Diary of a Shota Boy - Part 21

by

Cosmo

Part 21: The Inn - I

We did as Altair had instructed and stayed in the kitchen, out of sight of the VLA soldiers that were in the main saloon of the inn. They were all still in full song, in the throes of drunken revelry. A short while later, a small boy came into the kitchen, walking in backwards, carefully negotiating the wooden batten door, carrying a big metal tray of hot drinks. He was quite diminutive, a mere slip of a boy, a slim, slight, frail-looking waif of about 7 or 8 years old, with short, spiky, light brown hair. Significantly, he was shirtless and barefoot, and all he had on was a pair of knee-length cutoff shorts of frayed denim that were stained and wet. His shirtless body had almost no definition to it and looked a little underdeveloped. Something told me that he was actually older than he appeared. His pale little frame was wet here and there, and his chest and arms glistened where little splashes of a brownish liquid were drying on his skin. He was quite a good looking boy, with disarmingly pretty features, a narrow nose with a perfectly angled tip, full, pink lips with a cute little overbite, and a chin that had a dimple in it. But most of all he had very large, round, appealing eyes, that sparkled with curiosity. He had this very unassuming, modest demeanor. He didn't look at any of us as we sat there warming ourselves by the stove. He merely brought the tray of hot drinks over to us and offered them subserviently. There were three glasses of translucent reddish brown liquid, steaming away in metal glass holders with handles.

'My name is Milo,' he said, in the cutest little high-pitched voice, 'Welcome to our home.'

He took one of the drinks and passed it to me, carefully holding the glass by the rim and with the handle turned thoughtfully towards me.

'Here, drink this,' he said.

I smiled at him and accepted it gratefully. As he leaned towards me, I caught the strong whiff of stale beer, and I realized that the wet splashes on his skin and clothing were from spilt beer. I was instantly fascinated by this boy Milo.

'What is it?' I asked, cupping my palms around the warm glass.

'Hot toddy,' said the boy, with only a momentary glance at me.

He looked up at me meekly and gave a faint glimmer of a smile. Close up, I saw his big round eyes were strikingly green in color, as his gaze was drawn to our nakedness. River, Tallin and I had largely cast our towels aside by now and were sitting there almost naked - three pretty little shota boys all in a row, toasting our bare flesh in front of the stove. Of course the other boys didn't bat an eyelid - nakedness was second nature to us. River and Tallin paid Milo no notice. They were too preoccupied enjoying their hot drinks. But Milo quickly turned away, not allowing himself any more than a cursory glance at our nakedness. I sensed an air of approval from him, even though he tried not to stare at us for too long. But it was long enough for me to know that he liked what he saw.

'Thank you,' I said, 'You're very kind.'

'It was nothing,' said Milo, bowing his head humbly.

I looked into this boy's pretty green eyes and smiled, hoping he would smile back. It seemed an effort for him to smile, and his body language oozed docility and servitude, as though he was resigned to that being his only purpose in life. Something told me that this boy was inherently sad. As usual I found myself feeling sorry for him. I felt sorry for any boy who wasn't a shota boy, probably because I couldn't envisage that any way of life that didn't revolve around cock and ass play could be in the least bit tolerable.

I took a big reviving gulp of the hot drink and was pleasantly surprised. It was very sweet, with tones of cinnamon and honey. But there was also the mild sting of something distinctly alcoholic. It was a delicious cocktail of flavors. Milo saw my delight and seemed pleased by that.

'What's in this?' I asked him.

At last Milo smiled, exposing two neat little rows of teeth, and causing cute little dimples to form in his cheeks, complementing the little dimple in his chin. He had a very beautiful smile.

'It's a secret,' he chuckled, and I liked the way he scrunched his little face, wrinkling his nose for emphasis. He really was very cute.

When he chuckled, I noticed the way the abs on his belly tightened, causing a beautiful little dip to appear down the centre of his tummy. His physique was very boyish, but he had perfect proportions and I couldn't help thinking that he had a beautifully flat tummy and how nice it would look with my kidspunk sprayed across it. I briefly imagined letting my load out all over it. Perhaps after fucking my cock into his little cunt and pulling out at the last minute, pumping kiddiespunk all over his tight little belly, my warm boysperm soiling his hairless skin with translucent droplets, maybe even pooling in his pretty little innie belly button. Fuck, I wanted to spunk that tummy real bad. I beamed at him, immediately aroused by his trim little body, disarmed by his coyness and drawn to his pretty face.

'Please excuse me,' he said, 'I have work to do.'

Both he and his father - at least I assumed that the innkeeper was his father - were extremely polite.

Milo turned to go as the other boys were savoring their drinks. They didn't seem interested in Milo at all, but I felt a stab of disappointment when he turned to go. I longingly watched him cross the room, his bare feet padding softly on the flagstone floor, and his diminutive shirtless body disappeared back through the batten door.

