Date: Sun, 22 Aug 1999 14:51:25 PDT From: Wishus Teglin Subject: Three Weeks to Heaven 2.2 Three Weeks to Heaven, A Boylove Romance (M/b) Book Two Chapter 2 by Teglin FOREWORD: As with Book One of this story, I want to thank Ganymede for the wonderful boylove stories he has given us. I write in part to give just a little back to him. And again, this is dedicated to the boy, wherever he may be, who needs love and care. In short, dedicated to all boys, anywhere and everywhere. Copyright 1999 by Teglin. You may freely copy this boylove romance and distribute it. Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any way. WARNING: This boylove romance contains descriptions of sexual acts between men and minor boys. Their sexual relationships are very important to the story, as part of their love-making, but it is their spiritual relationship that I wanted to explore even more, as the very essence of boylove. If you are under age 18, or the concept of a man/boy relationship offends you, don't read further. Chapter 2. My little companions said not a word the entire rest of the day. We rode on and on, their horse in front of mine. Metrio seemed to doze much of the time, while Rolando kept the horse moving expertly. Occasionally he would glance back at me, his expression wooden, unchanging, hiding his feelings. I sensed he was weighing me, assaying me, trying to analyze my intentions. At first I had no sense that he was at all angry, or resentful at what I was doing, taking them away from their `home'. Yet his expression was always stern, his lips compressed, unsmiling, his eyes open but half squinting, as if peering into me. Every time he turned my gut tightened. How could such sultry, dark, yet pure, beauty exist all wrapped up in one form? Yet, I knew already, from meeting Wishus, that pure, gorgeous, physical perfection was possible to find in one boy. Had I met the two most perfect embodiments of boyhood on Earth in the span of one week? Was this a dream? Rolando's hair hung like a black veil all the way below his waist, hiding him almost completely from me, except when he turned his head, and I could see his sillouhette thinly through the veil. Every step the horse took made the boy rock forward at his waist - rhythmically his little rounded buttocks, tight against the fabric of his dress, would come into view, parting the veil of his hair. I could see as clearly as ever could be that he was a boy. Every line of his body, his sleek arms, his small hands and fingers, the narrowness of his hips, were all boy! How could anyone ever have mistaken him for a girl? He was wearing a dress even now, but I would never have mistaken him. I would have known immediately, even if I had never come upon him straddled naked over that barrel, with his dick and balls displayed so plainly. His shift was scrunched up underneath him, since he was riding astride, with Metrio in front of him. I knew the horse's hair must be rubbing his inner thighs and legs raw. But he made no complaint. I didn't bother to watch the back trail. If Big John were going to follow us, we'd find out soon enough, but I did take some pains to hide our tracks. Going over rocky stretches, or through sand. Nothing that would fool a tracker, but I had no idea if Big John could track, or if he would have help. Approaching sundown we neared the junction of the Miranda with the larger Rio Blanco, and I took the lead. I took the reins from Rolando, feeling the heat of his fierce eyes upon me. He almost glared now. I wondered at the change. I guessed he was suspicious, wondering what I was leading him and his brother into, whether I could be trusted any more than his former tormentor. Or was it lover? I figured if it were the latter, this Rolando wouldn't be here right now. He had a mind of his own, I could tell, and would have refused to come along with me. I had made no effort to force anyone, so it had been his choice in the end. I felt more than the heat of his glare. I felt something physical in my whole body, just approaching him again. After watching from behind for hours, drawn like a magnet to his beautiful figure, coming close, almost touching his hand, was unnerving. There was a mystery about him that had its hold on me, not to mention the physical attraction I felt for him. Fucked boy? Lover? Slave? Willing partner? Innocent? Aware of his very real power over men like me? Possessor, or possessed? Fighting a wave of something akin to fear, upon sitting my horse so close to him, I took the reins and spurred ahead into the Miranda. I'm so wrapped up in boys, that this feeling was not strange to me. I worry about what they're thinking. I hope so much to please them. It's a result of long years of pining and loneliness. That I still felt it, now that I had Wishus, was testament to what kind of life a boylover must lead in today's society. Desperate longing, acceptance of the impossibility of ever fulfilling my dreams, but just the same desperate will to please, to be accepted, when around a boy. For the next fifteen minutes we backtracked up that rock-bedded stream, came out on the same side, crossed our own trail, where I got off and dusted things up a bit, then rode across a gravelly stretch I had noted earlier to the Blanco. Again, not much of a ruse to fool a real tracker, but it would buy us long minutes, perhaps hours, if the man were pursuing us. We made camp in a glade on the east bank of the Blanco, where we had easy access to the clear waters of the river. I wanted to wash up, and at least take care of Metrio. Demetrio, as it turned out. I heard Rolando call him both names, at one time or another. We cooked and ate, or rather Metrio and I cooked. Rolando took up a wary, watchful perch on his horse's tack, after I had stripped the mounts bare and staked them for the night. If a stare could pierce, then I would have been wounded, because that boy never took his eyes off of me. He was watching me, and watching everything I did with Metrio. He took the food I proffered, but still ate alone, over on his perch. Metrio kind of flitted between us, or roamed rather. He was a strong little tyke, and obviously had a lot of energy, but he was visibly suffering from his beating of this afternoon, and probably of others in the past. Whenever he forgot his injuries, and started to prance about fawn-like, he was soon enough brought up short by a stab of pain in his ribs, or an accidental brush against his raw lips, or his swollen eye. But oh how it was wonderful having a boy with me. Two boys, although one was a sultry, mysterious, creature always on the edge, watching in. At least Metrio's helpfulness and energy reminded me of Wishus, and by keeping me busy, made it less difficult in remembering my separation from my Dearest One. Well, I was exhausted from the trail, from the events of the day, from anxiety over Wishus, and wonderment over Rolando, and there came a point where I just flopped. I mean, we had finished up the supper, and cleaned the pans. I felt this irresistible need to shuck my clothes and get cleaned up. So notwithstanding Rolando's unnerving eye upon me, I stripped and just walked into the river. For once I was not in a state of arousal. My dick could only take so much stress, it seemed! Not to mention that in my exhaustion I for once blocked out the images all wrapped up with Rolando's presence. He had his eyes on me, but I blocked that out for the moment too. I did have enough sense to keep my guns near the bank, where I soaked and washed in the cold water. Then I strode out of the water, put on my longjohns and camp moccasins, and prepared to take care of little Demetrio. That's when Teg Junior woke up. Did you ever see a hard, seven inch dick tent out a pair of longjohns? That's what happened after I had some water heated, and a blanket spread by the fire, and I called the boy over to me. He came willingly, knowing by now he could trust me. I proceeded to strip him down for a bath. Something perhaps never before done with him, from the evidence of grime and dirt almost etched into the nooks and crannies of his body! I started with his facial wounds first. And believe it or not, that's when my erection started too. Taking loving care of a boy was incredibly arousing to me. There's nothing sexy about washing blood from a scab on a boy's lip, but when it comes right down to it, what are men for in Nature, if not to minister to the needs of those they protect? Taking care of Metrio, touching him tenderly, intimately, was a rush! When I gently pulled his tunic up over his head, and revealed his perfect little boy figure, suddenly my feelings went from protector to admirer. He was only six or seven, yes, but he was a boy. His little chest was a miniature version of Wishus', but darker in color. His