Date: Fri, 26 May 2017 08:18:27 +0200 (CEST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Boygod at the Movies

BOYGOD AT THE MOVIES
By Scuba Steve as told to Zachyboy
M/b, boy feet, public masturbation

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

The following film is rated PG for "Praise Geeeeesus, is he actually gonna
jack that kid off right there in the movie theater?" He sure as shit is.
These things happen. (Well, in Nifty fantasies, anyway). Out here in the
real world, the following story is still just a work of fiction.

Thanks to my marvelously filthy friend and frequent co-contributor Scuba
Steve for taking center stage to deliver this sweet little boy tail.

Please support the Nifty Archive Alliance. Pretend it's the Golden Age of
Hollywood. You're Bogie and Nifty is Bacall. Or Nifty's Hepburn and you're
that old guy who banged her. Whatever role you want to play, pay for your
ticket, pal. And get me a box of Raisinettes, bitch.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Now God damn it, let's all go to the movies!

On with the show.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Dear Zachy,

I forgot to tell you what happened when I finally got around to seeing
Rogue One. A movie like that is always good to see on the big screen before
it goes to DVD, right?

My visit to the local Cineplex featured the usual annoyances of crunching
popcorn, people walking in late, others getting up to go to the restroom a
seemingly impossible number of times. How tiny are some of these folks'
damn bladders?

My favorite part about going to the movies on the weekend is the inevitably
sizeable number of cute boys scurrying to and fro. Do you know how
ginormous a large bucket of popcorn looks in the hands of an adorable
10-year-old? Serves to highlight the size disparity of their already short,
skinny bodies by an even larger multiplier.

So, if I have to have someone walking past me on his way to the restroom
mid-flick, it might as well be a cute minx, preferably unaccompanied.
Always provides some rather impressive eye candy.

The running time of Rogue One is 2 hours and 13 minutes. That's a long
time, Z. My attention span tends to drift at times, especially with a bit
of pre-show herbal assistance. When my adult boyfriend is out of town, like
he is this week, my preferred movie partner is someone a lot younger, a lot
shorter, a lot skinnier. I'm thinking 10-years-old or so. 53 inches tall or
so. 55 pounds or so.

These are simply approximate stats for my wish list. I'm not thinking of
anyone too specific. Oh, who am I trying to kid? You know me all too well,
Z. I am indeed thinking of the Linc. The blue-eyed, brown-haired, brush
cut-sporting bundle of unspoken waifish delights. Let's speak of them,
shall we?

To the readers out there, Lincoln is the boygod's officially given name,
but Zachy and I often refer to him using the shortened version. He is the
son of my best friend. Whenever the boyfriend is out of town, I offer to
host the kid for a sleepover so his mom and dad can enjoy a date night and
some rare coital bliss.

His parents trust me implicitly, and why shouldn't they? I've known his dad
since grade school. And I'm completely harmless. (If you believe that, I've
got a bridge in midtown Manhattan to sell you).

I decided to take the Linc to the movies. He's already seen Rogue One, but
little boys love to watch their favorite movies repeatedly. A second or
third viewing at the Cineplex is a bonus. Usually repeat viewings have to
wait for DVD.

So, yet another one of the seeming endless parade of hot underage boys
marches past me on his way to the restroom. My cock lurches. I mentally
skip ahead and picture him fishing out his tiny little peen to urinate at
the kid's urinal, the one closest to the door of the men's restroom. My
dick has been hard since I picked up the Linc earlier this afternoon, and
it jumps inside my pants as a result of my perverted thoughts.

Speaking of perversion, I look to my right. There he is. The boy of my
dreams. He seems so little in the seat. I don't know what the dimensions of
a standard suburban Cineplex seat are, but a relatively petite 10-year-old
virtually drowns in one. It might as well be a gigantic man-size La-Z-Boy
recliner.

He's already ditched the flip flops I encouraged him to wear when I arrived
to pick him up from his house. He was putting on his silly socks and
grabbing a pair of his hideous clodhoppers, but I steered him to something
much more comfortable, and much more satisfying for my boyfeet fetish.

Besides, this little monkee LIVES to be barefoot. I rarely see him
otherwise at his house.

