Date: Sun, 12 May 2019 17:08:26 +0000
From: hoiiah+aqw8sn05i1t80@guerrillamail.com
Subject: Robin's Adventures - Part 28 | <G> <YF>

"Robin! Robin!" My little brother was whispering into my ear, and gently
shaking me. Hearing the plane engines, I realized I was still on the redeye
flight from LA to Paris.

I grunted in exhaustion. "What is it, Chris?" Opening my eyes, I saw him
carrying his small paper sack, and knew he needed some help.

"Can we...?" He whispered, pointed his head toward the lavatories.

I nodded and got up, pulling the blanket off me. Chris started
laughing. I'd forgotten about my trousers and was standing in just my
disheveled madras shirt, socks and sheer little red briefs. Thank God the
seats around us were empty. Quickly, I ducked down to slide my trousers on.

Eric, the 13-year-old punk rocker I'd met on the trip, was still sound
asleep under his blanket, after our long night of Mile High boy love. He
was also trouser free, and I gently pulled my blanket over his, then joined
my brother in one of the heads.

As my scrawny 10-year-old brother pulled down his trousers and plastic
pants, he chirped, "New boyfriend?"

"Shut up squirt."

Like most boys along my mother's side of the family, Chris was a bedwetter,
and needed to wear diapers. Because of the risk, he wouldn't be joining
Lori and me that year at our sleep-away mountaineering camp. Still, for the
last month he'd been dry, and he was finally growing out of it.

Noticing he'd had another dry night, I kissed and congratulated him, then
peeled off his cloth diaper. As he pulled on his snug little blue briefs,
he said, "Lori saw you guys making out when she went back to use the
toilet."

In the mirror, I turned beet red. If my 16-year-old sister had seen us
going at it, how many other people had, as well?

As he fixed his trousers, he burst into laughter. "Just kidding! She's went
to sleep right after dinner, and is still sleeping." I grit my teeth as he
kept laughing. "Your face is so hilarious."

"Trottel!" I grumbled, and lightly punched him in the arm, but couldn't
help smiling.

Hours later, after the plane landed at Charles De Gaulle, Eric stood with
my family and me in the line to border control. As we waited to have our
passports examined, he would occasionally, surreptitiously cop a feel. He
was insatiably naughty.

We parted at the baggage claim. While Eric's guitar and bag were
practically the first things off the plane, my family would be there a long
time. We hugged like brothers, though he gave me a quick peck on the lips,
promising to call me when he got home to San Diego in September.

Everyone's luggage appeared but mine. The conveyor belt stopped, and we
searched around, but my bag was a no-show. I sighed. But that's why my dad
insisted we keep the important stuff and a change of clothing in our
backpacks as carryons. We put in a claim, and took a taxi to our hotel in
the 6th. Even back then in the 70s, most affordable hotels in that city
were shabby/quaint, with tiny rooms. Chris and I shared one with a queen
sized bed and barely any wall space on either side.

While my dad and I sought out a camping store near the Sorbonne, Chris and
and Lori hit the book sellers by the Seine. My dad figured my bag would be
found and delivered to my camp in a couple of days, so I didn't need
much. We found a clothing store on the way, and quickly bought a pair of
shorts, two packs of underwear, and a few cheap t-shirts. At the camping
store, we picked up a few things I couldn't fit into my pack, like a set of
thermal underwear, a wool sweater, two pairs of wool socks, and a small
duffel to carry my clothes in.

We'd been to Paris plenty of times, so we didn't need to do anything too
touristy. Still, Lori hit an exhibition at the d'Orsay, while my dad, Chris
and I strolled around the Jardin du Luxembourg. I was pretty bleary-eyed,
but didn't want to take a nap, because I'd never get to sleep that
night. Besides, I liked watching young teenage boys kicking around a
football.

After dinner that night, I couldn't wait to get to sleep. But my dad, Lori
and Chris were still keyed up. So they each took a low-dosage benedryl. And
it was probably the drug that made my brother wet for the first time in
more than a month.

