A story by Bard Boy [bard_boy(at)protonmail(dot)com]

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction about an inappropriate relationship between a man and a preteen boy. One of the boundaries crossed in this relationship is engagement in sexual activity between the man and the boy. If you do not want to read such a story, or it is illegal for you to do so because of your age or where you live, you should stop reading now and go do something else instead. The fictional depiction of an inappropriate relationship between a man and a boy is by no means encouragement to any man who would seek to forge such a relationship for real. This story is not set in the present day, so rest assured every aspect is fictional.

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The dry disclaiming out of the way, I hope you enjoy reading the story (in which ever way suits you best). Feel free to contact me on the email above.

Six: Alphabet

James began to stir again around sunrise. I was at the back doors of the back room, watching a murder of crows squabble with a hedgehog in the twilight.

I hadn't slept well. I lay in my clothes on the sofa near James. It was an L-shaped corner unit, so I could have my head next to his but stretch out fully at a right angle to him. I'd felt a bit drunk from the whiskey, and I was angry with myself. I was angry that James was unwell. I was angry that I made it happen by removing him from his familiar, sheltered environment. I was angry that I'd only had a small amount of whiskey and already felt drunk.

I imagined myself in my twenties – the man who went to football matches and spent all day drinking with his buddies – and I imagined how ridiculous he'd find it. I wondered whether, in some parallel reality, he was still doing that now. Still filling the cavity with merrymaking and booze, and still putting up with people twice his age singing `Mouldy Old Dough' in run-down pubs just because it was somewhere to be. And somewhere in that reality, a parallel James would be comfortably growing up in a big, suburban house with his mom and dad, and probably some younger brothers or sisters. He'd go to school, and sleep over with friends on weekends, and Jake would just be some old family friend who turned up at parties and was a bit too good at talking to boys his age.

I fell asleep thinking about how alien either version of me, the real or the hypothetical, would be to parallel James.

When I next opened my eyes, perpendicular James was still asleep. Hanging around looking at him wouldn't change anything, so I went and watched how sunrise changed the cast of characters in the garden. The hedgehog would be hibernating soon.

"My head hurts and I'm thirsty."

Good morning to you too, James.


I doped James back up on ibuprofen and made sure he had plenty of water. I let him sip from my coffee to see whether he'd like some to help him feel more awake. Then I called in the cavalry.

"Try some of this."

I'd taken some of the stash of chocolate. I figured the sugar would help him feel more alive for a little while, and the treat would help him feel less miserable about being ill. He was leaning his bare back against me to prop himself up in his makeshift sick bed. He was still boiling hot, and his breath stank.

The chocolate had developed a white film from age, but was still perfectly edible. James delighted in it. He was licking the packaging and his fingers long after he'd finished the bar.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Terrible," he said. His head sounded like a snot factory whenever he breathed. As if for emphasis, he gave another hard, chesty cough.

"You'll feel a bit better when the medicine kicks in properly," I said. Not to mention the sugar.

"I hope so," he said, and flopped himself down so as he was lying flat with his head in my lap instead.

I stroked his face.

"What can I do to help you feel better today?"

"Can we watch the next part of The Lord of the Rings?"

"Of course we can."


I felt better by the afternoon, even if James didn't.

I realised I'd probably overreacted. He didn't seem to be getting any worse. It was just a touch of flu that he'd get over in a few days with enough rest and care. He was still well enough to play his face when I said we couldn't watch The Return of the King until tomorrow, because I wasn't sure how much power the TV used. Eventually he stopped pouting and let me read to him until he drifted into an afternoon nap.

It was boring without him. I didn't know what to do with myself.

It had been drizzling all day, but not anything like enough to test if our rain catcher worked. No matter, I had plenty of time to kill anyway. I could run myself a bath from the limp trickle of the tap and some pans of boiling water and probably still have too much time on my hands until James was awake again. And he could stew in his own sweat until he was good and healed.


"What are you reading?"

Awake again, then.

"The Children Act. I first read it about twenty years ago. It made me sad then and it makes me sad now."

"Why would you read something that makes you feel sad?"

"Because the point of stories is to make us feel things. To help us understand our emotions better."