"Why don't you wear flip flops, Linc? I think they'll be much more
comfortable. You know how hot those theaters can get."

In reality, I knew it was precisely the opposite. You'd think they store
frozen meat behind the big screen. But like a good little
puppy-in-training, he didn't even hesitate. Not an iota of fuss. Simply
slid his bare feet into his flip flops, and we were quickly on the road.

And I knew damn well his minimalistic footwear would be kicked off almost
instantly upon our arrival at our chosen seats. Like I said, this kid lives
to be barefoot. And he wants his sexy pups up next to him on whatever he
happens to be sitting or lying upon.

Sure as shit, his flips are resting unattended in a disheveled discard on
the sticky floor, stuck to God knows what. Does the custodial staff of
these places put soda pop in their mop buckets? Whatever the case, his bare
(again) pups are clinging to the front edge of his seat with his knees bent
and pointing to the ceiling.

Adorably, he has spread his knees and legs in order to afford himself a
view of the screen. His head is resting against the back of the seat, slid
down as low as possible for him to still be able to see over the seat in
front of him.

Christ, those adorable boyfeet. So perfect in every way. Plump little
gumdrop toes begging for a man's experienced tongue. If only we were
somewhere more discreet. My hungry mouth would be on them in a heartbeat,
causing inevitable giggles initially – eventually morphing into
delightfully prepubescent moans – as my toe-sucking allows him to feel
good in his hardening little dicklet.

No matter. We are where we are. I'm just honored to be in the boygod's
presence. He is so fucking hot. But we're in a darkened theater. As a tween
myself, I distinctly recall my own hands drifting to places they didn't
belong in such an obviously public place. But a lack of any overhead lights
creates a most lovely discretion.

I glance first to my left and then past my underage companion to his
right. Gotta love the 6:00 showing. Not a matinee, but not quite evening
yet either. Not crowded at all. We happen to have the back row all to
ourselves. The back row is a must. Having anyone behind you crunching on
popcorn sucks tits. I have an idea. It's dirty but do-able.

Taking a page from Chapter 2 of Zachy's own masterpiece, "Memphis Boy," I
decide to get a bit frisky. I lean in closely to the boy.

"Hey, lower your knees and let your feet dangle off the edge of the chair
for a minute."

It's true. At only 4 feet 5 inches, his big toes would probably only reach
the sticky floor if he stretched purposefully to do so, especially with his
tween tush toward the back of the seat, which is where it went when he
straightened up to hear me.

Not taking his eyes off the screen, he does as I instructed without even so
much as a single word. So willing; so compliant. Almost breathtaking what a
good boy he is.

This allowed my right hand to begin to freely grope him. We've enjoyed
plenty of private Playtime, so my public ministrations never come as a
shock to him. They usually happen when we're in my car.

He's wearing shorts, but I decide to skip the hairless pleasantries of his
bare legs and head directly for the main prize. I initially touch his boy
package and then cup it completely. My gentle caresses then begin in
earnest. I can feel him bonerizing almost immediately. I know firsthand he
loves this. So do I.

Sometimes you wish for the density of denim jeans. At other times the
simplicity and ease of stretchiness of sweatpants - which he wears at home
on a regular basis. His skinny little gams must get cold easily. Other
times, the silky sexiness of a loose pair of athletic shorts is
well-appreciated, easy to get inside from the waist or a leg hole.

It all depends on the circumstances, how much time you have, how urgent you
are to get him naked. Today the object of my every last intimate affection
happens to be wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts. A slightly different
challenge, but my expert fingers are most certainly up for it.

My right hand lifts the bottom hem of his shirt ever-so-slightly. My
already-stiff dick lurches when I see his shadowed innie belly
button. Thank God for no belt today. A lucky break. That would be another
several minutes of sticky fumbling, although sometimes that can be quite
hot.

I leave his shirt crumpled on his smooth tummy. My right hand instinctively
unfastens the lone button just below the waistband of his shorts. I quickly
find the slider of his zipper and slowly push it forward and down, gliding
down the teeth like a summer breeze until it stops at its conclusion. I use
my thumb and forefinger to easily and fully separate the crotch flaps.

His underwear-clad penis is now only a single layer away from my bare
fingers. I cup his cocklet again. He's fully stiff now. Almost
throbbing. Sometimes I can't wait for him to become pubescent, when it
really will be on a regular basis.