Whilst the other boys were talking and finishing their drinks, I crept over to the door, opening it by just a few inches. I peered through the gap into the open saloon of the inn where the VLA soldiers were drinking. Milo disappeared amongst the rowdy soldiers, who were all sitting there with their gray tunics undone and their kepis on the tables, guzzling vast quantities of beer. Their guns were variously positioned on the tables, or on the floor by their feet, or were slung by their straps across the backs of their chairs. I watched Milo. He was playing the role of beer monkey - scuttling from table to table topping up the soldier's beer mugs. Beer monkeys were generally considered worthless urchins who earned their keep from the scraps and leftovers the drunken revelers chose to thrust in their direction. It was something of a step down from being a bar boy. Bar boys like Ten at least had an air of respectability, but beer monkeys were generally there to be mistreated, and were usually manhandled and ridiculed during the course of a typical evening. Such was a beer monkey's lot - they were not respected in their servitude like shota boys were. Except that this beer monkey was exceptionally cute, and as I watched through the crack in the door, I caught a glimpse of Milo's bright eyes and alert expression. I saw the way he simply resigned himself to the demands of the high-spirited guests, and my heart went out to him. Being barefoot and shirtless was not unusual for a beer monkey. Since he was stained with spilt beer, it was probably more conducive to wear as little as possible. He was invariably groped and kissed if he was lucky, or had his butt slapped if he was not. Sure enough, even as I was watching, one of the soldiers grabbed his tiny frame as he passed by, hooking his arm around the boy's narrow waist and drawing him onto his lap. He kissed Milo roughly, on his face, his neck, his shoulders, sucking so hard on the boy's young flesh it was almost as though he was trying to take a bite out of him. I could tell from Milo's expression that these advances were unwelcome, but he tolerated it. Another soldier reached out and grabbed Milo, his fist easily encircling the little boy's thin bicep, and he drew Milo into a bear hug, holding the boy from behind in a tight body-lock, and he cruelly pinched one of Milo's nipples. Milo winced. Then another of the soldiers, an officer, roughly grabbed Milo's crotch through his cutoff shorts. Milo grimaced, but did not struggle. The officer pulled Milo across his lap and gave his little rounded butt a sharp slap through the thin denim shorts, causing the boy to elicit a plaintive yelp. The soldiers all laughed at that, clearly amused by their antics. They invariably did as they liked with him, passing him around as though he was some kind of novelty toy. They enjoyed his nakedness and were partial to kissing him, feeling him up and smacking him around. They were generally reckless and menacing in their treatment of him. And Milo seemed to soak it all up without protest, simply scurrying from table to table with his flagon, bravely continuing to refill the VLA soldiers' steins. I don't know why, but I felt an incredible sadness for that sweet boy, as well as falling instantly in love with him.

* * * * * *

That night, we slept in one of the upstairs bedrooms at the inn. After the trauma of running away, and the exhaustion of our trek, and the stress of hiding from the VLA, it was a welcome salvation to sleep in a proper bed. In the morning, for the first time in a long while, I woke up feeling rested. I was able to yawn and stretch and snuggled back under the bedclothes feeling refreshed. It was such a rare pleasure to find myself nestling in crisp, clean sheets. The bed was warm and comfortable, and the room was homely and safe. The room had a little window, with rustic curtains, which were already opened to reveal the vista of fallow fields that stretched out into the distance behind the inn. The rainstorm from last night had cleared, and the sun was already shining into the room. The surrounding countryside was very picturesque. It was a scene of utter majesty and serenity which had not been apparent in the darkness last night when we arrived. Looking around the room, bathed in golden sunlight, I saw that there was a wooden dresser and a single closet. It was very basic. There were two other beds where River and Tallin had slept. The rumpled bedclothes had been pulled back and the beds were empty. As I surveyed the empty room, I realized that I must have been very deeply asleep to have not been disturbed by the other boys when they got up. In a way I was grateful that they had let me sleep. My exhaustion of last night was now thoroughly quashed.

Not long afterwards, the wooden batten door of the room creaked open. To my pleasure and delight, it was Milo. He padded softly into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, silhouetted against the window. I squinted against the sunlight to distinguish his face.

'I'm sorry,' he said quietly, 'did I wake you?'

'No,' I replied, 'I think the sunlight did that.'

'I hope you slept well,' he said.

'Very well,' I replied, smiling gratefully.

'I've brought your clothes,' he announced, 'I have washed and pressed them.'

And as he said that, he placed the neatly folded bundle of clothes on the end of the bed. I wondered what time he must have got up this morning to have had time to do all that.

'Thank you,' I said, 'You didn't have to do that.'

'It was no trouble,' he said.

'Where are the others?'

'They are downstairs with my father,' said Milo, 'Don't worry, they are safe.'

'What time is it?' I asked him, realizing that I had no inkling of how long I had slept.

'Gone ten,' Milo replied.

And then, in a quite sudden change of mood, he sat down on the end of the bed. His light frame barely made an impression on the mattress. I noticed that he was wearing the same dirty cutoff shorts from last night, the tight knee-length denim clearly defining his upper thighs. He had incredibly long, slender legs, with perfect knees and the cutest rounded little toes. He folded one leg up on the bed, and I could see the dirt on the sole of his bare little foot. For some reason I found that incredibly arousing. He was also wearing a grubby singlet which was quite loose and baggy, obviously too big for him. It hung well down on his diminutive little body, exhibiting his boyish characteristics, his rounded shoulders, his armpits and the little groove at the centre of his tight little chest.

'My father asked me to wake you and invite you to join us for breakfast,' he said.

Again I smiled at him. He was very reassuring. He sat there for a few moments longer, not really saying anything, but clearly studying my body. I was naked in the bed and my top half was exposed where I had raised myself up and the bedclothes had rolled off me just enough for him to get a good eyeful of my physique. I could see his big green eyes looking at my chest and tummy in a very longing, approving way, and I knew straight way he was both attracted to me and curious about me. At that moment I wondered if he had any idea how much I was also attracted to him.

'What's your name?' he asked, as though suddenly remembering that we had not properly exchanged introductions from last night.