tiny little nipples stood out in the cool evening air, ready for my ministrations. I wanted to crush him to me, and suck on them, as he stood so willingly letting me wash him. But I resisted. Rolando was watching. Wishus was watching. And I was watching, knowing that this little boy wasn't aware of my urges. At least I didn't think he was. Wishus was old enough to understand how I felt about him. Little Demetrio was just accepting a bath. Wishus understood what it meant to get hard like I was now. Metrio didn't even notice, I think. I knew Rolando did, but I could do nothing about that. I lovingly washed Metrio's chest and little tummy, his arms, under his arms. His little pectorals were so firm, yet still so soft, defining his chest, defining his sex! Here was a boy in my hands! What hung down between his legs was certainly the true mark of his maleness, but as my hands gently washed and scrubbed all over his front, I felt boyflesh! I think I must have started smiling, just reveling in the feel of a boy in my hands. Finally, I turned him around and did his back. Again, the delicacy of a little boy's frame, yet all the marks of his boyhood. His back was sleek, lightly muscled on each side of his backbone, and his little shoulder blades were strangely exciting to me. I wanted to lick along their raised edges, but refrained, and washed there instead. Metrio made no sign of resistance or shyness when I reached around in front and loosened his drawstring, and slowly tugged his little pants down. I realized then that even with Wishus I had never been this close, face to cheek, as it were, with a little boy's rear! Wishus and I had splashed around in the water, and I had grabbed his butt, and in the heat of my passion even caressed his anus from above as he lay prone and I sucked him, but here I was with my face just inches from Metrio's butt. I had been upright on my knees, washing him. Now I lowered - still on my knees behind him, but resting back on my haunches. That brought my face right on a level with his buttocks. What I wanted more than anything right then was to lean forward and plunge my face into his crack, breath deeply, and wash him with my tongue and lips...with trembling fingers, instead, I again very gently washed his pliable cheeks, then separated them and with a feather-like stroke at first, washed his crack. His little, untouched anus looked so delicate, the skin around it perfectly fashioned as a tiny funnel, leading inward to depths where I wished my tongue could follow. Instead I scrubbed him there, boldly, but gently, as if having my thumb on his hole, encased by his soft flesh, was nothing to me. Satisfied that I had washed him cleaner than he had ever been before around his little butt-hole, having done everything except plant a kiss there to finish my ministrations off, I treated myself to his little cock. His little inch-long, half-soft stub, encased in his dark brown foreskin, bobbed into view just inches before my eyes, when I placed my hands on his hips and gently shifted him around. He turned willingly, oblivious to the very real hunger in my eyes. My own dick had been massaged by the soft fabric of my longjohns with my every movement, and I wasn't far from cumming like I had three times with Wishus, without him ever touching my dick, or even without ME touching my dick. The sight of Metrio's proud-standing dick nearly pushed me over the edge! He wasn't hard, but his little piece was half engorged, and sticking out at a slight angle from his pubic mound. His glans was plainly visible inside the sheath of his foreskin. A perfect-sized little angled head for a perfect little boy penis. I may have licked my lips, but was unaware if I did. This was only the third boy-dick I had seen, and I have to admit I was pretty much hypnotized by it. Now I would get to touch it. I know there was a little tremble in my hand, as I lovingly washed Metrio's tummy and just above his pubis, then lowered my fingers, playing tiny circles all across his soft mound. His pubis, and dick and balls, really stood out from his crotch, as if nature had intended them to draw the eye of anyone there. The phallus! Even soft, like this, and so small, yet it was just charged with power over me! Nay, because it was so small! Yes, it's the phallus I love, a dick that I drool over, but it is a little boy that inflames me! I don't know what it is about me, although I've thought about it enough. I love cock, I can even become aroused contemplating my own cock, but I have never been remotely attracted to a man. Even a naked man. On the other hand, I don't have to see a boy nude to be aroused. There is a unique beauty in a boy, in his frail and delicate frame, yet so straight and sleek, not muscled like a man's, nor rounded like a girls, or woman's. A boy's frame, like his little dick, filled with the potential to stand hard and tall, yet still so soft and lovely. Like a work of art .... Oh, I don't know how to explain it. And at that moment, seeing up close only the third boy cock in my life, I was enthralled. When I finally gave myself the pleasure of washing his little dick, I blushed. Turned a deep, crimson red. I could feel it. And I could feel Rolando's eyes on me. He was watching as I cupped Metrio's little seeds in his loose scrotum, and so very gently washed them. He had to see the intensity of my gaze as, with a feather touch, I washed around the tiny, fluted opening of Metrio's foreskin, and then up and down his half-hard shaft. He had to notice how I caused Metrio to thrust out his pelvis, in reaction to my caress. He was watching when I leaned forward, perforce, to run rivulets of water and soap down Metrio's thighs, both front and back, pushing my face to within an inch of his little dickhead. I may not have breathed during all that, until I found my nose so close to his dick. Then I swear I engulfed the air around us, trying to breath in the scent of his boyhood! So clean smelling! Yet still, even with my washing, smelling fleshy and with just a trace of that tart, acidic scent of a boy's, or a man's, crotch. I washed his legs next, letting my hands caress his soft flesh up and down, from his ankles all the way to his hips, lathering and rinsing lovingly, all the while treating myself to the sight of his little dangling, wobbling dick. I even thrilled in washing Metrio's little feet. They were such small and delicate replica's of a man's feet. Each of his little toes received my attentions, as I attempted to draw out this magical chance to be so intimately close to a boy. It had to end. I finally gave in and wrapped Metrio in a cloth, and patted him dry, then put him into one of my clean tunics. No sooner had I spread a blanket for him by the fire, than he was fast asleep. I intended to wash his clothes later on, but for now, I just had to lay back and rest. I had to recover from the day's long ride, all it's excitement, it's unusual twists and turns, and from the last few minutes of boy-heaven. I was about to close my eyes, as I lay back with my head up on the saddle, and my back supported by the folded saddle blanket, when suddenly Rolando stood up. I should say, he arose! A creature like him doesn't just stand up, he rises majestically, whether consciously or not, rising to command the eyes of anyone in his presence. Nor did he simply walk. He glided. Each motion a composition, combining the grace that comes naturally to his perfectly proportioned limbs, with the pure beauty of his form, propelling his perfect body forward. His long, glistening black hair, fell straight, and waved and parted with his every motion. Part of it fell forward of his shoulder, and I could see the strands all the way down his belly to his waist, as his arm would swing back and forth. The rest fell loosely to the very outthrust of his buttocks, some strands even lower. Wishus had the adorable habit of flicking his head, to flip errant strands of his golden hair out of his eyes. Rolando instead would raise his hands to the side of his face and pull his long locks back behind his ears. They didn't stay there for long, so he did that often. For some reason this was incredibly sexy to me. To see a boy whose hair was so long and lustrous, that it served no possible purpose other than to attract the glances of his admirers. And more, that it was an affectation that required his constant attention, and that he seemed to do it willingly, knowing how beautiful his hair was, knowing what effect it would have on others. My poor dick! It was at full cock-stand almost instantly, just contemplating Rolando's hands pulling his hair back from his eyes. It was dusk now, with the sun just escaping beneath the crest of the ridge to the West, leaving the sky a slate gray, a clear but darkening sky which