"You 18?" the clerk asked. Guy was pierced most everywhere I could see. Somehow, I knew he was pierced a bunch where I couldn't see, too. I knew he didn't give a fuck if I was 18: he just had to ask.
He seemed oddly asexual. He was so palpably, non-judgmentally, don't-give-a-fuck that I figured his tastes were 'way out of the mainstream. So far out, I guessed, that the sort of customers who walked in here were... not even ordering off the same menu. To him, their dirty secrets and guilty fetishes would seem as banal as... a city bus schedule. It both validated my actions and vaguely disturbed me.
"Course," I said, flashing my fake ID. He didn't even glance at it, instead continuing to look at me.
"How can I help." He said it as a statement, continuing to examine me.
I averted my eyes. "I'm looking for a vibrator."
"One of these?" he asked, leading me around to a case of big veiny rubber cocks, some pink, some black, with fakey balls.
"No. I'm looking for something pretty small. Not so big around and not too long."
"Ahh," he said,"we do have these." Reaching under the counter, he produced a slim blue plastic thing, with a AA battery visible inside. The tip was angled: small at the end. "But they aren't flexible."
It looked perfect. "How much are they?"
"Actually, we don't sell them separately. We give them away with any purchase over ten bucks. They aren't very good quality, so we can't stand behind them if they konk out. But," he shrugged, "for a freebie, who's gonna complain? People get a few uses out of them, anyway."
"So, here's sort of the next step up." A little bigger, pink. Veiny. Softer. More realistic.
"And that... "
"Takes two AA's. Ten bucks. For you, ten dollars and one cent, so I can include the freebie."
"Cool. Thanks. I'll take it." I felt elated. This was going better than expected.
He grabbed the box for the $10 one. $10.01.
"Blue or... " he was looking through the box under the counter, "... or blue, I guess. That's all we have left."
"Uhh, hard choice. I think I'll, uhh, go with blue."
"A very wise choice, sir," he said with an ironic smile. Sir, making me think of my fake ID.
I paid cash and he thanked me. He offered no receipt and I noticed he left the $10 bill I gave him on the counter, until I thanked him and left.
He'd blushed when I saw him checking me out at the pool. There was a time I wouldn't have known to say something. But he looked and I knew. I'm not the most macho guy on the block, but I am slim and fit, thanks largely to swimming laps pretty much every day after school.
He was an angelic junior high kid. Dark blond hair, just long enough to lie down. He blushed, when I asked him. He didn't turn red all over. A beautiful rosy bloom appeared in his cheeks, as he looked up at me.
"You like it?" I asked, as he unconsciously licked his lips. He looked again, tore his gaze loose and looked, rosy, back up at me. Cleared his throat nervously. Peach fuzz, a light silver haze, barely detectable on his blushing alabaster cheeks, a silvery aura over his blush. Merest suggestion of future down, above his little bow mouth, lips rosy and sweet.
There was something else indefinable about him. Beneath the angelic features. Something punky and dark. Something that said, "Take me and do dark things to me. Dirty things." Some unspoken challenge, demanding forbidden acts.
"Can I take you home?" I asked, sort of like it was a joke. Like guys will say "Do you have a sister?" That kind of tone: "Can I take you home?"
Looking into my eyes. Something punky, something hungry. Hungry, punky angel. His head jerked in a nervous nod and it happened. We collected his stuff and he walked with me, silent and numb, to the apartment.
"Do you want it?" I asked. He just stared. Then: "What do you want, beautiful boy? What would please you?" Remembering my own initiation at the hands of the man who came to love me. Whom I came to love.
"I want to... touch it. I want to... " His arms were covered in goose bumps. "I want it."
"We can... do whatever will please you. Anything, if it doesn't involve, like... razor blades."
He giggled. He was light and beautiful in that moment: young and sweet and virginal and wholesome and happy. He smiled at me. Then, when he looked back down, the hungry look returned. I could feel the punky, needy, twisted darkness beneath. I could see his hard little spike in his jeans. He licked his lips again, rosy cheeks adorable. The hard punky needy core pushing through, reaching the surface: a palpable hungry shadow. I had something he wanted and I wanted him.
I guess I figured he'd kneel and suck, sighing and cooing his boyish suck joy. I figured I would put my mouth on him, give him pleasure in his long thin dick, a hummingbird sipping sweet pleasure from between my lips.
"C'mere," I said, "I want to undress you." I had his shirt half open, one soft shoulder exposed, before I asked: "What's your name, sweetie?"
"Charles. Chuck. Chuckie."
