Date: Thu, 17 May 2012 21:42:48 +0100 From: Edgar Getting Subject: Your Little Favourite This story contains sex between a man and a 10 year old boy. Don't read it if that's not your thing. The story is a work of fiction. I understand the difference between fantasy and reality and have no intention of blurring that boundary. I've decided to try this one written in the second-person. I remember reading Complicity by Iain Banks when I was a teenager, which had sections describing grisly murders written in the second-person, and present tense. It was a really effective way of drawing the reader into the story that blew me away at the time. It occurred to me that it might also work to create a more immersive sex scene. xxxxx People have always told you that teachers aren't supposed to have favourites, but it's inevitable really. It's unavoidable human nature to like some kids more than others, so really what people mean is teachers aren't supposed to show favouritism. That is, you can have your little pets as long as you don't treat them any differently to the ones who annoy the fuck out of you. Every now and then, there'll be someone in your class who seems to have a perfect combination of virtues, coupled with a suitably heart-rending back story to ensure emotional attachment and a heightened sense of responsibility. When the teacher in question is a paedophile, then beauty is normally (but not always) the deal sealer. Jake is one of those boys. When he came up into your class, you heard all about his family life – the father in prison for GBH, the flaky mother who claims to want the best for her boy but in reality thinks only of herself, the teenage brother who likes to follow Daddy's example and use his fists to get his own way. And from all this, Jake sailed serene and apparently unsullied, a well-adjusted boy who works hard and gets on well with the other children and is an absolute pleasure to teach. He's a charming, inquisitive boy, with a winning combination of worldliness and naivety. He is thoughtful and helpful and enthusiastic. It sounds too good to be true, but really you haven't overstated it. Sure, if he hasn't been sent to bed he'll happily stay up watching TV till 2 in the morning and then be tired and moody the next day, and very occasionally someone will test his patience and he'll fire off a merciless put-down, but these are rare occasions. And, of course, he is beautiful. He has a flop of brown hair that occasionally obscures his slightly startling blue eyes, and a somewhat narrow face with prominent cheekbones and a sharply defined jaw line. He's very skinny, much preferring arty and musical activities to sport. You adored him from the moment you first saw him. And that's before even you found out he could sing. Until he came up into your class, he'd never joined the school choir you run at lunch times, boys being generally a bit nervous of joining such a girl-heavy club. This is especially true of boys who already have a growing awareness of the differences between themselves and the burly, sporty, laddish boys in their peer group. But a bit of persuasion and he started coming (bringing a couple of friends for moral support) so now you get to sit and gawp as he makes love to your eardrums once a week. When you receive an invitation to enter pupils into a primary school singing competition, it's clear to you that Jake is really the only person who could hold his own in that kind of a situation. Regional auditions confirm that, with the five or six other hopefuls from your school being disappointed at the first round. Jake, however, makes it through to the nationals, to be held in one of those massive faceless exhibition centres in Birmingham. Well aware of Jake's mother's penchant for taking everything she can get from well-wishers without giving anything back, you make it clear to her that it's her who needs to take the boy to Birmingham, and are vague and cagey about whether you actually intend to go yourself to support him. You know there isn't a chance you'd miss it, but a whiff of a free ride and she'll be palming him off onto you for the day instead of taking responsibility. And you know perfectly well that what Jake needs more than anything else is some kind of parental approval; that if his mother shirks her duty, he'll interpret her lack of interest as a reflection of his lack of talent. xxxxx Jake's been buzzing with excitement all week, and finally the day comes. It's a cold day; snow is expected later. You're literally just turning the handle to walk out of the front door when the doorbell goes, and suddenly you're face to face with a nervous Jake and a distracted mother. "Oh!" You can't quite think what to say. "This is a surprise! What are you doing here?" "I'm so sorry Mr Wilson, only something's come up and I can't get him there in time for the start. If you could take him up, then I'll come later when I've sorted this out." "Erm... how did you know where I live?" "Oh, we saw you at the supermarket last week and noticed which house you went in after." Jake pipes in, "Mum, you make it sound like we were spying on him!" She ignores him. "So, is it alright if you take him then? I'll be up in time for the final, Jakey, I promise." Jake rolls his eyes. "If I make it that far." You try the difficult task of giving her a disappointed teacher look, without letting Jake see. She is oblivious. "So I'll see you later then. Bye darling, sing well!" She kisses Jake on the cheek and swirls away, leaving him blinking up at you with the look of someone who's just woken up and forgotten where they are. Inwardly