Date: Fri, 29 Nov 2019 18:32:19 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Robin's Adventures | Part 40 Robin's Adventures - Part 40 | Sugar Plum Fairies and the New Year ==================================================== Hi. Just a reminder that Nifty needs your donations to stay alive. Please consider making a contribution. ==================================================== The familiar fluting refrains piped over speakers, while red, green and gold lights poured across a colorfully decorated stage. Just like my ballet school had presented a week before, Mark's seasonal recital featured sections of the Nutcracker ballet, mixed with a couple of holiday-themed tap and modern dance pieces for the different ages and classes. Finally, with the March of the Toy Soldiers, my 13-year-old boyfriend glided out with a group of other boys from 10-14. It was the weekend before Christmas, and Mark's dad, Paul picked me up early Saturday afternoon in his brand-new, late-70's Datsun. A former Vietnam Marine, ex-commune member and lefty labor lawyer, he was a really funny, interesting guy, and I loved hanging out with him. When we got to the community theater, Paul's girlfriend and daughter had saved us seats, including one on the aisle, so I could stretch my cast-bound broken leg. Even so, it was tough making it though the 3 hour program. For me, though, the best part was Mark's second role as a toy soldier. Maybe he wasn't Nureyev, but for me, his effortless, gliding grace was the reason Tchaikovsky wrote this piping notes. When the lights came up, there were a lot of happy families ready for the reception next door. But first, all the dancers were changing out of costumes and makeup. That's when Paul turned to his girlfriend. "Francine, give me Mark's clothes, and I'll run back stage," he said. He'd dropped Mark off in tights-shirt and flip-flops, carrying his slippers "I thought you had them," she replied, nonplussed. Paul's little sister, Olivia, was laughing at their miscommunication. Before they started to panic, I reminded Paul that since I was sleeping over at their place that night, I had a backpack with a change of clothes in his car. I was wearing sweat pants (which fit over my cast), but hadn't brought a second pair. However, I did have a shirt that hung low, and no one would care if he wore his tights to the reception. While Paul went out to rifle through my bag, I hobbled by crutch to the back stage boys' changing room. Like a lot of ballet schools in California in the 70s, there weren't a lot of boys; maybe 20 ranging from 6 to 16. A couple of moms were helping their younger sons, but nobody cared about changing in front of them. The boys were all laughing and playing grab-ass like theater boys anywhere. I hugged Mark and congratulated him on his amazing performance. Pulling back, I ogled every inch of his his willowy form. His girlishly beautiful face, with a dusting of freckles across his pert nose, was framed in sweat-dampened, collar-length black hair. His soaked white t-shirt and white tights accented every contour of his lean body, and firm, round buns. Wearing only a dance belt underneath (a sort of professional thong), his tights made him look from the rear like he was naked, and powdered. But the illusion ended with the flattening triangle in the front. I helped him wipe away the last of his makeup. Most of the other boys had already changed and left when Mark asked, "You got my bag?" "No, dude." I explaining the mixup. He sighed and shook his head. While we waited for Paul, Mark tossed me a cinnamon and mint candy cane, and started into one himself. Grinning mischievously at me, he began stroking and fellatiating it. I laughed, and stared into his eyes, mimicking him, with long, slow pulls on that peppermint phallus. We started fake moaning at each other, laughing even louder. "I can't wait to get your sweet little sugar stick in my mouth," he whispered throatily, and we howled. Just then Paul's dad walked in, and we froze, acting as if we hadn't been orally pleasing candy. I'm not sure he knew what exactly we'd been doing, but he smirked, knowing he'd interrupted some kind of baby gay bullshit. Trading my FC Zurich jersey, deodorant and comb for Mark's soaking t-shirt and ballet slippers, Paul said, "We're headed next door to the receptions. See you guys in a few." Instead of hurrying to get ready, Mark pulled me to my feet, and I limped after him. We were behind a rack of costumes in the now-deserted changing room. He gave me a very sultry look I well knew, and I leaned back against a wall. Marked leaned into my arms, and I caressed his bare, slender shoulder blades. Then down to his squeeze his resilient, slender bottom. We replaced our candy canes with each others lips, minty and full of passion. Even through my thick sweats and Mark's very constricting dance belt, I could feel his hardness pressing into my thigh. Unconstrained by the huge boxers I borrowed from my