Date: Sun, 15 Sep 2013 01:21:31 +1200
From: belisarius589@hushmail.com
Subject: Bastille - Chapter 1, AY

Disclaimer: this story and the characters within it are entirely fictional.
If you are under 18 or it is otherwise illegal for you to read this, you
should stop now. Likewise if you find words detailing totally fictional sex
between a man and an underaged boy repulsive, distasteful or offensive.
Otherwise, enjoy!

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Cheers!
Belisarius

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Bastille
Chapter 1

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"I broke the radio," Kit says, standing there with his blond, cropped hair,
in devilishly tiny shorts--a little pair of nylon yellow that clings tight
when wet.
	
No doubt he did, perhaps deliberately. Something the little shit would
do--get the audience to bow to him, that sort of thing. Covertly I dart my
eyes between his legs, following his smooth inner thighs going up and up,
whiter and whiter. He doesn't think I'm looking at him. Between him and me,
he thinks I'm looking at the paper. But I'm watching closely--quick turn of
the page. Aha! Doesn't even see it.

"War's on, you know. They're going to send you off. Put you in black
booties, give you a wooden gun. Would you like that?"

He scratches his arm, leaving some fading pink on light tan.

"Uhhh. Hey, yep. There'll be guys there right?"

"Lots," I say.

Looks at me now. Only ten and he's able to imagine it: men fighting brutish
men--murderers and rapists--to sate their raging dicks in his tight snatch,
one after the other; to get that sweat and muscle deep in him. Cum
deep. The power to realize that he isn't just any sloppy cunt. "Lots of
guys?"

"Oh yeah." Flick of the eyes. "Thousands."

He fidgets some more. I know he's just grabbed his dick. Nothing serious--a
little pinch he's in the habit of doing when he gets horny (and, dear
reader, he's never hornier than when imagining a solid gangfuck). A breeze
crackles the paper and I pull it tight, straining the headlines.

"Where's this radio?" I ask.

"In your study. I didn't mean to break it."

I look over the brim. He's smirking a theif's smirk, deliberate wag. He
thinks he's cunning--a small dog nosing a hedgehog, just asking to be
pricked. This is perhaps an uncharitable metaphor, since I'm predictably
attractive, with a body toned from daily swims at the local pool.

"You were watching porn again."

"No."

"Yeah you were. You're a horny boy."

"No I'm not. Come on."

Now he does something extraordinary. You'll stutter maybe. You'll
accidentally twist your dick. A little jerk too hard and it'll be all over
too soon. You should save it though, even if your so slightly suspicious
wife is getting restive at your bedside, if your bulb is blinking in
fraying tungsten, if you haven't come in three days. "What are you doing?
Who are you talking to?" Quick, quick, put it down!

He crawls beneath the paper and onto my lap, so all I'm reading now are the
lines of green in the blue of his eyes so close. Beautiful hornblende of
Swedish and German descent, coldly aristocratic to his peasant blood in
ways only boys and their lovers know. Generations of kids that have fucked
each other for centuries. Smooth right knee rubbing my crotch, one dusty
foot on the floor, the other against my newspaper, leaving marks and
tearing it at the margin.

"You're hurting me," I tease.

"Huh."

"Stop moving your knee, I'm trying to read."

As I mockingly stare over his shoulder he blocks me, attempting to meet my
gaze. I relent and we give each other long, competitive stares.

"You've got twigs in your hair," I say.

He feels around his impossibly tangled crop with both hands. A slight snarl
from me and he giggles.

"It's not my fault if I can't get it to sit still 'cause there's something
there."

I drop the newspaper, now crackling underfoot. One sly movement and I could
trip him up.

"What about the twigs?" I ask.

"I was playing with Isaac. Hey, stop that a minute." Failure! "It was
really sunny earlier, you know, so we went down to the creek near the
drugstore. I found a big horny toad in this old tank and threw it at
Mary--she ran away so then we went to his place."

"Oh yeah?" I ask.

"Huh. Nope." He beams. "Isaac is gross. His dick is tiny."

"Oh yeah, you've seen it then?"

He pinks up, but can't trick me with that false modesty.

"Yeah, a few times... Oh come on. Why are you making that face? We didn't
do much."

I kiss a flushed cheek as he turns away.

"Your dick isn't so big," I say.

More kisses. Soon I'm onto his lips, and his teeth, and his tongue. If only
I could go deeper!