you're seething at her disregard of Jake's wellbeing, but it's all smiles and support for Jake. Damage limitation – make less of it and maybe his trust in his mother won't be completely shattered. He's dressed carefully, taken pride in how he looks, but it's obvious this is his one good suit that has been wheeled out for every wedding and christening over the last few years. The jacket sleeves are too short, but it's only noticeable because Jake's noticed, and is constantly pulling them down. One of the shirt buttons has been very carefully sown back on, but the thread colour doesn't quite match the others. He's polished his school shoes, but you can still see the scuffs. There's something slightly pitiful about the way he's tried a little too hard to look smart. You feel if he'd dressed more casually he'd actually have looked better, but in some ways the fact that he's clearly done all this himself adds to his vulnerability. Vulnerability is deeply attractive to you because you have such fuzzy edges between wanting to look after a child and wanting to have sex with him. The car journey has long silences punctuated with bursts of gabbling talk. Jake is nervous and it shows. It's not clear to you how much of his mind is thinking about the competition, how much about his mother, and how much about everything else going on in his life. When he does talk, it's unconnected to anything of relevance – a funny name on a road sign, or why KFC is better than McDonalds, that kind of thing. The silences lengthen as you get closer to the city, so to fill them you start with a few vocal warm-ups. You're using ones Jake's familiar with from school, and this relaxes him. xxxxx The competition is broken into a series of heats before 5 singers make it into the grand final. Jake's first heat is unexpectedly early, so as soon as he's registered he's whisked off to sing, leaving no time for any pep-talk or anything like that. Good thing you did some warm-ups in the car, really. He doesn't have time to get too nervous, so he sings well and sails through into the next round. This time you have about half an hour to wait, so you go through some breathing exercises. When Jake gets nervous, his body tenses up and this can make his voice sound a little strained. You have a hand on his abdomen near the bottom of his ribcage and one on his back as he breathes, and this contact with his slender torso nudges awake your dormant sexual desire for the boy. There's one glorious moment when you finish the exercise – very briefly, half a second at most, Jake leans in to you, allowing your arms to encircle him completely. Blink and you'd miss it – already he's moved away again and the absence of him feels like a hole in your being. Cool it, Wilson, there's people watching. After the second heat there's a longer wait. While you're eating your lunch Jake notices that it's started to snow, so you head out into the little patch of grass where Jake catches snowflakes on his tongue. Standing there, head back, mouth agape, you imagine what it would be like to slide your cock over that pink little tongue, and wonder how much would go in before he started to gag. More heats, and Jake's performance deteriorates as he gets more nervous. He calls his mother between each one, and you wonder whether this is adding to his nerves, though you're not clear exactly why. During one phone call, you see Jake physically sag. When he hangs up he tells you what you'd known all along – his mum won't be coming up after all. Blamed the snow – apparently it's really coming down back home and she doesn't want to drive in it. Never mind me who'll be driving back in it later, or Jake who was depending on her. He reaches the semi-final, but gets no further. He's bitterly disappointed but does his best not to show it. In another situation maybe Jake would have come through, but the finalists were just a little bit more polished, a little bit more in control of the raw materials than Jake. Still, there's always next year. By now the hall has emptied somewhat as families of children already knocked out decide to set off to beat the snow rather than stay and watch the final. You slip a comforting arm around his narrow shoulders and ignore the part of you that's glad his mother's such a wash-out because it means you get to provide comfort to him. Let's not get into that moral mangle now and just enjoy the moment. Jake wants to stay to watch the final, so until then you head back outside again to have a look at the snow. You've never seen it come down so fast – there's a real covering now and it makes you wonder what the journey back's going to be like. Already the cars trying to get out of the carpark are having trouble. There are a few other competitors out here too, making snowmen and throwing snowballs. Jake keeps himself separate from them, and makes two modest snowmen, one taller than the other. When he tells you one's him and one's you, it makes you want to squeeze him tight, but you just smile and ask him which is which. This makes him giggle. Back inside, you're aware of a complete change in atmosphere – people are hurrying rather than strolling, frantically looking for coats and children. A rumour has gone round that the motorways are all closing because of the heavy snow. You head into the bar area where they've got a rolling news channel on the screen, and you're confronted by images of endless queues of abandoned cars, grounded flights and stationary trains. Looks like the whole country's come to a halt. As the realisation that no-one will be able to get home ripples round the