My dad called the next morning, giving us a one-hour countdown. I had to
shake Chris awake. Sitting up, he slowly frowned and his eyes filled with
tears.

"Shit," he sobbed.

"What's up, Squiirt?"

"I wet myself last night," he cried.

Sitting next to him, I wrapped my arms around my brother and gently rocked
him while he sobbed. "I'd been doing so well!"

"That's OK, buddy. I had occasional accidents until I was 11." Though I'd
outgrown bedwetting earlier than my brother, it didn't mean it never
happened again. My mom's side were all deep sleepers.

In the bathroom, I helped him out of his plastic pants and wet diaper,
rinsed them out, and started the shower. When it was warm I got in with
Chris, and used a wash cloth to scrub his scrawny body thoroughly. He could
have washed himself, but he was so sad, I figured some tenderness would go
a long way. And it did, at least below the waist. By the time I finished
scrubbing from his toes to his ass cleft, his little 4 CM. had grown into a
hard 7 CM pole.

I waggled my eyebrows at his erection, and he giggled, then pointed out
that I was getting one, too. After I finished bathing him, Chris got out,
and I scrubbed myself. After toweling off and joined him in the bedroom. He
was sitting on the side of the bed, masturbating. He'd been born in Zurich,
and so prick was uncircumcised, unlike miine. I'd been born in CA, where
the surgery was routine after birth, and it pissed off my mom when she
found out it had been done to me without consent.

I loved watching his purplish glans appear and disappear under his
hood. Kneeling down in front of Chris, I spread his legs apart, and pulled
his hands away.

"Let me take care of you, bro."

With a thumb and forefinger, I slowly slid his foreskin over his sensitive
little crown, while teasing his minuscule sack, which was scarcely visible
when he lay back. Chris sighed as I stroked him a little faster. Then,
Peeling his hood all the way back, I licked across his purple head, making
him moan. His fingers clutched at the bedding, and his skinny leg muscles
tightened. Then I pulled all of his 10-year-old sex into my mouth, sucking
him from balls to tip, and he cried out.

"Shhh," I said, and handed him a pillow to cover his face.

I returned to sucking his sweet little fingerling like a Hoover, while
gently rolling his tender nuggets between my fingers. He still tasted a
little like soap, and smelled like lavender. His hips involuntarily thrust
up and back with my bobbing head. Within minutes, I heard Chris's muffled
yell through the pillow, and I felt his dick twitch in my mouth. It pulsed
three or four times, and he relaxed. I heard him sigh, and he pulled the
pillow off his face with a floppy arm. Like me, he could pass during
orgasm, from low blood pressure and holding his breath. But his bellowing
out probably prevented that.

He grinned at me. "The best part of waking up," he quoted from Folgers
commercials. "Thanks, Robbin."

As I got up, he reached for my hard on, but I shrugged him off.

"We only have 15 minutes. Let's get dressed and packed."

Opening a pack of red briefs, I pulled one out. I didn't realize underwear
could get much skimpier than the German kind my mom bought for me. In my
bleariness I hadn't read the "bikini" label. Pulling them on, I found the
snug underpants were very low rise, with barely any fabric covering my
hips, and revealing a bit of my skinny little buns . I sighed and finished
dressing.

After breakfast, we checked out, piled our bags in a taxi, and went to
Hertz office so my dad could rent a car. It was about a six hour drive to
Chamonix, so we arrived in the beautiful French alpine town by mid
afternoon. We checked into a small inn, and then went for a hike.

I may have been in pretty good shape at sea level, from surfing, swim team
and ballet, but a thousand meters higher and I got quickly winded going up
hill. Not much later, I had a headache. This was why we stayed in Chamonix
for a couple of days before camp: to get altitude and time adjusted. Also,
it was my dad's vacation, and he loved the alps. While Chris was in a local
day camp, he'd be climbing Mont Blanc with a guide.

When we got back to the inn my dad called the airline, and learned my bag
had been found and would be delivered to camp by the end of the week. In
the meantime, my dad made sure I washed my wool socks before bed every
night.

==============================

Three days later, my dad and Chris drove Lori and me across the border to a
village near Verbier. The year-round mountaineering schools was a camp in
the summers, for about 500 kids. We were in different age divisions,
divided by sex, and I'd only see Lori at breakfast and dinner, and
occasional all-camp activities. Not all kids returned every year, but we
recognized several, and greet each with bear hugs.

I was in a dorm room with 7 other boys, in bunk beds. They were mostly a
mix of Swiss and French guys, all my age except for Bruno, a very cute
Italian 11-year-old blond from Milan. Because the camp required everyone to
be in good shape before showing up, my roommates were all lean and
muscular, and pretty sexy, even if a couple of them weren't particularly
cute. And like most boys back then, they all had longish hair.

Everything at the camp was conducted in French. Since I spoke
Swiss-accented French natively, a lot of the kids were surprised to learn I
was an American. I was secretly stoked, but played it modestly, and
explained that I'd lived in Zurich from age 1 to 12. I'd attended a
rigorous Catholic institution from pre-school, and the brothers taught in
French, Swiss German and various dialects of Swiss Italian. I didn't bother
to mention we'd also been forced to study Latin and High German as well.

Kids were even more surprised to learn I was almost 14, since I looked
about Bruno's age. I'd have to explain that boys in my mom's family were
almost always very late bloomers. It was a tiresome speech.

The first couple of days were dedicated to orientation and low-key skills
lessons, while we flat-landers acclimated. Bruno and I spent almost all the
time together, and we usually talked to each other in Italian, though his
Milanese dialect sometimes baffled me, and he'd explain in school
Italian. We became very close.

My roommates and me were in a group of 20 boys in the 11-13 year old
division, and we were called the "Piverts" (woodpeckers). All groups were
named after birds, but ours was kind of funny to any junior high English
speaker. Anyway, on the third day, we went on a trek from the school to
Mont Fort, while other groups went on other treks, or stayed at base camp
to climb nearby faces.

Because Jason's interest in photography rubbed off on me, my dad bought me
a used Canon. I shot a lot of frames peering down steep green valleys,
capturing idyllic villages perched on precarious ridges, and at the
occasional Ibex or marmot. I really liked to photograph the other boys,
trying not to focus on their firm, round buttocks vigorously flexing as we
hiked uphill. There was something so sexually dynamic about the raw
physical activity (not to mention the ridiculously short shorts boys wore
in those days).

We arrived at the Cabana du Mont Fort late in the afternoon. Like all the
staffed huts in the Alps, these "refuges" are big stone and wood cabins,
with two or three dorms holding 20 bunk beds each. Frequently, these bunks
are just continuous platforms, with maybe six inches between
mattresses. It's very cozy, so you have to like people. Even if you don't,
the food is always great, and they're a better shelter against avalanches
than a tent.

While most boys went in to grab a bed space, Bruno and I walked over to the
ledge. At 2500 meters, we were well above tree line, and the glaciers
sparkled brilliantly. Bruno was leaning over a wooden railing, looking to
the valley below, and as his shorts pulled up, I could see a bit of his
white undies, stretched across his firm, round buns. When he stepped back,
he bumped into my chest.

Before he could stumble away, I draped my arms around his shoulders. Though
he was 11, he was only a little shorter than me, and he leaned back against
my chest, holding my hands. My dick perked up, and he probably felt my
growing hardness in his firm bubble butt.

"È bellissimo," he sighed. It really was.

When we went to the hut, we pulled off our boots before going inside. Most
boys used the refuge's loaner indoor sandals. But I thought that was gross,
and brought my own flip flops. Bruno and I found two mattresses on the
lower bunk at the end of one row. Then, we went to take showers. Most of
the other kids didn't. Boys are filthy animals, and that's probably one of
the reasons the camp took younger groups on treks only mid-week, when when
fewer adults stayed in the huts.

As Bruno and dried off, I gazed at his firm, slender form, while he looked
over at me. It wasn't the first time we'd checked each other out that week,
and we smiled catching each other in the act.

Completely hairless, he had a smallish, uncut penis, hanging maybe 5 or 6
CM with a little extra foreskin, and a small, wrinkled sack. His sex was
beautifully framed by slender hips and a muscular "V." His abs weren't a
six-pack per se, but he had a tightly defined tummy.

Just as he pulled on his snug little Italian undies, I could see his dick
start to grow. So did mine, so I hastened to pull on my red bikini briefs
and I saw Bruno bite his lip. Pulling on long underwear and socks, we
joined the group for a fantastic meal. Afterwards, a few of the boys sang
songs and told stories, but most of us were nodding out.

Bruno and I brushed our teeth, then pulled out the sleeping liners we were
required to use for hygiene under the hut's duvets. Knowing how warm the
bedding was, I pulled off my socks and thermal underwear bottoms, to sleep
in just my thermal upper and briefs. Bruno followed suit, and we climbed in
bed. The lights were out, and about half the beds were filled. It was quiet
for a few moments, with the occasional fart cracking us all up. But
gradually, we could hear the tell tale rhythm of sheets billowing, and boys
rubbing in the night, followed by giggling. Bruno rolled over to the space
between our mattresses, and wrapped his arms around me.

"Vorresti...?" he whispered.

"Si," I whispered back, and lifted the duvet so he could slide in next to
me. It was a narrow space, but we were small boys, and less snugly than our
quickly engorging boyhoods stretching our tiny underpants. Awkwardly, we
got out of our liners, and then, facing one another embraced. In the faint
star light gleaming through the window, I could see the desire in his
liquid eyes, framed by long, beautiful lashes.

I leaned in to kiss him on the lips, and when he returned the kiss eagerly,
I knew he was no stranger to another boy's affection. His hardness burrowed
into mine, as our tongues met to telegraph our mint-flavored lust. Slowly,
our hips rocked, and we ground our cotton-wrapped flesh together, making
out as silently as possible. Soon, I felt his fingers reach between my
legs, and I stopped grinding, pulling one knee up to provide
access. Bruno's finger traced up and down my pulsating pole, then he cupped
my cotton-cloaked basket, rubbing my straining little sack and tickling
toward my ass. I ground my teeth to stifle a cry. Weirdly enough, I heard
another boy quietly moan at the same time, and other boys laughed.

I slid my fingers down Bruno's firm tummy to the front of his
undies. Delicately, I clutched his pounding tent, and he froze up,
strangling his own cries. After stroking him through soft cotton for a few
minutes, I pulled the front of his thin little undies under his small
scrotum. Then I softly grasped him with a thumb and two fingers, and began
a slow stroke, bringing his foreskin back and forth across his tender
helmet. Gradually, I gripped him harder, adding a third finger, and stroked
all of his 8 or 9 CM length. I could feel his heart beat, as he grew even
more rigid.

At the same time, Bruno reached into my briefs, and began to rub me by the
shaft. I found out later that he was afraid of hurting my circumcised head,
so during our first time, he avoided it. But he spared nothing pulling on
my quaking length. I grew dizzy, and it felt like all my blood was
compressing into my turgid little love stick.

We kissed more passionately, and I stroked him harder. He moaned into my
mouth, and I heard more giggles. Our stroking grew in vigor and force, and
with the mounting friction we brought to each other, our rhythmic sounds
joined the orchestra of adolescence in the room. Then, Bruno's back arched
toward me, and screwed his face shut to cut off any noise. But I could feel
the dry explosion pulsing through his hot little tube. Silently, he
shuddered for a long time, then he relaxed. It was so sensuous, I almost
came from the sight of his climax. So when he kissed me and renewed his
rubbing, it was mere seconds before I felt the dry fire explode from my
loins, and I fell into the void.

==================================

Trekking to a couple more huts before returning to the camp, we'd ascended
a couple of times to 3,000 meters, donning crampons and using ice axes to
cross glacial fields. We Piverts quicky settled in and bonded. There were a
couple of jerks from Paris who made fun of everyone, but we took it in
stride.

