Date: Sun, 12 Dec 1999 21:05:52 -0800 (PST) From: Wishus Teglin Subject: chapter 4, Three Weeks To Heaven, book 2 Chapter 4 When Wishus opened his eyes, fingers of yellow light sprayed in around the edges of the rock slab covering the Tower door, so he knew that the sun had already risen above the far canyou rim. About time, too! He had to pee! Funny. The pressure inside him, the feeling of having all that pee just about ready to explode out of him, kind of felt like when he was about to cum, last night! Well, not nearly so good! But he felt a little tingling in his peepee again, and deep down inside his belly, pushing out, wanting out. He even felt it down there, between his balls and his bottom! For a moment, he stretched his hands behind his head, arching his back, lifting his taut tummy and chest off the soft bed, tightening all the muscles in his slim legs. He felt so alive! Even his toes had to be stretched and wriggled. He flopped down on the mattress and looked down his reclining form. His little pink-white penis was standing tall and straight! Ready to blast! Too bad it wouldn't blast that white stuff. That cum. Yet! Teg said he would someday. "That was so good, last night, Teg," he said aloud in a hushed tone, then started giggling, remembering how he had poked his finger inside his butt-hole while jacking off. Almost without thinking about it, he brought the finger in question to his nose, and breathed in, testing his own body's most private smell. He could still smell it ... there was a lingering odor ... somehow it smelled good and ... dirty ... but .... He shivered, feeling suddenly very naughty, but liking it. He had done exactly what Teg had told him to do, last night, and it felt so good! Wishus practically sprang up out of his bed, feeling totally refreshed. Things weren't all that bad! He had food, right here. And he could probably find more. What about that smoked ham, hanging in the barn? There was a root cellar somewhere too. He had heard Auntie .... Well, think about that later. "Ouch! My shoulder still hurts, though," he muttered, swinging his arm cautiously a bit. He shivered again, and forgot about his shoulder. He could hardly keep from dancing around on the balls of his feet - he had to pee bad, and right now! Wishus scampered across the packed dirt floor to the doorway, and bent to put his whole body into rolling the stone slab from the opening. It seemed so much lighter than the night before. It was like stepping out into a world showered in gold dust! The sun's rays lit every particle of dust suspended in the air, every leaf in the aspens just below the lip of the cave, every facet of the canyon wall, with golden sparkles. The clouds drifting overhead were puffy little tufts of white, painted golden yellow on their bottoms! The golden boy stepped out into his very own, magically golden domain. He stood tall and slender, naked to the world, and as he walked wonderingly to the verge of the Tower's porch, the sun's rays caught in his hair, and lit his face in an aura of brilliant light. It was a bit chilly out, and he had neglected to don his nightgown. Goosebumps popped out all over his flest, and he shivered as he stepped over to the edge of the ledge. He took his little piss-hard penis between two fingers, then shivered even more furiously, and giggled, as he felt the hots stream of his pee spout up his shaft and out the little slit in his dickhead. His whole body spasmed uncontrollably for an instant. The golden arc of pee steamed as it hit the cool morning air, and Wishus played with the little foggy trail he could create, rising above the stream of pee. He twiddled his two fingers just slightly, making the stream whip up and down, shooting its own condensation trail. The relief in his bladder, and the tingle along his penis, made him spasm yet again. "Feels soooooo gooooood," he crooned, then looked down between his legs, as the piss stream trickled to an end. Still playing, he pumped his fingers along his urethra, milking his sfaft of the remaining drops, and wildly splattering them all around. "Wha ....!" He squealed suddenly, in alarm. As if by magic, the soft skin covering his dick head no longer resisted the backward pull of his fingers, and his virgin, lightly plum-colored glans was suddenly bare to his view for the first time in his life! For a moment he thought there was something wrong, that he had injured himself. Had he pumped too hard on his penis last night? The panic started to subside, but he felt his heartbeat pounding in his chest. With trembling fingers he slowly, gently pulled his foreskin back even more. It swelled easily over the flared ridge of his glans, and plopped back. Tentatively, with one index finger, he felt the spongy flesh. It was so soft! And a little wet. It glistened in the sunlight. He shivered again, this time more from delight than the physical sensation, and smiled. Now with finger and thumb, he felt the head again, pressing it a bit, testing how deliciously soft and sensitive this reddish bulb on the end of his peepee was! No reason to worry, he thought. Teg's skin pulled back too, and he had seemed to like it when Wishus had probed beneath the foreskin to feel the cushiony, pliable flesh inside. "Teg!" Wishus said aloud, softly, yet excitedly. "Tonight! Now I have a new way to remember you, Teg!" His bladder relieved, yet still fingering his penis, Wishus turned away from the edge of the ledge. He felt hungry. Really hungry! And cold. Time to for some breakfast. Then he'd have to go down and find that root cellar. He walked over to the pile of cans he had saved from the burning cabin. He had even fished some out of the charred ruins. They were blackened, and on a couple of the cans, the seams around the edge seemed to be broken, but he figured he'd need all he could find before Teg returned. They didn't look very appetizing however, so he picked one of the unburnt cans. First, a fire! As Wishus went about setting a new morning routine, all alone, he felt