'My name is Cloud,' I said.

'Oh,' he said, nodding in acknowledgement, 'You are not Verolene.'

It was a statement of fact rather than a question. He was very astute and I surmised that he was probably as curious about me as I was about him.

'No,' I confirmed, although I thought it was already pretty obvious from my accent and blond hair.

'Why were you in Kolina?' he asked, with empathic curiosity.

He clearly already had some background information on us, which could only have come from his father.

'I ran away and was picked up by VFOR.'

'Ran away from where?'

'I was a shota boy,' I explained.

'What's a shota boy?'

The extent of his unworldliness was just becoming clear, and the question itself was quite innocent. I found it very endearing that he had to ask.

'I'll tell you later,' I said, with a smile, simultaneously assuring that I was going to get this boy on his own at some stage and show him exactly what shota boys do.

He smiled nervously, perhaps sensing that it was a slightly sordid and sensitive subject, but he nodded affirmatively, eager that we should continue this discussion later.

'Okay,' he said, thus confirming our tryst, and then got up and headed for the door.

Before he left, he stopped, holding onto the door handle, and turned to me meaningfully.

'It's nice having you here,' he said, with a smile, and then turned and disappeared back down the stairs.

It was a lovely sentiment, delivered with genuine grace and amity, and left me with a heartening feeling of empathy and warmth. Both Milo and his father were very nice people. They were good people, kind and compassionate and very down to earth, and once again I couldn't help wondering if they were really working for the Resistance.

I got up and got dressed, and joined the others in the kitchen downstairs. It was a lot more welcoming in the daytime, with sunshine streaming through the window. The back door was propped open and gave onto the rear yard of the inn. The other boys were already seated around the broad wooden table, which was made of a dull unvarnished wood. On the table was a little pot of coffee and a motley collection of mugs. I sat down opposite Tallin and River. They were busily chattering away, bright and chirpy, obviously rested and in good spirits. It was good to see that our exhaustion of the last two days had now dissipated.

Altair had come in from the back yard with his sleeves rolled up. He was busily washing his hands over by the big porcelain sink, fastidiously scrubbing all the way up to his elbows. It appeared he had already been busy this morning, probably attending to the myriad of chores that were necessary in running the inn. Turning away from the sink, he dried his hands, then sat down at the table with us. He took the seat at the head of the table, thus denoting that he was in charge here. Then he picked up a very distinctive briar pipe which he clutched in his palm, and focused on packing the bowl with tobacco. As he did so, Milo came into the kitchen, once again carrying a tray, this time a wooden one, with handles carved into it, and on it was a little wicker basket of croissants and brioche which he put down in front of us.

'Help yourselves,' said Altair, inviting us to share their food, 'No formalities, please.'

'Thanks,' said River, 'But I'm not sure what we've done to deserve this.'

'We do what we can,' said Altair, cryptically, still pushing little wads of tobacco into his pipe.

'Why?' I asked, skeptically, 'You don't owe us anything.'

'That is not important,' Altair replied, still focused on his pipe, and apparently unflappable.

'We appreciate your hospitality, but we really want to get out of Verolino,' River explained, eager to get down to business, and sounding very articulate in his braces.

Actually, River was only enunciating what was on all our minds.

'I know,' said Altair, tersely.

'And I need to go and find Ciggy,' I put in, reminding him that I had a slightly different agenda from the others.

Altair nodded.

'I know,' he said again.

River and I exchanged glances across the table. Tallin looked at each of us. Milo put a jug of milk down and turned away. We were all incredulous. Altair knew almost everything about us. He already knew we had escaped from Kolina. Indeed, it was he who had given me the news about Ciggy last night, when we first arrived, and told me that Ciggy had been wounded and was in a Red Cross field hospital, and that he had asked for me. It was almost as though there was something psychic going on here. How could Altair possibly know all that?

'Will you help us?' River asked him.

'Yes,' said Altair, emphatically, 'When it is safe, I will help you to get out. But for now, you will stay here. Today you will help ME.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, not sure if I liked the sound of it.

'There is work to do around here. Many jobs that need doing,' said Altair, 'We will look after you if you agree to help us. Then I will make arrangements for you.'

He was totally confident and totally in control, and seemed to have it all worked out.

'It's a deal,' said River, speaking for all of us, 'How long will we have to stay for?'

'A day or two. Maybe more,' said Altair, vaguely.

'How are you going to get us out?' I asked.

'I cannot tell you that,' Altair replied.

'Are you working for the Resistance?' I asked, with a note of trepidation, 'Is that why you hid us from the VLA?'

'No more questions,' said Altair.

For the moment we didn't pursue the conversation any further. Milo finished bringing things to the table, and then finally sat down himself, pulling up a chair next to me. Altair finished packing his pipe, and then picked out a single match from a box of extra long matches. Cupping the match in his palm, he expertly flicked it towards him. The long match flared and hissed into life, and he drew the flame into the bowl with a series of powerful, audible puffs. You could tell it was a ritual he was very comfortable and familiar with.

The rest of us helped ourselves to the croissants and brioche whilst Milo poured the coffee. Thoughtfully, he also poured Tallin a little tumbler of milk.

Altair started puffing contentedly on his pipe, filling the room with a delicious, spicy aroma, and turned enquiringly to Milo.

'Did you hear the news report this morning?' he asked.

'Yes father,' said Milo.

'And?'

'The VLA offensive is continuing,' Milo explained, gravely, 'There are heavy casualties reported.'