Each night, Bruno and I slept together, our hands and mouths bringing each
other to delirious, quiet peaks. Some other boys were probably doing the
same, while the rest were just getting themselves off in the dark. I still
kick myself over the fact that when I was younger, I hadn't learned boy
stuff at camp. In fact, I'd never even wondered about the sounds of
fluttering fabric as I drifted off to sleep. Well, I was going to make up
for it, that year.

When we got back to the school, my duffel bag was waiting for me. It's a
good thing, too, because I hadn't been washing my socks, and they were
getting fragrant. In fact, all the returning hiking groups were ripe, so we
all shed our clothes and hit the several large communal boys' or girls'
showers. As with washing after P.E. in school, I tried not look at the
streaming, soapy water running down firm boy buns.

After our initial trek, my roommates were fast friends. I have several
shots of Hans, Michelle, Florian, Paul, Kurt, Lucien, and Bruno playing
cards, joking around, and lounging in their underwear. I set the timer a
couple of times and took shots Bruno and me, sometimes in each others'
laps, hugging each other tightly.

Climbing into bed at Lights Out, no one felt any qualms about beating off,
frequently passing around a bottle of hand lotion. I usually fell asleep to
the sound of slick rhythmic squelching, and hi-pitched moans. If we didn't
open a window to let in the chilly night air, our room reeked of sweat,
socks and semen.

Michelle and Kurt had a couple of girlie mags, and they would usually sit
together on one of their bunks to stare at nudes with their
flashlights. They'd slowly rub the fronts of their briefs, as their turgid
rods grew within, and eventually pull their undies off to free their
junk. Michelle was the most physically mature of us all, with a matt of
thick, brown hair surrounding his huge, fat cock. He even had the beginning
of a treasure trail forming below his belly button. Kurt was well behind in
development, with a slim little mustache above his 15 CM dick, and a
hairless, low-hanging bag. His foreskin never completely covered the tip of
his head, which looked like a Nathan's frank. They were complete poon
hounds, but within a day or two, they were beating each other off while
they skimmed their porn.

I came hard spying on all my friends masturbating, some of whom grinned
back at me, while others had their eyes closed in deep
concentration. Eventually, Bruno and I would stare into each others' eyes,
sheets pulled aside, to watch each others' naked pleasure.

It was a few nights after we we got back that I woke up to Bruno's hands
inside my underpants, caressing my rigid young tool, and my tight little
sack. I was on my back, and Bruno was grinding his hard, cloth-trapped
boyhood against my hip. I quietly giggled and he shrugged and smiled, then
we kissed. First gently, then more urgently, our lips pressed and our
tongues wrestled. I slid my hand into Bruno's snug little briefs, and
pressed my palm onto his pulsating flesh. Rubbery and rigid, his bone
radiated heat. Rubbing him with the flat of my hand, I used my fingertips
to tickle and massage his tiny balls, barely separate from his body. As he
pressed into me, Bruno felt so warm, and firm and comforting.

We didn't want to wake the others, so we stifled cries, as we rubbed more
urgently. I asked Bruno to straddle me. He grinned, then knelt with his
legs on either side of my slender chest, before resting his firm little
globes on my belly. I spent a few moments tracing the contours of his
diamond hardness with my index finger, as it pounded against its cotton
restraint. Then I pulled the front of his skimpy undies below his
contracted little purse, and pulled his foreskin back. Licking a
forefinger, I delicately ran my fingertip around his vulnerable,
cherry-shaped helmet, and Bruno shivered.

I stroked Bruno slowly for a few minutes, and he reached back to clutch my
tented boyhood, squeezing and pulling me through my briefs. Then I reached
under his muscular little globes, and pulled him up and forward. He bent,
to avoid hitting his head on the upper bunk, and grabbed hold of the head
board for support. He smiled down at me. I gently held him by the root with
one hand, and peeled back his hood with the other. Then, as I opened my
mouth, Bruno leaned forward, and I dragged the tip of my tongue across his
pee hole. His whole body trembled while I spent long moments torturing his
little crown. Grabbing his hard butt cheeks, I licked his small length,
around and around, and kissed and suckled on tiny sections.