"That's true, actually. I didn't think about it like that."

"Right, sniffler, what do you want for dinner tonight?"

"I dunno. My tummy feels a bit upset."

"How about I make us some pasta and vegetables in sauce?"

"Okay then."

"Can you promise not to throw it all up or use it to paint my toilet bowl?"


"Well, I can't promise not to smash your face in then."

The rain had started coming down harder and the wind had picked up. Yet, somehow, I was happy to be volunteering to pick vegetables. Love is a queer feeling.


The third day of James' illness came, and we finished the extended versions of The Lord of the Rings. Outside, the weather alternated between violent hail and driving rain. The wind stripped the trees bare. I started a small fire in the fireplace. I sat and read to James by the light of his cactus lamp as he lay in my lap. Gradually the rain and hail turned to sleet, which turned to snow.

I couldn't estimate what time it was. The sun had probably set, but the gloom outside had defied the daylight while it lasted anyway. Perhaps, I speculated, Sauron had returned after all.

"It's just a story," said James. "There aren't really orcs or elves or dwarves or anything like that."

"Dwarfs are real," I said. "Just not like in fairy tales."

"Dwarves aren't real," he said. "You're just pulling my leg."

"Right now, I'm worried what might happen if I pulled on your leg."

James threw a punch at my arm, but he didn't have a great deal of strength in his current condition.

"Go on, tell me a story about a real dwarf, then."


Once upon a time, there was a man called Thomas, who made a magical organ as a gift to a great king...

"Stop it," James whined. "This is a fairy story. I wanted you to tell me about a real dwarf!"

"Give it a chance. I promise it's real."

He folded his arms but let me continue.

There was a man called Thomas and he built an intricate organ for a great emperor. It was a gift from his kingdom so that their subjects could carry on trading their goods within the emperor's huge empire. It took Thomas many months to arrive by boat at the emperor's great capital city with his organ. When he arrived, he was taken to stay with his kingdom's ambassador. There was no space for him to set up the organ in the embassy house, so he set it up in a barn instead. But, because he'd been travelling for so long, when he opened the box containing the organ, he found that it was quite badly damaged and worn.

`That organ isn't worth tuppence,' said the ambassador's business partner, Mr Aldridge.

`Screw you, Aldridge!' said Thomas. `This is one of the best organs ever built.'

`Right then, you're on son. I'll give you twenty quid from my own purse if–

"When are we getting to the dwarves? What's an organ?"

"You know what else features in this story?" I said, looking down at James' face, his head rested in my lap. "Eunuchs. You know what they are?"

James shook his head.

"Little boys who've had their willies and balls chopped off. Do you want me to do that to you?"

"I want you to tell a different story about a real dwarf."

I sighed heavily.


My mate used to play in a heavy metal band. They were known as the worst metal band this side of the Avon. My mate was on keyboard. They had two brothers, with long, curly red hair, on guitar and bass. Then there was Barry Anal on the drums. He looked like he was made of cheese. Now, Barry Anal used to work in a shop that sold used lawnmowers. One day a bloke came into the shop, and he said: `Barry. Bazza. Me old mucker. I've got a deal and a half for you. I'll give you these magic beans if you fix the little plastic doodad on the bottom of my strimmer that does all the cutting'. `That's a can of baked beans that you just robbed from Tesco's,' says Anal, `but I'll do it for a ten bag of weed instead'. `Sold!' said the bloke, who, incidentally, was called Terry Satterthwaite. Terry Satterthwaite had a side line in dealing low-quality weed to Philosophy students at the university. He'd sell it to them, and they'd have a few drinks and a puff, and talk about Kant or Foucault and wouldn't even realise that they weren't getting that high. Then one day he broke his leg in a freak tanning accident at a local salon. He was on the sunbed when the number thirty-seven bus had a blowout and jackknifed through the front window of the building. He never made another appearance in the Football League after that. Or beforehand for that matter. Now, Baz Anal, he was working in the lawnmower shop, fixing strimmers for larger-than-life characters like Terry Satterthwaite. What he didn't realise was the lawnmower was originally invented by Ian Flymo, who was looking for a method of murdering his wife and getting away with it. Well, she had acute hay fever, didn't she? All those grass clippings. The man was a genius. His wife was the twin sister of a beat poet called Lois Clovis. A lesser known fact about Lois Clovis is that she in fact had three nipples. And I know this is absolutely true because my mom was commissioned to write an encyclopaedia article on Lois Clovis. She always wrote in iambic trimeter. That's not to be confused with trimester. Trimester is just a formal third of a period of time that's split into formal thirds. Formal Thirds was actually the name of a rival band to the one my mate played the keyboard in, with Baz Anal on drums. They once supported Gaslight Orchestra, a tribute to Electric Light Orchestra, but with all the on-stage electronics instead powered by gas. One hundred and twenty-six people died in the inferno that night, caused when the final chord of Mr Blue Sky turned out to have exactly the same resonance pattern as the piping for the gas. It was a sad day for badly thought-through themed musical tribute acts the world over. I wore a black armband for two weeks, though that was partly due to an unrelated sequence of events involving a massage parlour on the island of Chios in the Aegean Sea. Anyway, what was I saying about Anal? Oh yes...