good. Refreshed. Excited! Last night he had proved it. And now this morning he had discovered something new and wonderful about himself! He looked down wonderingly at his penis again, and fingered it idly, letting his reddish glans peek out. He was going to make it. Everything was going to be fine. He'd be just fine, waiting here for Teg. ---------------------- "Another day to be wasted, dammit." "Why the hell is it so hot, so early in the morning?" Big John Smalley cursed to himself, mumbling disgustedly. Sweat made his hat cling uncomfortably to his forehead, and he felt the unpleasant wetness all around the band. It didn't help that he had a headache, and his neck and shoulder were still sore from that bastard who had waylaid him. Worse still, he sat atop 2000 pounds of hot forse flest, surrounded by the heat already lifting up from the desert sands. "Trackless waste," he muttered. For the hundredth time he asked himself what he was doing here. Not WHY he was here. That much he was sure of. He was going to kill a man. But had to find him first. He had to admit, again for the hundredth time, that he had lost the trail way back at the last river crossing. Should he have turned south to Albuquerque, or keep heading east towards Santa Fe? Trouble was, no one knew who the man was, or where he was headed, before he took off with Rolan and Metrio. "Bastard!" The thought of Rolando brought all the hurt back again. "Damn!" This is hopeless, he thought. He wasn't going to find Rolan again this way. He'd never find him again, period. Unless .... Unless he could find out who that man was. No one back in Miranda knew. Or weren't saying. Everyone had been unusually uncooperative all of a sudden, back there. Well, he had lots of time to work over the worthy citizens of Miranda. Now how about the man who had bushwacked him? Wasn't going to find out where he was headed, so .... Wonder where he came from .... Probably the Black Mountain trail into Miranda .... Viciously, jerking the bit back in his horse's mouth, Big John pulled around. There was more than one way to make that man pay. ---------------------- We awoke entwined, little boy legs resting warm atop mine, the gentle grip of their small fingers pressing so softly into the flesh of my arms, where each had grasped me and held on through the night. Their warm breaths were feather light against my arms. I was sorry to disturb their angelic repose, but there was no way to slip out from the blankets without awakening them, as I had so easily done the morning before. Time to rise and get back on the trail, time to leave behind another wild glade where I had shared such intimate moments with these boys. I stretched carefully, not quite ready to disturb them, and felt my penis start to grow and throb, attempting to rise off my belly, against the resistance of the blankets. It suddenly struck me that I had not cum last night, being lost the entire time in the far greater pleasure, and need, to touch, to caress, to kiss, lick, suck ... to penetrate ... to SERVE these boys' pleasure. I had not cum, but I felt a more lasting and meaningful satiation, spiritually, than I would have, had I simply spilled my seed uselessly on the ground, or even on one of their brown bodies. I closed my eyes and imagined being with my Wishus. I would not spill my seed uselessly with him! He had drank my cum, declaring that he wanted me inside him. I would have no need to pleasure him with that wooden phallus. I would fill him with my own, and pump my sperm deep inside him .... Demetrio stirred on my right, and I felt him sit up abruptly. I opened my eyes to find him grinning from ear to ear, just staring at me, one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His busted lip was fast healing, and he didn't even wince. The blanket slipped from his naked form, and he sat there outlined by the glow of the rising sun. The delicacy and smallness of his form was even more clearly outlined for me. Narrow shoulders that were dwarfed by my hands, as I reached out and pulled him onto my chest. He giggled as I walked my finger tips quickly up and down his ribcage, on both sides, trilling musical notes as I did so, as if his ribs were piano keys. Rolando moved on my other side, and he too sat up, just more slowly and gracefully, his burnished features washed by the direct rays of the sun. Lazily, his eyes still mostly closed, he raised one hand to gather the long strands of his hair that fell over his face. His lips were pursed together loosely, and I heard him breathing deeply though his nose. His brows rose high, as if trying to draw his eyelids up, against the dead weight of sleep. With languid grace, he leaned his body over and propped himself up on one stiff arm, his hand resting on the blanket. His hair just flowed down in a stream to the blankets, as perfect and smooth as if just combed. I followed the lines of his perfectly sculpted chest, down, down, past his little flat belly, to his pubis. His little penis was soft and propped up between his closed thights. Just a rounded half bubble of one testicle was pushed up from between his legs too. Again I felt the stirring in my own penis, and that pent-up feeling in my own balls. It crossed my mind that I might get my release this morning, instead of waiting till tonight, at our next campsite. Demetrio said something in Spanish to his brother. Rolando responded or rather croaked, as if his vocal chords weren't yet awake either. Matter-of-factly he translated. "He say ... last night makes him very, very hungry, meester. What do we have to eat this morning?" My cock was reaching full stand quickly, with me feeling one boy so close against my chest, and staring at the inviting little penis peeking up between the other boy's legs. What was the best way to let them know that I .... Demetrio's question must have hit a chord with Rolando, because he suddenly stretched, and started to rise, saying, "Me too ... meester. Can we eat now?" I saw his eyes wander to the saddlebags, wondering