Christ, it's so fucking warm. His peen is radiating heat like its own
microclimate. So damn excited. Is there anything better than a
fully-bonerized young boy?

I can't help but glance over and down. The hot little fucker is actually
wearing Star Wars undies. How adorably appropriate. He never ceases to slay
me. They're the tight briefs kind, Zachy. If only I could I send them to
you right now through your computer screen so you could enjoy them and
savor the aroma. But I have to get them off first.

I begin fumbling with the labyrinth of seams that comprise the exposable
fly. The kind that allows him to fish his dickie out at the urinal and be
able to urinate without unfastening his belt or unsnapping and unzipping
his pants. It's an admirable feature, but when I was his age, I simply
yanked all that shit down in a single tug to pee. I'm sure the adjacent
pedos next to me in the men's room from time to time surely enjoyed my peep
shows.

While on a bed in the well-lit environment of a private bedroom, sometimes
I love fishing a hard boydick through that opening. But I have no such
luxury right now. It's proving to be most difficult, and I don't want to
kill his boner by pinching him in the wrong place. It's all about his
comfort, isn't it? So, I lean down to my right again in order to whisper to
him again.

"Push your Star Wars undies down for me so I can make you feel good,
sweetie."

Once again, it's like he's on fucking auto-pilot or something. Remember
that movie D.A.R.Y.L. from the mid-eighties featuring the irresistibly
adorable and sexy-as-fuck Barret Oliver? (I do love to push your erotic
buttons, Z, especially when it comes to hot boy celebs!) It's like my
10-year-old Linky is some kind of uber-horny cyborg boy sometimes.

Without a word (I love this kid), he places both of his tiny hands on the
front of his underwear and pushes forward in a rather forceful tug. In a
visual moment that actually makes me gasp for a breath of air, he is
careful to lift the fabric ever-so-slightly so it doesn't yank his stiff
peen in an awkward manner. His stiffy slaps against his upper groin.

His gorgeous 3-inch circumcised erection is now lying unencumbered just
below his lower tummy, pointing directly at his innie. Gosh, to be at my
house right now so I could engulf the prettiness with my pedo mouth. But
alas, we are not at home.

"Good boy," I whisper, trying hard to mask my animalistic lust in an effort
to thank him for doing what his adult friend has asked of him.

I take this opportunity to push the pair of annoying garments even further
down his skinny legs, completely exposing his mid-section to whatever my
fingers desire. Sometimes young boys can be slightly incomplete when it
comes to sexy tasks of this nature. No worries, he'll learn.

I want to cup it again, so I do. After all, I'm the man.

Again, so friggin' warm. I cannot stress this enough. Pretty sure he could
heat up one of his GI Joes after a tough mission in the arctic. This time I
cover the entire apparatus and associated bits with my hand, wholly
engulfing his rigid shaft and balls alike.

My palm dwarfs nearly everything on its own. In fact, my middle pair of
fingers extend onto his bald taint. Such an impossibly soft bridge between
both his front and back special places.

I take this opportunity to place the tip of my middle finger against his
entrance. If I judged his stiff dicklet to be warm, his moist button is
even a few degrees hotter than that.

Jeezus, my boy's literally in HEAT. In estrus. Most certainly in the
"receptive period of his sexual cycle."

What's that, you say? Boys don't have sexual cycles?

Bull...shit.

Tell that to the Linc right now. And yet his hole is more than moist. It's
downright tacky.

Well, I can think of any number of needy objects we can tack to his most
private wall right now, including but not limited to my aforementioned
middle finger. Others include Scuba Steve's tongue or Zachy's nostrils. Can
you imagine? I bet you can, Z.

But as much as I wanted to, I wasn't planning on any finger insertion. With
an additional year or two under my expert tutelage, he'll be fingering
himself in a dark theater a la 12-year-old Davey in "Memphis Boy." Right
now, I'm content to masturbate him. And I do. Do I ever.

I remove my hand temporarily to lick my palm, wetting it thoroughly. Then I
put it immediately back on his raging 3-incher and palm his peen like I am
kneading the dough for a small breadstick. His tiny circumcised mushroom
helmet feels so filthily erotic against my life lines.

