he have?" Gregor shrugged, "Fuck or Romania." I had qualms about it, of course I did. It wasn't right, it was no more than blackmail; the boy would, to all intents and purposes, be nothing more than a well-treated slave -- if it is possible to describe being fucked regularly as being `well-treated'. I tried to rationalise it, but I had to admit to myself that it was, in real terms, no more than I had done with Gregor. I had taken him because I hoped that I would be able to seduce him; that he had got there before me, offered up his flesh without complaint because he accepted that it was part of the deal he had entered into. It did not alter the fact that I had taken him in because I wanted to suck and fuck him. I agreed, part of me hoping that the boy would be fat and ugly and Gregor would want nothing to do with him. It wasn't to be, of course. Life shows you a path you know you should not go down, but you take it anyway and go on down it, always hoping that it will peter out, become impassable and you will have to turn back before it is too late, but it was too late the moment you first put a foot on it. The boy was neither fat nor ugly. He was about four feet eight, scrawny from being underfed; a narrow, aquiline face with pale straw hair and ice blue eyes that made him a living demonstration of the fact that his native country had been subject to a Russian army of occupation a couple of generations ago. I could sense Gregor licking his lips with anticipation. Gregor took the boy outside while Maria fussed about, telling me how important it was that I should take the boy in, give him a home so the authorities would not have a reason to send him back to some awful orphanage somewhere in deepest, darkest, Romania. I half listened, my mind on whatever it was that Gregor was telling the boy. Gregor returned with the boy, who was not looking particularly ecstatic about the possibility of coming to live with us. "We take Petr," Gregor told Maria, and that was that. "What did you say to him?" I asked Gregor on the short drive back. "Tell him he sleep with us," Gregor grinned. "He not happy, but I make him want to." Whatever the boy's thoughts on the matter were, I knew he would be taking Gregor's seven teenage inches up inside him in the very near future, and that, whatever I might think I wanted, that my slightly less than seven, but considerably thicker inches, would be following soon after. I saw how Gregor intended to `make him want to' the moment we got inside. He stripped, as he always did, the moment the door was shut, and motioned for me to do the same. Since he was, as always when dressed, wearing the absolute minimum -- in this case, trainers, trackies and shirt -- he was naked in seconds, the new lad staring in a mixture of amazement, and bewilderment as Gregor revealed himself in all his sixteen year old hairless glory. The bewilderment increased when I added my much older than sixteen, equally hairless, far less glory for his attention. He looked away, looked back, looked at sixteen year old cock and then at almost seventy year old cock, blushed, swallowed and decided the best place for him to be looking was anywhere but at cock. Gregor barked something Romanian at him and the boy looked shocked before saying something that clearly meant `NO'. Gregor simply slapped him hard across the face and repeated his bark. The boy shook his head and Gregor slapped him again, almost knocking him of balance. The boy's eyes screwed up; he obviously wanted to cry and I was far from sure I wanted this to continue. As though he had read my mind, Gregor said, "This leave for me," and I didn't say what I had been about to. Once more Gregor barked at the nearly tearful boy and this time he slowly kicked off his shabby trainers, pulled off his shirt and with obviously huge embarrassment, undid his ragged jeans and allowed them to drop down his scrawny legs to puddle round his ankles. Another bark from Gregor and the boy slowly stepped out of his discarded jeans, peeled off his socks and stood, wearing now only less than clean, once white, briefs. Gregor looked him in the eyes and slowly raised his hand, a silent announcement that another slap would be on its way. Not wanting another slap across his already smarting face, the boy pulled down his briefs, allowed them to fall to the floor and, as fast as he could, covered himself with his hands. Gregor flicked with his fingers, indicating that the boy should remove his covering hands and, face red with shame as well as with Gregor's slaps, the boy slowly moved his hands aside, tears leaking now in streaks down his cheeks. I had to admit that, for a boy of his age, what he had to show us was worth looking at. He was, naturally, complete, with a foreskin that would obviously not retract to reveal the hidden glans when he was hard. He was not hard now, but very soft, fear and embarrassment