Altair nodded concurringly, still puffing on his pipe.

'As I expected.'

'But what about the ceasefire?' River asked, somewhat perplexed.

'Have you not heard?' said Altair, taking the pipe out of his mouth, 'There is no ceasefire. The Reykjavik talks have broken down. They were unable to reach agreement.'

Tallin looked frightened.

'What's going to happen?' he asked.

'Exactly what VFOR tried to avoid,' Altair went on, 'All out war.'

It was a revelation of the greatest magnitude, with the disturbing prospect that we might soon be overwhelmed by the warring factions. Verolino was up for the taking, and yet Altair seemed implacable.

'Doesn't it bother you?' I asked, anxious to know what he was thinking.

Altair didn't answer, as though he felt no obligation to reply. At that moment, watching this imposing man sitting there, with those distinctive bushy sideburns, ruminating over his pipe, I realized how much awe and respect I had for him. But I was still curious.

'You ARE working for the Resistance, aren't you?' I pressed him.

Altair calmly took the pipe out of his mouth once more and turned to me very slowly.

'You ask too many questions,' he said, admonishing me, but apparently not in the least perturbed.

* * * * * *

We spent the day helping Milo and his father. After breakfast Altair allocated the tasks. He took River and Tallin with him to do some repairs around the inn. There were some fences that needed mending and he needed the boys to help him fetch and carry stuff. He started by fixing some loose slates on the roof. He clambered up onto the sloping roof with his hammer in hand. He used Tallin to bring things up to him, whilst River steadied the ladder and passed things up. Tallin was unusually adept at climbing, as he had proved when we were hiding out in the cave and he was able to negotiate his way up onto the higher rocks. He certainly had no fear of heights and neither rocks nor ladders seemed to pose a challenge for him.

Meanwhile, Altair asked me to help Milo and told me to do whatever Milo asked of me. Clearly, he trusted Milo, and Milo was very faithful and obedient towards his father. I actually quite envied their relationship. They were close, had a good rapport, and there was a mutual respect and adoration there. I had never had a father, and I wondered if that is what my relationship with my father might have been like.

Milo and I were left to tidy up inside the inn and to clean out the adjoining outbuilding. There was a stable attached to the inn, which gave onto the walled yard. It was only small, with room for only two horses. It was probably a throwback to when this was a staging post, where fresh horses would be substituted for the tired ones. Of course there were no horses now. Since the onset of the war, livestock of any kind was rare, and yet there was still straw in the stalls, almost as though the horses were expected to return at any time. Milo told me he often went to hide in there when the inn was quiet and he needed to be on his own. He said he would take a nap on the straw bedding. The stable was now only used for storage, so he knew he would never be disturbed.

Milo and I started off by sweeping out the stable, he at one end and me at the other. He handed me a long broom and showed me what to do. It was quite cool and shady in there, so at least we were out of the glare of the sun. While we worked, I noticed how we would pause intermittently and glance over at each other, as if to check in with each other and confirm that all was okay. A couple of times I saw him glance up as he was sweeping and he would smile at me. I smiled back, warmed and delighted to be in his company. Every time he looked at me, this little waif of a boy made my heart flutter, with his spiky light brown hair and his green eyes, and I knew I was developing a special kind of fondness towards this little boy.

After that, we moved out to sweep the yard itself. It looked very different without the VLA vehicles that were parked there last night. By now, the sun was at its hottest, right overhead, and I reflected on what a stark contrast it was to the cold and rain of the past few days. It became so hot, and I was sweating so much, I decided to take my shirt off. I pulled my polo shirt over my head and slung it on the fencepost. Then I smoothed my shaggy blond mop back down and carried on sweeping. A few moments later, I was delighted that Milo copied me. He took off his little singlet, and slung it on the fencepost as well, next to my shirt, and then carried on sweeping. He gave me a cursory smile as he did so, openly acknowledging that he wanted to copy me. I took it as a great compliment.

I worked hard that afternoon. I helped Milo with all the fetching and carrying and did as he asked. I wanted to be of utility to him, because I liked him and hoped that my contribution would ease his workload. I admired his energy and the silent, obedient way he went about his chores. As we worked outside in the afternoon heat, I could see the thin sheen of little boy sweat that glistened on Milo's little body, and I swear it made him all the more attractive to me. In turn, I saw him steal little glances at me, admiring my physique much as he had done when I was naked in bed that morning, and last night when we were drying off in front of the stove. Every time I caught him looking at me, Little Cloud pulsed away in my pants, hardening at the sight of him. All day long, my little dick stiffened for this little boy, eager to sex him up, and as usual begging to fill his rounded little butt or spunk my boyjizz over that tight little belly. Oh fuck, he was so beautiful to me, I was aching to fuck around with him and spew my little boy load all over him.

When we had finished the yard, we swept and mopped the main saloon of the inn where last night the VLA soldiers had been drinking. The flagstone floor was thick with the sticky brown strains of spilt beer, so Milo and I mopped it from end to end, being sure to shift the chairs and tables. It was arduous, physical, backbreaking work, not at all what I was used to. The work of a shota boy had its challenges too, but at least most of it was done lying down, which certainly made me appreciate the effort that went into manual labor.