made the even darker green of the pines near the river seem cold. The water too looked even colder, running over dark coppery-colored, rounded and polished rocks near the bank. There was a shelf of smooth pebbles leading all the way into the water. That's where Rolando was headed, I could see. He carried his saddle bags with him, and as he strode just ten paces in front of me, across the clearing to the edge of the water, I imagined the heat of his body. In the approaching darkness, everything else seemed to be colored cold. He was sultry. His limbs flowed as he glided past me, so erect and tall. His thinness made all 5'2" of him seem tall, and so did the long reach of his hair. He held himself perfectly erect, with his head high, and looking neither right nor left, but determinedly forward to the water. Proud. I felt his pride. He was proud of his bearing, of his looks, of his statuesque grace. And conscious of it. I knew at that moment that the long, hard phallus I had found sticking out of his rear was no punishment. I knew it was a statement. Big John's statement of possession, in the face of this boy's pride. But also, Rolando's statement of acceptance - that he took the massive rod within him willingly, and gasped with pleasure when I moved it inside him. Surely he had resented, hated, being tied and left impaled with that phallus - but surely also he was proud of his beauty and the need he created in Big John to own him! Was he proud too of his power over me? Surely he had sensed his power over me. Knowing by the reverent touch of my hand on his buttocks as I pulled the phallus free, knowing by my hushed and strained tone of voice, knowing by my breathless shock when he retrieved the fake cock and stored it away in the saddlebags. And he had to know by my repeated, strained glances his way. And my arousal when I cleansed and cared for Metrio. Oh, he knew of his power over me. Even now he flaunted himself before me. I wondered why he seemed to disdain me? Was he disgusted? Was he angry, because I tore him away from his ... lover? Angry because I grew so hard and so obviously desirous, when washing his little brother? His eyes had never left us, yet now he walked by as if I were beneath his contempt. If he did hate me, why did he put on a show for me, one calculated to fire every nerve in my body? I tensed, and almost sat up, staring intensely, too intensely, as he reached the pebbled beach, set his saddle bags down, and started to lift his shift up off his body. Before I could prepare for the shock, he had the garment off and dropped it beside the bags, and was standing stark naked before me, just fifteen feet away, facing away. When he had raised both his hands to get the dress over his shoulders and head, as if in a dance he gracefully stood on his toes for the instant, causing his body to stretch, appearing to almost dive up! Up into the sky! His calves so sleek and taut, the outlines of his flexed muscles so clearly defined under his dark skin. His long, thin thighs like columns supporting the twin, rounded mounds of his buttocks. In stretching, the little crease below his buttocks, where they met his thighs, smoothed out - there was just the perfectly smooth rise of boy flesh, from his delicate ankles to all the way up and up and up, till hidden by his incredible hair. Standing tippy-toed also caused his buttocks to separate just slightly at the bottom. I let out an involuntary little gasp as I glimpsed the dark little button of his love hole. So tiny it looked, and I was amazed, remembering touching it, feeling how tight it was, stretched around the massive 10" cock protruding from it. Now it looked virgin, untouched. I moaned, knowing his anus was certainly not untouched! Without realizing it, my hand had sought out the hard ridge of my cock underneath the soft fabric of my longjohns. When my eyes sought and found Rolando's little pucker, I squeezed my dick-head and grasped my shaft, attempting to flex it, as if by brute force I could bend it. I think I wanted to wrench it out and jam it up Rolando's hole! Rolando heard my gasp, and chose that moment to acknowledge me. Upon dropping the dress and falling back on his heels, he looked back at me, coyly dipping his head and glancing at me under lowered brow. His eyes flashed and seemed to pierce me. His expression was still ... I didn't want to call it hateful, nor resentful, but he looked so stern ... was it suspicion? Anger of some undefined kind? I released my shaft like it had burned me, and indeed felt a hot flash, as embarrassment at being caught in such blatant expression of my arousal overwhelmed me. Why, I don't know. I knew he was flaunting himself before me. And I suspected he was angry at me in some way. I could have resented that, but didn't. I didn't yet understand Rolando's relationship with his former master. What was it like to be taken away from the man who had filled him, as only a man can? Or the man's ten inch wooden phallus. Had Big John been to Rolando what I wanted to be to Wishus? No! I didn't, I couldn't believe that! The brute was vicious, cruel. But did Rolando love him? I just could not resent the way Rolando was toying with me. But I didn't understand it. In my confusion, I flushed deeply at being caught stroking myself in reaction to his body. From that moment on, I lay still, but every muscle in my body was tensed, my hands dropped to the blanket, resting by my hips. Well, I could refrain from touching it, but there was no way I could hide the tent made by my dick - my shaft raised my longjohns fully four inches off my belly, and I felt a dull ache building up in my balls. Rolando might have smiled, as he turned away. To my consternation, I saw his lips curl up at the corner of his mouth just before he looked away. I really hadn't a clue what he was thinking. I just knew I could not have averted my gaze for anything, or anyone, on Earth. Oh God! What a betrayal of Wishus, that thought was! The bronzed god standing before me shook his head, once more straightening the long hair that had become mussed when he took off his dress. His little bubble-butt jiggled slightly as the tips of his hair danced just above the outward thrust of his cheeks. The veil almost totally covered his smooth, arched back, allowing just glimpses of the burnished, golden-brown curve of his sides, and just the ridges of his shoulder blades. Rolando's long, long hair was such an allure for me - I so much wanted to get up and rush to him, and gently, lovingly, painstakingly, brush his tresses free of every tangle. I imagined the feel of his hot flesh as my fingers would accidentally touch his back, when I bunched his hair for combing. He might have read my mind, because he next squatted down beside his saddle bags and started rummaging through them. He didn't bend at the waist, but squatted onto his ankles, causing his buttocks to separate widely, but his little anus was just out of view beneath him! Still, the flare of his flesh at his hips when he squatted was so appealing. I wanted to wrap my hands around his waist, and just let them slide down and out around his hips, to his thighs, and then reach under and touch his little hole, which would be stretched so tight underneath him. Every position this boy took was a temptation to me! I wanted him! And I'm ashamed to admit that for a while I forgot about plighting my love to Wishus. At this moment I was a man lusting after a vision of boy loveliness that I really had never imagined. He was different than Wishus, my darling Wishus, who was all golden white light, and the epitome of innocence. Rolando was golden, yes. But so sleek, so polished, and AWARE! Here was a boy aware of his beauty and allure! He was flaunting his body and beauty before me, and the thought could not escape me that perhaps I might have him! Rolando fished a brush out of his bags and stood again. Still with his back to me, he now leaned towards me, sweeping his head back, causing his hair to wave around his shoulders so that he could gather it all together to be brushed. As he held it in a mass off to his side, he revealed one narrow, yet so softly rounded shoulder, and an expanse of his back all the way down to his rear. He brushed his hair thoroughly, alternating long fluid strokes, with short, abrupt ones, to clean out little kinks. The motions made his butt jiggle even more, and he again, more than once, seemingly without reason, stood up on his tiptoes. But there was reason in everything this boy did. His every motion was part of a little dance. The music played in my heart and soul - I was a boylover and here was my muse! God how I wanted, how I strained, to grasp my hardened dick! I wanted to open the buttoned panel and release my dick and balls, so that I might pump myself