are not great cock hardeners. In size it was about the same as my middle finger, perhaps two and a half inches long and, like the rest of him, thin. Gregor sat, staring at the boy's hairless groin as though he was willing that little cock to harden, but twelve year old Petr was in no mood to spring an erection. Once more Gregor spoke and the boy looked horrified, shaking his head from side to side violently. Gregor shrugged, reached out with a foot and dragged his own jeans across the floor towards him. Carefully, knowing that the boy was watching every move, Gregor extracted his leather belt from his jeans, doubled it, wrapped it round his wrist, leaving about a foot free. It needed only one guess what he intended to do with it and I expected the boy to instantly comply with whatever it was that Gregor had told him to do. Instead the boy had no chance to do so. With his other hand, Gregor grabbed a handful of pale straw hair, dragged the boy towards him and forced him across his knees. Without a further word and still with a handful of the boy's hair in his left hand, Gregor swung his belt and landed a hard smack on each of Petr's undernourished arse cheeks. The boy yowled and Gregor looked across to me. "Me tell him to be naked; he say no so I hit his face. He get naked. I tell him suck my cock and he no do it, so I show him he want to do it." He hit the boy again, and he wasn't gentle. The boy howled and tried to put his hands behind him to stop the belt from landing again, but Gregor simply aimed lower and hit him across the back of his thighs. The boy yelled, twisted and tried to escape, but escape is not possible when your hair is being grabbed. Gregor said something, did not get the response he wanted, and leathered the boy again, arse or thigh, wherever he could see flesh to hit. A dozen or more, in rapid succession, and the boy was a howling, crying, sobbing, convulsing creature whose only thought now was to escape from the pain. Gregor spoke again and this time the boy snivelled something different, for Gregor let go of his hair and the boy almost fell onto the floor, crawling over to his torturer and putting his head between the sixteen year old's knees. His face reached for Gregor's fully upright cock, for whom spanking the boy had obviously been a turn on, opening his mouth for Gregor to guide his length inside. "Now he want suck cock," Gregor grinned at me; "Soon he know what spunk taste." He said something to the boy who gave no reaction, his little fists grasped round Gregor's shaft, his head bobbing up and down -- anything to avoid further punishment to his red and painful arse and thighs. Gregor grinned across at me, obviously enjoying the control he had over the twelve year old almost as much as he was enjoying the feel of those young lips round his cock. "Young boy suck," he smiled, "Feel very good." Surprisingly, considering the punishment he had just metered out, Gregor began to softly stroke the sucking boy's hair with one hand and back and shoulders with the other, saying something softly in his incomprehensible language. "Tell him he suck good," Gregor translated for me, "Tell him when spunk he swallow all." I suspected that the twelve year old's knowledge of spunk was, at best, theoretical, and that Gregor unloading in his mouth was going to be a surprise for him! Fortunately for the boy, it was afternoon and Gregor had already spermed twice for me, and, anyway, the regular milking I gave him had long since meant that his only really thick load was his first one in the morning when I sucked him awake. The boy would get a reasonable mouthful, but nothing he was likely to be unable to cope with. I watched the straw topped head bobbing up and down, young mouth bravely suctioning on the adolescent erection; I gazed at the slender, scrawny young body between Gregor's full, smooth, maturing thighs, and I hardened fully as well. Gregor thrashing the boy's arse had started me off, now watching twelve year old suck sixteen year old completed my rising. I knew what I was going to do once the boy had swallowed Gregor's sperms. I was beginning to worry that an onset of jaw ache would prevent the boy from completing his set task, but Gregor must have had the same concern, because he stopped stroking the boy's back and moved his hand round to place it over the boy's fists where they gripped his shaft, holding it upright so he could use his mouth. Gregor started moving the boy's fists, easing them up and down, encouraging the boy to wank him as he sucked. It had the desired effect, Gregor began to breathe more heavily and slowly, his eyes closed and his body began to stiffen. Suddenly he stopped breathing, every muscle in him tautened, his toes poked straight out and his hips thrust his hardness deep into the boy's mouth. The twelve year old's eyes widened with shock, his cheeks bulged and I could see him fighting