big sister's boyfriend while my leg mended (since they fit over the cast), my hardness stabbed directly into Mark's pubic mound. "Is that another candy cane, or are you happy to see me?" He whispered. "Very fucking happy," I heaved into his straight, wet hair, before our lips met again, so that our tongues could wrestle. Wordlessly, we both realized we had little time, and Mark untied my sweats, while I pulled his tights and dance belt down below his swollen, hairless balls in the front, and his creamy, steamy muscular buttocks in the back. A delightfully fragrant boy scent mixed with the peppermint in the air, as his thick, circumcised, hairless five inches bounced happily in freedom. I was a year older. But as a very late bloomer, I was already a half-inch behind in development. As my sweats and underpants dropped to my cast on one side, and drooped down below my knee on the other, Mark didn't bother with teasing my slender, hairless bone. We were hungry and rushed, and I quickly clutched him in my fist, pulling on him from his barren base to the ridge of his angry helmet. After a few moments of vigorous pumping, I had an idea. Taking up my candy cane from the storage box on which I'd it down, I soaked it in more saliva. Reaching around with one hand to spread Mark's rubbery, well-toned buns, I pressed the dripping peppermint stick against his clenching hole with the other. Mark giggled. "Where's that going -- ohh!" He gasped as the spicy cylinder slid in up to the the curving horn. "Take my sweet stick, baby," I grinned, chuckling. Then I worked it up where I knew his button lay. Pulling it it in and out, I resumed stroking him with my other hand. Mark's eyes closed. "Oh fuck, Robin! That...uuuuuuhhh!" He heaved. "It's really tingly...faster, please, Robin!" He begged quietly. And so I pulled on his drooling boyhood even harder, watching as strings of clear ooze fell into my undies. Mark started thrusting into my stroking hand, and back against the stabbing confection. He was moaning gutturally, his teeth grinding together as he choked his moans. I switched my grip in front to hold him with a thumb and two fingers, so his knob faced my palm. "Here...it...gaaaaah!" He cried, then bit and sucked at my throat. I caught 3 jets of his hot young lava, and brought my other hand around to milk any remaining dribbles from his stalk into my cupped hand. It wasn't more than a tablespoon, and I gleefully swallowed it all. With a mint and cinnamon-coated tongue, it didn't taste like anything.

Mark leaned against me, bringing one hand around to hug me tightly. The other went back to his bottom, and he winced for a second, before tossing the misused candy cane into a nearby trash bin. "You didn't want to finish that, did you?" Mark asked, smiling. I chuckled. "Too late, now. Maybe I can have some of your hard candy?" "Dude, you're gonna take all of my sugar," Mark said, pulling his tights back into place, his dance belt pulling in a softening cock. We couldn't stop giggling at the really dumb double entendres. With me still leaning against the wall, Mark walked over to get a folding chair, then opened it so the back faced me. Helping me to bend over the cold metal, I rested my tummy on the back, and held the front edge of the seat with both hands. As he picked up his candy cane, I knew what he he had in mind. Standing behind me, he spread my legs apart, then caressed up my thighs, to my slender little bottom. As he traced circles with his finger tips, Mark whispered, "I don't think your ass could get any sweeter." I felt my buns spread, and then the sharp little peppermint spear slid into my hole. I winced, but once it was in, I sighed. It kind of burned a little. "I'm your sugar daddy, now" Mark said, and we both laughed. If he kept it up, I might have lost my boner. I felt his hair slide down my buttocks, as the candy cane gently worked in and out. It was sticky, and pulled a little on my anus with each stroke, and I was moaning even before Mark's mouth engulfed my hairless little scrotum from behind. His nose was pressed into my perineum, and I could feel his hot breath bellowing and out of his sinuses. Then, he began stroking my rigid boyhood in time with the thrusting candy pole penetrating my bowels. "Gaaaah, that's so good, Mark!" I quietly huffed. Pulling off my tiny balls, he whispered, "Just wait until I start on your candy ass." Briefly leaving my dick alone for second, he used both hands to spread my skinny globes, then buried his face within. I was glad I washed my nether regions that morning. I felt Mark's mouth biting into the horned end of the candy cane, then I heard quick crunching and swallowing noises. I gasped as his sticky, spicy tongue swept up around my crevice. He started stroking me again, while licking around and around my clenching starfish. His tongue pushed in, forcing the rest of the candy spear past my opening. I was stifling howls as he tongue-lashed my tender, burning hole, and