"I want to undress you, Chuckie. Does that sound nice? To be undressed? If I unwrap you like the best Christmas present ever?"
"Tha- that would be nice," he said, in sort of a trance. His cheeks were flushed and blotchy now, his lips a little swollen, more pouty.
The shirt came off. He had little satiny brown boy nips and the barest hint of baby fat remaining. Smooth. Smooth when his pants came off, smooth and plump and pale, where his thighs disappeared into his undies. A wet spot lay, confessional, over the shape of his little spike. I caught up with him in undressing and my hard cock looked enormous in comparison.
"What do you call this?" I asked, pointing to mine. "What name do you like? Is it a penis, a boner, a dick?"
"I like to call it a cock. A big, fat cock."
"Is that the word that gives you a boner? Cock?" He flushed further and nodded jerkily.
"And what do you call yours, sweetie?"
"I can't pull back my skin," he blurted, "It's too tight." The pain and shame in his eyes told volumes.
"That's okay, beautiful boy. Can I see?"
It was beautiful. Pale and smooth. Long and slender, tapering pale and smooth as alabaster, from the chubby little base to a crinkly conical point, cherry red for the last half inch. His virgin glans was visible in outline, where it lived captive inside his boy skin.
"It's beautiful," I breathed, "What do you like to call it?"
"It's my pee-pee," he said, squirming.
"Your pee-pee? Is that the name that gives you a boner?"
"Sometimes my wee-wee. But mostly my pee-pee."
"When is it your wee-wee?"
"Sometimes when I'm being a baby. Then I have a soft wee-wee. Other times it gets stiff, so I call it my pee-pee."
"I love to look at your pee-pee. It looks like it would taste really nice. And I love your nice fat balls. I can't wait to play with them."
"I can't pull my skin back," he said again, anguished, like it was the huge thing that was ruining his life.
"We'll find some way to please you," I said. "Will you come to bed with me?"
"Oh, yes," he breathed, eying my cock, "Oh, yes."
I picked him up, his hard little spike wet against my belly. Picked him up and tossed him, startled, then giggling, into the soft feather bed. I smiled to see him happy. The softness and comfort of the landing were apparent in his face. I followed, kissing his fat smooth bag and his virginal pee-pee, dining in the grooves by his thighs, the mass of his young scrotum pressing exquisite against my cheek. He spread and cooed, pressing against my face, offering himself. Until he began making distressed, disappointed noises, pulling back. I looked up at him, at his angel face, with the bright rose flush of arousal now running clear across his cute button nose. His joyous expression had turned distraught.
"I can't make my sperms. The skin gets too tight when I get close and it hurts. And I can't make my sperms!" The desperation in his voice wrenched at me. The thing that was ruining this sweet boy's life.
His need became my need. His need for an exquisite boy orgasm and to make his sperms. The need for healing and relief.
"Can I try something?" I asked, "Can I try?" and I gripped his skin, down by the bag. With some trial and error, using the stickiness of his drying fluid, I managed to grip the skin of his shaft and pull it toward the cherry tip of his slender penis. I pulled his bag, and the skin all the way back to his hole, forward. Gently at first, then more firmly, then very firmly, steadily. Stretching the deep layers, easing the pressure of his sweet desperate glans that had been tearing at his tight little cherry crinkle. I pulled as I licked and kissed the darling little red pucker of his skin, now no longer stretched so desperately taut. I took the deepest part of his virgin shaft, back behind his bag, softly between my thumb and fingers and gently squeezed a few times, suddenly, unexpectedly, invadingly, as I pressed my mouth around his skin-tip. He moaned his approval, wonderingly, deliriously... spread and offered himself... pulsed... but no prize.
With my ring finger, I found his little hole, settled in and began to rub and circle, finding the way and pressing in just a tiny bit. He began to cry out in rhythmic yelps of lust and hope, lust and hope and hope and hope, and hope, his body stiffening, his cries rising in pitch until, with a long cry of rapture, he gave me his cream, squirting and thrusting and sobbing in joy and relief. I let him finish, harvested the last of his young tribute, and eased up on his skin, watching the pucker for any sign of stretching. He softened, a bit at a time, and I finally let the skin go.
I was so inflamed by his orgasm that, in about 5 strokes, I came on his belly, hard and wet and sweet.
He was giddy and silly and happy and fun and so fucking cute my heart trembled. And I knew I had my answer: how do I give back for what my benefactor, sweet boylover, tender man friend, had done for me when I was his age.
"I want you to see something," I said, looking for the link.