what goodies were there inside them. I sucked my breath in raggedly, trying to steady the sexual tension I felt building within me. It seemed like I would have to wait for tonight. Oh, I could see right now, this was going to be a long day! I shook my head, and silently laughed at myself. A few days ago I would have given years of my life for but one chance to be with a boy, and now here I was anticipating my third night of sexual play with two boys! ---------------------- For the umpteenth time today, Rolando swung the boys' horse off to the side a bit and briefly peered back at me through the sheer veil of his ebony tresses. It was almost a surreptitious glance, the way he did it. Or would have been, if it weren't so obvious. He had been quiet, lost in thought throughout the whole day, and I wasn't sure he was even conscious that he looked back so often. Checking up on me. It seemed like an almost involuntary act, unthinking, a subconscious accompiment to his brooding thoughts. His eye weren't vacant, yet they somehow did not directly focus on me. I got the impression that just seeing my form there behind them, was reassurance enough. None of that anger or resentment that I had sensed, mistakenly, on our first day on the trail. Also none of the liveliness and easy-going companionship of yesterday. For the umpteenth time I chuckled inwardly, wondering what he was thinking, quite certain by now that this boy was mix of emotions, attitudes, hopes ... and demands ... that I could not quickly fathom, or predict. Yet, he was a boy. Was it so difficult to understand what a boy in his situation wanted and needed? This boy, in particular? Security for himself and the little brother he held in front of him on the saddle. Beyond security, some caring devotion. Love. Perhaps a father's strong arms ... and a lover's. Some semblance of security they had had, with the brute Big John. Some form of caring, of love ... or need, and desire. I could not countencance the thought that a man who would beat a boy, could offer love. Wasn't that what Rolando had sought in my blankets, the last two nights? More than the sex that he had learned to crave and yearn for. He wanted my assurance of a father's love, and more - that of HIS man.! For the umpteenth time this day, as I dwelt on these thoughts, my pulse rose, along with my penis. I rode with a boy - two boys - who wanted to share with me all the joys that a father and his sons might know ... and all the joys that only a man and his boy could know! I felt that Rolando and I had reached an understanding last night, and I no longer feared his advances. This evening could not come soon enough for me. ---------------------- I stood tall over my blankets, dropped my longjohns in a heap atop my saddle, and stretched up to the sky. Naked as a jay-bird. The cool evening air was like a tonic, revitalizing my weary muscles. Watching the boys strip right alongside me did wonders for the muscle between my legs, too! My arms were stretched up, my fingers were reaching for the wispy cluds, but my penis jutted straight out, so hard and long that my foreskin had pulled all the way back from my glans, without me even touching it. My eyes were the only other part of my anatomy not straining upwards. No way I would exchange heavenly vistas for boy bodies! It was a dry camp tonight, with no chance to explore Demetrio's little body while washing him, so I rushed through supper, scoured the dishes clean, and suggested we all hit the blankets early. Thank goodness Rolando carried their blankets over next to mine, on either side of me, just like the night before. "Your mama said we have to touch bare skin, to keep warm - so bare skin it is, boys!" I joked as I quickly stripped. Oh, I was already hard, but seeing both boys start to toss their clothes aside, revealing more and more of their sweet, smooth flesh, must have added another inch to my seven inch shaft! The tip of my glans was already wet with precum. God, I wanted these boys bad! Which first?! Should I just go ahead and lead, or should I let Rolando set the pace as he had the two previous nights? I gulped and gasped audibly, feeling feverish and tense, as I brought my arms down and stood watching as two little brown dicks flopped into view. I just had to have little Demetrio's cocklet in my mouth again, and then Rolando's too! I wanted to make both boys sing out their pleasure, and if Rolando wanted help again with the wooden phallus, I knew exactly how he liked it now. Then ... oh, I didn't care how it happened, just so it did ... dare I ask Rolando to suck me? Or could I get little Metrio to wrap both of his diminutive hands around my shaft and pump me? It didn't matter, so long as I could cum! "You look ready for a boy, meester," Rolando said, as if reading my mind. "Yes! And I have two ...." I started to respond, too hastily, in a voice already rasping and hoarse with my lust. "Your dick wants your boy, no?" Rolando continued. "Oh yes!" I smiled. The thought of Wishus did nothing to curb my anticipation. Would that I could make love with him tonight, but offering up my love for these boys, wasn't I paying homage to MY boy!? I felt no guilt in that thought. I was beyond all that now. My seed was for Wishus. Only he would ever receive my seed. Until then, I would gladly, freely, openly worship at the altar of BOY! You've read one too many classical authors, Teglin, I chided myself - but none too harshly. This was truly the way I felt about Wishus and these two boys with me now. "Yes, Rolando," I looked into his upraised eyes, and smiled seeing that same far away look there, just as he had seemed to peer beyond me time and again all day. So, this was what he had been ruminating about! My dear Wishus! Me. Wishus. A man, his boy. "My dick definitely wants my boy, Rolando. It definitely wants Wishus." I wondered if he wanted to hear more about my love. "You want me to ... aaaaaahhhhhhhh!" Even as I spoke, I saw his eyes narrow suddenly, and focus. His lips