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Robbie's Christmas
By Kevin Knox

The blinding white of sun reflecting off of freshly fallen snow shone in through the window, forcing me from the evening's slumber. Sensing the weight on my chest, my head tilts slightly and I kiss my son's disheveled mop, causing the boy to stir.

"Merry Christmas," I whisper, cutting through the silence of the morning.

Though most youths would banish the bed clothes in youthful bliss, eager to explore the offerings that Santa had bestowed beneath the jovially decorated fir, Robbie was no normal child, choosing instead to stay, running his hand mindlessly over my bare chest. My head lay back as I savored the boy's delicate touch. His soft hand traced each ridge and valley, unconsciously and silently reminding me of his love. My eyes closing, I breathe deeply, taking into me the sweet and musky scent of my son, my lover.

Finding no purpose to dash from our seclusion on this holiday, I mimicked my son's gentle love, letting my hand drift along the angel's soft back, trying to memorize the silky smoothness on my fingertips and exploring every ridge and bump of Robbie's back. A soft coo escaped from the boy, reacting with pleasure to my gentle attentions. I watch Robbie with peaceful curiosity as he gently transitions from the fanciful world of dreams into this coarse reality we are fortuitous enough to share.

My mind also clearing from the fog of the night's slumber, I place my hand under his chin and pull his mouth to my own. His small lips, puffy and red from last eve's play, gently press against my larger copies. Lustily, our soft skin brushes against each other before parting, both of us silently pleading for something deeper, more intense.

With our eyes closed and our amorousness rising along with parts of our anatomy, we ever so softly moan and coo to each other. My left hand finding his and holding tightly, my right drifts lower. The already supple skin turns to silk as his color fades from the pale to the perfect white, rivaling the snow falling outside. Once more, as our kiss continues, I let my fingers continue to traverse the velvet that covers him, this time brushing along his firm ass. Unable to resist, I greedily take the whole cheek into my hand, squeezing the mound firmly, but not harshly, as I dive deeper into Robbie's small mouth.

To my despair, my son breaks our kiss. But with all the magic that surrounds the day, whispers those words I have heard before, but so long to hear again and again. "Please fuck me daddy." Unable to deny my boy his, and my, most passionate urges, I pull his form tight to me. My rock hard seven inches grind against his, sharpening my son's steel three.

Exploring the well explored, my fingers flitter against the small, bright pink rosebud, feeling within the petals both dried cum and used oil, remnants of last night's passions, last night's love. I gently flit at each pleat, sending a shock of pleasure up my son's spine that resonates throughout his tiny form. Closing my eyes, I fiercely try to see through my fingertip, wanting to be even closer to my child's most intimate area, a place even he could not see.

With the combined gentleness of a father holding his newborn son fighting against the passion of long lost lovers, my digit presses into the tight hole, enlarging it, relaxing it, helping it get ready for the love my son needs. As the hole widens enough that the fingernail slides past, Robbie gasps, shutting his eyes, lost in both the pleasure he feels and the ecstasy he knows is soon to be.

Sliding deeper, our focus tightens to the morsel of flesh being penetrated. Time seems to slow for us the further in I get, stopping completely for an instant as my finger bottoms out and we stare into the inky infinity of each other's eyes. But, neither time nor our lust can hold still for long, and I begin to withdraw, multiplying the pleasure we share. As I run out of finger, I reverse direction yet again, pushing until no more will go in. In and out my ministrations work, our focus returning to our lips as we kiss once more, our eyes and lips dancing a well-rehearsed ballet.

My boy begins to grind his steel into my stone, keeping time with my finger. His needful whimper clashes beautifully with the soft squishes emanating from his body. Understanding his nonverbal request, I deftly reach over to grab the oil used many times before. With only the smear necessary, a sister digit adds its weight and girth to Robbie's bloom. His whimper is muted, replaced with the rush of his deep breath.

For comfort, I hold the boy tightly before letting the other hand drift weightlessly across his back, relaxing him, comforting him through the transitory torment. Moments later, he is relaxed, again calm and seeking my lips. Rapidly, the beautiful whimper returns, softly begging for a third, final digit. Meeting his request, my fingers form into a small triangle, helping his flower open to full bloom.

My son's eyes tear from the pain as his body is, once again, stretched to a limit never designed for. Yet he withholds any sound, frantic for me to continue, to hurry. Wise, knowing that when the pain passes, any discomfort will be replaced with an indescribable pleasure and the infinite love that only can be known by a father's son. Still, worry for my son's pleasure fills me and I do my best to imbue gentleness into my lustful action, pressing in slowly while distracting Robbie with my gentle rubbing and passionate kiss.

The tripod of my hand firmly entrenched, my weight shifts and we roll slightly, Robbie's head landing comfortably onto a pillow, our shared mattress gently cradling his back and supporting his small frame, his legs bending to let me continue to massage him from the inside. Hovering over him for a moment, I stare at the smiling child below me, knowing I am unworthy of the love and desire shining back.