furiously, all the while watching Rolando. But I would not. His glance back at me had frozen my hands to the blanket. I could hardly endure both the exquisite pain I felt in my balls, and the embarrassment that would wash over me if he caught me again stroking myself. Or the guilt. My tempter finally dropped the brush into the opened bag, and stepped forward into the water. I swear I could see every little goose-bump that rose on his flesh, from the fifteen feet that separated us. It sent chills through me as well. He did not step back, nor did he seem shocked by the cold. Instead he again squatted down, this time right over the water, and proceeded to scoop handfuls of the cold water over his arms, his chest, legs, face. Then he did something that I took as a statement. No, this boy was not angry at me for taking him away from the brute, Big John. He was glad to be away from that man. Why else would he proceed to so thoroughly wash his anus, and to probe deep within himself, using first one finger then two, then three - at one point almost feverishly scooping up water, and plunging it with his fingers into his love chute! It was the only moment, in this long day, in which I felt that Rolando had somehow lost control. It was as if he were suddenly possessed to cleanse himself of Big John's seed. I could see that he was also, just as feverishly washing his penis and balls. For once, he forgot me, else he would have turned and displayed his boyhood to me, just as he had flaunted his nether regions to me already. I saw his head bent forward, his hair hanging into the water just at the ends, as he looked down at himself and scrubbed and scrubbed. Was he washing away the memory of Big John's mouth on his dick, or the feel of the giant's huge, fumbling fingers? It was suddenly dark. The nearly half, but waning, moon was not yet visible behind the trees to the East, and I had to peer sharply into the dusk to see Rolando rise from the waters, I listened as he stowed his brush, picked up his dress and put it on, and then started back across the camp to his former position by his saddle. He did not look my way as he passed before me, but walked like the mysterious, bronzed god that he was, stately, bigger than life, to his resting place. Only 5'2" tall, just a boy ... but a boy!!! Yes, it was dark, and I could no longer hold back. I nearly tore open the buttons over my pulsing penis, and it was my turn to feverishly wash my precum all round my glans and shaft, and then to start stroking up and down - not like I usually did, starting slow, and building to a slow climax dreaming of some boy, but now with ham-fisted, brutal, glans- and-ball-stretching pounding! I came in an instant, great globs of my sperm flying up onto my chest, and on the blanket around me. I moaned so loud that Metrio stirred in his blanket near my feet, and in shock, coming to my senses, I looked across to Rolando. There he was, sitting stoically again, staring at me. Through the gloom I could just make out his features. No expression, no smile, just that steady, studying stare with which he had appraised me all day long. "Good night, Rolando," I uttered heroically, raspingly, embarrassed again, feeling almost foolish. I could barely hear myself, through the sound of blood pounding in my ears. He did not respond. Or maybe he did. He lay back and I could see him pull his blankets about his perfect form. Blessed blankets, to warm the second boy-god I had met in this one blessed week of my life. ---------------------- Wishus lay in his bed in the loft above the day room. His aunt and uncle had already exited to the other part of the cabin, separated from his by the roofed veranda. So far away, for an alone little boy, in the dark of the night. Leaving him feeling so physically alone, as they always left him alone in spirit. He sighed, and swore he would not cry this night, thinking about the one person who had given him unmeasured love. Wrapping his blankets about his delicate form, he imagined they were the strong arms of his man. The man who had sworn to return to him ... in three weeks. Now two weeks, and four days. The boy rolled over in his bed, still clasping his blanket, and finally drifted off to a fitful sleep. A dream-filled sleep, a remembering dream, of a time, just four nights ago, when he had awoken to the most frightening, yet deliciously painful feelings in his little cock and balls. He had awoken hard, and he felt like his balls were being scrunched by some unseen fingers. It did hurt, but at the same time it felt so good, and he just knew Teg would know the answer! So he had gotten up, and straddled his man, and leaned over to awaken him, allowing his little boner to press tightly into his man's belly. And then his man had shown him how to make love, how to become one, how to release that aching feeling within his balls ... and how to show his love .... ---------------------- Having just cum in an explosion of my pent-up lust for Rolando did nothing to quieten my dreams. I must have slept fitfully, for a couple of hours, judging from the rise of the moon when I was awakened. I remember flashes of images, as if I were having multiple wet dreams simultaneously, with Wishus all mixed up with Rolando and Metrio. In the last of the dreams, everything was so hazy. But I remember thinking, "Wishus, you've come to me again! I feel your warmth pressing against my chest. Do you feel like your pee-pee needs to be sucked again, dearest? I want do that for you ...." I started to rise, but felt his weight against my chest, and I did not want to dislodge him. I felt his little dick brushing my lips! I tried to take it in, but he withdrew it! I opened my eyes to the moonlit campsite, much brighter than it was when I fell asleep. But it wasn't the moon that I saw, nor the dark silhouette of the ridge to the west. It was something a trillion time more beautiful than Artemis, goddess of the moon, could ever have been. For when I opened my eyes it was Rolando's statuesque form I saw rising over me, his black hair blending with the black of the night, and sprayed just above me, the tips brushing my face with the back and forth movement of his body over me. I felt his soft buttocks pressing my upper chest! I felt the heat of his thighs encasing my head, and rubbing my ears. He was naked! I felt his hot flesh against me everywhere, his dangling, marble-sized balls sliding over my chin in their silken sac! I glimpsed the narrow expanse of his bare chest rising above me, veiled by the curtain of his shimmering hair. It was what I felt and tasted on my lips, and sliding across my chin, that made my heart stop beating momentarily. I smelt it, I tasted it, in tantalizingly brief thrusts of his hips. He was sliding his little dick, so soft, yet oh so hard, across my lips, his half-hooded glans poking between my lips with each forward stroke! Oh God, I could smell boy! So sweet and musty, yet clean. And I tasted his dick head and his foreskin - that indescribable, slightly salty, yet sweet and earthy taste. He was leaning over me, propped on either side of my head with his hands resting on the rolled up clothing I had been using as a pillow. That kept my head slightly tilted forward. All I needed to do was tilt forward a little bit more, and let this boy's cocklet find it's desired sheath in my mouth. Through my stunned surprise, and with my senses of taste, touch, and smell overloaded, came his sweet voice. It was soft but heated in his passion, "take it, meester! I give you ... my dick! Take it ... Suck it!" He crooned between breaths, almost in rhythm with his wanton thrusts across my chin and lips. Right off that answered one question. He certainly spoke and understood English! "You are good ... to Metrio, Meester ... I give my dick ... as a reward! I ... know you want ... me. Just like ... Big John. But you are a ... a good man. You want Metrio ... too, but did not take him! Take me .... Now! He leaned forward suddenly, angling his little three inch finger of a hardon directly and more forcefully against my lips. In my shock, I had held my lips lax, not accepting his offering, but certainly not refusing! Now I either had to clench my teeth against the invasion of his probing glans, or open my mouth and take him in, just as he commanded me to. I resisted! How I wanted to swallow this ravishing boy whole! But I was disturbed by what he had said. I couldn't make love with a boy who felt he had to repay me. Who felt that if he didn't, I might take what I wanted anyway. From him or Metrio. My roaming hands stopped on his slim hips and I firmly stopped his thrusts. "Rolando!" I managed to whisper gutturally, feeling breathless. "You don't have to do this! You don't owe me anything! I ... I'm not ever going to hurt