hall, the atmosphere changes again – the urgent rush is replaced with a "we're all in it together" resignation, and people start to eye up sofas they might want to spend the night on. A tannoy announcement tells you that the exhibition centre's attached hotel will provide emergency accommodation for the night for free (this gets a cheer), and that the grand final will be postponed by an hour to give people time to make arrangements. You move with 90% of the rest of the hall in the direction of the hotel and queue for absolutely ages before being assigned a double room with a second pull-out bed. Ordinarily, sharing a room with a student would not be allowed, but under the circumstances you have to make do. You're lucky, actually – some families are having to squeeze six into a room the same size. The room is pretty plush and Jake thinks it's amazing. You've only once stayed in a hotel as good as this when you were dating that arse of a stockbroker, so it's a treat for you too. Once you've had a little look around and called Jake's mum to let her know what's going on, you head back downstairs. You're pleased to see that Jake is grown-up enough to enjoy the final without showing any resentment, and has some positive things to say about the singers. They were pretty amazing, you have to admit. After the final, you have dinner in one of the attached restaurants, and then sit in the bar area with a few other competitors and their families. This time, Jake's less reserved and talks to some of the other children, while you half maintain a boring conversation about snowfall with a dad, keeping most of your attention on watching your angel interacting with a couple of other fairly pretty boys. Gays, the three of them, quite definitely. Odd how they sniff each other out like this when they're probably not even aware of their sexuality themselves. There's one slightly hairy moment when the dad of one of the pretty gays asks you a question, and you're too busy imagining his offspring engaging in a furtive three-way frot with his playmates to have heard what he said. You bluff your way through and try not to look guilty. After a while, the boys decide they want to go back out into the snow, which is still falling. It must be a good two feet deep now, you've not seen it like this in England before. They make a good go of it, but it doesn't take long for them to be cold and damp and ready to head back inside. Three shivering boys are the cue to head back to hotel rooms for showers and bed, so you all head off towards the hotel. The boys agree to meet up for breakfast, and finally you have your Jake all to yourself. You slip an arm around his shoulder as you cross the threshold into your room and give him a quick hug. He accepts this contact for a moment, and then slips out of your grasp to look out of the window at the whitened city. After a few minutes of gawping, you hurry him into the shower and imagine with pleasure how he looks in there, while idly flicking through TV channels. You bone up at the thought, but it's subsided again by the time he emerges, his slim clean body looking so narrow and fragile and amazing, wrapped in the clean white hotel towel. There's a belly you'd like to kiss and no mistake. He jumps up onto the bed and takes the remote from your hand, so you go for your shower, getting yourself up to a full erection, loving the idea that you're erect only metres from the boy. You let it go down again before you get out of the shower. Get dressed? No, let's do what Jake did and go back into the room in just a towel. Nothing overtly sexual, but it at least raises familiarity. You're surprised but pleased to see Jake's not dressed yet – still sitting up against the headboard flicking through channels, his knees pulled up to his chest. Hang on, let's move slightly, that's it, don't block the TV, but just a little further and you've got a view up his leg. You can only see thigh so far (but it's creamy white and inviting – don't knock the thigh – but maybe there's more to see). You maintain the conversation so he doesn't notice the stare, but that's it, a little closer to the bed, and now you can see. Gorgeous. With his knees up, the towel's pulled wide enough to show the small wrinkled sack of his scrotum, his balls looking tiny, floating in that amount of skin. And there, lying soft to one side, half in shadow so you can't really tell how big it is, is his cock. How long can you stand here looking without him noticing? Maybe he's already noticed? But he's made no move to cover up so probably not. There's a limit to how long you can stand in this spot making light conversation before it starts to look odd, so with great reluctance you have a last longing glance, and move across to look out of the window. You notice he's put his wet clothes on the radiator to dry (hence still being in the towel, presumably), so you do the same even though yours aren't particularly wet, and then sit next to him, leaning against the headboard. "Anything good on?" "No. There's hot chocolate sachets on the table, am I allowed one?" "Of course." It surprises and amuses you that he feels he has to ask permission, as if this was your house and not a free hotel room. "Do you want one too?" Not really, but you say yes to keep him happy. He gets up to turn on the kettle, and there's immense pleasure seeing the simple domesticity coloured with the incredible sexiness of his lithe body moving around the hotel room. He starts to sing, and because he's relaxed and happy, he's singing infinitely better than he did on stage. It's a ravishing sound he makes when