My head bends to take in the rest of the diminutive god laying under me, eyes feasting on beauty that only comes from a boy that has not yet faced the ravages of time. An insatiable hunger forms as my gaze drifts lower, one that I have no intention of casting aside. My free hand grabs my son's three-inch steel rod, angling it out. In one mighty motion, I bend down, engulfing the cocklet. The warm, sweet, musky taste floods through me and in unison we moan, a harmony of pleasure echoing loudly throughout the room. To the music, our music, I let my tongue dance, circling his small head and dipping into the tiny slit, eliciting further glorious song from my boy.

Though I could orally worship his developing phallus for hours, and have before, it is not what my child requested this morning. Reticently, I let the cock escape from my mouth to fall back hard against the boy's stomach, our sweet duet coming to a temporary end. But I cannot move on without, once again, memorizing the small form. Stealing precious moments, I scrutinize the glistening, well-cut gland, still wet with my saliva. I stare in amazement that something that appears so soft, without the blemishes and protruding veins if my angry dick, could be so hard. Continuing my visual worship, I gaze upon the two wrapped orbs trying to climb back into Robbie. Delaying for just a moment more, I gently massage the spheres, delighted once again in that he allows me the pleasure of touching him. Silently, through my soft motions, I tell my boy that I love him.

A solitary word, softly spoken from the lips of my angel glides through the air. Along with it comes all the love and lust, trust and need that could possibly be communicated between two lovers. "Dad?"

Understanding completely, my fingers slide slowly out and I reach for the used towel that was carelessly discarded last night. Ignoring the brown streaks and hard spots, I add to the need to wash the soiled cloth. With my hand cleansed, if not clean, I add some oil to my angry and ready penis, touching it for the first time this morning. Stifling a moan, I lift my boy's light legs onto my shoulders and align my angry pistol with the ready flower. As my head touches his hole, I am once again overcome with amazement that my seven inches will fit.

"Fast," my boy whispers. Knowing what he is asking, I still look at him, unsure, knowing that while he loves giving me such pleasure, it causes him such pain. Understanding my unspoken question, his eyes sparkle and he nods slightly, both granting permission and forgiveness. Giving in to both his and my desire, I hold his shoulders and thrust forward, my pelvis and balls coming into contact with the boy. A mighty streak reverberates, betraying the excruciating pain wracking the boy. I stop, pausing to kiss his sweaty forehead as sobs wrack his small form and tears flow unrestrained down his face. Seeing my beautiful child in such pain causes me to soften slightly, giving him the relief necessary to get used to the sodomiziation he has begged for.

Within moments, however, the tears stop and his uncontrolled sweating subsides. His eyes open, and the final remnants of pain in his eyes turn to love, then to lust. A growl escapes my lips as I kiss his, causing me to harden even further than before and letting my body begin its instinctual movements. Another breath quickly escapes from my son as I pull out, replaced with a hiss as I push back in, pain again shadowing the light of his eyes, though the fire of lust begins to burn even brighter.

Post a dozen or two long thrusts, mixing with the sound of our love, my boy whispers again. "Fast." My own inhibitions since thrown away, gladly discarded in passion so as to obey his wish, forcibly I grab his legs, bending the child in two as I crave more access to his portal to heaven. The lock on his eyes is broken momentarily as I look down to a sight pure erotic. Splitting my boy in two, my seven disappear to nothing before returning, showing nearly the whole seven again, leaving only the tip hidden from view. I watch as the ridge forming the helmet of my dick flicks Robbie's strained ring, eliciting a moan from the child upon each pass.

My eyes shut and I focus on the music of the room: the slapping of flesh, the gentle squish of the lube. Singing the leading parts, Robbie's moans and grunts sing in harmony with my own. Though my eyes are closed, a light fills my body as the intensity emanating from my cock grows.

I feel the bed shift and let my eyes flutter open, mildly disappointed to see Robbie grab for his own steel. Though I want to urge the boy to let me bring his orgasm, being that it is Christmas, I hold my tongue, instead luxuriating in watching his hand blur as he brings himself toward the bliss he so desires, he so deserves. My own pace quickens beyond what I once thought possible and the music of our love loudens, drowning out all including our own thoughts. Faster and faster we dance our private dance. Harder and harder the beat pounds through, our racing hearts keeping time.

Hearing the familiar squeal and feeling his body grip me tightly, I let my eyes open in time to see his roll back. Unable to help myself I give one last thrust, throwing his head hard into his pillow. Crying out, calling my son's name in a low, guttural moan, my own rapture overwhelms me. Though unseen, rope after rope of my cum fills his tiny cavity which, already crammed full, cannot accept more. I grunt and cry out watching the white fluid leak around the edges, dripping onto my balls and running onto the sheet.

Pushing my poor child's legs back even further, I collapse onto the boy, squishing my cum to dribble between us. Using the last of my energy, I roll, keeping my still-hard dick buried in the place it needs to be.

Concluding our symphony of desire, be both breath heavily. As the moments pass, we calm, and silence descends once more. As must always happen, my cock finally softens and slips out, and the look of emptiness and loss crosses Robbie's beautiful face. To comfort him at the deficit of my flesh, I replace it with the knowledge of my love, pulling Robbie tightly against me. Tears form as the overwhelming happiness I have known since the day he was born re-envelops my heart. We both bask in the glow of our love, listening to the silence of snow.

Though our dreams call out to both of us once more, I am able to sing one last hymn to my boy child:

"Merry Christmas Robbie. I love you."

---- End ----

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