James was in fits of giggles, which caused a fit of sneezing, which caused more giggles. He got snot all over my jeans.

"That was the stupidest story ever," he said, bursting into a fit of giggles again.

"I'm glad you liked it more than the organ story," I said. James hiccoughed.

"You didn't even say what it had to do with dwarves!" he burst into another fit of giggles and hiccups and sneezed into my crotch again.

"Thanks," I said. He rubbed at the trail of snot with his hand.

"Where was the dwarf involved?"

"Oh, I forgot," I said. "The reason the band were so rubbish is because they had a really good singer, who happened to have dwarfism, but they sacked him for some reason. I don't remember why."

James looked at me, smirked, and burst into giggles yet again.

"That's terrible," he said. "The worst story ever. You could have told it in, like, a second if you'd just said that."

"That wouldn't have been as fun, would it?"

James hiccoughed again.

"What's dwarfism?"

"People with dwarfism don't usually grow to average adult height. It's a genetic thing. I don't know a lot about it really."

"Oh, so it's not like in stories then."

"I told you."

James recovered his composure. I was happy he was having fun. Happy he had the energy for it.



"Um..." James paused and looked away, then smiled at me nervously. "Would you tell me a story that's... you know... a bit... sexy?"

"Of course."


"But only if you tell me one first."


There was a boy. He was eleven years old and he started at a new school where the children lived as well as got taught.

"What was the boy's name?"

The boy was called... Sam.

"What did he look like?"

He had brown hair and blue eyes.

"I thought he might."

He started a new school where all the boys and girls stayed over. His teacher was called Mr Butcher and had blond hair, a beard, and a hairy body. Ja– uh, Sam liked his teacher a lot. He was kind to him and taught him lots of new things. Sam missed being at home with his mom, but Mr Butcher made him feel safe.

Sam became Mr Butcher's favourite pupil. He always told him how good he was in class and would ruffle his hair when he walked by. Sam didn't like having his hair messed up, but he liked that Mr Butcher wanted to touch him.

Sam made lots of friends in school and all the children liked him, and he liked them. One day in class Sam was talking to one of his friends when he was supposed to be listening to Mr Butcher. Mr Butcher was cross and told Sam to see him after the lesson. Sam was worried about it because he thought he'd disappointed Mr Butcher and it made him sad to think that Mr Butcher wouldn't like him as much. He wanted to impress Mr Butcher a lot because he liked Mr Butcher and liked that Mr Butcher liked him.

After the other children had gone, Sam stood in front of Ja– I mean, Mr Butcher's desk and waited to be spoken to.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Sam," said Mr Butcher. "You know the school rules. I thought you were a good boy?"

"I'm sorry Mr Butcher," said Sam. He was talking quietly and looking down because he was upset.

"Now I have to punish you, but because you're normally a good boy and let yourself down, I'm going to make sure you really learn a lesson," the teacher said. He went and sat in his chair. "Come here Sam and bend over my lap," he said.