I would have been easily read by an old gypsy woman inside her booth at the
summer carnival. "You are a pedophile who likes young boys."

Yeah? No shit. Tell me something I don't know, old lady. Here's your twenty
bucks. Buy yourself something nice.

I glance up at his face, lit gently by the big screen. He is positively
radiant, smiling his wide, horny grin that I've gotten to know quite well
over the past year or so. He is enjoying my ministrations something
fierce. Thankfully he has already seen Rogue One once, or he might be
irritated by my distractions. Unlikely, but anything's possible.

I move my hand away and lift it to his face, palm side toward his
mouth. The sexy little beastling knows exactly what to do, as he's done it
countless numbers of times in the recent past. He takes his left hand to
steady my right, gripping it in the region of my lower wrist. Then he sucks
my index finger into his warm mouth. I almost gasp in lustful delight, but
I'm cautious to contain any auditory exuberance to avoid attracting any
unwanted attention.

I feel his wet tongue swirling all around my digit as he fellates it. In a
flash, he pulls his mouth away and progresses to the middle finger,
eventually moving down the line in order, sweetly and thoroughly wetting
each with his warm saliva.

When he gets to my pinky, my hard cock once again lurches skyward in my
pants. There's something insanely erotic about a 10-year-old boy sucking on
a grown man's pinky finger. It's something rather tiny. Probably on a level
he can relate to.

By now my boxer briefs are absolutely soaked with pre-cum. The final task
is my thumb, which provides a nice contrast for him. Double or triple the
circumference of my pinky, and yet he somehow sucks this one the hardest,
like he wants to swallow it or something. Holy Christ, can this boy ever
wrap his lips tightly around a cylinder and pretend he's a Dyson.

At this point, I'm on the verge of ejaculating hands-free, so I actually
extricate my own thumb from his hungry mouth. Who knows how long the filthy
little piglet would suck it? Instead, I have alternate aspirations.

Right now, this is about pleasing him. He does plenty of the reverse. I've
experienced untold numbers of orgasms due to his use. I want to bring him
to nirvana while he takes in a Star Wars movie, with his Star Wars undies
bunched at mid-thigh.

Thanks to his saliva, my fingers are now nicely and naturally lubed. I
return them to his early tween phallus. And I begin to slowly masturbate
him. I know he wants it faster; he loves it fast. But I want to tease him
for a bit. Titillate his boyish desires. Build to something really
extraordinary.

I find myself jacking his baby cocklet to the action on the screen. I'm not
even looking at him right now. If this was the sofa in my living room or
the bed in my master bedroom, I'd not only be gazing upon his boyish
beauty, I'd undoubtedly be kissing him. Shoving my tongue past his thin,
pretty lips and allowing it to dance with his. But since we're in a dark
theater, the no-look ministrations will have to suffice.

I do glance at his face from time to time. I want to see how I'm doing. I
know damn well my fingers are doing a mighty fine job, but I still want to
see his reaction. How he reacts drives the lust I have for him. I can't
help but notice his eyes are closed and his mouth is agape. He no longer
seems to give two shits about the movie. He even tilts his head back
slightly in sheer ecstasy. Christ, he is absolutely loving this.

I love when pure sexiness takes over his 10-year-old brain. As a
particularly tense and loud action sequence of the movie builds, so do I.

Sweet Lord Above, his cut cocklet feels so good in my wet fingers. It's so
delightfully tiny, but not insignificant. It's less than half the length of
my own dick, but there's no dickie besides his I'd rather be fondling right
now.

The frictional heat my digits are creating against his boyhood is almost
too much for me. I really want to lean down and take him fully inside my
mouth.

What the horny little excitable monkee does next shocks the shit out of me
and makes my raging erection actually lift up under the confined prisons of
my underwear and jeans. He lifts his flip flop-free bare feet and sticks
them through each of the two gaps on either side of the seat in front of
him.

God, what a glorious little fuck monkee. He's actually spreading out for
me. This is what he does when his body is primed for intercourse. At home,
I'd take this as a blatantly obvious clue to grab him by his impossibly
smooth ankles and lift his lanky gams into the air, placing his silky soft
heels on my shoulders to breed his needy cunt in the missionary
position. Alas.