At the end of our travails, we both sat down waiting for the floor to dry. There was a short bar at one end of the saloon where Altair dispensed the drinks. We sat on two stools, hot, sweaty, slightly breathless, totally exhausted and very dehydrated. Still shirtless, I had slung my limp shirt over my shoulder, and I noticed that Milo had done the same with his singlet. We smiled at each other, clearly pleased with our efforts. Milo scuttled around the back of the bar and took two bottles of lemonade from the chiller. Expertly levering off the caps, he handed me one, and then came and sat down next to me on the stool. He proffered his bottle of lemonade as if proposing a toast, and we clinked bottles in a good natured toast, acknowledging our efforts. Then he tilted his head back with the bottle upended, and I watched his little throat swallowing eagerly as he gulped down the contents. I did the same. I swear I have never glugged a bottle of cool lemonade quite so quickly, nor with as much relish.

It was getting late, and soon they had to prepare for the inn to open in the evening. Before that, Milo had to help prepare dinner. I offered to help him. But first, he said he wanted to get cleaned up and asked if I would like to get cleaned up too. I was sweaty and smelly and really wanted to wash away the dirt of the day, so I agreed. I asked if it was possible to take a shower. Milo said they had no showers at the inn, but I could have a bath instead. I accepted his offer. It was better than nothing.

I sat in the kitchen as Milo went to prepare the bath. There was a utility room just next to the kitchen where all the washing and bathing was done, and I could hear Milo running the bath. After a while, Milo came back into the kitchen.

'I have filled the bath,' he said, 'Do you want to go before me or after?'

'What do you mean?' I asked, mystified.

'Water is in short supply,' he explained, 'So we have to use the same bath water.'

'Oh,' I said, only just realizing the extent of the hardships these poor people faced.

Then I was struck by a better alternative. Like a true shota boy, I never missed an opportunity.

'I have a better idea,' I suggested, 'How about we share the bath?'

Milo looked at me blankly, not immediately understanding what I was postulating. Then his expression brightened, and he smiled mischievously, shocked and delighted at the same time.

'You mean, get in together?'

I nodded, beaming gleefully. To my relief, he let out a little chuckle. Once again I saw the little dip in his abs as his tummy tightened. His high-pitched chuckles were extremely cute.

Minutes later, we were alone in the utility room. It was a small space, with whitewashed walls, bare stone floor and an old enamel bath in the corner. The bath was barely half full, expectantly steaming away with just a few inches of hot water. Milo stood by the door as though he was waiting for me to show him what to do. At this point he knew that something sexual was going to happen. He had that half-scared half-fascinated look that all innocent boys have when they know something dirty is in the offing. Milo had been waiting for this, inviting it, and expecting it. Indeed, we had mutually agreed that there would be such a secret tryst between us at some point. That had already been established that morning when he asked me what a shota boy was.

Standing there in only his cutoff denim shorts, Milo watched me as I approached and knelt down in front of him. What I liked was that he raised his arms slightly away from his sides, as though to give me free reign on his body. It was an unequivocal indication that he trusted me and was inviting me to do whatever I wanted. His amenability was inordinately arousing.

I smiled into his pretty green eyes as I popped the button on his cutoffs, digging my fingers under the waistband and for the first time feeling the smooth, firm muscle of his little tummy. I opened the front of his little shorts and was delighted to see that he had no underwear on. I pulled his tight little denim shorts down his thighs, and his little cocklet popped out, already primed, already cocked for action, hardened by his innocent arousal. I stripped him. He let me. He seemed a little lost and confused as I took the shorts off him, but he was compliant and uncomplaining. It was a pleasure to strip him like that, with the growing anticipation that his little body was going to afford me so much pleasure. When I had removed his shorts, Milo's slender, perfect, hairless little body was revealed, until he was standing there cutely with not a stitch on him. Like I said, he was very underdeveloped. He was small for his age. He told me he was actually 9 years old, although his body looked more like that of a 7 or 8 year old. But his composition was perfect in every way. He was very lean, with not a trace of baby fat, and his frame was tight and nicely proportioned. It was clear that he was growing into a very cute boy, and probably thereafter a very handsome young man. He was so beautiful, I just had to kiss him. Still on my knees, he let out a cute little giggle as I kissed that pretty tummy, and he even held onto my head as I did it. He was quite an affectionate little boy. For the moment I left his little dickie alone. It was straining with hardness at full elevation, so that it was almost right up against his abdomen. I wondered if my little cock ever used to stick up that far.

I stood up and took a step back, admiring his naked body. Milo reciprocally reached out and attempted to unbutton my pants, indicating that I too should get undressed. That was so cute and erotic. He was standing there innocently, looking up at me, and then his little hand almost subconsciously reached for his dickie and started fiddling with the pencil-thin little stiffie in his crotch. As I undressed, he squeezed his stiff little cocklet even harder. He clearly enjoyed watching me. I slipped off my pants, revealing my hardened boycock to him for the first time. His eyes roved all over me, taking in my proportions with an almost sycophantic fascination. He was gasping inwardly as he reached up and stroked my chest with his fingertips, his mouth slightly agape, as though he was observing something beautiful and precious and fragile.

'Cool!' he whispered under his breath, wide eyed with wonder, almost an expression of disbelief.

I let him explore my body. I figured this must be the first time Milo had ever had the opportunity to touch another boy's body like this. He carried on stroking me, his fingers skimming my chest and tummy, perhaps lingering for too long on my nipple, sensuously running a finger down the shallow groove of my breastbone, and finally the centre of my tummy, and around the rim of my belly button. His warm little fingers on my skin were very arousing.

'Oh cool,' he went on, like this was the culmination of his fantasies, a realization of his most secret desires which he couldn't quite believe was really happening.