were pursed, still reflecting his deep thought. Purposefully, almost reverently, he slowly lowered his gaze and reached out with both his hands to gently cup my long, heavy shaft! The shock of his tender touch, on the sensitive underside of my penis, made me weak at my knees. I involuntarily reached out and placed one hand on each boy's shoulder, to steady myself. I gaped down at my jutting cock in awe. It was one of the most erotic images I could ever have imagined! Demetrio, seeing his brother gently hefting my shaft, reached out with both his hands, likewise! All four of their little hands, side by side beneath my tool, did not span it's length! My blood swollen glans, bared, almost flaming red, with a nearly transparent drop of pre-cum forming at the slit of my urethra, dwarfed little Metrio's hands. Their bronzed brown flesh formed a bed on which my white shaft rested, pulsating, alive. They held me lightly, fingers at one moment outstretched, then so softly, with a feather touch, I could feel all twenty of their little finger tips underneath me. I swear I could feel the lines in their palms, with each tiny motion of their hands. They held me tenderly, lovingly, as if offering up a treasure to the gods. "Whhhhhhhhhhhhh ..." I drew in my breath tensely, as Rolando suddenly removed his left hand and brought the tip of his index finger to the slit in the end of my dickhead. He let the clear fluid there slide onto his finger, then pressed his thumb to it and started slowly sliding it around. "This is ... only for Wishus, meester?" he said softly. His voice was not flutelike, as was that of Wishus, but sweet, with the quality of a far away bell, high, melodious. "That's what you said. You will only fuck your boy, Wishus." "Yes," I managed a whisper, hardly yet allowing myself to breathe. "You love him so much." It was a statement, not a question, but I answered anyway. I must breathe now, to answer that statement! "Yes!" Oh, the power of a boy, that he had me standing at attention before him, to bear witness to the power of another boy over me! Rolando paused for what seemed like minutes, staring at his fingers where he still swirled my cum between his fingers. Demetrio stood silently, as always following his big brother's lead. When Rolando looked up, I saw small tears trickling so slowly down from his eyes. "Hold me, meester?" He broke the silence, but just barely. "Of course.." I uttered, as he gently, so softly wrapped both his hands around my penis and started to pull me down to the blankets with him. I would have been shocked and dismayed by his tears, but I sensed in his look that he wasn't sad! Was it ... relief ... that I saw there in his eyes? He released his hold on my penis, and grasped my left arm just as softly, resting his head against it even before we could crouch all the way to the ground. I saw that Demetrio was standing still, looking at us with some bewilderment. I quickly fumbled with the blankets to make sure I could draw them over us all, then reached out to pull Demetrio to my other side. In mere seconds, I had both boys lying beside me again. They both snuggled close in to me, under the warm blankets, and squirmed into comfortable positions. I felt the warmth of Rolando's tears on my arm, but he seemed so calm. He sniffled a bit. 'What you do with us, meester?" he finally whispered. There was no hint of fear, or worry in his tone. He was just ... asking. Trust, I thought. I had gained this boy's trust. I knew he wasn't talking about tonight. This wasn't about sex, this evening. He wanted the bigger picture. "I'm going to find a home for you, Rolando, where you both will have all you need. Everything from an education, to food, clothing ... and ... someone who loves you." "But not like you love ... Wishus, huh meester?" "I ... I don't know ... about that, Rolando ...." "You will not keep us with you?" "I will keep you with me, if we do not find a better home for you," I said, and I meant it. I already had some ideas on this. My friend in Elizabethtown had a good home and would be a wonderful father to these boys. He would have none of the prejudice against Mexicans, that some would. If that did not work, I could call on my parents, back East. There was another long silence. "You like me, meester?" "Of course, I like you, Rolando." "You know where I came from ... what I did with Big John, just to ...." "None of that matters, Rolando. No, no! Yes, it really does matter, actually. I admire you all the more, son, for doing what you ... had to do, to take care of Demetrio ...." "But I ... what about the other, meester ... you know ... I wanted ... I needed what Big John gave me ...." How could I tell him what that meant to me, as a boylover? "It makes ..." I started to deny once again that it mattered to me. Once again I had to catch myself, because it did matter very much to me. "Rolando ... how do I say this ... did you ever .... When you made love with Big John ... did you ever hurt anyone by it?" "No." "How did it make you feel, to have him ... inside you?" He didn't answer immediately, but I felt an added pressure on my arm, as his emotion made him tighten his grip on me. "From the very first time, meester," he began solemnly, speaking every word very clearly, "I wanted it. I never felt so ... complete ... so good, and right ... as when he fuck me. I didn't love Big John, but when he fuck me I wanted to love him. I did want to love him! What he gave me then, I wanted to ...." He fell silent, as I felt his whole body shiver. He held me now tightly, and pressed his cheek into my arm. Finally, he continued. "But ... I am a boy. Wasn't it wrong for me to be his ... woman? To dress like his girl? To be his cunt?" For the second time in less than a week, I struggled to find the words to tell a boy that what he felt was different than what some others would feel, yes, but what he felt was a positive good. "Rolando ... for all time, as far back as we have records of it, there have been boys ... perhaps most