pulled me with his palm and thumb. His other hand caressed my back, now bare as my polo shirt lay clumped at my neck and shoulders. My hips were grinding with every stroke, and I couldn't hold back. I wouldn't hold back. I needed to cum hard, and I did. As I strangled a scream in my belly, my balls contracted and my dick plumed with fire, and I collapsed into darkness. Perhaps because of the angle, I only passed out for a minute. But by then, Mark had pulled me back up against the wall, and was pulling up my sweats and undies. I felt drops of moisture here and there on my legs, and sighed. "Yeah, that is one sweet ass," Mark grinned, as I opened my eyes. "Taste?" Then he leaned in so our lips could meet. As our tongues gently telegraphed messages of love, I could only taste souring sugar. My ass felt sticky, and on the way out, I needed to stop at the boys' room to shit out the stinging candy cane. ============================================ "Robin, your mom says it's your bath night," Francine said, as we trooped into the house. "And Mark, you could definitely use one." Though I usually showered twice a day (once after surfing at dawn, then after gym class), with a broken leg, I had to take baths to keep the cast's inner padding dry. That meant I had to have help washing, and so I was only bathing every other day. "So, you guys get cleaned up, while I make dinner." As we passed Paul in the hallway, Mark's dad said quietly, "We're eating in an hour guys. So stick to scrubbing, and forget about the rubbing." I snorted. Mark whined "Daaaad. Gross." Mark carried my backpack in to the bathroom and shut the door behind me after I crutched in. As he turned on the faucets, I leaned against the sink and pulled off my shirt, shivering in the slight chill. Though I'd spent most of my life in Switzerland, I was turning soft in San Diego. For some stupid reason, a lot of older homes in the county like the Kesslers' had furnaces in the attic, blowing heat downward. So your head would be warm, while your lower body remained cold. Mark helped me out of the rest of my clothes, laughing, as always, at the oversized boxers hanging almost to my knees, "I can't wait until your cast comes off, and you can start wearing your sexy little panties again," he said, teasing me about the skimpy, low-rise European briefs my German mom bought by catalog. Laughing, I slapped him on the ass. By the time he stripped naked, I was getting goosebumps, and the tub was half full of steamy water. Mark's creamy, slender body was pallid everywhere but for his hands, feet and face, the by-product of surfing with a full wetsuit. Even paler regions remained around his groin, ass and hips, from the Speedo he wore year round for swim team practice. My eyes only lingered on his scrumptious abdominal "v" for a moment. I couldn't wait to get in the bath. Mark helped me in, keeping my leg out of the water. When my butt was planted, he placed a small stool in the far end of the tub. It was something they kept for visits by Mark's grandparents so they could sit and shower, and it was brilliant. I could rest my broken leg on it, sitting up in an almost normal angle against the back wall. Mark climbed in, and slid around me, half lying on my good leg. He nuzzled my throat, and we hugged for a long time, sighing in the warm water. Our wet, rubbery flesh slid together perfectly, and we took our time silently kissing and caressing. Then, Mark sat with his back to me, between my thighs, so I could wash his back and hair. After he lay back against my skinny chest, I used the wash cloth to vigorously scrub his torso, arms and pits. He turned around, kneeling. His erection snorkeled out of the soapy water, like a little pink buoy. I took the other washcloth and gently, slowly and thoroughly cleaned every millimeter of his pulsating boyhood. Occasionally closing his eyes in pleasure, Mark tried to focus on swabbing my arms and torso, but I think my fingers stole his concentration. So, he pulled my hands off his dick and balls, and I made a fake pouty face. Teasingly, he avoided my crotch, as he washed all of my legs and every bit of my good foot. When my toes were thoroughly exfoliated, Mark took time to suck on each and every digit, making me squirm. My dick throbbed in the water like a furious minnow. It got worse when he lifted my good leg to slowly and efficiently cleanse every bit of my butt. His washcloth-wrapped finger entered me, mopping, slopping and buffing my love tunnel, and making me quake and moan. "Your turn, man," I whispered. Mark nodded, turned around to kneel astride my good leg, with his butt toward me, and leaned down with his forearms under the water. His foot pressed against my pulsating cock, and he tickled my little sack with his toes. With Mark's slender body bent toward me, I slowly washed each butt cheek, outside inward. His slick, slippery grapefruits yielded to my massaging and scraping, and eventually, my washcloth-wrapped