I got into the bathtub first, and left him standing forlornly by the door. By now he had both hands on his todger and was roughly pulling and squeezing the wayward little rod. When I was in the bathtub, I gave him precise instructions on what to do. I told him to come and sit between my legs. He padded over and carefully put one leg over the side of the bath. I had full view of Milo's little butt and his tiny undercarriage suspended there in his crotch as he got in. He lowered himself into the water between my legs so that he was able to lean back against my chest. The warm water lapped around us gently. I put my arms around him and embraced his naked little body, stroking his chest and tummy.

As I was gently stroking him, he sort of glanced back at me uncertainly, as if to check that he was doing okay. Under the water, my hard dick was pressed right into the groove of his little butt, his rounded little ass cheeks tight against my balls. I reached around with my other hand and massaged his little erection, at the same time feeling him up with my other hand. For a while, he was quiet. I couldn't see his face, but he was very still, and his arms were quiescently laid on the rim of the bath, giving me free reign on his little jewels. The feel of an older boy's body against his had the desired effect, and he slowly closed his eyes and laid his head back against my chest. I laid my cheek against the top of his head. His spiky, light brown hair was soft and downy against my skin. For a while, nothing happened. He was clearly enjoying my ministrations, and I just carried on rubbing his tiny pole up and down. It was small, but hard as wood, irrepressibly poking up under the bathwater as though by electrification.

Looking over his shoulder, down into his crotch, I noticed that when I pulled back on his foreskin, it didn't retract very far. It barely allowed the hidden head of his little dicklet to peek through, and when I first tried to pull it right back, he winced. It was very tight, so that when I pulled it towards the base of his little shaft, it barely moved. The wrinkled end of his foreskin smoothened out, but went no further. I had come across this before - usually in virgin boys who had never masturbated. I realized that it was likely he had never pulled his foreskin back completely, a sure sign that he had probably never played with his little todger, probably never wrapped a sweaty little fist around his little pole and jacked his dickie until it went out of its head. A foreskin that had never been retracted probably meant his little dick cherry had never been popped. I knew that the right thing to do was to keep working it and slowly stretch it, loosen the tight skin and finally expose the ultra-sensitive head of his little cock. He quiescently kept his arms up on the sides of the tub, allowing me to work his boyshit with both hands. I kept working it and working it, pulling it down gently as far as it would go and no further. I knew this had to be done slowly. The trick was to draw the elastic skin down firmly, but without forcing it past the point of resistance. Milo's little body sat between my legs, breathing evenly, looking down at what I was doing, fascinated and aroused at the same time by having another boy's hands on his boyshit.

As I worked it, his little prepuce started to loosen, and I could see even more of his little cockhead starting to show. Eventually, with one final effort, I pulled the little ruffle down quite hard and amazingly, it slid right down below the corona. Milo squealed a little, and drew his head back quite sharply, into my chest, but he didn't attempt to stop me. His little ring of skin was tight, and stayed peeled down, forming a little collar around the rim of his little cockhead. The pale pink tip of his dickie was now completely exposed for the very first time, pointed and shiny, slippery and moist. I squeezed his sensitive little glans between my wet fingers. The surface was tacky to the touch, so that my fingertips stuck slightly. He exhaled sharply, never having felt such sensations before. I still remembered the first time I touched the glans of my little dick, having succeeded in pulling my foreskin down for the first time, and the feeling of my fingertips on the sticky, sensitive head, was exquisite. Sometimes I just wanted to press my fingertips on it so I could feel the pleasurable sensation.

When I tried to work his foreskin back up again, I noticed there was blood on my fingers. There was a smear of bright red, and I saw, as I studied the underside of his exposed cockhead, that the frenulum was ripped. The thin little chord that attached the foreskin to the underside of his glans was torn. This really was the first time his foreskin had been retracted, and I knew that in some boys the frenulum was tight and maybe even fused. I had torn his foreskin by forcing it like that. Milo saw the blood on my fingertips, but didn't react. He just turned around and inquisitively shot me a sidelong glance, not knowing if that was normal. I quietly asked if I had hurt him. He shook his head, no. So I just pulled his foreskin back even further, forcing it way down his little shaft as far as it would go, and I felt the skin tear some more. Again he flinched, and let out a quick gasp of pain. But at least it was done. His foreskin was now fully retracted, so that it was way down his shaft. The reverse hidden side of his foreskin was now showing, paler in color than the outer skin, and his pink cockhead was fully exposed. This was almost the equivalent of tearing a girl's hymen when taking her virginity. I almost cummed with exhilaration. I noticed that his little erection had deflated slightly. Pain sometimes does that. So I washed off the blood in the warm bathwater and gently massaged his little dickie to assuage the pain.

I carried on manipulating his little organ after that. He let me. Having worked on his little dickie, Milo seemed fascinated to let me continue and see what else I could make it do. I masturbated that little cocklet with studious application. I sat behind him in the water, slightly hunched over him, his diminutive little body pulsing with silent little breaths between my legs, both of us enjoying the magnificent intimacy of our private little cockgames, and lost in the inordinate pleasure of sexual exploration. For him, this was all new and wonderful. For me, the focus on Milo's pretty little virgin dickie was exquisite. I worked on it for a very long time. For a while, it appeared as though nothing was happening. Then, out of nowhere, he started to breathe loudly, slowly launching into some very deep breaths. He was starting to cum. As his little orgasm took hold, he held his breath. His little body tightened and shuddered slightly in my embrace, suffering a few gentle tremors. Then he exhaled sharply and his little dick cummed in my hand. It waggled about mutedly in my clutches, and he raised his butt out of the water a little, no doubt overcome by the ecstasy of his first boycum. I made sure I roughly scrunched his little cockhead as well, just to heighten his pleasure, and he flinched from the unbridled ecstasy. But he didn't fight it. He rode it out bravely, clearly savoring this new and unfamiliar pleasure. His orgasm was dry, but went on for a good long time, affording him a few prolonged seconds of boybliss. When it receded, he relaxed completely in the bath, lowering himself into the shallow water so that he was reclining between my legs with his head way down against my tummy. It was almost as though he wanted to go to sleep. He was spent, but sated and had clearly enjoyed it.

