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.
This story is the property of the author. Do not repost it elsewhere without their prior consent.
Nifty relies on donations. If you can contribute, do so here.
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.
There weren't any nightmares, but he did clamber clumsily over me to go to the toilet at least once during the night. I felt as he began to stir by my side after dawn and pulled him close with an arm around his torso.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked.
He turned his head to look at me and nodded.
"I like this bed," he said. "It's warm."
"Do you want to talk about last night?"
He turned back away and shook his head on his pillow.
"I was scared," he said.
I held the flat of my hand against his chest.
"I was scared too," I said. "I hope I didn't scare you."
He made a little noise but didn't say anything. I gently ran my hand along his side. Hand on his mid-thigh, I hooked his left leg up over mine, spreading out his legs. Then I gently ran my hand back up his thigh again.
I began to fondle his genitals. He was already stiff as a board, almost three inches. I used the thumb and forefinger of my left hand to carefully ease his foreskin back and forth.
"Is that nice?" I asked.
He made an affirmative noise and pressed his body against mine more deliberately.
"Would a scary person do this?"
He turned his head and smiled. "Probably not."
"Come on," I said, letting his penis go, "Up you get."
I shuffled backwards so my head and shoulders were propped up by the headboard. James rolled over to face me.
We exchanged conspiratorial grins.
He placed his hands on my shoulders to pull himself up to a kneeling position and swung a leg over me to straddle my body. He shuffled forwards on his knees, smiling to himself as he looked down at me, treating the end of his dick like a crosshair. His thighs met my armpits and he placed his hands on my head to steady himself. He pushed his crotch to my face.
I kissed and sucked at his bare pubis before taking his eager spike into my mouth. He pushed in to the hilt and moaned. I placed a hand on each of his hips to steady him and let him begin to pump as I sucked. He was still filthy from the journey and tasted mostly of stale piss and sweat. It certainly wasn't the most pleasant blowjob I'd ever given. But, I reasoned, if our long trek had got him dirty, it had also exhausted him mentally and physically, so I felt I owed him the kindness. That said, I kept a firm grip on his sides to keep him pointed forwards. Normally I'd let him turn and offer his anus, but I definitely didn't fancy that today while he was so overripe. Instead, I took his delicate sack in my mouth as well, my tongue swirling around his loose balls, before concentrating on sucking the modest length of his shaft.
He didn't last long. He whimpered and whined and pressed his pelvis onto me with all his strength as his cock jerked wildly, then pulled himself back out and plopped his body down onto mine, breathing quickly.
"Thank you," he whispered, nuzzling his face against mine.
I didn't want us getting dressed properly before we'd had a thorough wash, so I donned a bath robe. A quick search through the wardrobe produced nothing of James' size, so he picked out an old university-branded hoodie that reached down almost to his knobbly knees. He pulled the hood up over his head and let the sleeves run long over his hands.
I realised on reaching the bottom of the stairs that I'd left the gun on the floor by the front door. It was stupid of me really; I should've put it somewhere in the bedroom while we were sleeping, but I couldn't bear to touch it.
"Would you pick that up for me, James?"
I didn't think he would.
"It looks like that man took stuff from the cupboards," he said as he followed me into the kitchen.
"It's alright," I replied. "I didn't leave any of the good stuff in here. Come and look at this."
I led him down to the fridge-freezer, standing in a small glass-roofed extension to the original kitchen. I opened an unlocked cupboard to the side, revealing a small combination safe. I entered the passcode and found several sets of small keys hanging inside.
"These should open up the fridge," I said, holding a ring with two keys by my thumb and forefinger in front of James' face.
I made hard work of getting the padlock open. The key fit but was refusing to turn enough to release the lock.
"I think you're doing it a bit wrong," said James. "Try turning it the other way or using the other key."
"Do you want to give it a go?"
He stepped in front of me and tried turning the key. It wouldn't turn in the opposite direction, so he took it out and tried the other, seemingly identical key. The lock opened.
"Clever lad. Now you can open the door and see what I've been hiding."