Bruno was trying in vain to silence his gasps. Finally, I sealed my lips
around his entire sex, taking in his balls and even bit of his perineum. I
barely applied any suction before I felt his love gun pound against my my
tongue and the roof of my mouth, and Bruno's hips thrust violently into my
face. He pistoned twice more, then collapsed, hugging my head. He stayed
that way for few moments, and sighed, while he softened in mouth. Then I
pulled his undies back in place.

"Così buono," Bruno whispered, and kissed the top of my head.

Sighing, he crawled down to my hips, and clutched my cotton-clad hardness,
rubbing me gently for a minute, while kissing my thighs. Then he pulled my
undies down to my ankles. After I spread my knees, Bruno climbed inside,
and clutched my bone at the base, while cupping my straining nuts with his
palm. I felt his hot moist breath on my quivering prong, and it pulsated
harder, slapping Bruno on the lips. He giggled, and then gently pursed his
lips around my head. Bruno looked into my eyes, anxiously hoping I was
OK. I grinned, and he set to work.

Though only 11, this wasn't Bruno's first rodeo. Carefully probing with his
tongue's tip, Bruno worked a little bit into my pee-hole, which alternately
hurt and felt amazing. Then he sucked and licked around my mushroom cap,
until I shuddered and my buttocks clenched. I grit my teeth, silently
enduring his delicious torments, while the the younger boy slowly polished
my knob with hot saliva.

Using finger tips, he tickled my walnut-sized sack, and it strained back
into the arch between my skinny little thighs. Then he pulled off my knob
for a moment to wet a finger, and slid it between my buns. Returning his
tongue to my palpitating pecker, he spent a while licking and kissing my
length, while working his finger into my tightly clenched ring. He wasn't
gentle on my ass, and I gasped when his finger popped through.

Bruno sealed his lips around my stem, and began to suck, using his cheeks
as hot, wet baffles to pelt my tender bone. His tongue expertly slathering
my underside, and I was jealous of his mad skills as his mouth slid to my
base, and back to my tip. He'd rotate his head a little, flick his tongue
across my glans, then slide back again.

Meanwhile, Bruno was slowly fingering my love button, his digit sliding
gently back and forth through my boy hole, while his palm pressed in time
against my tender little balls, and the rest of his fingers clamped to my
cheeks.

My hips were starting to thrust as Bruno's head bobbed faster My little
blonde Italian finger fucked me harder. I ground my teeth and clenched my
eyes shut, trying to will away my impending explosion. The wet friction
built and my buttocks involuntarily hammered against the mattress. I
couldn't keep the dry tide back.

My back suddenly arched off the bed as I felt the phosphorescent plume
flare out of my loins. It should have lit the room with fire that billowed
out of me. Bruno pulled my desert-dry lust out of my dick, and
consciousness from my eyes.

===================

The next morning I woke to the school's morning bells, under the covers,
with my briefs back in place, spooned around my Milanese friend. As we
crawled out of my bed, a couple of the other boys snickered, but the rest
looked surprised for a moment, then shrugged and set about pulling on
clothes for the day.

Bruno and I'd set the tone for the rest of camp session in that room. That
next night, when Michelle and Kurt worked out their hetero frustrations
with each other, Hans climbed onto Lucien's bed, where they sat facing each
other cross-legged. Hesitantly, Hans placed his hands on Lucien's slender,
ropey thighs, and slowly rubbed up and back. Eventually, he reached the
tightly wrapped sack below the pole thrumming against Lucien's skimpy white
underpants.

In turn, Hans traced his index finger up and down the front of Lucien's
pulsating navy blue briefs. Lucien shuddered, his long brown hair shaking
around his shoulders. Then he reached into Hans' underpants, and Hans
whimpered.

Bruno was lying chest down on top of me, clutching my straight, long blond
hair with both hands, while his tongue met mine to telegraph our desire
through toothpaste-flavored saliva. I ran my hands around his slender back,
down to his muscular buns, as they flexed through his sheer Italian
briefs. As we kissed and caressed, our rigid dicks quivered against each
other, tips rubbing together through layers of thin European underpants.