you or Metrio. I don't ...." "But you want me, meester!" He moaned, starting to halfway struggle against my firm hold, trying to resume his humping motion. His hair flew all over my face, but I caught glimpses of the dark pools of his eyes, dark but glistening with his passion. "You want Metrio too ... I could see ... I never see anyone so hard ... all the time! Even Big John had to rest, but you ... I see you want me every minute today. I see your looks! And then you are hard for Metrio too, when you wash him ...." "Yes. Yes!!" I forced out a muffled bellow, struggling myself now, against my own passion. I wanted these boys so much! Was that so wrong, with Wishus waiting for me in his valley!? "But ...." He squirmed in my grasp, and freed himself, and I felt the underside of his hot little shaft slide across my chin again so quickly, and he leaned over me again, and I felt the soft head of his dick lodging between my lips. I just moaned, myself, opened my teeth, and pulled him into me, with my hands seeking his buttocks. His pubis pressed hard against my nose, and I breathed deeply, and sobbed, holding him in me, my tongue going mad lasciviously seeking every contour of his dick head and shaft! I started sucking hard on his shaft, hollowing my cheeks, and tightening my lips around his little cock. Then I let him resume his humping. With each stroke I let my tongue become a soft groove for his shaft. And on the outstroke I would feverishly wash his glans with the tip of my tongue, each taste bud sending electrifying signals to my groin .... I released one hand and ripped open the flap over my rampant dick, and started stroking it. He sensed what I was doing to myself, and reached back and grabbed me by the wrist, as tightly as he could with his delicate little hands. They were hands made for gentle caresses, not for grasping against brute force, but I let him stop me. "Not yet, meester!" He commanded, "You will ... fuck me with that! Don't waste it!" I just groaned and resumed my sucking. He eased off on his humping and kind of poised in mid-air over me, allowing me to slurrup and lave his dick to my heart's content. I could feel his muscles all tensed, as he began a slow rise towards orgasm. I started servicing this boy, determined to give him that climax. I wanted to give, not take. And I wanted him to know that. I NEEDED to give him pleasure. Every muscle in my own body, even my rock hard dick, pointing like a gun at his back, was focussed on serving a boy again! I'm a boylover! I need to serve a boy! I locked my lips in a tight ring around his shaft and started moving them up and down his full length. With each up stoke, my lips pressed against his pubis. I knew the lower part of his shaft had less sensation, but I also knew that I was stretching his foreskin this way, and could feel it retract all the way over the rim of his glans. Then on the down stroke with my head, my lips pulled his skin back over his glans, and I gave him a soft massage directly on the most sensitive part of his body. To increase his pleasure, I made a trough of my tongue, and could sense that its rough surface was sending ripples and waves of pleasure through his loins. Rolando was loveliness personified, but I closed my eyes and just concentrated on the tastes and feels. The feel of his hair, cool and silky, brushing so lightly across my face, and on each upstroke resting in pools upon my forehead, my nose, my closed eyes. The smell of it, clean but tinged with his personal scent. The feel of his firm flesh gliding under my hands, as I let them caress from his back, down his buttocks, to the length of his thighs. The feel of his lightly dangling balls when they jiggled on my chin with each upward movement of my mouth on his tool. I literally felt each of his balls, as they first touched my chin, then slid over the precipice to flop towards my throat. Most of all the taste and feel of his pistoning dick, so small and soft, yet so hard and virile and unyielding, demanding! Fully an inch longer than Wishus' 10 year old dick. And a little bigger, filling my mouth a bit more. The taste was much the same, so ... fleshy, earthy. I savored the taste - only the second taste of cock in my life! Wishus' foreskin was not ready to retract fully, and I had only tasted the tip of his glans, where the frenular band of his prepuce was stretched taut by his erection. Rolando's foreskin pulled back smoothly and completely with each thrust, and I went mad laving his bare glans, feeling his shivers each time. His reaction made me more bold and forceful, and I moved my hands to his stalk, reducing the length of my stroke. I gently pulled his skin back, baring his cock head fully and permanently, and started concentrating mercilessly on his glans. He cried out again and again, weak, breathless moans, as if I were inflicting exquisite torture on him. Of course, that only inflamed my own frenzy. I suctioned harder, used my tongue more forcefully all over his glans, stabbing into the tiny slit of his pee hole. His moans became almost continuous, and he started writhing uncontrollably, the nerve endings in his cock sending shocks to all parts of his body at random. Finally he shrieked, and grabbed my hair, and I felt quite joyous as his thighs clenched against the sides of my head. I knew he was cumming. I felt quite joyously like I was a bronco he was riding, with my hair as his reins! Although he was doing all the bucking! Rolando ended by practically collapsing onto me, crushing his body flat over me, smothering me with his pubis. I just held him tighter, digging my fingers into his fleshy butt cheeks, kneading them. I loved the feel of boy against me, this boy - his soft, hot body so tight against me. His dick softened just a bit, but was still stiff. I stopped my rough treatment of it with my tongue, and loosened my lips slightly, but kept up a very slight suction, sensing that that would make him feel cherished and secure as he came down off his high. Soon Rolando lifted himself slowly from off me, and I took a deep breath of his private scent. His penis plopped free from my lips, but I gave it up reluctantly. At the last instant, knowing I would no longer have his precious little tool in my mouth, I tightened my lips slightly, and briefly tried to pull back with my hands on his butt. I quickly licked and licked the underside of his retreating shaft and glans, and concentrated on his super- sensitive frenulum, where his unhooded glans was attached to his foreskin. It was like an instinctual reaction - a boylover acting without thought, doing whatever my nature intended me to do, to keep this boy inside me! He pulled out, nevertheless. But I could feel him grow harder almost instantaneously. Having not released any seed, he was apparently still feeling lusty. Tired, but getting ready for more! I suddenly remembered his statement, just moments before, that I had to save my own sperm for him, that I was to fuck him! Fuck a boy?! The ultimate sexual act of boylove, in my estimation. Something I had dreamed of all my adult life. At least since reading the classic literature. Reading it, living those ancient times, in my dreams. Now, here and now, a 12 year old boy-god had declared that I must fuck him! And now he grew harder. He was not just giving his body to me in payment for my kindnesses towards Demetrio. He wanted to be fucked. He grew hard again, in anticipation of my penetration of his hole. He called out to Demetrio as he rose from me. Something in Spanish, a request, ending in `por favor' - `please'. That much I understood. Something else I understood all of a sudden, and I looked beyond Rolando's perfect form for the first time since he had straddled me. There indeed was Demetrio, sitting upright on his blankets. My eyes were fully accustomed to the dark, and the half-moon was very bright. I could see the intensity of Demetrio's gaze, his eyes on his big brother, listening intently to his request. He had his shirt on, but as he stood up to comply, I saw he had his pants off, and one hand wrapped around his little erect, one and a half inch cocklet! So he had been watching us, of course. Watching me swallow Rolando, listening to his brother's ecstasy, as well as my own groans - and he had sat at the end of my blankets when I tore open my longjohns and pulled out my hard 7 inches! A hundred thoughts, fleeting thoughts, flew through my head then. This six year old boy knew all about love-making ... no doubt he had often witnessed Big John together with Rolando. Did he take part too? A six year old, becoming aroused, jacking off? Could I taste his little dick too? My heart skipped a beat, with my next thought - would I fuck him too? Could I fuck him? Could a six year old take my dick inside him? My