Whether it was the unconscious assumption that there'd be nothing worth finding in a dead fridge, or whether it was just that the doors were much harder to force open against the padlock, our unexpected visitor seemingly hadn't even attempted to get inside. James and I opened a door each and found the fridge and freezer full of the same hoard I'd left behind nearly four years ago. Every shelf packed with canned food I'd raided from distribution centres, as well as a few treats. Bottles of generic beer from the storeroom a German discount supermarket. A bottle of Welsh single malt whisky, the last birthday present that I'd bought for my father. A bottle of Peaky Blinder spiced rum, the last gift he'd given me. A few multipack bags of crisps. Some big blocks of Cadbury and Galaxy chocolate.
Of course, James' eyes were immediately drawn to the chocolate.
"Something for a special occasion," I said, gently pulling away his hand as he reached out. "But we have lots of food for the winter here."
"You're good at hiding things."
I took the compliment as intended.
"Let's see what we've got in our cupboards."
The intruder evidently was telling the truth about only having stayed a matter of days. He hadn't conducted much of a search. He'd forced open a couple of cupboards and taken some dried fruits and pasta, from what I could work out. Most of what I'd collected and stored was still there.
"How about something new for breakfast?" I asked, holding up a packet of instant noodles.
I opened the packet and pulled out the slab of dry noodles.
"It doesn't look like food," said James, not quite turning his nose up, but looking confused.
The most important cupboard had also been ignored. It had two locks, on the side and the bottom, and I had to return to my key collection a couple of times before finding the right set. I swung the door open.
Inside, I turned on a big gas cannister, then pushed it to one side to reach the back of the cupboard. There I flicked on every switch in the fuse box.
James was watching quietly.
"Try the light switch," I told him.
He pressed the button on the wall.
With a buzz and a flicker, the row of LED spotlights serving the narrow kitchen began to illuminate the room.
"Woah! The lights came on!" James stared up at the ceiling and then at me, grinning widely.
"I know. Magic isn't it? We have to be careful though. We don't have much power and we don't want to be shining lights all the time and drawing attention to the house."
My dad had installed solar panels and solar pipe heating at some point during a brief period of government subsidy, while one of his many trade colleagues was fitting them on the cheap. I wasn't sure if they'd ever paid themselves off, and outside of summertime they definitely wouldn't generate enough power alone to support any sustained heavy usage.
"Now that we can see a bit better, let's get started on breakfast."
I got out four saucepans and began filling them with water. The pace was slow. It was a miracle we had the scant water pressure we did. My wild guess was that the combination of the city's Victorian water system, and the fact that the supply came downhill all the way from the Welsh mountains, was still just about keeping enough of the system marginally functional.
When the first pan had enough water, I fired up a gas ring and started boiling. I asked James to open the little foil sachet from the noodle pack and add the flavouring to the water. His fingers ended up a bit powdery. He licked them and immediately stuck out his tongue.
"What are you doing?"
"Eating the food!" He heaved and stuck out his tongue again. "I need a drink, Jake. It's all salty and strong!"
I let him take a few gulps of water from the pan I was filling up.
"You're not meant to eat the flavouring on its own," I said, looking at him as if he was daft.
"You told me it was food!"
"It is food," I said. "You'll see."
I broke the noodles up a little and plopped them into the boiling, flavoured water.
When my next pan was full, I opened another ring and started boiling more water. I opened a lower cupboard and pulled out a mug, then tried an upper cupboard. I pulled out a crusty jar of instant coffee and looked for a spoon. I broke the contents of the jar up enough that they began to resemble granules again and poured some into the mug. I added some of the warm water from the bubbling pan.
"What're you making?" James asked, practically sticking his nose into the drink.
"It'll blow your head off," I said, "Which is no good because I can barely handle you with your head on."
Another saucepan was full. I fired up the third ring and set it bubbling.
The noodles were ready and had filled the kitchen with fake chicken smell. I decided it was easier to just eat them from the pan and found us two forks.
"What do you think?" I asked as James had his first big mouthful.
He met my eye, smiled and nodded his head.
"Welcome to junk food," I said, and began boiling the fourth pan.
When I'd had enough of the noodles, I left James to them and headed up to the bathroom. I opened the warm tap and it spat out a series of cold bursts while the pipes clicked and whined in protest, until eventually a steady but weak stream of lukewarm water began slowly to fill the bath. I gave it a minute or so and then checked the stream for temperature again. Still lukewarm, but not getting cooler. The solar-heated pipes were doing something, at least.