boys, certainly SPECIAL boys, who need a ... special man. Just for them. A man they can share everything with ... didn't you feel like that , when Big John was inside you ...." "Yes! I wanted so much to give him ... but ...." "Big John was not the right man for you, Rolando. No, I ... I can't say if you will find your man ... but I do know you were only doing, only feeling, the best within you, son. I believe you are a very lucky boy to have these feelings. You were not Big John's woman. You wanted to give him more, but he was unworthy of what you could have given. You wanted to be his lover, HIS BOY." I stopped, wondering if I had said it right for him, hoping, wishing that I could express in words just how wonderful it could be for a boy to find his man, for a man to find his boy. Did he understand? I closed my eyes in prayer, that he would. Then I felt his answer. He had understood! He lifted his cheek from my arm momentarily, and I felt his lips press softly there, just briefly, before he turned his head back again to rest against my arm. Tears again. Mine this time. He had kissed me in the same spot that Wishus had kissed me out in the meadow, where we played base ball. Another moment in time, when I could tell myself confidently, 'you done good, Teglin.' His breathing became so regular, and the silence went on so long, that I thought Rolando had joined his little brother in sleep. At some point, I realized that through it all, through the questions and the tears, I had remained hard! I had not orgasmed, and now I knew I would not this night, yet I felt so good, satisfied. I was a man, and had done good for a boy. Two boys. Three boys! Your job for tonight is finished, Teglin, I thought, and just as quickly I felt my erection begin to subside. "Meester ...?" Rolando broke the silence again, now sounding a bit drowsy. "Ye ... yes, Rolan?" "Meester, tomorrow you cut my hair." "Uh ... alright ... son, I will do that," and as I wondered about it, it suddenly seemed so right. Of course, he wanted it cut. No longer Big John's girl. Just Rolando, the boy. "You get me boy clothes too?" I chuckled softly, "Yes sweetie. Tomorrow you get clothes for the wonderful, beautiful, special boy that you are." ---------------------- "You make me very happy, Meester," Rolando said out of the blue, as he slowly scrubbed lather into his now much shorter hair. What a sight he was, both his arms up high, and he still had that habit of lifting up on his tippy-toes occasionally, as he washed! Standing just a couple of feet away, helping him bathe, was like a dream. I looked down, from his soapy head to his water-slicked chest and tummy, following the water trail as it funnelled naturally into his pubis, and trickled like a tiny little waterfall off the tip of his little brown cocklet! I almost answered, 'you make me very happy too! Just letting me stand here ladling warm water over your perfect body!' Instead, I scooped more water from the bucket sitting by the fire, and slowly trickled it over his head, helping him rinse the lather from his hair and eyes. "Why is that, Rolan?" I asked simply. I glanced over at Demetrio, who had already taken his shower bath, and was sun-drying, swinging his legs idly from his perch on the bole of a fallen tree, just a few feet away. We were less than a day out of Elizabethtown, and I wanted the boys to look their best when Bill Sanders first saw them. Not that Rolando could ever look other than gorgeous, no matter how long since his last bath, what he wore, how short he cut his hair, or any other possible variation on boy-god. "You're still hard, meester! You are still hard, and ... I cut my hair, I wear boy clothes, and you ... you still want me, don't you!" So he did notice! I thought to myself wryly. Three days without sex, after he taught me to expect it the first two nights, and I was beginning to wonder if I had not been obvious enough! Strutting around, with Little Teglin rising to every occasion. Every occasion including when Rolando so much as breathed! "I want you more than ever, sweetie! You didn't doubt your beauty just because you cut your hair, did you?" "Mama make me grow my hair long. She knew how to make a man want ...." "Uh ... Rolando?" I interrupted him. "Let me tell you something. You're mama was no doubt a wonderful woman, but she was a woman! I'll wager it takes a man, or perhaps another boy, to appreciate the true beauty of a boy! You have never looked better, and your pants ... well, your pants let every man see all of your charms! That dress just covered you up. No one will mistake you for a girl now, for sure!" "Thank you, meester ...," he said softly, and looked up at me, canting his head up almost sheepishly. He smiled tentatively, almost speculatively, and once again, just like the evening, three nights ago, when he brought out the wooden phallus, and showed his need for it, his brow pursed a bit. His eyes narrowed a bit, and I saw his chest start to rise more quickly with something building inside him. "Meester, I see you been hard for three days, and you did not even jack off at night, did you?" He knew the answer, since he and Demetrio had been with me twenty-four hours a day, and we had slept each night in each others arms. Having had my own shower bath, I too was naked, and of course my tool was standing out erect from my body. "No, I was just ...." "You were just waiting for me. You want me, but you did not take me. You give me time." I poured the rest of the warm water over his head, slowly. He blinked, but did not lower his eyes. There was desire there, but none of the calculation. We both knew where we stood with each other, now. He grinned more broadly, but with a seductive tilt of his head. Suddenly he reached out, as I lowered the ladle, and with both hands took the ladle from me, and dropped it to the ground. He pulled my hand down, down, making me stoop. My brow furrowed, as I sought his eyes, to figure out his intentions, then I looked down where he was pulling my hand. To his