mind was feverish with desire now. I wanted to fuck Rolando! I wanted to take Demetrio in my arms and cover him with kisses on every part of his little boy body! Rolando climbed off me, and through my crazed, wide-open eyes, I saw him squat at my side, while Demetrio ran to where their saddle-bags rested. I didn't immediately see what it was that Demetrio went to get, because Rolando shocked me by inserting both his little hands into the fly of my longjohns. He was hot. His hands were hot, as if fevered. I could see it in his eyes too, as he gazed down at my dick. Then he leaned over closer, and his hair swung forward, veiling most of his face from me. As he leaned forward, across my body, he shifted so that he could rest on his haunches, instead of squatting on the balls of his feet. First I felt his right hand slip inside and encircle my engorged and pulsing penis, his palm resting against the top of the shaft, his fingers wrapping around, kneading my turgid flesh. He pulled my dick free of the fabric, and started slowly pumping up and down on it. Simultaneously I felt his left hand snake down lower inside my longjohns, till with an oh so gentle, tender touch, he had my balls cupped in his palm. Or I should say ball. Rolando might be 12, but he still had little boy hands, and with his fingers outstretched, he could cup both my balls, but his little palm could only cushion one. I felt him encircle one, still being careful and gentle, and then he tugged it free of the confining fabric. I felt safe in his expert hands. And anyone who's had his balls handled knows how important that is! Even in the heat of passion. With Wishus I was so aroused and se deeply in love, that he could have pulled and tugged on my balls at will. With Rolando, I sensed that he knew from experience exactly what he was doing. Soon, he reached back in and likewise pulled my other testicle up, letting them both rest now on top of the woolen fabric. "Make me a lot of juice, cahones," he whispered gutturally, while cupping my balls together now, lifting and massaging them with his soft fingers. "And you!" he said playfully, still pumping on my dick, "you're not so big as Big John!" I could feel him trying to touch his thumb and middle finger together around my shaft, measuring it's girth. They didn't touch, so small and dainty were his boyish hands, but I felt him squeezing, trying to reach around, sizing me up. "Not so big," he continued, musing to himself, "but I think you are longer!" I could hear his excitement, his anticipation. Was he savoring the idea of my 7 inches up inside him, deeper than he had ever felt from Big John? What about the fake cock, I wondered. It was much longer than mine. How much of it had he taken inside him? Did its cold, lifeless, polished shaft feel so good to a boy as having a real man's dick inside him? From the way Rolando was caressing and nearly slavering over me, I guessed the answer was that he definitely preferred the real thing. He was partially shielded from my view, by his long, long black hair, but I could hear the way he felt in his words. I had just cum, but with him rhythmically fisting my shaft up and down, pulling my foreskin up all the way over my glans, then back down, pulling it tightly down so it stretched my glans down like a squashed plum, I could feel another orgasm approaching. His maddeningly slow rhythm was driving me crazy! I started lifting my butt off the ground, to meet his downward motion, as if I could hurry him. He felt my rising tension, and seemed to suddenly come to his own senses. "Not yet, meester!" he turned his dark gaze on me. He stopped his pumping, withdrawing his hands, withdrawing those excruciating, building sensations in my groin. But he replaced it with something almost priceless - a smile! A half-smile, it was, a sly, knowing smile, jolting me with a sense of reward. "Save your juice for me! I want it inside me!" he crooned. I could have melted, hearing his sweet voice say that, seeing him smile - no more disdain, or anger, or whatever it was before. "Demetrio!" he called, turning to look for his brother, who was just returning. They exchanged a few more brief words, quickly, while I saw him take the green-glass jar from Demetrio's hands - the one he had retrieved from the shed, where Big John had fucked him. Demetrio seemed to want to join in. His little voice was pleading, and he reached out for my dick, but Rolando commanded him away. He wasn't mean about it, I could tell from his tone, just definitely in total control. Whatever he said seemed to satisfy the little one, because Demetrio knelt back down on his blankets at my feet, facing us, his eyes still wide open. Again I saw his hand reach down to his still stiff little rod. The dark of night softened the appearance of his ugly wounds, and what I saw instead was a lovely little boy, thin, naked, his skin paler in the brilliance of the moonlight, but the shadows, and his own coal black hair, making him a vision of dark lines and soft, highlighted curves and edges - all boy in the slimness of his flat belly and chest, the delicacy of his arms, the eagerness in his eyes mirroring what he was doing to his own little dick. I returned my attention to what Rolando was doing, because he suddenly straddled me again, this time much lower, below my balls. I felt his hot buttocks now against my thighs, and could easily see his little dickie pointing stiffly at me from his hairless pubic mound. He had the stopper out of the jar already, and with a plunge of three fingers into it, brought out a dollop of the thick white creamy substance. A lubricant! I suddenly understood, with some trepidation, as he started painting my dick all over with the cream. He concentrated on my glans, making sure some of the cream stayed there, and then down below my uncovered glans, where my shaft was thickest. I had to take a deep breath. He was readying me to penetrate him! Would it hurt him? Was that why he wanted the cream? To ease the pain? "This make you slide in so easy, meester," he said suddenly, as if reading my mind. "Or maybe you know that, huh? How many boys have you fuck, meester?" I remained mute with astonishment, and some trepidation, I'll admit. I think I would have gone soft, if not for his hands sliding up and down and all around the top part of my dick, making me squirm as his clenched, but smooth-sliding hand massaged me. I could only look into his eyes, and back down at what he was doing. Back and forth, wondering at what he would do next. Simple enough! He reached back and handed the jar to Demetrio, who quickly got up from his position on his blankets. They exchanged more words, and then Rolando leaned forward, lifting his butt up in the air over me, forcing his head forward. He was totally shielded now by the thick veil of black hair that hung down across my belly, but I could see Demetrio quickly put his own fingers into the jar. He scooped out large dollop, and his hand disappeared behind Rolando. The elder boy suddenly lurched forward a bit, and sighed, and I knew without seeing, exactly what Demetrio was doing. He was applying the lubricant to Rolando's little anus. Touching that same sweet, sensitive flesh that I had touched earlier in the day, just before I pulled the wooden rod from it's grip. "I think you must have fuck lot of boys, meester," Rolando suddenly whispered gutturally to me, lifting his head and looking at me through the strands of his veil. I saw his face soften, knowing that he felt Demetrio's ministrations. "I see all day ... how you like watching me ... and Metrio. You love boys, don't you?" I imagined that each of his pauses was caused by Demetrio's exploring fingers, pushing the slick cream inside his elder brother. "I ...," I started to say, but felt my throat growing tight with emotion. Did I like boys?! I ate, slept, drank, and dreamed boys! And I was deeply in love with one boy, named Wishus! And yes, all day my eyes had been on these two boys before me, thrilling me, causing me doubt, enticing me, tempting me, filling me with desire. "I ... do love boys." I half-whispered back to him, as if he awaited my confession. "But no, I have never ... fucked a boy." My voice trailed off to a barely audible whisper upon uttering that word. Fuck. To me it was more than mere penetration. It was ... filling a boy with my love. That's what I wanted to do. Fill Wishus with my undying love! In the heat of my passion, I was insensible to the contradiction. I wanted to fill Wishus with my undying love, but I was being prepared to fill another boy. "But I know you want to, meester." Rolando responded back immediately, showing a little surprise in his reaction. "Don't you." It was a declaration, not a question. My hands remained rigid by my sides. How I