I went down to collect my first boiling pan of water and grabbed my coffee mug. James was finishing the last of the noodles.
"Are we having a wash?" He asked.
"Yes," I said. "I'm filling the bath up."
"Filling the bath up?" He responded incredulously, furrowing his brow. "The water will be cold!"
I ignored him and took the boiled water upstairs. It didn't add significantly to the volume or temperature of the water, but the tap was still providing a constant stream of lukewarm water. I gave it a little longer and went down for the second pan.
James was looking through the collection of little keys.
"Don't lose any of them, they're important."
He closed the door of the little safe and trotted over to where I'd left the coffee jar. He stuck his nose in it, pulled his head up quickly and stuck out his tongue.
"If you're bored, you can come and give me a hand with the bath."
I went up and added the next lot of boiling water. The bath seemed a little fuller and a little warmer. I reckoned the water would probably reach halfway up James' thigh sitting down, with us both in there displacing water. It would need to keep running for a little while yet to be worthwhile.
"Stick your hand in there," I said.
"That water's warm!" James squeaked.
"I told you this house was magic. Come with me."
I led him into the front bedroom.
"We need to find some big fluffy towels, but I can't remember exactly where they are."
I looked through one set of drawers and James looked through another. Eventually he found the towels and I made him carry some into the bathroom. I went downstairs and got the last pan of boiled water.
I poured the water into the bath and put the pan to one side. I hung my bath robe on the back of the door.
"Come on, you need to be naked too."
James was struggling to get out of the oversized hoodie. Eventually he let me help him pop it over his head. I threw it to one side and got into the water, turning off the tap. There wasn't a huge amount, and it wasn't overly warm, but it might just cover his legs and that would do. I spread my legs apart to make room and motioned for him to get in.
We washed and made small talk for a while, his skinny back to me the whole time. He was used to standing and being scrubbed down with a flannel dipped in hastily-boiled water, so he wanted to know how it was the house could have lights and warm enough water for a proper sit-down bath. I did my best to explain. I could feel the water was cooling rapidly, so I tried to hurry us along, had him wash his hair while I did mine. After that I had him stand up and turn around.
"There's some parts of you I want to make sure are especially clean."
He giggled as I gently pulled him towards me by the little nipple of foreskin at the end of his now hardening penis. He was slightly surprised when I asked him to kneel straddling my legs. I placed my hand lightly on the small of his back and reached for the shower gel. It was a nondescript coconut-scented brand I'd managed to scavenge in bulk from somewhere, and it came out as a thick, white goop. I whispered into his ear for him to sit into the kneel a little further, then began to massage it in the hot crease of his bum, lathering it against the heat of his anus. I felt it clench as his dick twitched.
He grunted, his head resting on my shoulder, his soft cheek against my hairy face. I used my left hand to guide his head to face mine, still massaging his crack deeply with my right. He leant forward and let me kiss him on the lips, our mouths opening slightly enough to let our tongues arrow into each other sensually without heavily wrestling. I squeezed his right bum cheek and broke the kiss.
"You're not done yet. Turn around."
James awkwardly reversed his position, so he was straddling me backwards. I had him sit deeper with the pretence of rinsing his crevice in the bathwater, but instead it slid against my engorged cock just above the surface. I held him steady with my left hand on his slick chest, lowering my right hand, full of another load of creamy goo, to his groin.
"Wash my willy," he begged as I teased by soaping the insides of his thighs.
I duly obliged, rubbing the flat of my hand firmly across his balls, and taking his throbbing stiffy between my thumb and forefinger. I soaped the shaft and then worked the skin back. It retracted almost all the way. I washed what I could, roughly rubbing his exposed head with my thumb. I kissed his neck and felt his body tense, his soapy cleft riding down the base of my shaft, his overexcited dick thrashing between my fingers, as he crashed through his second dry orgasm of the morning.
The water was a murky grey by the time we got out, but I felt cleaner than I had in a while. We took separate towels to dry ourselves off. I was drying my shoulders as James bent down to dry his legs, bringing him face to face with my still-hard cock.
I watched him drop his towel and kneel in front of me. He held me in his hand.