I found it: a video looking down a smooth belly at smooth spread legs, at a hairless dick in a black chastity sheath, drooling precum, as his top fucks him on his back. No faces. The top's body is strong and young and sweet to the eye. Short pubic hair. Pretty. His boy is entirely smooth, locked in his chastity.
He fucks his boy with a firm gentle grace, smooth and deep. Deep and steady. Tender. The boy moans and drips and whimpers in need and desperation.
Faster: the boy's moans intensify, their urgency rises, longer, hope dawning, little crying yelps of hope: sweet release almost within his grasp. Then slowing: cries of hope dwinding into long whimpers of desperate sexual longing, moaning desire, petulant dismay, then quavering notes of grinding helpless worship, rapture at being penetrated, longing for the top's penis to be deep inside him.
His legs spread wider, inviting the pretty pubis: to come press against him with each stroke; to take him deeply, intimately. The pubis comes to meet him, again, again, pressing, gorgeous, relentless, indifferent to his frantic cries. Precum drools from the chastity sheath, clear and helpless, submissive and confessional. The loop repeats: the boy in chastity moans and whimpers his need for release, oozing, inciting me and tearing at my soul, as he gives his softness, as he's fucked and fucked, tenderly, deeply, never allowed to reach his prize.
He is crying out his sexual joy, his softness, his surrender, his abject penis worship, receiving it, receiving, tenderly receiving, giving his softness, whimpering his desperation, his joy never quite reaching the tipping point, crying out with the joy of his surrender to be penetrated, of receiving penis, of giving his softness, crying out his helpless need for the big penis, his need to be penetrated again, again, his need to hold the penis deep inside of him, even for just a moment. At least to have the fulfillment of having it, of gripping around it, knowing it with the inside of him, only just for one moment. But the penis strokes relentlessly on, and the loop repeats.
His top is a virtuoso. He keeps his boy right there. You can see affection in the way he fucks his chaste boy. In the way he beckons him to worship penis. The dick in chastity drools, moans of joy and hope and despair. Cries of delirious, wordless, grateful penis adulation. The loop repeats: the top fucks on, sweetly, cruelly, somehow tenderly.
To me, the boy in chastity is crying out in delicious subjugation, knowing he can never have the release that his top claims by right. Knowing he will surely be there, will be made to witness, will have it happen deep inside of him, while his helpless nubbin leaks and strains. The penis will slow, pressing deeper, deeper, slower. The beautiful hairy pubis will come to press against him firmly, fully plugging him, nudging, nudging, reaching deep. One more deep nudge. Frozen there. Briefly, the big sweet penis will stay, pressing, pressing, deep and huge within him, claiming him, having what he cannot. What he can never. Finally, for this moment, it will stay. He will feel the hairy pubis, pressing terrible and sweet against him. He will feel his top freeze, maybe tremble, having climax, long and deep, inside of him, hot and hairy against him. He will hold his breath, adoring, awaiting it: the shock that is his reason for existence, now. The first shot. He will exult in it and at the pumping deep within him. The pumping. He will know it within him, feel, hear his top taking deep male satisfaction within his chaste receptive body. A release that he is never allowed to have. He will take unholy delight in it.
He will shiver and burn. Sated, the penis will withdraw and the chaste boy will be left empty and unreleased. Bereft and confined. His devotion, his fixation on the lovely terrible beauty of the penis, will only grow stronger over time. In his hairless chastity, he will come to yearn and beg for hairy penis.
The thing made me tremble and drip with longing and dread.
Anyway, that's what I saw. Maybe Chuckie saw it differently.
"Oh, God," Chuckie squirmed, clearly aroused, "what was that on his dick?"
"It's called a chastity device. See, some people get themselves locked up like that on purpose so they can't... make their sperms until their master lets them. They live like that, sometimes for months."
"Sort of like me."
"You have me now, to help you make your sperms."
He brightened and giggled: "You're young. So you're, like, my boy master. There's something sexy and dirty about that," indicating the screen with his eyes, "What's that called?"
"Chastity. That word gives me a boner, now. Like cock and pee-pee, but more grown up and wicked. Chastity," he said, trying the new word on, in his mouth. Squirming.
"That's what I'm going to call you from now on: Chastity."
"But that's a girl's name. And I'm not a girl."
"Chassie, then. You'll be Chassie. I might call you Chas, out in public, but you'll know that I really mean Chassie, and that I'm thinking about your sweet pee-pee. And about your chastity."
"Okay. Chassie," he shivered, "That name gives me a boner."
"So we're good then. Can I walk you home?"