Diary of a Shota Boy - Part 4

by

Cosmo

Part 4: Tricks of the Trade

It wasn't unusual for a trick to have a special request. A special request usually meant there was some kind of pervy fantasy they wanted me to act out. Like that guy who wanted to fuck me while his little boy watched. Little did I know then that he would be back. The next time I met him, I recognized him of course. I asked what he wanted this time, expecting that it was perhaps some rape fantasy he wanted me to indulge in. But it was nothing of the sort. This time he didn't want to fuck me. He said this time he wanted me to fuck his little boy. He wanted to have his little boy's ass cherry popped by me. Remembering how cute his little boy was, of course I agreed. His little boy was beyond cute, with a little round cherubic face, a mop of thick black curly hair and bright blue eyes. There was nothing I would have liked more than to root his cute little butt. But what I hadn't bargained for was that the boy's father was intending to watch the whole thing. It was a variation on his first encounter with me, but with the roles reversed. I hadn't anticipated that he would want to be a witness to his little boy getting his ass reamed for the first time. That didn't bother me of course. I wasn't averse to being watched, ever since the first few times that Guus paid me to jerk my boydick in front of him. Like I said, it turned me on even more to do it to an audience. What did unnerve me slightly was the prospect of this guy jacking off and shouting out encouragement to me as I rooted his little boy's ass. That was exactly what he did. He sat and masturbated while I attempted to force my stiff little dick into his little boy's virgin hole.

To give him his due, the little boy was very compliant. He readily stripped for me, and he already had a little boner as soon as he removed his tiny underwear. He knew he was about to get sexed up and the sight of this inordinately small boy standing there in my room, primed and horny, was enough to make me want to fuck him so hard and so fast that I couldn't wait to blow my fuckwad deep inside his little pelvis. He was extraordinarily pretty and ripe for getting his ass cherry busted. But I had to go slow. This was going to take a little patience and application. Luckily, it seemed this boy had already had some experience. It was clear to me that he was used to having his hole stimulated. When I laid him on the bed naked and spread his skinny little legs, I got down between them and played with his hole a little bit. As soon as I touched his little star, it opened up a little for me. Reflex anal dilation was such a beautiful response. That little butthole had been stimulated plenty. It was used to being played with, it seemed. All I had to do now was force it fully open and stuff it full of boycock.

Slowly, I mounted the bed, pushed his little legs back so they were way over his shoulders, and I connected my aching cock to his little star. He stayed like that and watched me submissively, looking up at me with a quiescent curiosity which just made me want to fuck him even harder. My stiffie was aching to be buried inside him. Then his father started to call out as he masturbated. He was calling out remarks like 'Yeah, abuse my little boy!' and 'Fuck my boy's virgin ass!' I'm not sure what the boy made of it, particularly when his own father was beseeching me to be violent and brutal. I didn't mind. Words were essential for fulfilling most fantasies. I knew that only too well. But I was concerned about how this boy would interpret his father's exclamations, particularly with vocalizations such as 'Yeah, rip my little boy's cunt!' and 'Bust his ass!' It seemed that me that reaming his little boy's ass was as much for his own pleasure as his son's.

The idea that this dad was so eager to see his son's ass fucked real hard was actually a tremendous incitement. No sooner had I managed to open up his little boy's hole, and stick my dick into that tight little virgin butt, I started hammering away pneumatically. I sank my hairless little shota boy dick into his hole like a hot knife into butter. And I tell you, it felt damn good. His father's encouragement worked. He got me so worked up, I fucked his boy's ass real good. I bent that little boy's legs back so far it was almost as if I was going to snap his little spine. I was quite rough with him. I fucked my stiff hairless dick into him with a gusto I hadn't used on anybody for a long time. I rarely got a chance to fuck like that, unless a client wanted to watch me fuck with another boy, usually Chip. But Chip had learned to accommodate my cock really well. He could take a twelve inch dildo no problem. This boy was a virgin, and I must admit, it was an inordinate pleasure to think that I was the first to sample this little boy's butt - mine was the first cock to punch into his most intimate place and bust his ass cherry for the first time, and I was the first to feel the tight warmth of virgin butt that had never been violated by a cock before. Fuck, that turned me on so much! The thought of soiling his little virgin chute with my kidspunk caused my little dick to boil over in no time. The boy himself took it without protest. He was a brave little guy. What a pasting he took. He seemed so resigned to his fate. But then, it wasn't as if he didn't know what was happening. He had watched his daddy fucking me, so he understood the rudiments of what we were doing. He was very accepting of the philosophy that little boy butts were there to accommodate men's cocks. But I kinda felt sorry for the little guy not getting any pleasure out of it himself. It was a shame to see his tiny little dickie so hard and not getting any stimulation, just poking up so aroused, pulsing with need, redundantly pointing upwards into thin air. So, even while I was fucking up into his tiny ass, I gave him a little wrist action, pinching his tiny cocklet between my thumb and finger and giving it a few token tugs. I still had his little todger pinched between my fingers as my orgasm approached, and I think I must have jacked it real hard as I cummed because he squealed a little. I couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain because by then my orgasm completely overwhelmed me. When I cummed, I cummed with a force I hadn't known since Ten's first blowjob. Ten's first blowjob did something so magical to my dick, I always remembered it. He made me cum in such a way that my dick was stimulated to new heights, a level of ultra-ecstatic release that I don't think I had ever felt before, or since. That's what it was like fucking this little boy and blowing my wad into his tiny little cunt. Oh fuck. I'll never forget it.