"Let's get you out... out of that messy shirt."

I start fumbling with his little buttons, slipping them through the tiny
frayed slits. He stares at me while I do it, immobile with his hands at his
side. I always make sure to dress him: as long as he's with me he'll never
have to do it himself. Slowly I begin to see his boyishly skinny body. As I
roll the right sleeve I kiss his chest and arm, caressing the side of his
chest slowly downwards with my other hand, starting at the underarm and
brushing his rosy nipple with my thumb. He isn't ticklish anymore--he
learnt long ago not to be.

I nuzzle into his smooth, hairless armpit, faint with the sweet odor of
boyhood exertions.

"Fuck you're so beautiful."

He giggles. It takes everything for me not to pin him face-down on the rug
and split his ass.

"Why don't you invite Isaac over?" I mumble, nibbling his earlobe.

He feigns innocence, raising his chin under my tongue.

"So you can... so you can do what? You're gunna hurt Isaac now?"

"Maybe," I hum.

I undo the drawstring of his tiny shorts and his smooth, silky dick pops
out fully erect. I can hardly describe the sight with words--it astounds me
every time. His umbered lower stomach, trembling with every slightly
hitching breath, now gives way to lighter tones of cream as your eyes trace
downwards. On such a sexual being you expect, almost demand, even the
lightest fluttering of pubic hair--but Kit has none. Only entire
smoothness, against which you can place your cheek, feel his hot staccato
pulse, and kiss his beautiful shaft; where you can cup his tight, hairless
pouch and lick it to taste his soft sweat. Indeed, on the few occasions
when he does wear his few too-small pairs of cum-stained underwear--and he
almost never does, since I always send him to school without--I often lower
them slowly just to the point where his shaft and body meet, while he lies
on his elbows, with his stomach and chest covered in thick driblets of
sticky cum, panting. There is nothing more stunning.
	
Now he's had enough. He's too horny a boy to endure such things for too
long. When he's older perhaps--but alas! He stumbles to his feet and shakes
off his shorts. I slump a little lower into the sofa. Completely naked now
he straddles me akimbo, with his knees either side of me, dick in my face.

"Suck," he demands.

Cute fucker actually starts thrusting at my mouth with his tumescent pink
head, half sticking out of a foreskin which he had pulled back long before
I adopted him. By his accounts, he had been jerking off over thoughts of
the boys in his kindergarten. Now I'm not into them that young, but it
certainly tells you a lot about his virility (actually, puerility).

So I do. If any of you were still wondering who is in power here, you
perhaps have your answer. Truly, I jested about fucking him before--if I
were to do so as roughly as I said, he would undoubtedly, and not so
strangely if you think about it, have even more control. Someone needs to
be the adult here.

I begin by taking his head in my mouth and worming the tip my tongue under
that deliciously taut foreskin. I decide to massage the his ass, with the
occasional slip centrewise to stretch his boycunt with my fingers. I glance
up and see him looking at me with half-closed lids, his mouth
agape. Believe me when I say I am handsome: I attract women in their
gaggles (and occasionally their boys), both unattractive and gorgeous. I
sit heart thumpingly at their tables watching their boys, who more often
than you would think are watching me, and the mothers tell me about how
much Tom loved his father, who ran away to Barbados with a Thai, Cambodian,
Belarussian--masseuse, dancer, mechanic. So I hope it's not vain if I say
that he truly enjoys watching me do this.

He didn't wash in the morning before heading out for bouts of boyish
exercise so his dick is already aromatic and tastes like what I think is
the faintest tint of saliva. Oh Isaac, what have you been up too!

So soon, however, he tenses up, curling his usually graceful body and
grabbing my head with both hands, selfishly forcing himself in as far as he
can go. I look up briefly to see his trembling eyelids and hear his truly
adorable, almost voiceless aspiration. Anyone watching such a scene from
behind would probably see his cute pink little hole quiver as he came
spurts of--absolutely nothing! A drycummer still!

He collapses on the couch beside me, right forearm over his eyes
(derivative child!). I can see the outlines of his ribs, so I bend to my
side and begin to kiss them one by one as he rubs his dexterous little foot
against my dick through the jeans fabric. I undo my fly and his cold (well,
colder) toes worm in.

"Cold, cold!" I say, taking the chance to nibble roguishly on his nipples.