the mood's right. He brings the mugs back to the bed, and sits right up against you on your left hand side so that your bare shoulders are touching. You've never had this kind of physical intimacy with him before. By his age, they're normally past the stage of needing a cuddle when they've fallen over or fallen out with their friends, so this is a rare treat. The conversation drifts from the competition, to school, to home, to the competition again, and all the while you feel he's talking about his mother without ever mentioning her name. There's an undercurrent of unvoiced resentment. Are you making more of this than he is? Possibly, but even if it's unacknowledged, you're certain that her inattention will be doing lasting damage. In some ways it'll be better when he reaches adolescence and can happily scream that he hates her, instead of meekly bowing to her whims all the time. He snuggles closer, and you're aware that you might need to shift your position to hide any future erection. You lift your knees slightly so that there's a crumple of towel in your groin, and he mirrors your action, leaning his leg against yours. His towel has now slipped to about half way along his thigh, so he's pressing skin against skin. He wriggles his torso in closer still, moving his shoulder in front of yours so that your left arm naturally snakes round behind his back to hold him. He's so slender, so warm, so beautiful. He tilts his head back onto your shoulder and gazes up at you and in his expression you can see that he adores you. There's a boyish crush in those eyes and you have the power to decide what will happen. Position of responsibility, Wilson. Nip it in the bud. But instead you give him a gentle squeeze and smile back, telling him with your gaze that you adore him too. He does something odd. He asks if he can touch your beard. He takes your surprised silence as bad sign, and quickly adds "just `cause, you know, I've never touched one before and I've always wanted to know what it feels like. Like, is it the same as the hair on your head, or different?" "Erm, yeah, I guess you can touch it if you like." Your beard is cropped close to your face, but he manages to run his fingers through it, running up against the grain. The sensation is exquisite and you immediately see why chimps like to groom so much. Odd that humans don't, really. It's one of the strangest moments of your life, but also one of the most erotic. While he reaches up to your face, you stroke his clean, almost dry hair in response, tucking it away from his gorgeous blue eyes, and smoothing it down over his crown. Your fingers move from his hair, down his cheek and jaw line, and he settles back into the crook of your elbow and allows his face to be stroked. It takes considerable will power not to kiss his waiting mouth, but you're aware that for a 10 year old boy with a possibly unrecognised crush on his teacher, jumping to kissing might be a step too far. Right decision, Wilson, because he's suddenly embarrassed by what's been happening, sits up and moves slightly apart from you. He remembers his hot chocolate and starts to talk about a film that's on telly in a bit. He goes to the radiator to see if his clothes are dry, and sees that only his pants are. They're green stretchy boxer briefs with a white waistband and white seams, making them look a little like a football pitch. Rather than going back into the bathroom, he faces away from you and pulls them on under his towel. Only a glimpse, only a tiny glimpse, but you do manage to see about a square centimetre of bum. Tantalising. He wonders around the room aimlessly, investigating drawers, fiddling with the curtains, that kind of thing. It gives you a wonderful opportunity to admire his physicality; the careless grace with which he holds himself, the thin torso and kissable belly, that small but beautifully shaped bum, on hips so narrow yet so sensual. You have a strong urge to kneel behind him while he looks out at the snowy city and pull him towards you by the hips, but for now your eyes make do where your hands and your lips would like to be. As he returns to the bed, you get up and put your own pants back on in the same coy manner, and then hang both towels in the bathroom. You sit back on the bed a little distance apart from him, so that any further contact is definitely initiated by him. It doesn't take long. He's perhaps getting chilly sitting in only his boxers, so he sidles back alongside, and after a while leans his head against your chest. Again, your left arm slips around him, but you resist the urge to stroke after the reaction last time. You both gradually slide from sitting to lying, abandoning all pretence of watching the TV, and just hold each other. He pulls the duvet over you both, and that is the cue for him to snuggle even closer, turning his body to face you, and swinging his left leg up over yours. He's half lying on top of you now, there's a clear sexual element to this contact, but you're mindful of scaring him again, so you fight the urge to slide a hand down onto his bum. He pushes things on, though. Very slowly, he lifts his head, and presses his lips against your chest, and then returns to his starting position. That was a kiss, Wilson, no question of it. You return it in the same slow manner, pressing your lips at the top of his forehead by his hairline. As you release, he tilts his head up, offering his lips to you. Very slowly, leaving plenty of time for a back-out if necessary, you move your lips to his, and kiss his wonderful mouth. He brings his body round so that it's entirely