wanted to lift them and part his veil, touch his brow, pull him to me and smother him with kisses ... and plunge into him. He was ravishing me! "Don't you!" He demanded so forcefully, yet still uttering it in a near whisper. It was the force of his being, drawn from his knowledge of his power over me, that I felt. He was well aware of how beautiful and enticing he was. And he was quite well aware of my desire. "Yessssss.!" I gave in to him. And suddenly I could hold back no longer. I raised both my arms and reached forward, to grasp his shoulders, and pulled him forward. He let me pull him forward, yielding to my sudden passion. Smiling. Glorying in my passion. I saw triumph in his eyes! My hands slipped down further, along his smooth ribcage. The heat of his flesh in my palms was life-giving! I felt his hair in my face again, and breathed deeply of his scent. I pulled him forward more, till his cheek rested against mine, and I started kissing him feverishly all around his left ear, and taking the strands of his lovely hair between my lips, tasting it, consuming his essence, his smell, his taste. My palms slipped down further, till I held him on his hips, and I then pushed down, gently now - knowing that he would let me, but through the fire of my passion still wanting it to be his choice. He was not going to give me this out of some sense of gratitude! The muscles of his thighs yielded, and he started to lower his rear towards my enraged dick. I swear my dick strained upwards, and must have grown an inch in that instant, practically exploding in power upward, seeking his hole. I felt my dickhead against his crack now, and he suddenly took command again, lifting his head away from my devouring lips, raising his torso, giving himself a better angle to lower himself onto me. He said something quickly, to Demetrio - giving orders again - commanding, but in his sweet, boyish voice, not harsh. To my astonishment I felt Demetrio's tiny little fingers on my shaft, guiding it to his brother's love hole. Rolando wanted me inside, and quickly. It was a revelation to me. Here was a boy who had been fucked, and apparently often, and by a man with a dick bigger than mine. And this boy wanted it again. He acted like he needed a cock up in his rear. Surely this answered one of my questions about union with a boy - could he derive pleasure from it? Surely Rolando would not be so eager to have me inside him, if not. A moan escaped his lips, when my bare glans finally pressed against his anus. It was a sound of ... satisfaction, of anticipation finally rewarded. I was too stunned to utter any sound. My cock, MY COCK, was resting at the entrance to a boy's love canal, and I was about to enter him. I was about to fuck a boy! I was about to perform a man's role, for his boy, and fill him with my seed! With my love! His whole crack, and the head of my dick, had been lubricated by the cream from the jar, and the sensations of my soft glans slipping smoothly into his crack, and into the natural indentation where it would soon enter Rolando's body, was just delicious with warmth. Demetrio started pushing my shaft against his brother's hole, in little back and forth, and rotating motions, as if he were trying to center the tip of my dick right at Rolando's anus. Rolando pushed down, and I felt his ring of flesh slip easily down over my glans. It was hot, and tight, constricting my dickhead. I lost my breath momentarily, feeling his anus pulse around my soft flesh, sending flashes of unspeakable pleasure throughout my groin. I knew he had been fucked often, and no doubt his anus was loosened somewhat, thus the entry was so apparently easy for him. But I had not expected him to be able to literally grasp my dickhead with his powerful ring of muscle! Have you ever tortured your glans, when jacking off, driving yourself insensible with the pleasure, but refusing to grasp your entire shaft and pump feverishly, holding the pleasure at the peak, not allowing yourself to go over the edge to orgasm? That's the way I felt now, in the grip of Rolando's anus. I had allowed him to take control again, and now I could either endure the mind-shattering desire to feel him push further down, or let him continue to tantalize me. He was an expert at this, and he knew what he was doing to me, but from his own moans, I could tell he too was feeling the pleasure of having his sensitive anus stretched by my dickhead. For all I knew, given my lack of experience, this was a technique he was using to loosen himself up, before accepting me fully inside him. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing. I wondered if this were the way he and Big John had made love, starting slow, letting the boy get used to his man's penis invading his body. I imagined it was not always like that. That Big John had no doubt often been more brutal. I wondered too if Rolando, feeling more control over me than he had with Big John, sensing my inexperience, was showing me how he preferred to make love. How a boy could most enjoy taking a man inside him. He kept at it, tightening and loosening, moving up and down on my dickhead in almost imperceptible measure. Jerky motions, that he controlled with the powerful muscles of his thighs. Driving me crazy! The sensitive skin of my shaft, just below my glans, was stretched and pulled, but never given the satisfaction of feeling the boy's flesh descend upon it. I almost started to cry in desperation, wanting to feel his hot flesh just one more inch, one more half-inch down on my shaft, below my glans! His own tortured breath and his moans of pleasure added to the overflow of sensations. I tried to push up just a bit, almost involuntarily, still holding him firmly on his hips He pulled away expertly, continuing the teasing knowingly. My first fuck. With a boy! And with a very expert and practiced boy! Here we were in the dark of the night, our united forms lit only by the silvery glow of the moon, the cool, crisp air of the mountains enveloping our fevered, white-hot bodies, and through the fevered passion I suddenly had a thought - this was what a lifetime of boylove had prepared me for! It was finally happening! ---------------------- Ben Knight awoke to complete silence. He and his wife had gotten into bed early, immediately upon finishing supper. She hadn't eaten much. Seemed like she was still exhausted from the trip into town. It had been four days now, but she hadn't felt good since their return. Knight was torn up with worry, and knew he was drinking too much because of it. But, damnit, he couldn't get anything done around the ranch with his wife in this condition! Damned Teglin. If he hadn't been in such a hurry to get back on the trail, he could have helped out now when they most needed it. The boy, up in his loft on the other side of the cabin, just couldn't hack it. He was no help at all. Complete silence. Something nagged at Knight's consciousness. Something was wrong. It was nighttime, dark outside. Should be quiet outside. No? Complete silence. Not even the whisper of his wife's breath, laying next to him.. He felt wetness under his hands. It felt sticky, gooey, slick between his fingers, thick, cold. Knight sat up in a flash and jerked down the covers from his wife's reclining form. She lay there still, on her side, in her nightgown. He could see the round protrusion where their baby lay in her womb. And at the base of that mound ... In the dark of the night, it was just a splotch of darker blackness. But he knew what it was. He knew. And now he knew why he couldn't hear her breathing. He nudged her shoulder gently. Nothing. He called her name. Softly, then louder, and louder! Nothing. He fell over her form and grasped her, rolled her over onto her back, shook her by the shoulders ... felt the coldness of her flesh. He screamed in agony, and roughly cradled her head in his arms. Calling out to her, yelling now, trying to wake her from a sleep he knew she would never awaken from. He stopped. It was futile. He knew it was futile. He just sat there for long minutes, with one thought going through and through his head. Everything was lost, now. He had nothing, now. Without her, there was nothing. He sat there like that, holding his wife's rigid and cold body, for more than an hour. Then suddenly, he realized that for once he knew exactly what to do. He lay her head back down upon the bed, and rose. He went to the lantern sitting by the bed, and pulled off the lamp and jerked out the wick, then splashed the kerosene around the room and on the bed. He didn't care that it splashed on his own nightclothes too. Then without even a second's hesitation, he picked up the matches, and lit one. Calmly he lit the sheets of the bed, the curtain over the window, then he dropped the