My fingers move faster now with the action on the screen. When the blasters
are really blasting, I work them into a blurred frenzy of boy groping. I've
now got his peen between my still-wet forefinger and thumb working them up
and down like a piston.

Fortunately, the audio of the movie has reached a particularly loud
plateau, because suddenly he screeches his tacit approval as the first of
his dry shivers wracks his underage body and brain. He is overcome with
convulsions as his prepubescent orgasm delivers shock waves and jolts of
electricity all the way to his toes. And sure as shit, I see the delectable
morsels curling tightly as he experiences his throes.

God, I love when I can deliver my hot baby boy a dry orgasm. I can't wait
for another year or 18 months when I can help him shoot wet for the very
first time.

After his breathing calms from his rather spectacular climaxes, I always
seize the opportunity to shove my tongue inside his mouth. He always kisses
back extra passionately and deeply post-boygasm.

At other times, I occasionally feel like the responsibility of the face
sucking is mainly mine. And that's fine. Cute boys need to be kissed with
tongue. But after he experiences his sparkles, he kisses back in spades. In
these instances, I've felt him suck on my tongue so intently, you'd think
he wanted to swallow it.

There is always a real sense of gratitude on his part, and I'm happy to
usher out his inner animal. Sometimes the fucking monkee boy needs to be
let out of his cage.

I so want to make out with my sexy 10-year-old right now, but we're
unfortunately in a very public place and still have a quarter of the movie
to go. I have urges to leave right now and get him behind the privacy of my
vehicle's tinted windows, where I can safely suck his ever-needy peen and
eat his tacky, spicy, bald boycunt.

That would satiate my boylust for the 10-minute drive back to my house,
where my pedo cock would happily inject a copious load of adult semen
inside his impossibly tight booty by bedtime. His mommy and daddy won't be
at my place to pick him up until mid-morning tomorrow, so I'll have time to
fuck him another couple times after daybreak.

That first sleepy-eyed penetration at dawn is probably my favorite of the
weekend. He doesn't even really consciously know what's going on, but he
lays there quietly and accepts his fate as a Loved boy.

Before the closing credits, I bring him to a second set of dry shivers.

Aren't the prepubescents amazing? Their stamina is nothing short of
phenomenal. I swear a well-trained minx could easily have upwards of a
dozen sexual climaxes a day. Their tiny, hairless balls don't have to worry
about recharging to manufacture more sperm. Only the primal, exquisite
beauty of the good feels, over and over and over again. The Best feels.

He knows to tug up his undies and shorts before the end. Even though
there's a lot of action in the closing five minutes of the film, I see him
zipping up and re-fastening the button of his shorts as he watches the
conclusion.

I see a tear develop in his left eye. Not for what we've done. He loves
that stuff. Lives for it. He's told me as much. But for the characters in
the movie.

He's almost 11, so he knows damn well what's happening. He can figure out
that this isn't a happy ending like the Disney-Pixar animated features. I
make a mental note to remember to lick his face there when we're both naked
in my bed later.

During our foreplay, which is always phenomenal. I just love the saltiness
of his tears. Always reminds me of the time I kissed his tears away as I
took his cherry at 9. But that's another story for another day.

As we walk out of the Cineplex, he's really excited. He can't wait to tell
all his 5th grade buddies on Monday that he saw Rogue One again. He's
virtually skipping by the time we reach the parking lot. I hold his hand as
we walk. An innocent gesture, as onlookers assume we're father and son.

He's pure, unbridled energy, two dry orgasms into the evening. Such a sexy
fuck monkee overflowing with sexual energy. He pleases me so. Once we get
inside the car, those previously mentioned tinted windows allow me the
opportunity to lean over and make out with him passionately.

My little 10-year-old boygod. My Linc. I tell him I love him. He tells me
the same.

I can't wait to feel his bare feet against my pecs in about 30 minutes, as
my pedo cock slides past both of his ridiculously tight but compliant
sphincters, eventually breeding him with yet another injection of my
life-giving seed.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Author's Note:

Want to slide past the Linc's ridiculously tight but compliant sphincters?
Mount up here:

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/quivers-in-the-quartet

The journey of the boygod continues.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #