Date: Thu, 04 Mar 1999 18:42:33 PST From: DEBONAIR Subject: WINTER WONDERLAND (m/b) *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read this if you are easily offended or if you are not interested in fantasies involving young boys. This file contains sexually explicit material. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Feel free to distribute this story or archive it at your favorite site without altering its content. English is not my mother's tongue, I apologize for the mistakes. (man/boy) "Go on take everything, take everything. I want you to." - HOLE WINTER WONDERLAND by DEBONAIR A heavy blanket of snow covered the sidewalk. On the doors, the plastic renditions of jolly ole St-Nick sneered back at me. Children with red cheeks were oblivious to their frostbiten hands as they engaged in heated snowball fights. My inner child longed to join them. I used to go there often. No one wanted to live there, much less visit. But I loved to stroll in the Verdun district. That part of the city was populated with misfits, winos. A daily dose of crime happened there. The street gangs ruled in the area. A vast empire of underage mobsters. Nothing like South Central L.A. of course. No guns. The weapons of choice were fists and army knives. I would trot in the streets, looking at the walls of the closed down shops covered with graffitis. Each drawing a cry for help. The sullen faces of the single mothers on welfare and the sad eyes of alcoholic fathers wandering aimlessly, reminded me of how privileged I was. I felt grounded there. As if I was human again. Not a robot in the big machine. Emotions rose in my throat. Something I never experienced during the week at the job. That zone on the southside of the city was poverty stricken. As it is often the case. There were many children born into that seedy world. Tough kids. Kids who had to learn to fight to protect even the most meaningless of their possessions. I would go boywatching almost every week. I learned the spots where the boys' favorite hang-outs were. Just below Wellington avenue. The untidy parks. The arcades. The public pools. I would try to get as near as possible to hear their mature conversations. They talked about hockey, cars, their lousy folks and infamous melees. Even the younger ones chatted about sex and dope. Their babyfaces hiding the extent of their harsh life. Sometimes, I would take a bus ride and close my eyes to listen to the voices of the children around me. I knew they were precocious when it came to sex. But I had to hear it for myself. And it would arouse me fiercely when the pompous lads announced their latest conquest in bed. The young girls they had screwed. The hairless sirens who had sucked their juvenile organs. I almost fainted on a snowy saturday. I was alone in the moving bus with two boys of about twelve. They thought I was sleeping. One of the kids was reciting his exploit. He had fucked an eight-year-old boy with an older friend that very morning. In between the generous cursing, he explained, with a limited vocabulary, how he had nailed the child's butt. How tight and swell it had been. Not a hint of remorse transpired in his tone of voice. After that, I shied away from my escapades in Verdun. I had gotten all I could out of my spying. I was afraid I would stumble and try to approach one of these forsaken urchins. With very little affection and ingenuity, I apprehended I could get any of them to sleep with me. For months, I slowly rid myself of my obsession for these rats. Until the night of my thirthieth birthday. I was depressed and drunk. Bored with myself and the television. I hopped in the car and returned to the hood. It was the first time I had travelled there at night. Fear of being mugged had restrained me before. But my reason had vanished at that point. The electronic noises of the machines in the arcade hurt in my head. The neon flashes and bright flashing colors of the video screens blurred my vision for a while. I studied the room discreetly. Most boys were teenagers. It was expected at eleven o'clock. But there were younger kids too, children of the night, searching in their pockets for yet another quarter. I could not prowl around indefinitly and settled myself in front a racing game, swerving off the road as I peeked at the parade of underfed zombies walking past me. One was rolling a joint in the shadow of a pinball machine and lent it to a pre-teen. Then, I concentrated on the game, hoping to reach the finish line and extend my time. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a silhouette beside me. A pretty young angel he was. With a serious face and shiny brown eyes. Dressed in the local hockey team red jersey with worn out blue sweat pants on his legs. "Come on, play with me." I muttered nervously, popping a few coins in the slot. He took the wheel and displayed his ability. Beating me time and time again with his black car. I could see his upturned nose mirrored on the glass. His unkept hair falling almost to his shoulders. The boy was like an identical replica of Zack Hanson with brown hair. After ten minutes, I stopped feeding cash into the addictive game. I wanted to go back home and jack off, thinking about the boy. What I would do with his frail body in my arms. Fetching the remaining quarters in my jacket, I handed them to him, eyeing his frame with lust. "There you go. Have fun!" I smiled. The young male leered at silvery discs in the palm of hand and raised his stare to meet mine. "Do you have twenty bucks. I could do something for twenty bucks." he peeped with his unbroken voice. His lips grinning wickedly to express his underlying intention. I froze for an instant but realized quickly I had to shake it off in order to avoid suspicions. "Okay. Go outside. I'll be there in a minute." I murmurred, scanning around to see if anybody had witnessed what was going on. My hands were jerky as I played another time. I exhaled heavilly, reflecting on what I was about to do. I could have just told him to scram and save my soul. But when I stepped outside the vulgar establishment, my mouth said: "Come with me, my car's parked over there." -=- Inside the security of my Saab, I asked the boy his age and his name. Francis was eleven. "Do you do everything?" I inquired. "Yes. 20 for a hand job. 40 for a blow job. 10 if I swallow. 80 for my butt." he informed me of his fees coldly. I attempted to pry into his personal life. The kid was open about it. His dad was in jail, his mother a crack whore. His big brother was a bad mutha who had raped him ever since he was four. Otherwise, a normal family. I was only the third man he had gone with for sex. He wasn't very smart. I lost him many times with my intellectual words and brought the level down a notch. Discussing the theories of Plato on intergenerational relationships was out of the question. He could tell the name of all his hockey idols, Lafleur, Richard and Roy etc.. But was ignorant when I asked him who was running the country. Bringing the street hustler to my house wasn't very wise. For all I knew he could be carrying a switchblade. I was afraid he would point it to my face and demand my money or anything valuable in my home when we got there. Perhaps bribe me with the possibility of a sexual assault report to the authorities. I yearned for the moment when he would be naked and vulnerable. Understandbly, the poor child was hungry and we stopped at Ben's deli for a smoked meat sandwich. Right until I drove into my neighbourhood of Rosemont, I imagined this was all a wet dream. The boy was like a replica of Zack Hanson with brown hair. With my car parked in the garage, the reality overwhelmed me. I was actually gonna fuck a little boy in the ass. The first one. Probably the last one too. Francis bared his torso when we ambled in the living room, sending the fragrance of his cheap cologne in the air. I interrupted him and told him it would be an honor to undress him. Very slowly, I removed his dirty sneakers and tugged on his white socks. While I massaged his boyfeet, I was impressed with the kid's serene calmness. His pink nipples were already hard like erasers. I slid his sweat pants down his pale legs and gazed at the lump in his bikini briefs. The little man was so sexy. I asked him to stand up and knelt in front of him like an adoring fan to a young god. My hands roamed on his slim legs up to his crotch. They went to his bum and kneaded the firm mounds. As I lowered his underwear, my heart sped up. The child's hairless genitals were right on my nose and I could smell his boyish aroma. With my paws on his tender buns, I crushed the boy on my face. Unleashing years of pent-up frustrations. My lips nibbled his wrinkled scrotum. I could fit easily both balls in my mouth and did so, swirling them in my wet cavity. The delicate uncircumcized boyhood began to twitch. I engulfed the limp appendage to feel it harden in my mouth. Francis purred as I suckled him gently. On my tongue, I could discern the spongy glans expand, retracting his foreskin. The small erection reached it's full length of three inches. I looked at it in awe. At the randy piece of meat damp from my saliva. Its bloated pink knob pointing its one eye at me like a cyclop. The tip of my tongue danced all around the little mushroom. Then I sucked him ravenously. Taking his entire boydick in my mouth and twirling my oral instrument around the root of it to savour the baldness of his groin. Quickly I shucked my clothes off to bask in the heat of Francis's diminutive body against mine. He didn't even blink when I released my aching seven inch hard-on from my briefs. I nudged the boy's head on my broad chest and rubbed my drooling prick on his flat tummy. My hands caressing his behind. I could feel his excited pecker poking my thigh. The silence that had resulted from our initial bashfulness was broken by Francis' moans. I hugged him amourously, sensing it was the only kind of love the boy had experienced so far in his young life. We melted to the floor and relished our illegal embrace. I had only seen Francis smiled once. At the arcade. It worried me that an eleven-year-old boy this charming could wear a straight-face for so long. I tickled his ribs and we trashed on the carpet. Our bodies getting tangled as he tried to evade my touch. High-pitched giggles soared from his throat. I attacked his hairless armpits, making him go back to infancy. "Stop it! I'm ticklish!" he yelled, in between bursts of pure laughter. "Yeah? Where? over here?" I said, exploring every part of his upper body and pinching his buns. His chest was heaving when I ended my sweet torture. We looked in each other's eyes and smiled. At that moment, I think he realized I wasn't gonna strangle him or hurt him. We rested for a while. A naked man and a boy with horny hard dicks to satisfy. He crawled to my balls with evil eyes and munched on them. My penis was a tower of power, jutting from my hairy pubic mound. His little tongue tasted the underside of my shaft. He slobbered all over my angry helmet and I brushed away his long hair to see everything. I hissed when his thin lips worked my fat tool. He wasn't a novice, that's for sure. He sucked greedilly as if he had been depraved of cocks in his mouth for a decade. I was amazed at how much of me he could swallow and I encouraged him. "Oh Francis! Yeah.. You're doing great! Ohh suck it baby!" None of his pointy teeth grazed my sensitive glans throughout the terrific blow job. He paused once in while, his beautiful mug beaming with the pride of his accomplishment. He could have made any man fall to his knees with his moist rubis lips. I let him play with my erection a little longer. Gathering the courage to ask him what I desired most, his baby butt. I watched him with passionate hunger. His hands were gripping the base of my cock as he luxuriated on it. Darting his tongue, taking long swipes or slurping on my pole like it was a huge popsicle. "Let's go to the bedroom. I want a piece of your lil' ass." I managed to blurt out. Francis didn't fuss. I led him to the second storey. He climbed on the bed and promptly stretched on a pillow like the perfect boywhore he was. His legs spread, his white rump high. "You can fuck me really hard if you want. I can take it." he confessed. I considered putting on a condom but changed my mind stupidly. Reasoning that the two men he had laid were not diabolic enough to give such a divine lad any disease. I smeared KY gel on my swollen member, wondering how I would succeed in postponing my climax. Like a cat, I crept behind him. Moving along his left leg. Giving a gentle peck to his heel, his calf, the back of his thigh. Until I reached his gorgeous asscheeks and kissed them all over. Waves of goosebumps erupted on his skin as he shivered from my erotic contact. I peered at his used brownhole. A tiny puckered indentation adorned with the scar of a past penetration. When I pressed my dickhead to the entrance of his rectum, he stiffened. The gripping muscle allowed me entry and I moaned while the tip of my penis disappeared inside the boy. Francis winced from the pain and held on for dear life to the bed covers. I pulled out and repeated the procedure, again and again. Enlarging the little hole slightly with every invasion. Getting intoxicated by the sight of the hardy shithole closing slowly when I took my glans out. I felt the sphincter yield to my intrusion and parted his buttocks to see my big cock slide in his slick butthole. With half in I started a repetive motion. Thrusting and withdrawing slowly. Francis was born squealer. His cries of pain and joy echoed in the room. I shut my eyes and listened to his wails gradually turning to screams as my prick glidded with more ease into his rectum, faster and deeper until it really felt like I was fucking his bum. The kid was very vocal and it scared me. I paused momentarily and asked my young partner if I was hurting him. Francis reprimanded me, urging me to keep plowing. Arguing that he had always survived. Exhorting me not to bother with his puerile complaints. "You're the boss." I remarked, continuing the in and out motions. My libido appeased that he had not altered his consent. I closed my eyes again to relish fully the blissful clasping of his anus on my engorged manhood. A surge of gratitude envelopped my brains. More so, it was my dick who was giving thanks to destiny for putting a willing demon on my path. I pumped his little butt with more energetic thrusts. Slamming with the elan of a stallion into his guts. "Urggh! urggh!! aoow aoow Urghhhh!" Francis grunted from my intensifying fuckstrokes. The eleven-year-old's constant shrieks were not of my concern anymore. They had been concealed in the back of my sexed-up mind. Used only to accentuate my pleasure once in a while. My groans joined his litany the more I fucked harder. When I opened my eyes, I found I was ramming my phallus ball deep into his asscrack. The sudden awareness that my seven inches were lodged up his fanny practically provoked my ejaculation. "OH fuck!" I exclaimed, trying to preserve my juice in my ballbag. I collapsed on the mattess, dragging the boy on top of me like an inert puppet. He writhed on my thorax, whimpering like a toddler, from my whole prick embedded inside him. With his little feet on my knees, he supported himself, so that he wasn't impaled completely on my prong. I breathed heavilly on the nape of his neck. My hands caressing his sweaty hairless chest. I tweaked his nipples and raised my hips to fuck his ass tenderly. His poor pecker was rigid and leaking pre-cum. He closed his palm on it but I denied him that liberty and pursued cultivating his anal pleasure with langorous strokes of my penis. Francis moaned over me, shaking his head left and right. I fondled his testicles and he undulated. "Make me cum.. please.." he begged. My long fingers seemed like they belong to a giant as I masturbated placidly his smooth shaft. The transparent fluid flowing out of his pisslit lubed my hand. Then I polished his pud with more vigor. Mimicking the tempo of my cock slidding up his behind. Francis' cries grew louder. "Ohhh ohhh ohhhhhhhh OHHH OHH YEAH YESS! I'm gonna cum! Yess OHH OHHH" I didn't stop the escalation. Fucking at full speed and fisting his boycock like a madman. The lad wriggled over me. Convulsing as jolts of bliss lashed at his muscles. "UnnGHHHH" he yelled all of a sudden. I squeezed his little hard pole shuddering in my hand. His tight shithole was quivering around my maleness. Three droplets of boy syrup gushed from his spasming peter and he panted. "Fuck me! Come in my ass now!" he ordered. I ejected from the warmth of his entrails and pulled him by his ankles to bend him over the edge of the bed. He grunted as I stuffed my log roughly back inside in his puffy bumhole. I wrapped my grip around his lean waist and rutted in earnest with the young boy. Francis gnawed the bed covers to muffle his piercing screeching. I was really taking my money's worth. Hammering my cock and lamenting like an animal. When the sounds of slapping balls, indicating full contact sex, resonated in my ears, I slipped into the fifth gear. Using all the power of my muscular frame to copulate with the eleven-year-old. I fucked his bony ass like a piledriver. "Ouch! Ouch! Annnhhh. Please come in my ass! Please mister.. please!" My dick had taken over. Controling my behavior. For long minutes, I sodomized the kid very hard. Francis had abandoned his child body. He slouched over the bed letting me use his ass for my gratification. I stole every ounce of ecstasy out of it. With one last thrust, I buried my cock deep inside his rectum. Francis cooed like a police siren as my pulsing fuckpole spurted into him. The boiling semen rushed in my urethra to fill his bowels. I mooed with every peak of my intense orgasm. The boy slept with me. I applied some cream on his sore anus and cuddled with him. The next morning, Francis was gone when I awoke. I rolled in the empty bed, suddenly all alone. He had taken all the money I owned him from my wallet. The credit cards were still there. Where I had deposited my expensive wristwatch, I found a note. "You got the time mister? I do. If you want it back. Meet me next Saturday." Francis wasn't that dumb after all. THE END. You can send comments and suggestions to debonair63@hotmail.com or debonair36@hotmail.com All flames will be ignored cuz' some people will never grasp the concept of fiction. I do not condone any of the acts in this file. Agatha Christie wrote about murderers all her life. She was not a criminal. Fight for free speech and stop censorship.