little penis! Now erect! He said something to Demetrio in Spanish, something, something 'aqui', at the very instant he placed my fingers on his dick. I did sense Demetrio jumping off the log, but didn't take my eyes of my prize! It was hot! Even wet, I felt his blood pumping into his little three-inch long tool. I gently pulled the foreskin back, revealing his engorged glans, almost purplish against the rich brown of his skin. I started to bend my knees, I wanted his dick in my mouth, finally! Once again! "Oh no!" he admonished me, as he reached out and forcefully took hold of my own jutting penis! Using it like a handle, he made me stand again, and giggled. "You just stand there, Meester." He ordered. He was like a whirlwind, all of a sudden, when he let go of my prick. Quickly he dried himself with the old dress, that we had all been using as a towel. I watched in delight as he twirled and twisted and bent, giving me glimpses of his dark brown anus when his buttocks parted a bit, of his sleek, long legs, when he ran the cloth down each of them. I felt I might cum just watching him. Even in his haste, every motion of his hands and fingers, every pose he took, was naturally fluid and graceful. Once again I wanted a painter, to capture his lines for all time! His long hair had always lent him an aura of mystery, as it fell this way or that, ever veiling one part of his body or another, always hinting, allowing glimpses only, of hidden treasures that one could only know by becoming his lover. Now that those luxuriant tresses were shorn, I regretted their loss, the loss of that seductive allure which had been a constant source of excitement and arousal. Nevertheless, my arousal was hardly less constant now that he wore his hair like Demetrio's, just falling long enough to cover his ears and midway down his neck.. How could I be any less aroused, when now I could see every nuance of his graceful motion? Now that I was granted the right to see what before only his lover could. He hastily dried his hair, then threw the dress aside and looked up at me again, smiling coyly, and took a step closer. "You have been very, very patient, Meester. I think you need a reward for that." With that, he reached for my cock again. This time he used it to pull me along with him. I followed willingly, as he drew me bodily to where our blankets were already spread. He stopped, facing me, and briefly played with my dick, cooing all the while, like he had a new toy . He tilted his head to the side, and pursed his lips, as if throwing my dickhead a kiss. I had held back so long that his touch had me close already. My breath was already starting to come raggedly, but I stood as still as I could, letting Rolando control my every move. Again he wrapped his fingers firmly around the shaft, below the glans, but this time he pulled me down. I followed like his willing slave, mirroring his motions as he first knelt to one knee, then both. His tongue protruded from his lips, and he slowly wet them, then with his eyes glued to my penis, he scootched close to me, and sat back on his ankles. He leaned forward. Without further ceremony, he opened his mouth wide and took in the tip of my penis between his lips. The warm, moist touch of his lips, and his pointed tongue already probing my slit, made me feel feint. He moaned, "mmmmm", savoring my taste. I watched through hooded eyes, as he slowly leaned in more and let my whole dickhead glide all the way into his mouth. His tongue roamed all over my glans, one moment pointed, pressing in, the next flat, and slippery with his saliva. With his lips forming a tight ring, just behind the rim of my glans, he started teasing me with his tongue, slipping it here and there between his tight lips and my tumescent flesh. It felt so delicious! Each separate lick along my shaft was evidence of Rolando's courtesan-like skills. His mother must have schooled him well! Instead of one overwhelming buildup of sensation in my dick, I was treated to stabs of ecstacy, first along one side of my shaft, then another, then below, directly on my frenum! Rolando did not pump me at all, he made no jacking motion with his hands, still wrapped around my shaft. There was no need! By the third, firm, probing lick of my frenum I could hold back no longer, and cried out, throwing my head back, bucking my mid-section towards him, driving my shaft deep into his mouth. As I felt my glans flatten against his throat, my testicles seemed to spasm up into me, and my cum started spurting into him! I fell forward a bid, as if whiplashed, and steadied myself with my hands on his back, holding him to me. I felt him gag, as my cum spurted again, and again, so I loosenedd my hold and let him start to back away. He drew back, and let my penis slide free of his mouth, but then used his hands to direct my still spurting cum onto his face. It was the most lascivious sight in all my experince, a wanton display of his desire to please me, as he let my semen splatter his nose, his cheeks, and chin. Dribbles of cum overflowed from his mouth. He wasn't swallowing it. He looked up at me and grinned, then put his right hand to his mouth, and pushed all my cum out into his palm. "Demetrio, mismo!" he ordered. My other little boy had evidently been a silent, and patient witness to the sucking. I now realized he was standing close, as he held out the wooden phallus. "Can I, meester?" Rolando asked me, as he took the phallus and motioned his hand filled with my sperm towards the shaft of the wooden dick. It already looked slick with the cream that Demetrio must have applied to it, so it was not the lubricating effect of my cum that Rolando wanted. "I ... Rolan ...!" I stammered, wanting so much to give in to this boy's every desire, but even in my fevered state, I knew that he wanted now to fuck himself again, with my sperm lubricating his fake phallus. Even if he could not have me inside him, did he so desperately want my seed? But ... that was for Wishus, and Wishus alone! He saw