He looks at me from under the shade of his forearm and reaches under his
pouch with his other hand, rubbing his perineum and tight pink hole with
his two forefingers, and, as I look down, actually appearing to stretch his
hole with them. He shifts down the couch and splays his legs by placing one
foot on the floor. As he does so his body tenses and just as I stretch back
I see the ever-so-slight outlines of his pre-pubescent musculature,
tempered so perfectly with running, jumping, climbing and swimming, with
collapsing treehouses, bottled fish and damp fireworks.

"I've got something warm for you, if you wanna get it," he giggles.

"You have been watching porn," I smirk.

Of course, he doesn't mean now.  He's too busy with his foot--tip of his
tongue between his teeth--and soon enough gets my underwear down under my
balls and my dick standing bone-hard in the air. Now, I'm not going to lie
about my size--it's good my dick isn't a behemoth, otherwise my passion for
boys would forever have gone unfulfilled--but it is a good 7.5 inches, and
after a few excercises Kit had managed to take all of it in with the aid of
some damn delicious tummy undulations. The thickness of it, however, is
something I'm proud of, not forgetting that Kit is a kid that likes to get
really stuffed.

He's rubbing my dick now with the sole of his foot, not entirely
seriously. He rubs his big toe against the head, slimy with precum (which,
I pertinently add, is much larger than his toe and currently a pulsing red)
and laughs as he smears it down my slightly curved shaft and among my thick
pubic hair. I am undoubtedly horny, but want to wait a few moments to
increase the tension, and enjoy his boyish experimentations, the sweetest
honey of his sexual intensity. And let it be known that it often leads to
greater pleasures. I still remember the time when kneeling naked at my
feet, shortly after I had fucked him the first time, he had sheepishly
asked for me to piss on him. Dripping with urine he had shuddered with a
prurient mixture of humiliation and satisfaction that I have hardly ever
seen while enacting my own suggestions.

Those poor souls who say boys aren't sexual beings are misguided: the most
daring, willing and thorougly sexual people I have known have been
boys. The many naive men who have wandered into that bordello of boysex
have come to know of the deviousness and cruelty of boys--to be entrapped
by their insatiability and amoral desires, with no escape for them but to
fuck more and more, deeper and deeper with inscrutable lust. Sometimes they
had incensed harems and bath-houses full of them, all oiled up, white,
sandy or brown; ephebe or tyke; fucking in groups of three,
four... eight. The Ottomans compiled tomes upon tomes of poetry on the
dangers and pleasures of their boys, taken from their parents all over
their vast empire (and often beyond). The swarthy, black-eyed urchins from
Arabia, Persia and Morocco, initiated into esoteric, informal cults of
lust, the rites of which no adult could ever hope to see for more than a
few seconds. The haughty, delicate Egyptians. The pale, blonde and fierce
from Moldova. The truly masculine boys from Greece and Serbia. The pious
Syrians, with their stubborn refusal to bend to the pathetic whims of even
a fellow Mohammedan. Occasionally the lyrically beautiful from Italy, with
their smooth, bitable necks. The bold, brown boys pirated away from
Spain. Even the deeply shy ones from England--the most beautiful, the most
dangerous, the tightest, how many times they could make you cum. And we
moderns put the blame on the man!

"I'm sleepy," the indolent brat says, as he rubs his foot up and down my
hairy chest and stomach. He's not, of course. It's simply his way of saying
he wants to go to the bed--and that he wants me to carry him.

"Which one?" I ask.

He scratches his head with one finger, copying some cartoon character no
doubt. "My bed."

"Oh yeah, you want me to fuck Oliver?"

Oliver is a thoroughly worn, oversized brown teddy bear. I never fuck him
myself, but have often come in on a kneeling Kit thumping him from behind,
his mock-leather paws dangling inches off the mattress while Kit plunges
his little dick between his legs. I often watch him do it. In other
instances I've fucked Kit while he 'fucks' his bear beneath, which usually
means that he forgets all about the bear as soon as I squeeze my throbbing
head past his tight sphincter. It is, nevertheless, great practice for the
odd occasions when we get another boy into bed.

"No way," he says, "Oliver's my bitch."

"Don't swear," I say. "You're gunna get fucked if you keep that up."

He flips and sticks his ass up in the air.

"Yep, I'm gunna get fucked right?"

"Oh yeah," I smirk. "You've done it now."

I stand up and he clambers up like the little acrobat he is into my arms. I
cup his ass and hold his smooth chest close to mine. He nuzzles his head
into my shoulder and starts, what do you know, licking my neck.