Of course I've had lots of other memorable tricks too. Let me tell you about some of them. I'll start with one of my favorites. Strangely, I didn't know his name. You never asked your tricks for their names unless it came up in conversation. If they became regulars, you usually got to be on first name terms with them, but since most of my tricks were military personnel, they were always being moved about. You would see them maybe once or twice, then they would be mysteriously shipped out, nearly always at short notice, never to be seen or heard from again. Well this guy, I know for sure, was something of a big-shot in UNVERO, part of the joint United Nations Forces in Verolino. He was a pretty senior officer. I know he spoke French. I'm pretty sure he was Canadian. He had a little Canadian flag on the lapel of his tunic. The reason I remember him is because he was always well dressed and immaculately groomed. His uniform was always spotless and neatly pressed, and he was clean shaven with a thick dark head of hair that was graying at the temples. And he smelled of a very distinctive aftershave, with a fresh, citric scent. He was well mannered and polite. He had confident, purposeful movements and seemed to be very considerate and courteous. I liked him. If only all my tricks were like that. He was tremendously fit and supple for a guy of his age, with good definition and tight musculature. It was clear he took care of himself. Apart from that, he also had a very big cock and, unfortunately for me, he always wanted to fuck. He was strictly into boy ass, nothing else. No hand jobs or blowjobs for him. I think he was strictly old school pedo, this guy: believed that a boy's ass was for real men's dicks and any other means of blowing his wad was ersatz and contemptible. His technique was to always fuck that cock into my ass as deep and hard as he could. It was thrilling, but damn, it stretched my chute to the limit. The first couple of times he fucked me my snatch was so sore I was shitting traces of blood all the next day. He was strong too. He could hold my entire body in his hands and literally lift me up and down onto his protruding cock. My body seemed so small and light in his big hands as he maneuvered me around him. My body became almost a little toy for him, and he was bending me and folding me into whatever shape he chose, manhandling me into whatever position he was able to fuck me in. It was usual for him to try several positions in one session, until he found the one he wanted to finish up in. He would bend me over and fuck me just standing behind me. Or he would do it kneeling down, with me bent over the side of the bed. He would do it with me on my back, my legs folded up against my chest. Or he would have me lie on the bed face down and fuck down into me with my ass raised up on a pillow. Or else he just bundled my whole body into a little ball, laid me on my side on the bed, and fucked my ass by scooting in and out sitting on his ankles. But my favorite was when he laid on the bed and had me get astride him, so I could bear down onto his cock, using my weight to force his big dick up my little cunt. I liked that because I could dictate the pace. I could take it slow and give my hole time to adjust to his girth. I also enjoyed it because he was usually so dominant, and it was nice to see him looking so submissive beneath me for a change.

There was another trick that was memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. This guy was pretty well built, with a hefty, substantial stature. He looked mean and I knew from experience that he was a hurter - he liked to hurt little shota boys. In some ways I was glad he had chosen me and not Chip. I had no doubt Chip could have handled him - Chip was very robust, and a tough little guy - but I didn't like the idea of little Chip getting hurt. It was better that I dealt with this guy instead. I had a smart mouth, if nothing else. I could always rely on that to get me out of trouble. The other reason I remember him is that he was incredibly unattractive. I mean, no offence, but he really was butt ugly. No word of a lie, this guy looked like Shrek.