Through the corner of my eye, I could see that Florian was in Paul's
bunk. They'd both shed their underwear, and were kissing as passionately as
Bruno and I. Florian rolled onto his back, and whispered something to Paul,
who smiled and whispered, "oui." As Florian stretched his legs wide, Paul
knelt in between, then lowered himself to rest his elbows on either side of
the other boy. Pauls long, wavy black hair fell to form a veil shielding
both of their faces. Paul's hips slowly rocked into Florian's.

Bruno got up and crawled around, so that his crotch was above my face, and
he gazed down toward my thrumming boyhood. We shifted down a bit, until my
toes were resting on the footboard, and I spread my legs wide. This gave
Bruno more room to lower his hips toward my face. At the same time, he
rested for a moment, with the side of his face on my achingly hard dick,
rubbing his cheek up and down it like a cat. But I was the one who purred.

I'd been tracing my fingertips around Bruno's tight little globes, then
squeezed them like melons. He squealed, "Ragazzaccio!" and a couple of boys
laughed. Then he kissed my crown, as it pulsed against its textile
prison. At the same time, I continued to fondle Bruno's muscular little
buttocks with one hand, while I clutched his cock through his briefs, and
gently stroked him. The material was so sheer, I could feel every texture
of his foreskin, as I drew it back and forth.

The eleven-year-old spent long moments licking up and down my quivering
pole, and sucking my tip through thin cotton. When he'd soaked my undies
with saliva, he pulled down the front of my waistband and hooked it under
my contracting, bald nuts, where the warm wet cotton pulled against my
perineum. Cupping my scrotum for a while, Bruno gently squeezed and
massaged me, while bringing his tongue up and down quaking boyhood. Having
learned my circumcised head was a lot less sensitive than an uncut boy's,
didn't hesitate clamping his lips around my helmet, to scrub it clean with
his hot, young tongue.

By then, I'd awkwardly pulled Bruno's undies down his legs, and off. I
relishing the slight scent of boy musk and soap. Then I dragged my tongue
up and back, savoring his slightly salty flavor. Spreading Bruno's legs
wider, and pulling him to rest on my face, I spent a few moments sucking
his tiny balls, swirling them around my hungry mouth. They barely emerged
below his rigid tumescence, and so I was also sucking part of his
base. Spreading his firm little cheeks, I licked from his balls back
towards his boy hole. It was muskier between his cheeks, and I was eager to
clean his sweat-salty behind. I spend a few moments tongue-washing his
cheeks, before twirling my tongue around his clenching hole. Bruno mewled,
and started to grind his spit-lubed dick into my chest.

By then, he'd pulled my diamond hard boyhood all the way into his mouth,
sucking hard. Bruno savagely milked my dick with his moist tongue and
squeezing mouth cheeks. At the same time, he was worming a finger into my
skinny back valley, and soon began working on my back door.

Other boys moaned, but no one cared. We were all too deeply immersed in the
rhythms of pleasuring one another's genitals, floating through the chaos of
young boy desire.

Massaging Bruno's buns with my fingers, I continued trying to open his anus
with my mouth. I sucked and licked his tight little ring, and eventually, I
got my tongue tip into him. I heard a slurping groan, and he fucked my
skinny chest harder. Bruno's finger found its way into my ass, and he
mercilessly finger fucked me, while he bobbed and sucked me faster. Still
eating his ass, I pulled Bruno's buttocks into my chest, time with his
thrusts, and soon his flesh was loudly slapping against mine. My hips
rocked up to meet Bruno's eager mouth, and I grit my teeth, trying to fight
back my impending climax.

I don't know if he came before me, because the blood left my head, and the
room echoed with moans when I felt that itchy tingle build into a roaring
fire. When Bruno's pressing finger in my ass combined with his wet fleshy,
friction, I detonated dryly into his ravenous young mouth, and I fell into
night.