a gag reflex as Gregor was obviously spunking, filling what space there was in his mouth with hot, slimy boy cream. The boy gripped Gregor's cock tightly, scared to stop having it in his mouth while he bravely tried to swallow. I saw his throat constrict and open as he fought to overcome his instinct to spit out the stuff that had suddenly spurted into him, but swallow he did. I watched him gulp it down and then Gregor's hands eased his mouth off the cock he had been sucking. Gregor himself eased up the last drops and pushed the boy back down to lick up those and complete his task. "Gregor," I commanded when the boy had finished his spunk eating, "Over the arm of that chair now!" Gregor obeyed with a smirk, he knew what was coming. I grabbed some lube, there was always a jar or a tube handy everywhere in the house and garden, greased his hole and went in without even trying to finger him open first. Normally, when we fucked, we did it slowly; I usually ate Gregor out and fingered him for quite a while before fucking him, and he would finger me wide while sucking me before he got his seven inch tube inside my cunt, but this time it was different. I wanted to demonstrate who was the real boss in this house; I wanted young Petr to understand that Gregor had to obey me just as he had been made to obey Gregor, and I also wanted him to understand that his duties were not going to stop at sucking cock. I gestured to the boy to move and stand where I could look at him as I fucked Gregor; partly I wanted to gaze on his slender, pre-teen form, and partly I wanted to find out if watching me fuck the older boy would harden up his little cock which had stayed down all the time he had been sucking. His little hand crept round to his cock, fondling it as he watched, wide eyed, at the fucking taking place no more than a pace or two in front of him. He hardened as I pounded Gregor's arse, his little delight almost doubling in length but nothing at all in girth. A measurement later that afternoon would show him to be just a fraction under four inches but still no thicker than my middle finger, and thinking about that slim prick inside me brought me off inside Gregor. Perhaps having a twelve year old around might have some benefits after all! Fucking finished, Gregor sent Petr off to have a shower and generally clean up while we prepared lunch. I did a simple mixed salad and got a pile of pork chops and chicken fillets out to do on the outside grill, while Gregor set the table and dug a couple of bottles of white wine out of the chiller. Petr joined us outside as we were having a pre-lunch smoke and wine. He was still a bit uncomfortable with his nakedness, but at least this time he did not try to cover himself with his hands, although he did blush and fidget a bit when both Gregor and I looked at him with unconcealed interest. He accepted a cigarette with hesitant eagerness and a glass of wine with a bit more hesitation and uncertainty. Gregor, though, had deliberately selected something that was not too dry and after a tentative sip, the boy slurped it down happily enough. Twelve year old boys are not wild about salad, but he fought his way through some and looked a lot happier when I put some chops on to grill. Whilst they were cooking, Gregor started questioning the boy, telling me what he was asking and what the boy's answers were. He frequently went red and muttered his answers to his plate, but, given the circumstances, that was not surprising. Yes, he told us, this was the first time he had been naked for people to look at him and, yes, he did find it embarrassing, especially because both Gregor and I kept staring at his cock. Yes, he was old enough to know that his cock was not just for pissing with, especially after what he had been made to do with Gregor and after he had watched me stick my prick up the older boy's cunt, but he had never thought about doing things like that. Yes, he did play with himself when he was in bed and yes, he did sometimes get a funny feeling when he played with it for long enough, but no, nothing came out when that happened, nothing like the stuff that Gregor had spurted into his mouth. Yes, he understood that was spunk and that eventually he would produce that as well, but he hadn't done so yet. Of course he had heard that men fucked boys, but the nuns at his orphanage had beaten into him, and everyone else there, that even thinking about those things was evil and would send him straight to hell. No, he didn't believe in hell, but the nuns were a bunch of vicious old cows and none of the boys he knew of had dared to try to experiment with each other because if the nuns found out they would whip the skin off the backs of any boy they thought might even have wondered about doing such things. All of this took a lot of prising out of him, though another couple of glasses of wine helped, and there was a period