Anyhow, I was right about him all along. He was a hurter. First he wanted to play with my stiffie. It seemed he was quite accomplished at sucking little boy dicks, and he gorged on my erection for a good long time. But boy was he rough with me. He squeezed it so hard and gnawed on it so impetuously that it hurt. Then when he scrunched it in his big fist, he pinched the foreskin back so hard he nearly tore it. As if that wasn't enough, having punished my dick, he finally threw me face down onto the bed and got above me as though trying to force me into submission. He pressed me into the bed and leaned over, putting all his weight on me until it was difficult to breathe. Then he shoved his big paw right into my hole, digging his thick fingers deep into my ass and clawing the lining of my chute with his fingertips. Fuck that hurt. Did this guy think I was cybernetic or something? That was delicate human tissue he was trying to rip.

'Ow, that hurts,' I squealed, my face muffled into the mattress.

'Good,' he said, with a tone of meanness in his voice.

Then he slapped me real hard on the butt, bringing the full force of his palm down on my rounded ass, so that the sharp crack of his blow resounded off the bare walls of my room. I told you he was a hurter. He loved to see shota boys restrained and pleading for mercy. Well, I pleaded alright, and as he held me down, one arm keeping me secured fast against the mattress, I could just twist my head around enough to see that with his other hand, we was jerking himself off. He liked to jerk off to the plaintive cries of a shota boy nearly having the life squeezed out of him. That was his thing. So I bore it. I put up with a few minutes of breathlessness while he fiddled with my boyhole and whacked off onto my back. The bed was squeaking in time to the rhythmic movements of his fist, as he pummeled away at the turgid organ in his crotch. Finally, I felt the warm, wet spatters of his spunk peppering my back, and he froze, letting out two almost silent gasps as his orgasm consumed him. It must have been a good one because I actually felt the force of the little jets of cum splashing against my skin, and his spunk was scalding hot, a sure sign that he had ejected it from deep within his balls. Finally, the last few drops fell from his cock, and he let me go. He loosened his grip, so I could breathe again, and he paused to wipe the head of his cock on my butt cheeks. I turned over and looked at him. He still looked mean, and had an annoyed, gruff expression, as though he was still not satisfied. As I sat up, I felt the watery puddles of his juice running down my back to the base of my spine and pooling in my ass crack. It felt good, but at the same time I couldn't help thinking what a waste it was because I couldn't lick it up.

One particular trick liked to alternate between me and Chip. I think it depended on what mood he was in. If he felt like subjugating a little boy, he would go for Chip. If he wanted a more experienced boy, he would choose me. Sometimes, when he couldn't make up his mind, he would have us both. Strangely, he never fucked either of us. His particular specialty was eating butt. Not just eating butt, but felching in particular. Yeah, this guy was an expert felcher. He liked to lick our holes clean, particularly after they had been filled with spunk. If I fucked Chip, he would get very excited seeing me deposit my watery spunk into Chip's pretty little hole, then he would get down there and felch it out of his ass. He would lick Chip's little butt clean, his tongue cleaning it of every drop of my cum until it was wet and shiny with his spit, and spotlessly wiped of every trace of my kiddiespunk. Then he would jerk himself off as he did it, cumming into his hand as his tongue fucked Chip's hot little hole. It was the ultimate method of masturbation, bringing yourself off while your tongue was firmly engulfed in some hairless shota boy's little snatch. I swore I would try that myself one day. Perhaps I would even go a step further - fuck my load into Chip's hot little hole and then felch my own spooge out of his pretty butt while I whacked off another in my hand. Oh fuck, that would be the ultimate.

Surprisingly there were no restrictions on taking pictures at the club. That always puzzled me a little. I would have thought more tricks would want to take pictures and videos. Cameras of whatever variety were not barred and, although they were not common, they were certainly not unknown. Having said that, there was one particular trick who always brought a camera with him. I quite admired his foresight actually. He obviously relished his sessions with me and I let him photograph the proceedings as he liked. Usually he would fuck me, then video or photograph me jacking off. I let him video me with my spunk shooting out. I had already cum whilst he was fucking me, but I worked out another one just for him. He photographed that as well, with my little trail of clear kidspunk spilt across my belly button. Then he whacked off all over me and photographed me with his spunk spattered across my chest. He shot it really spectacularly as well - long wet streaks and numerous splashes where the force of his ejaculation made it splinter into little droplets and it rained down making my chest and tummy wet all over. It was worth preserving the spectacle, just to immortalize the image of my young body soiled by his cum. It glistened so tantalizingly on my skin, I would have liked to lick it off myself if I had had a long enough tongue. I knew those images would be worth endless hard cums for him later on. He would spill plenty of spunk over those photos, maybe even print them out, enlarge them, and spatter the images with his spooge, and the thought of him achieving that thrill over my photos made my dick instantly hard. Did I like the look of myself? You're damn right I did. I could cum real hard just looking at myself in the mirror. A few times I had cum so hard I had squirted right onto the mirror, my thin kidspunk trailing in watery rivulets down the glass. That was how I discovered that cum, especially the clear, runny kind, like mine, made a particularly good glass cleaner.

I had become quite proficient in playing up for the camera as well. I had plenty of little tricks that were erotic and suggestive and never failed to induce at least a stiffie, if not a full blown cum. So what I did once, just for him, I did my favorite trick with the toothpaste: I squeezed a tiny blob into my mouth, worked it around with my spit so that it frothed up, then opened my mouth in a big O and let the white, spunk-like froth coat my lips and dribble down my chin. They loved that. Doubtless it looked like they had just spunked in my mouth. I bet they jerked themselves stupid over that. Let them. Here, let me give you something to force that spunk out even harder, let me give you something to focus on while you're jerking that spunk out of your cock, looking deep into my eyes as you release your essence all over me. His camera clicked away, the flash firing repeatedly.

Another guy liked to watch porn, rather than make it. He would set up his laptop on the end of the bed with some grainy movie of an inordinately tiny boy getting reamed by some thick set guy with an enormous cock, and while that was running, he would lie back, propped up on the pillow and have me jerk or blow him. That struck me as odd. I thought porn was for when you didn't have the real thing to hand, although logically I couldn't see any drawbacks to having someone else beat your meat while you watched it. Struck me as the ultimate decadence. So that was what I did. I brought him off with my fist or my tongue, as he watched that tiny boy being fucked and, if I timed it right, I could just get him into fits of ecstatic release just as the guy in the movie pulled out and blew a massive load over that tiny boy's trembling little body. That boy sure was pretty. I wouldn't have minded a heavy session with him myself. He was just like Chip, small in stature, but pretty beyond words. Tell you the truth, once while I was huddled over this guy's cock, working it over in my mouth, I scooted around so that I was sideways on, and I could sneak a glance at the movie as I sucked him. My other hand was meanwhile scrunching at my little cock in my crotch and I made myself cum even before my client. I deftly switched hands and used my spunk to lubricate his cock as I continued to jack it. Nice huh? Luckily, it went almost unnoticed. A few muted shudders, and I was able to carry on sucking him off as if nothing had happened. That's me, always utterly professional. But then, by now I had got my silent cums down to a fine art.

There was another memorable trick who was heavily into watersports. That is, he got off by pissing on little shota boys. Now that was a real education. I thought I knew everything about cock and ass play until this particular trick showed me what real piss games were. I was quite surprised the first time he finished fucking me. He had insisted that we fuck on the floor. It had to be the floor. Even though I had a perfectly comfortable and clean bed for us to fuck on. I thought it was just another little foible. That was nothing unusual. All my tricks had their little idiosyncrasies, so I just went with it. Tell you the truth it was actually quite erotic getting my ass fucked while he thoroughly pummeled me into the bare wooden floor. The banging noise from him grinding my stiff little cock into the hard floor was quite a turn on. When he had fucked his load into me, he stayed in me, and there was a period of stillness and silence as he laid on top of me, his still hard dick wedged deep into my boyhole, and he seemed to be waiting for something. I thought maybe he was going for seconds. Some guys could do that. They stayed hard and could go for another cum right away. They could work up another spunkload within a matter of minutes. But he didn't want to fuck. He was breathing quite evenly and there were a few moments of quiet concentration. I waited, bearing his weight and patiently staring into the dull wooden floor. Then he seemed to exhale with relief, and I felt the strangest sensation. An incredible warmth radiating from his dick, deep inside my hole. I felt the warmth before I felt the wetness, and it took me a few seconds to work out what was going on. His dick was still hard and he let go a powerful stream of warm pee deep into my hole, filling me up with hot liquid. He was pissing in me! He breathed softly into my ear as he was doing so, and I could even feel him squeezing his bladder muscles as he emptied every last drop into me. What I found incredible was that none of his pee leaked out. His dick was still so engorged and so tightly plugged into my hole, that all his liquid was working up inside me, filling up my insides and making me feel quite bloated. It then made sense why he had wanted to fuck on the floor. The pissing thing was his encore, and out of due respect to the bedclothes he insisted on the floor. It had nothing to do with him having fantasies about ravaging a poor little farm boy on the barn floor, which was quite a common fantasy, I had found. I knew that because I knew all the most common fantasies. When they weren't raping some helpless little farm boy in amongst the hay bales, they were fiddling with some innocent looking choirboy, playing with their little stiffies and making them squirt their kiddiespunk into their pure white robes, and fucking their virgin butts on the floor of the vestry. Whatever the scenario, the common denominator was that there was always some poor innocent little boy getting a big mancock forcibly shoved up his butt. Anyhow, this time it was no rape fantasy. This guy had actually released a long stream of piss that penetrated deep into my butt, and I must admit the warmth and wetness, and the sheer volume of it, filled up my chute so substantially that it felt like my bowel was going to burst. Actually, that tightness was very pleasurable. I had never felt such sensations before. I had taken big loads before, sure, and believe me some guys could spunk buckets - but this volume of liquid was even better. For sheer eroticism, it was a welcome advance on even the most voluminous spunkloads. When he was done, he withdrew, slipping his still hard member out of my hole, thus relieving the pressure and at the same time releasing a little damburst of pee from my chute. The warm fluid flooded out in a little stream between my legs and onto the floor. I could feel it splashing against the insides of my thighs.