When Sam bent over Mr Butcher's lap, the teacher held him down with one hand and pulled his shorts and pants down with the other. Sam was embarrassed because Mr Butcher hadn't seen him naked before. He was worried the teacher would see his naked willy and think it looked like a baby's willy, and that he'd think Sam was a baby because of that.

"I'm going to smack your bottom now," Mr Butcher said. "I'm giving you as many smacks as your age, and you have to count them for me. Do you understand, Sam?"

Sam nodded his head and started to cry. Mr Butcher began slapping his bare bum and making him count every one. It hurt a lot and Sam was crying, but somehow he'd got a stiffy too and it was poking Mr Butcher in the leg every time he slapped Sam.

"Stand up now, Sam," the teacher said.

Sam stood up and was very embarrassed by his stiffy. He tried to cover it with his hands, but Mr Butcher told him to put his hands on his head.

"Have you learned your lesson?" the teacher asked.

"Yes sir," said Sam. His face had gone as red as an apple and he was looking at the wall, because he was too embarrassed to look at his teacher while he was half-naked, and he didn't want to look down and see his stiffy on show.

"Are you going to ignore my instructions in class again?"

"No, sir."

"I think you are a good boy, Sam. Let me help you with your sore bum."

Mr Butcher moved Sam by the shoulders, so he was stood in front of the desk, then he made him bend all the way over it. Then, what a surprise! Sam felt his teacher get down behind him and start kissing his sore bum cheeks!

"What are you doing?" he asked the teacher.

"You have been good much more often than you have been bad, so I want to reward you for good behaviour now you have been punished," the teacher said.

He kept kissing Sam's poor bum cheeks and, all of a sudden, Sam felt a hand go between his legs and start rubbing his willy and balls! Sam felt so good he made a moaning sound and opened his legs wide for more. He couldn't believe his favourite teacher wanted to kiss and touch him like that in his most private places. It felt really good.

Sam was starting to get really excited and Mr Butcher felt it. He told Sam, "Pull your bum cheeks open for me," and he started licking Sam's bum hole. Sam couldn't believe it. It felt so weird at first but then nice, really nice and tickly and wet. Mr Butcher used his hand to squeeze Sam's balls and was stroking his willy with his spare thumb and finger. Sam couldn't take any more and he had a great big boygasm lying on his teacher's desk. It was his first ever and he was really shocked and pleased.

"Come here and give me a kiss," Mr Butcher said and pulled Sam up for a big wet tongue kiss. Sam thought it would be nasty to kiss a mouth and tongue that had been on his bum hole, but actually it tasted quite nice. "You are a very special boy and my favourite," the teacher said. "If you keep behaving well, I will give you all the rewards you deserve. If you disappoint me then next time, I will spank you with a ruler instead."

"Don't worry sir, I only want to be a good boy for you," said Sam.

The end.

I gave James a round of applause. "Well done!" I said. "That was very, very good!"

"It gave you a stiffy, Jake," he giggled, poking the front of my jeans next to his face.

"Hmm," I said, reaching under the quilt and feeling down his body until I reached the waistband of his undies. I pushed my hand in and felt him up. He was also rock hard.

I nodded in approval and ran his little cockhead between my thumb and forefinger.

"Always the sign of a good story if it makes the author hard too."

"Your turn now, Jake."


A little American boy called Zach lived with his mom and his uncle. Together, the two adults would come and check on him every night, and comment on how cute and innocent he looked. But Zachy wasn't sleeping. He had to try hard not to laugh every time he heard his uncle talk to his mom about how sweet he was. Because every night, before bedtime when his mom came to check on him sleeping, Zach would have sex with his dirty old uncle.

I kept my hand in James' pants as I began to tell the story, gently rubbing and fondling his warm and clammy boy bits.

It started when Zachy was nine. His uncle would come to his bedroom and get into bed with him. He'd give Zachy big wet kisses and pull Zachy's underwear off. Then he'd take a long finger and push it up Zach's skinny bum.

"Like what you did to me the other day?"


Zachy, being only a little boy who hadn't ever done anything sexual before, didn't really understand what his uncle was doing at first. He liked the kissing, but he didn't enjoy having his bum fingered. It stopped hurting, but Zachy was worried that his bum wasn't clean and would make his uncle's fingers dirty and smelly. He didn't realise that was precisely what his uncle wanted.