He put just the head in his mouth at first, alternating between sucking on it and popping it back out to run his tongue around it more freely.
"Sex isn't a substitute for us having a proper conversation, you know."
He made a noncommittal noise and went back to sucking, before popping my head back out of his mouth again and jerking me slowly.
"It's fun though," he offered. "And you wouldn't let us while we were travelling, so, you know."
He plunged a bit deeper this time. He could take maybe half of my six-or-so inches and filled his mouth as much as he could as a means of cutting off the conversation.
But just because his mouth was full of cock didn't mean that I was going to stop talking.
"I need to talk to you properly, James."
He squeaked out a non-committal noise again, which vibrated all the way down my dick to the root. A shiver ran down my spine and I drooled a gob of precum onto his tongue.
"As soon as you're done, we're getting dressed and having a proper chat."
Getting James dressed was easier said than done. I'd pulled together a few bits of children's clothing before leaving the last time, but James hadn't been my full responsibility then, so I hadn't prepared with his presence fully in mind. He ended up wearing some threadbare boxers that might have been floating around the house since I was his age, socks that were too small for me but came halfway up his calves, some boys' jogging bottoms that had been in a ball at the back of the wardrobe, and a signed football shirt that my brother had been given when he was ten or eleven and had been hanging on the bedroom wall ever since. I had to scrub a layer of caked-on dust from the shoulders before I could let him wear it.
He sat on the bed with his bum on the pillow and his back against the headboard and watched me dress myself. I joined him when I had finished.
"Can I tell you something about yesterday?" I asked.
He looked away and nodded his head.
"An ice rink is a place where they keep a big sheet of ice all year round for people to play on."
We were sat near each other but not touching. I didn't want to over-impose myself.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
James sighed deeply.
"I don't know if I like the city," he said.
"We haven't even been here a whole day yet. You were excited seeing the outside. Since then you've barely seen the inside of the house."
"But I like the farm," he said. "That was our place and we knew it all. I don't know what there is here."
"So, you don't know whether there might be more fun things here, then," I reasoned with him.
He made a little noise. He was still looking away.
"Do you remember how hungry we were last winter?" I asked.
"And I promised it would be much better here, didn't I?"
"I'm not getting any younger, and you're a growing boy. We won't have to worry about being cold or hungry this winter while we're here."
James was silent for a while. Pensive.
"Do you think that man from last night was hungry?" he asked, finally looking at me.
"I reckon he's doing okay," I said. "It's a big city with pretty much nobody left in it. He goes around finding houses that are still decent and living off what he finds. It won't last him forever but he's in no danger now."
James listened quietly to the answer. Then he locked his eyes on mine again.
"Would you have killed him?"
I looked into his pale-blue eyes, so seriously framed and searching.
"No," I said. "Not unless I had to."
"You mean you think he would've killed you?"
I put my arm around James and guided his body into mine, resting my right hand on his right thigh.
"He was just startled, that's all. He wasn't expecting this house to belong to anyone. I don't think he really wanted to hurt us."
I kissed the top of his head. His hair smelt like limes and was still a little damp.
"Let's spend today getting used to the house," I said.
"Is there more music here?"
"Just like I promised. Let's put some on then maybe later you can read to me?"
James took my hand and let me lead him off the bed. I took him downstairs to what was our dining room and fired up my parents' early-90s hi-fi system. I figured that the storage cells for the solar power would be full, with nobody having used the electricity in years, so we could afford a bit of luxury power usage. James was fascinated by seeing the appliance on and operating normally. To him, most electronics were just antique toys that only worked in the imagination. He laughed out loud when I pushed a button and a CD tray opened.
My parents had put up a set of shelves to store all their CDs, alphabetised by artist name. I pulled one from its place.
"Radiohead," I said. "Amnesiac. Came out when I was about your age."
That clearly meant absolutely nothing to James, but he nodded vigorously anyway.
"Sit on the floor, so you're between the two speakers," I said.
I skipped the first track and rushed to scoot into place behind him, so he was sat back against my chest, our heads close together.
I was quick enough to feel the shiver run down his spine as the opening, mesmeric, sirenlike cry rang out.
If you made it this far, thanks for reading. I appreciate it's a bit of a slow build, which isn't to everyone's taste. Further chapters to follow in time.