on top of yours, and kisses you again, one hand in your beard and the other on the pillow beside your head. You slip your hands down the sides of his slender torso, relishing the smooth warm feel of his skin, and onto the small, firm mounds of his bum. His pants fit the shape of his buttocks so snugly, they almost enhance the sensation, making it feel cosy and warm in your fingertips. As you gently explore his body, there is a slow transition, from long, closed-mouth kisses, to a slightly open mouth, allowing lips to interlock and nuzzle on their mates, to the gradual and tentative introduction of tongue. You are in this comfortable embrace for a surprisingly long time, and Jake gradually allows his inhibitions to be broken down, and his sex to be worked up. As the kisses progress, so does his use of his body, beginning with a gentle pressing, to squeezing his groin against your belly, to rhythmic thrusting. After a while, Jake lifts his head from yours, gives you a shy smile, and then nuzzles in against your neck. You feel him rubbing his face against your beard, and when you kiss his neck he giggles at the tickles it gives him. You slide your hand inside his boxers, cupping his warm, firm little bum, and squeezing gently. He tips slightly onto one hip to allow your hand to squirm round to the front, where you take hold of the amazingly warm, hard smoothness of his sex. You feel like you have magic in your fingertips, the way it trembles in your grasp, the way the boy whimpers with pleasure and thrusts into your hand. With your other hand you slide his pants off over his bum, and he then kicks them off onto the floor. While he lifts his weight from you, you slip your own boxers off too, and he settles back kneeling over your groin, looking down at your erection. This is your first chance to really see his penis, and he yours. He has a cock that somehow mirrors its owner in its pale and slender elegance. It is about 2 and a half inches long, standing up proudly against the V from whose nadir it sprouts. His foreskin reaches almost all the way around the head, leaving a small circle of glans visible at the tip. The scrotum is loose, with two rather small balls looking slightly at sea and detached from the penis. You run your fingers over it, exploring what it has to offer, rolling his foreskin back and forth and gently squeezing the tip. You expect him to do the same to yours, but he just watches it with detached curiosity, while enjoying the slow wank you're giving him. When you tell him he's beautiful, a delicious blush colours his cheeks and he steps up a harder thrust into your hand, before lowering his hips so that he's rubbing directly onto your erection. He lies flat on top of you while he frots himself against you, allowing for more kissing and nuzzling. Your dicks are both slightly sticky with sweat, so that they catch and pull against each other, which only serves to heighten the hotness you're both feeling. Your hands roam all over his body and backside while you pull him in against you. His hands stay mainly by your head, but occasionally move to stroke your chest. You roll onto your sides, and lifting his leg slightly, begin to thrust between his thighs, across his perineum and into the bottom of his crack. It gladdens you to think that you must be rubbing back and forth across his hole right now, and he's so sexed up that he's not in the least freaked out by it. His own strokes take his cock up through your pubes, giving them a slight pull each time. Excited by your proximity to his bum, you put him onto his front and push up and down his crack, loving the way his buttocks deform under the pressure as your helmet runs up and down his narrow cleft. It's exciting for you, but there's not enough friction on his dick to keep him happy, so he directs you to lie on your back again, and you resume your original face-to-face, dick-to-dick position. You can tell he's getting close, and so are you. You run your fingers up his crack, and in his current fog of hotness he moans with pleasure as you press firmly against his tight little hole. One finger slips in just at the point where you reach orgasm, coating his genitals in the lubrication he needs to up his thrust-rate and shudder through a dry climax of his own. You remove your finger and kiss him deeply while he runs out his after-strokes, slowing to a standstill and burying his mouth in your neck. You hold this amazing boy close, relishing the sensation of his hot, slender body in your arms. You smile and tell him he's wonderful. Which, of course, he is. He gives you a shy grin and blushes charmingly. After a dozing cuddle, Jake rolls away from you and fetches some tissues, which he uses to mop up the worst of the mess. When he's done, you lean up on one elbow and just stare at the amazing beauty you have beside you. Lucky boy, Wilson, you're a very lucky boy. Every inch of his body is ravishing, every movement he makes is entrancing. The narrow ribcage, the dip from this down to his silky smooth belly, the penis now lying flaccid at about an inch and a half off to the side, the little balls looking almost lost in the loose skin of his scrotum. And those incredible legs, of a length and proportion guaranteed to make you worship every step he makes. You trail your fingertips over him, relishing the goosebumps you raise, and best of all, watching his dick wake up and harden without direct contact. You replace your fingers with your lips, kissing over his torso, gradually dipping towards his groin. You take his testicles into your mouth, pulling on them gently and