"You wanted me to taste your dirty finger."

"Are you going to let me tell the story?" I asked. I made a move with my hand as if to remove it from his pants.

"I'm sorry. Please don't stop."

So Zachy's uncle carried on coming to Zachy's room at night and kissing him and making him take a finger up the bum. Eventually Zachy started to like it a lot and he and his uncle gained confidence to try other things. By the time Zach was ten, he'd started sucking on his uncle's big, hairy uncle willy on an almost nightly basis.

Zach's uncle shot a lot of spunk and was a heavy smoker, so poor Zachy had to get used to eating big loads of smoky cum. The first few times he nearly puked and spat it all out on the bedsheets.

"Baby!" said James. "I was younger than ten the first time I did it, and I ate it all."

Zachy's uncle managed to force him to swallow on the next dozen attempts. Then, eventually, Zach got used to eating his uncle's thick and smoky spunk and began to enjoy the taste.

When Zachy was eleven, his uncle decided the time was right to move things up another notch. He wanted more than a finger or two up his nephew's bum and his big uncle willy in Zachy's mouth. He decided Zachy was big and experienced enough to take a big willy up his bum instead.

"Up his bum?" James' eyes were wide. "How?"

He undid my flies and yanked my erect cock out quite roughly. I continued to stroke and fondle his sweaty genitals.

"How," he asked, "can something this size fit up a boy's bum?" He jacked my cock absentmindedly and gazed at me, awaiting an answer.

The first four times, Zach couldn't handle it. He'd squeal and writhe and beg for his uncle to take it back out again. But eventually, after plenty of practice stretching Zachy's hole with fingers, getting it slick with saliva and lotion to help uncle's big willy slip in, and Zachy learning how to push out like doing a poo to relax the muscles of his hole, his uncle got it all the way in, and Zach got used to getting fucked.

James screwed up his face.

"That sounds horrible," he said, though his dick was twitching a lot in my hand. "Is that what, you know..." – he whispered the swear word – "`fucking' means?"

I nodded my head.

Zachy got very used to receiving his uncle's cock up his eleven-year-old arse. By the time he was twelve, he was having lots of fun having heavy sex with his uncle every evening. He used to enjoy teasing his uncle when he got home from school, wearing only his shirt, socks, and shoes – nothing at all on his legs. When his uncle saw him, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from getting down on the floor and burying his face in Zachy's naked bum crack, eating him until he exhausted himself.

Other times, Zach's uncle would have him bend over with his hands on the wall, pounding his bum hard with his big willy while Zachy couldn't get away. Then Zachy would have to get down on his knees and suck his uncle's dirty dick clean, licking off all the juices from the mix of his uncle's spunk and Zach's bum. Zach loved the taste so much that it would make him shoot his own little bit of boy sperm, which he was only just big enough to make, and his uncle would happily eat Zach's couple of watery drops.

Zach's uncle started nibbling young Zachy's balls as he fingered his bum hole. He'd bite just hard enough that Zachy felt the pleasure of the attention on his balls and a little bit of pain from the nibbling at the same time. Sometimes, while he was getting fingered, his uncle would jab his finger up Zachy's bum so hard that it made him accidentally dribble wee on his own bare belly and chest...

James whimpered and arched his back. I felt his balls draw tight and his cock spasm between my fingers. He was still wanking me off too. Once I was sure he'd finished with his orgasm, I pulled my hand from his crotch and brought it to my face. It smelt like fresh bread and sweat. James picked up the pace on my cock and I soon spurted a load with his scent filling my nostrils. Some went on his face and hand, which he scooped up and ate. The majority went on my jeans.

"Sorry I made a mess," he said.

"Not to worry. I was already covered in your snot anyway; may as well add some of my own," I said. "Was it the story that caused you to come or my hand?"



The fire was low, and I didn't have much to keep it going with. It turned out Jeremy Clarkson's books made even worse kindling than they did journalism. Outside, big snowflakes were falling slowly, nonchalantly to the ground, like a sort of snow drizzle.