the reluctance, the shock, in my expression, "Ahh, I see, meester. This is truly only for your boy, huh?" he smiled, not in the least upset with my reaction. "You mean what you say, don't you, meester. You tell the truth." "Rolan ... I ...," still dumbstruck, I just could not work my way through this maze. Was there such depth to this boy's every action? In truth, he was right. In truth, I did mean it when I said my seed was only for Wishus. In truth, I did mean it when I said I would take care of Rolando and Demetrio. This twelve year old boy had the power to carry me to heights where I could soar, he uplifted me bodily and spiritually. He was so much more than a trained prostitute. More than a skilled courtesan. So much more even than a boy in need. "What ... are you ...?" I asked him aloud, letting my thoughts surface. He seemed to understand, not even hesitating in his answer. "Just a boy, meester. You take care of me and Metrio. We trust you, now. Completely." He smiled at me again, then lowered his hand to the edge of the blanket and wiped my cum there. Then he reached up to his face, and started wiping the dripping cum away there too. I reached out to his cheek, and helped him. "I need love too, meester," he said next, lifting the long wooden phallus up. His smiled softened, as he focussed on the instrument. "You give me one kind of love, and I will find the other. But for now, you help me again, meester. It's been three long days for me too. I need to feel ... this ... inside me, again!" "Do you ... miss ... Big John ... Rolando?" I asked stupidly. "No. I want this in me because I need it. I have to have it, meester. There's someone out there for me, meester. You will help me find him, I know you will. This will be him, someday! Now, hurry, please!" He leaned forward on the blanket, resting his free hand on it, propping himself up, lifting his butt up, and held the phallus back along his side. He waved it urgently, impatiently. I regained my senses, and hastened to reposition myself, crawling quickly to kneel behind his uprasied buttocks now. I took the phallus from him, without even looking at it. My eyes were glued to his bared and open buttocks, with the smooth, lighter colored brown of his crack running down to the darkened ring of his anus. I felt my on penis harden again, bare moments after coming. The sight of Rolando, in this position, with both his hands on the blanket now, his back parallel to the ground, his head hanging down and waving from side to side in his urgencly, made me flush with the desire to please him now, to service him. I felt the adrenalin flowing within me. "Quickly now!" he called back to me. I could hear the desperation in his pleading tone, the need. "Which ... which way, Rolan," I asked, still so naive about how to use the instrument to his greatest pleasure. "Like you are fucking me, mister! Put it in quick. I'm ready for it! I want to feel him all the way in me! Deep in me. Now!" I positioned the head of the wooden penis to Rolando's anus quickly, and noticed how his own little penis hung down between his legs limply, dangling in time with his balls, with his every motion. He must have been so centered in his desire to be penetrated that he had lost his erection. I pushed in immediately, obeying his command. I felt him pushing back, and the wooden glans glided inside the boy easily. His back stiffened and his head raised. I heard him gasp for breath, then hold it in. I paused, thinking to let him get used to the sensation, but in quick, breathy gasps, he commanded me to "Push. Push! Push!" With both my hands on the huge balls of the phallus, I pushed in deeper, feeling only light resistance as Rolando's passageway accepted the intruder. He moaned, as the dick penetrated to his special spot. Would Wishus have that special spot? I wondered. Deeper and deeper, I pushed, till fully six or seven inches of the ten-inch phallus were inside the boy. The resistance seemed to grow suddenly, so I stopped. The silence, and stillness, was utter and complete. Demetrio stood stock still in front of Rolando. I kneeled behind him, entranced by the thought of the carved glans of the mighty phallus buried deep within the willing boy's bowels. He was motionless for an instant. I couldn't even hear him breathe. "Fuck me," he whispered, a rasping plea. I saw that his arms were rigid, and that he had grasped the blanket with his fists. His knuckles were white with the tension. "Fuck me!" he pleaded, louder. I swallowed, realizing that I had frozen in position too, awaiting his reaction. Starting slowly, I pulled the phallus out a couple of inches, watching as the rim of his anus, which had slipped inward, along with the penetration of the phallus, now pulled out. Even through the dark, bronzed complexion of his skin, I could see that his anus was reddening, straining to grasp the full circumference the tool, straining to pull it back inside him, even as I pulled it out. Then, I pushed. "Oh, yeessssss!" he moaned. He again tried to push back as I pushed the phallus in, but now the phallus within him was in control, and his body lurched forward with it as I buried it again, almost seven inches deep within him. "Faster, meester!" he pleaded. So I quickened my pace, first withdrawing, then pushing the shaft in again, out, in, out, in. Feeling his whole body surrender to the pistoning action, I unconsciously started pumping my body too. I was kneeling still, but erect from the knees up. My dick was ramrod stiff. It had to be! It mimmicked the virility of the perpetually hard wooden tool. I thrilled to every moan and gasp that Rolando uttered, as I helped him regain the feeling that he obviously did not want to live without. I was filling him, driving the phallus into him. His man, vicariously, symbolically. I started to imagine doing this for real, with my Wishus. Replacing the wooden tool with my own flesh, driving into him, hearing his moans and gasps of pleasure, of want, of need! I released one hand from the