swirling them with your tongue. You move to the base of his dick and lap around its root, and lick up its length, before taking it into your mouth. Jake's reaction to the sensation is just as you hoped and imagined – a surprised, whimpering cry, followed by a breathy "Oh My God!" As you suck, Jake's wiry frame stretches and twists in pleasure, and your hands maintain a continuous movement over his belly as you suck him. His cock feels hot and exciting on your tongue, throbbing and bucking at a rhythm independent of the long slow thrusts Jake makes into your mouth. Jake's hands rake through your hair as he pulls himself into you, all his movements becoming more ragged as he approaches climax. Ultimately you want to get into his bum, but you know he'll need working up to this. You want to get him to the stage where he associates things in his bum with pleasure, so when he's really close, you lick a finger and squeeze it in. You give him a good prostate rub while you bring him up to the peak. He's so sexed up right now that he accepts and welcomes this, which gives you hope for the future. Not tonight probably, but not too far in the future you'll be fucking him there. Suddenly he tenses and becomes still, all except for that lovely dick, which bounces in your mouth like a twanged ruler, as he shakes a dry orgasm onto your tongue. After a few seconds of stationary ecstasy, he exhales deeply and collapses back onto the bed, arms outstretched and with a look of amazed satisfaction on his face. You come back up alongside him, kiss his mouth, and pull him into a tight embrace. He clamps his limbs around you limpet-like, and nuzzles into your neck. When he has recovered, his amazing blue eyes give you a knowing look, and he walks his fingers like little legs down your torso and along the length of your dick. You're semi-hard at the moment, but as Jake takes hold of you, the blood returns and you're ready for a re-match. He wanks you slowly, and then leans down to kiss up the back of your cock. When his lips reach the head, he points those beautiful eyes at you and gives you a little smirk, and it's almost enough to make you scream. This incredible boy, his beauty, his sexiness, his lips on your cock. It's a wonder you haven't spunked on his face already. He opens his lips and allows them to engulf the head of your cock, slowly stretching to let it in, closing on the far side, and then there's that little extra stretch as he passes the corona. All the times you've fantasized about seeing this sight, feeling these sensations, and here we are on a snowy night in Birmingham and it's finally happening. He holds you there, just the head in his mouth, and ripples his tongue around what he's caught, and it's like being fellated by an angel. He sucks his cheeks in, accentuating those exquisite cheek bones, before moving to take more of you into his mouth. What have you done to deserve this, Wilson? Who knows. Who gives a fuck. He backs off your dick and licks and kisses the shaft and the head, before taking it inside again, setting up a rhythm for a few strokes. Again, he backs off, and kisses you for a few moments before having another go. This time the rhythm is maintained and he takes around half of the length in each time. This is good stuff, especially for his first time sucking. That makes you think – is it his first time? He hasn't needed any direction, wasn't surprised when you spunked all over his belly the first time – has someone else had him before? In a paranoid hypocrisy you wrack your brains to think who might have sullied your angel, who would dare to commit the abomination that you are this minute committing. Calm it Wilson, he's just a natural. Nothing to worry about. Eyes on the prize. You try to keep your thrusting to a minimum, let him dictate the pace so that he doesn't gag and get put off blow jobs permanently. But as you get closer, you can't keep completely still. He notices this and pulls off to ask if you're going to squirt soon. Soon, you tell him, but not yet. You promise to let him know – obviously he doesn't want a mouthful of cum, and really you don't blame him. You tell him how amazing it feels, and he returns with even more gusto, sucking hard, flicking his tongue over your slit, really trying to get the best from you. At the moment of no return you call out "Jake, now!", just a little too late (probably deliberately, on a subconscious level), so that as he pulls it out the first string of cum hits his lips with a little going inside, the second sprays across his face, and only by the third spurt has he directed it away onto your belly. You cannot disguise the pleasure you gain in seeing him daubed like that, your territory marked, your property claimed. But that feeling lasts only a moment and is soon replaced with adoration and respect for this incredible boy. He continues to wank you until you're spent, albeit with one had while the other wipes the mess from his face. He wrinkles his nose and spits out the small amount that went into his mouth, and then reaches for the tissues to clean up properly. That done, he snuggles up beside you, one leg hooked over yours, and kisses your lips. You can smell your cum on his face, and it makes you hug him even tighter. You pull the duvet up and drift off to sleep. xxxxx Feedback is always welcome. My email address is at the top of the page. If you enjoyed it, you might like to see my other stories on nifty: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/caravaggio-boy http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/teacher-turned-babysitter Edgar Getting