I was in my dressing gown. James was in his ersatz bed with the top of his head rested against my thigh. I had my hand under the covers, sat gently on his bare chest, feeling him breathe.

"I don't think that, by the way," I said.

"Think what?"

"That you're a baby. And I'm sorry if I treat you that way sometimes."

"That's okay," said James. "I'm sorry if I act like a baby sometimes."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," I said. "Just leave that to me."


James seemed to have recovered most of his mojo by the end of the next day. He was still sneezy and sniffly, but the worst of his aches and pains had passed. We went back to normal bed that night.

James entered the bedroom after having brushed his teeth. He was in just his undies. I stood waiting for him fully dressed, with my arms folded, looking stern.

"So nice of you to finally join me, Samuel," I said, putting on a schoolmasterly voice.

"Why are you calling me Samuel?" asked James.

"When I give you a time to meet me for detention, I expect you to keep to it. Do you understand?"

"Oh..." The penny dropped for James, and he grinned ear to ear.

"I don't think there is anything funny about this, Sam," I continued. "I was very, very disappointed with your behaviour during our English lesson yesterday."

"Are you going to punish me, sir?" asked James, getting into character.

"Yes, Sam. You know the rules."

"I'm sorry Mr Butcher. Please don't spank me. I'll do anything, I promise."

"Get those underpants off, now!"

James actually jumped a little at the sharp tone. He was so desperate to yank his pants off that he nearly tripped and had to brace himself against the wall.

"Put them on your head," I said. "Quickly!"

James did as he was told. He blushed, but he was at full mast down below.

"For the first part of your punishment you will wear these."

I handed him a pair of the white knickers.

James gulped. "Please sir, these are girl's pants."

"Yes, Sam," I said. "But the first part of your punishment will involve some learning. Whilst you are learning you must wear school uniform. These knickers are part of the school uniform, even if they are usually worn by the girls."

"Yes sir."

James pulled the knickers up his legs. His balls and his hard dick were outlined obscenely by the white fabric. It looked quite uncomfortable.

"Now, since you misbehaved and underperformed during our English class, you and I are going to revise some of the basics. Put your hands on your head please."

James placed his hands on his head, flattening his boxers against his mousey brown hair.

"Now you will recite the alphabet to me until I am convinced you are not behind the other children. Whenever you are ready, please."

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G..." James began.

"Ah, I see you've decided to sing the alphabet to me, Samuel. Very good. As long as you're singing, I want you to shake your hips back and forth in time to the song."

James began again, this time thrusting his knicker-clad boner back and forth to the beat.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G..."

I had him do it again and again until he could barely contain the giggles.

"So, Sam, I take it you know the alphabet well."

"Yes, Mr Butcher."

"You have no problem recognising letters, using them to read and spell words?"

"No, Mr Butcher."

"In that case, I am even more perplexed as to why you did not finish the story that we were supposed to be writing in class yesterday."

"I don't know sir."

"Could it be something to do with the boygasm you had in class while you were supposed to be focusing on the story? Is that what it was?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you going to apologise for your misbehaviour?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Sorry for what, exactly?"

"I'm sorry I had a boygasm in the middle of class and didn't get to finish the story."

"Good boy. Now it's time for your spanking."

From the look on his face, James was no longer in character.

"You're going to spank me, really?"

"You know the school rules, Sam. Now come and bend over my knee."

I sat down on the bed. James stared for a while in disbelief, then slowly came and stood in between my legs. I pushed him down over my left knee.

"I don't want a spanking," he mumbled.

"Naughty boys will get what they deserve," I replied, and dragged the knickers down around his calves. "Ready to count?"

James clenched his entire body. I brought my hand down and gave him a light tap on his tightened-up cheeks.

"Ha! Umm, oh – I mean, one!" James responded, realising it was still make-believe.

"Here's a hard one coming now," I said, and gave him another light tap on the cheeks. James was back in character again, and he howled at the top of his voice.

"I don't hear counting," I said.

"Two!" James whined, and gave a little fake sob. He was humping my leg.

We kept it going all the way up to eleven.

"I hope that taught you a valuable lesson," I said. "Now get both of those pairs of pants off and get on the bed."