When I let go of his wilting little todger, Milo slowly twisted around to look up at me, and he flashed me a cute, knowing little smile. It was a smile of gratitude and complicity, the look of a boy who had just crossed that crucial threshold of discovering what his little fuckstick was really for, and had reached the all important watershed of sexual awakening.

Saying nothing, I took Milo by his lean shoulders and made him turn around. He gathered up his legs and pivoted around in the bath so that he was facing me. I stretched my legs out either side of him, so that he was sitting between them, and I took his ankles and pulled him towards me. His butt slid forward, causing a minor tidal wave in the bath. He was confused for a moment, not immediately understanding what I wanted, but he didn't protest. Instead, he willingly threaded his slender legs around my hips, so that our crotches were touching under the water. He laid back slightly, quiescent and somewhat curious. He watched me as I played with both our dickies, and he was able to compare his little boy shit with mine. His eyes widened at the difference in size. Now that our hairless cocks were pressed together, mine looked so much bigger - fatter, longer, harder, and so much more potent than his pencil-thin little appendage. Beneath the water, I reached out and stuck my hand under his tiny balls and felt for his little boycunt. I desperately wanted to fuck this boy. I wanted to lift him astride my lap and impale his frail little body on my stiffness. He giggled a little, evidently ticklish between his legs. His humility and submissiveness was cute, but also incredibly arousing. As I fingered his little pucker, I was massaging my dick with my other hand, fixing to connect the two together. He stopped giggling when he felt my fingers trying to penetrate his tight little boyhole. It was an altogether deeper and more profound sensation to feel his little snatch being played with for the first time. Most virgin boys have at least some inkling of the depth of pleasure their little dicks are capable of, but their little pussy was a completely different story. It was not until they had felt their little star being penetrated, and suffered the first intrusive sting of a couple of stiff little fingers stuffed up their snatch, that they knew anything of the exquisite pleasures that could be had from that particular endeavor.

Suddenly, Milo reached down and grabbed my wrist.

'No!' he whispered harshly, 'You can't do that!'

I was momentarily confused, and slightly thrown by him suddenly taking control. That simply wasn't in the script. I was convinced that this boy wanted to be fucked. I looked at him, not understanding.

'That is for my father,' he said, 'I have promised it to him.'

I withdrew my hand, disappointed.

'Oh,' I said, downbeat, 'You're a virgin?'

'Yes,' he replied, 'My father is waiting until my tenth birthday.'

And with that single statement, Milo immediately and unequivocally put the whole scenario into context. It revealed, quite unexpectedly, that the issue of Milo getting fucked was certainly not unexplored territory for him, and moreover, that he had already assented to losing his virginity to his father. I stared into his pretty green eyes, quite astounded. Little Cloud pulsed with perversity in my crotch, waggling stiffly in the warm bathwater, ever hardened at the thought of this beautiful little boy, this perfect creature, undergoing that first painful initiation into the realms of boyfucking; this enchanting little beer monkey, being violated by his own father; this tight, youthful, hairless little entity suffering that first exquisite intrusion of his father's big adult dick.

'Oh,' I said again, disappointed, and yet inordinately aroused by the whole scenario.

'I'm sorry,' he said, guiltily averting his gaze, 'When I am ten years old, my father said he will teach me everything.'

Lucky daddy, I thought to myself. But Altair certainly knew what he was doing, saving his boy's virginity to be expressly forfeited on his tenth birthday. To think, they had the whole thing planned out. It was quite nice in a way, that Milo should be afforded the privilege of such a beautiful arrangement. He had had time to assimilate the idea and, cleverly, his father had told him exactly what they were going to do. It was lovely. If only I had had that opportunity, instead of being unceremoniously deflowered by the KAPO militiamen, when they had painfully forcefucked me, breaking my virgin butt and roughly ripping my skinny little ass when I was barely big enough to take an adult cock.

Of course I was slightly disappointed that I wasn't going to get to fuck Milo. But I had already popped his little dick cherry, and I had retracted his foreskin for the first time. That was enough firsts for one afternoon. But he was just too cute, so if I wasn't going to get to fuck him, then I was going to spunk him any old how. He didn't want to be fucked, but seemed willing to submit his little body to just about anything else. So he was going to get my kidspunk one way or another. I considered sticking my dick into his pretty mouth and teaching him the rudiments of cocksucking. It would have been nice to fuck his pretty little face, force my boydick into his cute little overbite and inject a good helping of warm boyspunk down his throat. He would at least have got to sample the taste of premium boyjizz, even if it was only the clear, watery kind. It would have been interesting to see whether he swallowed my little kiddie fuckslime as eagerly as he had guzzled the contents of that bottle of lemonade earlier. But right now, getting a little novice to deep-throat my rampant stiffie seemed like too much effort.