"You're stubbly," he purrs.

"Probably," I reply. "I didn't this morning, so..."

He looks up and blushes, seemingly genuine this time. "I like it."

That sets me off. As soon as we get to his bedroom I toss this naked boy
somewhat violently onto the kiddie-sized bed and he bounces a little on his
cartoon bedsheets--some show about a magic stretchy dog and his
companion. He laughs and his hand reaches straight for his dick. I pull it
away.

"Not yet," I snarl.

I flip him over so that his ass is in the air and he's kneeling on all
fours. He looks back and sticks his tongue out while I examine his ass and
hole from afar. I don't believe I've sufficiently described them yet, so
let me sort that out.

Before I talked about the changing tone from tan to white leading up his
shorts. I'm quite proud of my artistry here, since I always buy him shorts
of slightly varying lengths. I then order his clothes so that he wears the
longest pairs on Monday, Tuesday and Wenesday, the second longest on
Thursday and Friday, the third longest on Saturday and the shortest (and
tightest fitting) pairs on Sunday. In doing so, with skillful application
of sun-lotion I neatly avoid the shock of tanlines, which although
remaining appealing to me, aren't nearly as appealing as Kit's subtle
gradations from light bronze to creamy skin.

His ass, yes! Well, how can I describe it? You'd need to see my photo album
to truly understand, but I can sketch an accout here that most closely
approximates it in words. I should have you grab it with both hands, yes,
like that, with your thumbs near his cunt. See, what did I say? You can cup
the two cheeks wholly with both your hands. You feel them smooth in your
palms--quivering, tensing as you massage the flesh, stretching them and his
hole apart with your two thumbs. He tenses as you get too near to it and
you feel the sheer vitality of firm, prepubescent boyish ass beneath your
fingers, while his pouch and little dick hang between his legs, ready to
get milked. Dart forward and see his face: a mixture of anticipation,
desire and fear. Oh and that hole. Just looking ready to be licked, to be
stretched so wide by something, surely, too big for a ten year old boy to
take in. But Christ does it fit. Oh it fits deliciously. It's too
delightful, too much. I can't go on.

But what's this? I take a closer look. It's a little trail of dried cum
running down his left leg. I take a closer look. It's definitely
cum. Isaac, Isaac. Machinations are already flowing around my dick. I'm
certainly not jealous; I know myself that no man can resist Kit's cunt, let
alone some horny fourteen-year-old computer nerd (whose dick, I happen to
know, is not, slanderous Kit, tiny). If only I could catch them at it! It
would certainly give me some leverage--after all, I had been dreaming about
a few ephebes recently, and Isaac certainly would fit my desires. But you
were misled by computer nerd, weren't you? You shouldn't be, for I assure
you that Isaac is a handsome kid, with a good set of spunking balls by the
looks of it.

But that's for later. I toss my unbuttoned shirt into the corner and worm
my way out of my pants. His ass is still in the air and he cruelly giggles
and wiggles while I do. But naked now, I can punish him, and he knows it,
since he grabs a pillow and buries his blushing face into it for a
moment. He soon looks up though, and has the most indescribably sexual
look: a gaze of such deviant knowledge and boyish wisdom, tempered by a
paradoxically playful seriousness. Pleasure is inseperable to him from what
is good, and, since boys find enjoyment in almost everything, sex always
becomes their religion. Why do you think the Turks put their bath-houses
next to mosques?

Clutching his ass, my dick hangs above his hole, just inches away. I'm
leaking precum pretty badly, so pulling my foreskin all the way back I
smear my slime up and down, sticking the slightest bit of tip in on several
occasions. I can feel his hole tighten when I do so, trying to suck me in
and I gaze down to match his blushing profile.

"Little shit," I say. "You're tryin' to tempt me."

"Yep," he says, unexpectedly thrusting back.

My dick slides from his hole and leaves a curve of precum on his left
cheek. I feel a rush of blood flood through it then and I strain to keep my
dick as hard as possible.

"Fuck, Kit," I breathe. "You want it bad today."

There's no time to get lube, so I spit out some thick globules of spit and
cover my dick and his hole, intermingling it with the cum so that his hole
glistens a rosy pink in the light. I take a deep breath and curl over his
body, holding my dick with my left hand and round his skinny little chest
with my right forearm. I begin to slide it in.

He tenses up as I do so, with about half of my dick's head inside his tight
little sphincter.