of silence whilst he devoured four chops and two chicken fillets -- probably more food than he normally had in a week. He went a very deep shade of red when Gregor asked him if he had liked sucking cock and he said it wasn't bad. He did giggle a bit and explained the reason for that was because he had been thrashed to make him do something the nuns would have whipped him for doing and that Gregor would not have to take a belt to his arse again because he now knew that if he was going to live here he would have to suck cock and be naked all the time and he didn't mind that now because he was getting cigarettes, drink and food. I got Gregor to ask him what he really thought about sucking cock and the boy went deep scarlet, muttered something to the floor, went silent and then muttered again. "He say it ok," Gregor translated, "He not mind it. He think spunk taste funny, but he happy to eat it. Then he say he want to know what feels like have it sucked." "Show him, then," I grinned at Gregor, who promptly got up from his chair, crossed to the boy and knelt between his skinny legs. The lad looked surprised, but parted his legs when Gregor pushed at them, and the look of surprise changed to shock when Gregor took his soft, skinny cock into his mouth. The boy's eyes shut tight, his body stretched and I could tell from the expressions and movements of his lips that he was not finding either the sucking or Gregor's wandering hands as they explored his legs and chest, in the least bit distasteful. Gregor gobbled him for about ten minutes while I smoked a cigarette before coming off, smiling at the boy who's now open again eyes beamed back, and asking him something. I could guess what it was -- what do you always ask a boy when his cock has been sucked for the first time? The reply came with a huge smile; "He say he like it much," Gregor translated, "He say he know why he have suck my cock, your cock. Make feel very good." Gregor ran his hand over the boy's skinny thigh, fondled his finger thick four hard inches and gave me a wicked grin. "Now I make him feel better," he said and pulled the boy to his feet, leading him over to the airbed on the terrace. He lay the boy down on his back, knelt, pulled the boy's legs up, telling him to hold them, and then dived his face into the boy's crack. This was as much a surprise for me as it was for Petr; Gregor had never shown any desire to eat arse and I had never forced him to, but now he was going for it almost in a frenzy. Petr squealed, wriggled, gasped, moaned and panted; low noises, louder noises, noises of delight and lust as Gregor munched, sucked, licked and tongue probed; a concerto on a boy having his arse eaten for the first time. When Gregor finally had to stop, his mouth being unable to take any more, I said, "Thought you didn't want to do that." "Man, no," Gregor agreed, "Young boy different." To finish things off he had a snack on Petr's not yet fully dropped balls, which produced some more interesting sounds. "Don't try to fuck him too soon," I warned Gregor when we were all back at the table with fresh cigarettes, "You are not small and we don't want to hurt him." Gregor grinned; "Eat him, finger him for one week, then fuck him." I had other plans regarding twelve year old Petr and fucking, and in bed that night I had him on top of me, his four inch, finger thick prick as deep inside me as it could get and, because he couldn't yet spunk, he kept at it till sheer physical exhaustion brought him to a stop. I knew from what happened inside me and on top of me, that he had at least four dry orgasms, but dry ones don't stop a pre-teen boy, they only slow him down for a minute or so. He was far too thin to stretch me, as Gregor did so delightfully; too short to poke deep inside and far too inexperienced to have any idea about the arts of fucking and far too skinny and scrawny for his twelve year old body to have enough weight to press me into the mattress, but all those deficiencies he more than made up for with his enthusiasm. A young boy, not yet mature enough to produce sperm, had discovered fucking and he was lost in the wonder of it. As for me, I had no urge to change roles, to plunge my prick into his skinny arse as I knew Gregor was lusting to do; the idea of fucking a pre-teen boy did not excite me, but actually being fucked by one was the hottest, sexiest thing I had ever experienced. I looked forward to him being older, able to feed me the cream of boy I so enjoy, but in the meantime, his slender, non-spunking cock would be spending a lot of time buried in my cunt. A sixteen in my mouth and a twelve in my arse.......life was looking good. And even when he aged a bit, reached fourteen or fifteen, his cock would still be skinny, longer but still skinny and he could fuck me with that for as long as he wanted to! Thanks for reading; feel free to let me know if you enjoyed it.