phallus, and hooked it around Rolando's hip, helping to pull his weakening body back with each stroke of the fucking. It was Wishus' hot flesh, that I felt! The tips of my fingers came into contact with Rolando's dangling penis. It was Wishus' penis that I started to stroke, pulling it, carressing it, making it harden too! I began to jack him off, timing each stroke with the plunging of my phallus deep into him! He uttered a strangled, almost piteous, cry of overwhelming ecstasy. His cry released my love in full measure. I knew he wanted me to fill him with my seed. I felt my phallus pumping, pumping, within him. Even as I came deep inside him, I felt his body suddenly tense rigidly, forcing me to stop fucking into him as the sensations exploded within him, and he cried out now full-throated, screaming his joy for all to hear. Almost by itself, I felt the wooden phallus start to withdraw from its sheath, so I eased it out, lovingly, carefully, now holding Rolando up with my other hand. He might have feinted in his orgasm, from all I could tell. His arms had collapsed, and his head lolled limply on the blankets, his glistening black hair hiding his face from me. His anus remained open, spasming slightly, as if feeling a sudden void within, and wanting the phallus back within him. I noticed droplets of cum on his buttocks, and looked down in amaze at my own now softening penis. Semen dangled from my glans. Had I cum too? Had the mere thought of making love with my own Wishus made me cum too? As I lowered Rolando lovingly and gently to the blankets, I closed my eyes, and imagined my dear Wishus. Oh, if only he could feel my love, right now. ---------------------- Wishus sat back against the sun-warmed rock wall of his Tower, and released his raw and tingling penis. He laughed. It was the third time today he had jacked off. He found himself playing with his peepee all the time now, ever since he had discovered that he could pull his foreskin back from his bulbous glans. Nothing felt so good to him as those moments when he felt the electrifying tension building up within him, centered around his peepee and his little balls, but seemingly everywhere, all at once! It was his one source of pleasure now, releasing him momentarily from the constant longing he felt for Teg to return. He endured each day stoically. There was plenty of food so far, so he wasn't hungry. The weather was good, so he had not been cold. But he wondered if a boy could die of loneliness. Only when he jacked off, like Teg had taught him, did he feel ok. For a while. At those moments of intense sensations, he could imagine Teg with him so close, touching him, kissing him. Oh, just being WITH him! So his hand wandered often to his penis. Today, he was feeling especially ... naughty ... experimental. Most times he jacked off, he probed his anus with his other hand, but today he had suddenly thought ... what if he could put something else, besides his finger in there?! Would it feel better, if it were bigger ... longer? He looked down beside him, and idly fingered his collection of possible finger substitutes. He hadn't had the courage to actually use one yet, but he wanted to! If it felt so good to have his finger in there, rubbing, and pumping in and out, why wouldn't it feel even better with this smooth, hardened corn cob he had fetched from the cellar? Or the brush handle? He picked up the brush and began polishing its smooth ivory handle idly, with the fabric of his nightgown. It was certainly longer than his finger. And certainly bigger around! Twice as big around. Would it even fit inside him? It was smooth, and the end was rounded. About six inches long? Hey, just a little shorter than Teg's peepee, when it got all hard and long! Wishus stopped polishing, and just stared at the brush handle, feeling suddenly all tingly inside again, but this time in his chest. His breath suddenly came faster, and he felt a flush rise to redden his cheeks. It was smaller than Teg's peepee, but not that much. If he could get the brush handle inside him when he jacked off, what about ...? But ... but ... would Teg put his thing there? What if ... what if he could lay back now, and ... what if Teg crawled over him and ... he raised his legs and .... Wishus closed his eyes, imagining such a moment. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. Why couldn't it happen, now! All he wanted was for Teg to be here now! If he were here, would he ... do it? Wishus lay down on the on the warm porch of his Shaman's Tower, and pulled his night gown up to his waist. He rolled his hips, giving himself access to his butt, and cautiously slid the smooth end of the brush handle along his butt crack. It was slightly cold, at least cooler than his flesh, but felt good. As he positioned the tip right on his anus, and lifted the handle, to hold it straight out from his hole, his other hand sought his once again erect penis. He closed his eyes, starting his now familiar ritual, pulling his foreskin back off his glans, then letting it slide back, just the beginning of that feeling that he knew would build in his peepee. It was Teg's hand he always imagined there. He would show Teg his newfound glans, and let Teg slide the soft skin back and forth over it. Teg would know when to start making the motion more rhythmic, longer, rubbing his entire peepee. Would Teg put his big peepee back there? Would he push in? Wishus slowly rotated the handle of the brush, just pushing in slightly, imagining Teg hovering over him. Wondering, dreaming ... would this be something Teg would do for him? He had been planning to tell Teg about using his finger there, and how good it felt, but now ... was it possible, what he was thinking about now? Would Teg do this for him ...? Wishus allowed himself to dream it. As the tip of the brush handle pushed just inside his tightly stretched anal ring, he sighed, loving the feeling. It was Teg over him now, it was Teg gently fingering his glans, and it WAS Teg ... filling him ....