match to the floor and laid down beside his wife. Flames licked up the curtains to the roof, and the bed sheets were soon engulfed too. In the rising roar of the flames, Ben Knights screams of agony went unheard. Across the covered porch, in the other section of the Texas cabin, Wishus slept soundly still. The flames licked closer and closer to him, beginning to cross the roof of the porch. ---------------------- Rolando continued to tantalize me with the suctioning grip of his anal muscle on the head of my dick. My breath was coming in short gasps now, and I felt that I would soon shoot up inside the boy. I started to groan. Short, pitiful sounding wails of need. I wanted so much to push deeper inside this boy, but he was in charge. Everytime I pushed up deeper, he was quick to lift up, denying me. He was tantalizing me, yes, but at the same time expertly giving me sensations in my dick that I had never imagined possible. I felt like there were hundreds, thousands of different points of excruciating pleasure in my dickhead - each one tingling, itching, demanding the touch of Rolandos massaging sphincter. I consciously let him torture me with this pleasure. I was a grown man, and could easily have tightened my grasp about his hips, and forced my cock deep up into his entrails. But I knew he was enjoying this, and that was part of my fascination. He was a boy being fucked, and I sensed that he was feeling the same delirious, almost unbounded pleasure that I was. I could hear it in his own moans. His own short breaths. And in the now almost spastic, irregular contractions of his anal ring about me. He was in control, yet he was losing control in the pleasure. He was a revelation to me. I had part of my answer - I COULD fuck my dearest Wishus, and bring him this ultimate joy too .... It hit me with the force of a sledge hammer. I felt a hot flash burn through my already fevered brain, and felt my rigid body tense suddenly in agony, instead of passion. The hot flash swept my body. The shame of it, that I was here fucking this beautiful boy, fucking his body. I was not making love to him. I could only make love with Wishus. I was using Rolando, and even worse, betraying Wishus. Wishus was my boy! I was his man! Yet here I was miles away, rutting away. Doing nothing to hasten my return to his side. Doing nothing to serve him ... well, if I had learned of the pleasure that a boy could receive from his man, then it should be something I had learned with him! "Now I ... weel let you fuck me ... HARD, meester!" Rolando grunted through his erratic breathing. But even as I felt him begin to push down on me, I knew that it would be impossible. I felt my shaft softening, almost instantaneously, the blood rushing from my penis in my shame. "Wishus!" I called out through tears, wishing that the hot flesh still in my grasp was his, wishing that it was his body I had entered. "Wishus!" ---------------------- Wishus awoke in a start, as if he had heard someone call out his name. He listened. Wanting to hear it again. Had it been his man? Had it been his voice, calling to him? He strained, but did not hear it again, and realized that it was but a dream. He felt a tightness in his throat, wanting so much for the dream to have been real. But there were still more than two weeks to go, before his man would return. If he returned .... Tears started to well again, as they did every night when he awoke to the silence of the night, alone. Alone again. Always alone .... No! Not alone. He would return! He had said he would, and therefore ... he just would! The loft was eerie tonight. Something was different. His heart skipped a beat, with a sudden terror. Wide-eyed now, and wide awake instantly, he peered around and twisted about frantically, grasping his blankets to his chest, searching for ... whatever it was. Oh Teg, I'm scared now! Where are you?! An involuntary little squeal of fright escaped his throat. He needed his man here, now! Not three weeks from now. Cold sweat broke out on his brow, plastering fine strands of his hair to his forehead. It was odd, he sensed. His natural keen intelligence for a moment victorious over his fright, he sat shivering, but aware that the air in the loft was unusually dry and warm. And instead of the familiar sounds of the wind mewling through the cracks in the roof, he heard a crackling kind of sound - like that a bonfire made, when the flames were licking furiously up the newly ignited dry bark of the logs. There was a weird, hellish cast to the night, too, as if the forest around the cabin were alight ... Fire! Without a moment wasted in wonder, he leapt from the bed, dragging his blankets with him, and rushed to the opening where the ladder rested. He peered down, but saw nothing but pitch black there. He stuffed the blankets through the opening and let them drop to the floor below, and quickly followed, not even bothering to turn to face the rungs of the ladder. He almost slid down, barely letting his heels touch the rungs in passing. His nightgown flew up around his face and he felt the cool air from below suddenly chill his bare buttocks and his little cock and balls. If only his man were here too see that!. even in this moment of terror, his thoughts returned to his man, to the thrill that came from pleasing him, from knowing that in his man's eyes, he was beautiful and beloved. No time for that! Knowing every inch of the small cabin, he had no trouble in making his way quickly the few steps through the darkness to the door. He flung up the latch and pushed the door open on its leather hinges, expecting to see the forest ablaze beyond the covered porch. Instead he stared directly into the flames coming from the other half of the cabin. It was totally engulfed! "Uncle Ben!" he screamed. "Auntie!!" The heat from across the way forced him to pull back the door. He consciously drew a deep breath, trying to still his futile gulping and gasping for air. He knew there would be no answer. No one would still be alive over there. But what if they had escaped! He pushed open the door again, but had to close it quickly against the searing heat. He had to get out beyond the cabin too. Surely they would be there waiting ... but why hadn't they come to warn him!! His tears started to flow then. They hadn't come. Either they didn't care enough to, or .... "Teg! I need you," he whispered into the night, latching the door again unconsciously, as if the barred door could keep out the flames. It was only a moment of self-pity, however. He had no time for more. Soon, he knew, this part of the cabin would go up in flames too. Furiously he wiped the tears away, smearing the smudge of the smoke that was seeping into the room across his cheeks. His face felt prickly, as it did when he had been too long in the sun, and it had burnt. Think! Think. He calmed himself. Teg's not here. Uncle Ben and Auntie are .... I have to get as much as I can and get out of here ... and ... get up to our city! That ... that's what we fixed it up for! He rushed to the cupboard, nearly stumbling over the blankets he had dropped on the floor. Gathering them, he quickly pulled off cans and pots and spoons - whatever his hands could reach, and dumped them into the blankets. Then grasping the corners, he quickly slung the heavy bag over a shoulder and stumbled towards the oilskin window. He punched through that quickly, and tore it from the window, then proceeded to stuff his treasures outside. Halfway out the whole thing came apart, and he heard all the items tumbling to the ground outside, or inside at his feet. Quickly he retrieved them, and threw them out, then levered himself through the window. He fell awkwardly, failing to release his hold on the sill quickly enough, and felt a stinging pain as his right arm was wrenched at the shoulder. The bed of cans and utensils yielded nothing, either, and he knew he would be bruised from his back down to his feet. On this side of the cabin, it was still relatively cool, so he took his time now, not panicking. Frantically he gathered all the items back into the blankets and dragged them out into the grass away from the cabin. He looked up, and the forest around him was indeed alight, but only with the reflected glow from the burning cabin. Uncle Ben and Auntie were no where to be seen. He started shivering again, his frail frame not yet inured to the cold nighttime air of the mountain valley. But more, he shivered from the loss. The shock. He stared wide-eyed at the now visible flames licking across the roof of his own side of the cabin, and realized that he was truly, truly alone now. As alone as any little ten year old boy could ever be. "Teg ..." he started sobbing, his whole body wracked with convulsions of desperation. "Teg, I need you! Now!!"