"Shit," I whisper in his ear as I balance myself with my elbow.

The pleasure is intense as his quivering boycunt constricts around my
cockhead, going deeper and deeper till it's finally sucked into his ass, so
tight it feels like it'll bruise a deep purple if I go any further. I catch
the corner of his eyes and see they're squinted shut. Tyke isn't usually
like this--Isaac must not have lubed his dick--but I start nibbling his ear
to calm him down.

"It's OK, we can take it nice and slow," I say.

I get him to spit in my hand before reaching back and lubing up my shaft.

"I'm going in now," I whisper, and he nods.

As I slide in he begins to loosen up a little--still tight, mind you, but
not painfully so, for him at least--and before long I've bottomed out, his
ass clenched around a good half of my dick. I can hardly concentrate now
and I start feeling a little sweat on my brow. It increasingly feels as
though there is no difference between the warmth of his cunt and the
throbbing pulse of my dick, buried deep in this ten year old's ass--it's a
mass of ungraspable sensation. He's getting a little more playful and
thrusts back a little, to get me even deeper, but it's no good.

Joking, joking! Of course it's good. These are his undulations I was
talking about earlier, and as I straighten up a little to rub the sides of
his stomach with both my hands he begins to roll his abdominal muscles
under my fingers.

"All the way in," he pants (and I swear I can feel his syllables on my
dick).

"Oh yeah, baby," I exhale, "balls fuckin' deep."

So I'm hunched over this tight little ass and feel my dick sliding in
deeper -- so deep, in fact, that I swear I can feel the firm shadow of my
dick pressing into my fingers on his stomach. All the while he's
mouth-breathing short shallow breaths, little hitches that tense his ass
around my cock, now almost fully in. I pant and shift my knees a little and
feel the rest of my shaft sucked into this stretched fuckhole, my pubes
rough against his smooth ass--a beautiful contrast of wiry black on his
Nordic flesh.

His eyelids are loosely closed now, in what I can guess is absolute bliss
and his back is curved and head up. The slightest amount of sweat on his
body gives his smooth skin a glean, reflected in the afernoon light. I
reach underneath and give his dick a little tug.

"Oh baby," I exhale. "You wanna feel what I'm feeling."

Now that his hole is stretched to my girth I start slowly pulling back out
again.

"Fuck-ck," he stutters.

About half-way out now I slowly start to move back in, feeling his ass
tighten round my dick, milking the already copious precum. It adds to the
spit I used as lube and makes his chute even more slick.

The skilled tyke tenses every time I plunge in and before long I'm fucking
him into his pillow, forcing his head down with one hand and clutching firm
his ass with the other--actually, I'm slightly ashamed to say, marking the
flesh red a little. He looks at me in profile, blushing with his bluish
boy-eye as he pants and drools a little into the fabric, reaching back to
jerk his little dick with his left hand. The look on this kid's face is
filled with the greatest lust and I can hardly believe that, even after two
years, I'm still fucking this boy's ass.

He pushes back a little with every nearly 8 inch, in-out thrust and I feel
the build up of pressure in my balls. Before I cum, however, I feel the
tighest clenching so far and reach under quickly to feel the twitching of
his dick and tightening of his already tight balls. He's scrunched his face
now in the cutest way: eyes shut, tongue between his teeth, his body
tightening in orgasm, rolling his back in a pathetic attempt to get his
smooth body and dick as close to his mattress as possible, ribbed chest
first then his taut stomach until I'm awkwardly part kneeling, part
balancing over his prone ass, hearing the bedsprings creak not entirely
sonorously with his euphonius moans as I thrust him down further, left hand
pressing down hard and whole on his skinny back. It isn't long before I
feel the involuntary clutching of his ass around my dick and I can't help
it -- I thrust in once more, balls deep, and feel the rush of steaming cum
spurt through my dick and into his raw fucked ass. I force his face down
into the pillow and let it all out to the last drop. He milks my dick as I
do so and I pant over the top of him, being careful not to crush him under
my weight, but still making it known that my weight is there, feeling my
cum squelch around my still hard dick.

"Fuck Kit," I say. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're one horny fucking kid."

"Mmmhmm," he hums, in a language I can only ever understand to signify
absolute contentment. "Yep. I just love cum," he breathes out, panting and
smiling, my almost certainly bruised dick softening in his thoroughly
creamy, cum-stuffed ass.