'Did you enjoy your little enema?' he said, standing over me menacingly, his flagging cock glistening with wetness right to the root.

Raising my butt up off the floor, I looked down between my legs and there was a little puddle of almost clear pee, rippled with the unmistakable swirl of his thick white spunk, and traces of other darker matter that I didn't care to think about.

There was another guy who was so mechanical and devoid of emotion that getting fucked by him was actually unnerving. He showed no signs of pleasure and the whole transaction was so utilitarian, I wondered if it was actually worth the effort. He was completely expressionless all through our coupling. He fucked efficiently, cummed silently, and said nothing throughout. He barely looked me in the eye. I swear this guy was like a robot. Hell, worse than a robot. At least a robot was capable of FAKING it, for chrissakes. It was as if he didn't feel anything at all. When it was over, he pulled out, barely pausing to wipe his dripping cock. No word of a lie, he never made any noise at all. Not even a muted puff, or even so much as a quickening heart rate. He didn't bat an eyelid. Stayed completely expressionless. You would have thought it was something as mundane and unmemorable as cleaning your teeth. Geez, I wondered why he bothered. Was it even worth the expense.

The other thing that I never understood were the clients who just liked to talk. That was something I could never work out. Here was a luscious piece of fuckboy ass in the offing, with an opportunity to fuck and abuse my pretty little body in whatever way they wished. They could stick that rampant boy-plunger anywhere they liked, with me willing to pleasure their cock, take their spunk in my ass or down my throat and all they wanted to do was talk? Never in all my endeavors in boyfuckdom could I make sense of that. It was the worst kind of kackminded fuckology. Nevertheless, I did it. I did it because it was far less effort than getting fucked. They wanted to chew the fat awhile? Sure. Shoot the breeze? No problem. Talking was cheap. Talking was easy. Of course most of the time it was just idle yammer about irrelevant things, about themselves and their chaotic lives, about their families back home, the children that were the same age as me. That always struck me as a rather odd paradox. Here they were, in a seedy hotel room with a naked little fuckboy, for all intents there to comprehensively defile my hairless preteen body, and at home they had sons the same age as me who they probably went home and kissed on the forehead, after having had their engorged daddy dick sunk into some poor shota boy's little cunt, and deposited their immoral daddy spunk deep into his ass. I guess some boys were not there to be abused. Some boys were there to be valued and nurtured and were not there to pleasure grown men's dicks and to be their fuckpuppy or their cumdump or their cockslut. Well, I guess I wasn't destined to be one of them.

When they weren't talking about themselves, they would talk about neutral subjects, like the war or the political situation, or anything that wasn't about them or me. But sometimes it was about me. There were always those who wanted to 'rescue' me; who offered to take me away from all this; who tempted me with untold delights and the possibility to live the life of Riley with them; to put me up in some millionaire mansion where servants would pander to my every whim and where I would be well fed and well looked after. What? And be indentured for the rest of my life? To have no means of independence? That was more like enslavement for me, for undoubtedly all they wanted in return was boy ass on tap, to have a ready supply of cum-inducing fuckboy to pleasure their dicks whenever it took their fancy? No thanks. I know I was a fuckboy, and I didn't have many choices, but I valued my individuality too much. That was what happened when I met the American. He was another one that wanted to throw me a lifeline and escape Verolino with me. I'll tell you all about the American next time. For the moment, I was content to carry on with what I knew. I wasn't ready for the big wide evil world. And it wasn't ready for me. I was content to continue this heady, profligate existence. Why? Because I loved it, that's why. Every ass-pounding, cock-sucking, spunk-squirting, cum-soaked minute of it.

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