He kicked off the knickers and threw the boxers from his head. He dived head first at the bed and landed on his chest with a little bounce. I grabbed him by the ankles and flipped him over.

"I'm getting everything you let teddy do now," I growled.

James laughed and squealed and kicked his legs, pretending to try to squirm away. I pulled his ankles apart and pushed his legs backwards, fully exposing his anus and genitals. He had multicoloured fluff from his boxers in the pink folds of his crevice.

"Let's see if your bum is cleaner than Zachy's"

"Okay," said James, then added, with a conspiratorial grin: "Uncle Jake!"

I brought both his ankles together in my left hand. I ran the index finger of my right hand along his crack, using the fingernail to scratch at his hole and collect the fluff.

"This. Is. Not. A. Good. Start." I said, with put-on severity, running my now sticky and fluffy index finger hard across James' lips on every word.

James spat and stuck out his tongue.

"Yuck! Bum fluff!"

I pulled his ankles back apart and dove face-first into his crack. James squealed. It was sweaty and slimy down there and he tasted malty and meaty and tart, like washing down a greasy fried onion cheeseburger with a pint of bitter. His sweat was sweet like the aftertaste of the beer.

I chomped at his back passage for some time before slurping my way up the seam to his thin, wrinkly, milky-white scrotum. I started gently nibbling on his wrinkly skin. I could smell the need wafting from his desperate boy-spike as it jerked metronomically into the bridge of my nose and my eyebrows. I placed my index finger at his hole again.

"Gonna ram this up you, James," I grunted into his ball sac. "Gonna make you wee for me. Gonna see you wee."

James squealed and wriggled away from the pressure of my finger on his anus, causing his scrotal skin to catch between my teeth.

"Argh! No, Jake! That's private! Put your finger in gently like before and suck me hard."

Who was I to argue? That's exactly what I'd wanted to hear. I slid my finger in, and James made a deep, gurgling moan. I moved my mouth up to hoover in his dick and began a slow, gentle fingerfucking with the upper half of my index finger. James cooed and pumped his pelvis between my finger and my mouth. He closed his eyes and pulled back on his thighs behind his knees, offering himself fully to me.

I could feel him getting close, so I released his package from my mouth. His cock and balls plopped back onto the skin of his crotch in a pool of my saliva. I pushed my index finger all the way up his arse as I kissed my way to his mouth.

"Ready to rub willies?"

He kissed me hard and moaned into my mouth.

I removed my finger from him quickly, causing his hips to buck and his arsehole to wink a few times before closing back up. I stripped off my jeans and boxers and got into a kneeling position behind his buttocks. I pulled his ankles to my shoulders, which ground his spit-wet crotch upwards against the underside of my rampantly hard dick.

"Thighs tight," I said.

James gripped my cock tightly with his thighs, pressing it laterally and squeezing it against his own trapped genitals. I sawed back and forth urgently, and the prone boy humped his crotch upwards in rhythm. We kept eye contact but said nothing, just grunted and sighed to each other. It was perhaps ninety seconds before the pressure on James' cock from mine pushed him over the edge. As soon as I felt him going beneath me, I followed, squirting all over him. He had trails of spunk on his chest and chin, a pool forming in his bellybutton, and a coat all over his well-worked willy and balls.

I pulled off and lay head beside his hips, panting.

"Better than teddy?"

"Mmm... I'll think about it while you clean me up."

I smiled and gave his limp dick a big, broad-tongued swipe.


Many thanks to all readers. I hope you're enjoying the story. You can continue sharing your thoughts on the story on the email address listed at the top of the page. What do we think, would James make a good nifty writer? Maybe there's a spin off on the cards.

The final story-within-a-story that Jake tells is a summary of the opening part of Zachyboy's final instalment in his 'ABC Boys' project, Zachy in the ZZZ zone. I tried writing to Zachyboy, of whom I'm a huge fan, to get his blessing for my homage to his work, but unfortunately messages to both of the email addresses he used on this site bounced back. Hopefully if he reads this he'll approve, and you'll read him and realise the debt I owe to him for the way I approach writing the sex scenes. Smells and tastes are important, guys.