Instead, I focused on his chest and tummy. Milo's diminutive little body was shiny and wet from the bathwater. The pretty sight of his tight little belly, the hard muscles of his young abs tensing, was so beautiful, I so wanted to see my boyspunk sprayed across it. So that was what I was resigned to do. I pulled him up close, bringing his long, slender legs either side of me. He was slightly tilted back, propped up on his arms, so that his tummy was almost right up against my stiff dick. It was beautiful. Fuck, his little body was so perfect I wanted to cover him in spunk. He watched me, half fascinated, half curious, waiting to see what I was going to do. I scooted closer, so that our crotches were touching, and my dick was sticking out of the water. Then I jacked it off over him, focusing completely on the tight, yielding flesh of his tummy. I used my other hand to feel him up, appreciating his little boy composition, stroking the smooth, baby soft skin on his chest and tummy, now turning slightly clammy as the bathwater cooled off. My hand splashed about down in my lap, this time working on my own little organ, in pursuit of my own orgasm. It only took a few seconds. I had been so close to orgasm all day long that it really only took a few hard yanks to bring on the full blown cum.

When I felt my orgasm approaching, I quickly took Milo's little hand and put it on my dick, inviting him to finish me off. Amazingly, he knew immediately what I intended, and he clutched my stiff little rod in both his innocent little paws. The clumsiness and inexperience of his hands around my fuckstick made me cum even harder. His grip was rather too firm and his yanking a little too rough. It hurt, but it also made my dick explode in an exquisite eruption. In no time at all, my dick was in seizure, gripped by that unencumbered pleasure that was so familiar to all boys, that ephemeral state of boysex nirvana that we sought with such fervor and enjoyed with such gusto, the little death we punished our dicks with, the sheer joy of which never diminished. When I cummed, Milo went right on jacking my dick even as it was squirting. He didn't let go, like some uninitiated boys do when they see a dick spunk for the first time. No. Like a true spunkboy, he seemed loath to let go, gripping it with great tenacity, eager to milk it of as much spunk as possible even as it spat out my little jets of clear kiddiecum over his little knuckles and over his smooth little belly. The strongest little jet of cum even ricocheted up from the sheer force, splashing back down on his tummy in smaller droplets. What intensified my cum was that when the first little jet of boyjizz hit his tummy, he inhaled sharply, tensing those tight little abs, and a cute little crease appeared across his belly. I swear that was worth a few more prolonged seconds of ecstasy. The image of his tummy reacting to being pelted by warm boysperm only intensified the high in my brain so that I managed at least two more squirts, not as powerful as the others, but still ejected with enough force to land on his little tummy, and I watched that tummy being thoroughly rained on by my unripe boyjuice. It even fell onto his hairless dickie, which was sticking up out of the water just beneath mine. I was amazed, when it was over, to see that one of the little jets of my kidspunk had gone up as far as his shoulder, and there was a little streak of clear boyspooge spattered over the dip of his collar bone, and was trickling down his chest onto his nipple. Fuck, it was fantastic. For me, that was one of the most beautiful sights in the whole world - one of the most potent images - a pretty little boy lying there naked with boyspunk on his tummy - my spunk - drizzled across his pink little nipple and pooling in his little innie belly button. Milo looked at me with that first, knowing stare of perved-out delight, the kind of perved-out delight that comes from discovering that dicks could emit something more than just pee. I could tell that he was slightly mindblown by the whole thing. It was an inordinate pleasure to see a little boy's mind blown so irredeemably with that beautiful initiation into the art of cock play; that first innocent foray into the inexorable pleasures of boysex.

It was only when our libidos had been satisfied, and both our todgers had cummed, that we got any bathing done. Remembering what we had got into the bath for, I scooped up handfuls of warm water and started bathing Milo's little body, eventually washing away the sticky residue of my essence, the boyspunk I had anointed him with that was already liquefying on his young skin. Sharing a bath with this wonderful little boy was deeply arousing and gratifying, and after having spent the day with him, I was absolutely hopelessly infatuated with him.

That night, I slept with Milo in his little bed. Instead of sharing the room with River and Tallin, Milo did not mind when I pushed his bedroom door open and he saw me standing on the threshold enquiringly. He knew my purpose immediately. He said nothing, just turned down a corner of his bedclothes as though inviting me to share his bed. And that is what I did. I wanted him to experience the inordinate pleasure of waking up next to another boy, savoring the memory of this special day by drawing out the encounter until morning, and to sleep wrapped up with another warm young boy body, something that all boys should experience. I slipped into bed beside him. He settled himself readily enough next to me and didn't protest at all when I cuddled him. He turned his back to me, and I dug one hand underneath him so that I could pull his body into mine. His little butt was nestled against my tummy. I could see his eyes blinking just over the line of his cheek as his little head lay on the pillow, and he whispered to me in the semi-darkness.

'Cloud?'

'Yeh?'

'Thank you for today.'

It was a very real token of his gratitude, spoken with genuine appreciation, all the more gratifying to me because there were so many different ways I could interpret it. Was he thanking me for my efforts in helping him with his chores? Or was he thanking me for helping him to finally pull his foreskin back, showing him how to jack his dickie and demonstrating how to achieve a boycum? Or perhaps for the insight into the satisfaction that could be had from spunking up on another boy's body? Maybe it was an all-encompassing thanks for all the valuable lessons I had taught him today.

'It was my pleasure,' I whispered back, and couldn't resist kissing him on the back of the head.

He liked that, and snuggled into my embrace. And that was how we slept, with me protectively hugging him, and we both fell asleep with me spooning him.

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