finger entered his succulent flower. Quietly, Mark groaned again and again with each push and pull, whimpering while I rinsed the washcloth before entering him again. His ass pressed backward like a piston. "I think you're clean, dude," I said. "Squeaky clean." "Make me squeak," Mark whispered, and we both giggled. I reached between his slender thighs, and wrapped my fingers around his hairless, throbbing hardness. I drew it back to kiss the head, then the stalk, and then his ripe, small plum. Mark squeezed his thighs together, leaving his t-shaped genitalia quivering below his waiting asshole.It was a gorgeous column of tender, pink flesh, and leaned forward to trace my tongue from his quivering tip, up his shaft, around each hairless nut, to his now concave perineum. He shuddered as my tongue traced and retraced a route defined by the thin seem dividing his smooth, plum-shaped scrotum. Then I leaned further to swab his crevice, while pressing against Mark's genitals with my flattened hand. My fingertips tickled his straining nuts, while I palmed his rigid boyhood. While pressing and rubbinging with my hand, I dragged my tongue around and around his freshly scrubbed boy hole. When my tongue slid past his relaxing, muscular ring, he gasped, and I rubbed his dick and balls a little faster. I love ass so much, but only if it' clean, and I was happy to taste nothing but soap. As my tongue plunged in and out of his love tunnel, and my hand worked his tumescence, Mark was growling like a high-pitched tiger cub. Digging my face between his firm globes, I Frenched Mark's ass ferociously, and his hips rocked back to meet my penetrating mouth. "Ghnnaa...naa..cuuuu!" Mark gasped, and I felt his prick pound as he jettisoned thin, watery jizz with explosive compression. His anus clenched around my tongue with each of his three solid expulsions. I pulled out his ass as his dick pulsed drily a few more times against my palm. Mark spread his thighs so his softening cock could hang free once more. As he caught his breath, he slowly got up to turn around. His face was almost beet red. "That was so good, Robin." He leaned in so our lips could meet. After a tender kiss, Mark whispered into my ear, "I can't wait for you to get out of this cast, so I can make meal out of your ass." His fingers trailed down to my awaiting boyhood. I needed to cum so badly that when his fingertips took my crown, it was like an electric shock, But just then, there was a knock at the door, and Olivia's young voice called out. "Hey guys, Dad says dinner's on in 5 minutes." "Fuuuuuck..." I sighed in frustration, while my boner begged for friction. Using a spray nozzle, Mark rinsed us off, and helped me up so we could get dry. I reached into my backpack for fresh, white Fruit of the Looms. They were a present from a very hands-on 16-year-old baby sitter, who didn't like the boxers I was borrowing. These were sized for a normal 14 year old, not a 9th-grader who looked 12. But they fit over my cast, unlike my snug little European undies. More importantly, Mark liked being able to see the outlines of my ass, and the muscles in my skinny thighs. After he helped me into my underpants, I slipped on a flannel nightshirt that hung half-way down my calves. Normally, I only wore pajamas when it was cold, or I was visiting someone's home. Both cases applied that night, and I didn't want to bother with getting in and out of clothes again. Mark left for his room, carrying all our stuff, with a towel around his slender waist, while I pulled a tube sock on my good foot. It ran all the way to my knee. I felt very cozy as I crutched into Mark's room. While he pulled up black sweat pants, I could see he was wearing a pair of my sheer red bikini briefs. They clung tightly around his junk, and I could make out every detail of his delicious genitals. As he threw on a matching black sweatshirt, I wondered where he found all these clothes that matched his silky hair. Back in the 70s, black was not a common clothing choice except maybe in New York City. After dinner, we all headed into the family room. Paul and Francine read on the couch, with little Olivia between them, watching TV. Mark and I shared a big recliner chair, with my boyfriend curled around me under a blanket. Whatever was on was family-friendly and boring. Really, most TV back then was boring. Mark absently stroked my tummy, and at some point, I fell asleep. Later, Mark gently woke me up, as his parents headed off to bed. Olivia was already gone. We kissed, gently nibbling each other's lips, and running our hands along each other's sides. I felt so warm and content, I could have stayed like that all night, but I needed to pee, and making out in bed was much more appealing. So we hit the lights and hit the head. Mark was starting to brush his teeth as I leaned over the bowl on my couches, fumbling with the hem of my nightshirt. "Let me help," Mark mumbled through a mouthful of minty foam. Standing