Despite his angelic middle school face, he looked at me with a certain cold appraisal in his young grey eyes. His pants were down, his darling package out-thrust for my inspection.
"You can suck it. I fuck pussies with this thing. You can make it hard and just suck it."
His helmet of cornsilk hair, a little shaggy. Cheeks still chubby and sweet pouty lips. Still very middle school. A soft penis, broad at the base and tapered, wispy blond hairs, his delicate bag hanging delectable and boy-innocent. My mouth waters.
You can just suck it. His even, grey gaze direct. I fuck pussies with this thing. I quiver with longing. My own meek weenie strains and oozes in its confinement. He hasn't invited me to disrobe, merely to suck.
I reach out to touch his beautiful pussy fucker, to bring it to my lips. Lucky pussies! The skin so soft. He's hard now, upcurving, the head flaring, almost before my lips can take him. The sweet delirium of sucking this tough angel lifts me to a magical place of worship, a place somehow eternal.
The sweet eternal magic is fleeting. As he thrusts, his sweet young pussy fucker swells in my mouth.
"Eat my pudding," he groans. "Take it. Take it and eat it all." He moans and then it's there. His pudding.
And then it's there: it strikes with exuberant masculine force. Thick, plentiful. He saws his sweet pussy fucker in and out between my lips, as I receive the final slime of his dominance.
"Ahhhh!" he sighs, "Ahhh! Whew!"
"Until I get to fuck a pussy, you can just suck me."