behind me, he lifted my nightshirt with one hand, and slipped his fingers into my briefs with the other. As he pulled my penis out, the touch of his fingertips made me start to harden. By the time I drained my bladder, I was rigid, and Mark had to concentrate on aiming my stream. I wanted to hold his while he peed, but that had to wait until I was off crutches. Meantime, I brushed my teeth, and soon we were in Mark's double bed, snuggling under his thick duvet. Mark had fluffed up some pillows and blankets to support my bad leg so I could sleep on my side, and we spent a long time making out. Lightly and with love, our fingers traced around each other's bodies. Mark teased my nipples through my nightshirt, while I caressed his bare chest, then fluting around his abs. My index finger found his throbbing boyhood, straining the thin cotton stretched across each succulent contour. He shivered as I slowly ran my finger up and down his tenderness, from the dampening tip, to his straining grapes. Mark pulled up my nightshirt, to clasp my slender boyhood through my pillowy soft briefs. I moaned as he gently stroked me, then toyed with with my small nuts. Gliding his hand past my hip, Mark squeezed my skinny buttocks, then slid his long, delicate fingers under the waistband. Teasing my boy bottom with his finger nails, he kissed my ear, and gently nibbled on my lobe. This always made me squirm. With one arm snaked under Mark's pillow to cradle his head from behind, I pulled my other hand away from the front of his taught undies, past his slim, muscular thigh. I slipped my fingers inside his snug briefs, to tickle the bottom of each bun. Pulling my hand away, I wet my middle finger with my mouth, then slid it between his firm yet soft buns. His finger was soon working into me, and our dicks pressed together with urgent passion. We exchanged our love with our fingers and our mouths and our mashing cocks. Fingering each other, we pounded in faster pitch, our cotton-restrained pricks steaming and churning frantically. "I'm almost there, Robin," Mark panted. "Mmmmeee too, baby," I heaved. As I plunged my finger like a little jackhammer into Mark, he began involuntarily squeezing around it, and his quiet moans raised in pitch. His thrusts hammered into my groin thunderously, and then he groaned with a final piston-motion. I could vaguely feel his pulses as he flooded his briefs with watery goo. He stopped moving and his hand rested in my ass, while he caught his breath. "You're a magician with my ass, dude." "Well, I couldn't find a rabbit in there." "I'll settle for your magic wand." And with that, he reached down and pulled my waistband underneath my smooth little straining sack. Curling under the covers, Mark took me in his mouth, swabbing my sensitive glans and achingly hard stalk with his hot, wet tongue. He lathered me for only a few moments, and I was on the cusp of climaxing. Under the covers, Mark rolled over, and soon, his bare bottom was pressing against my pubescence. Using a hand to pull up a bun, my dick slid through slimy moisture, and I knew he'd lubricated his ass with his own cum. It took some doing, but my cock finally pressed through Mark's muscular ring. We both moaned as I slid in. Bent at the waist, Mark's head remained under the covers. I wanted to slowly relish the warm wet tunnel gripping me like a buttered glove. But I'd been so hard for so long, I used my free hand to hold him by the hip, and rocked from side to side, fucking him with micro-strokes. I quickly rocked faster, and motion from under the covers told me the 13-year-old was stroking himself while pressing back into my rigid boy pole. The bed was squeaking and bedding was rustling rhythmically when I heard Mark's muffled whispers. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but I'm sure it was filthy. He began clenching his bowels in time with my thrusts, and the friction became unbearable. My love for Mark plumed out of my tiny, straining testicles, and I strangled my cry as my tiny ejaculate flared from my silently screaming dick. Stars exploded behind my tightly shut eyes, and I fell into sleep. ========================== I don't remember anything I got for Christmas that year except one gift. My grandfather sent me a pair of lederhosen from Germany. As I held up the traditional leather shorts, my sister and brother laughed, my dad shrugged, and my mom shook her. "Verrückter alter mann," she muttered, then said more clearly, "He's from Hamburg, not the Alps." He'd meant well, since my siblings and I were mountaineers in the summer. And he'd been very generous, since lederhosen weren't cheap. But modern technical gear was light weight, water resistant, and not something you'd wear in a Ricola commercial. When I told Mark about them over the phone that night, he laughed so hard he started hiccuping. Then I gave him the bad news. "Dad says we have to empty the pool," I said. "We're having a final pool party at the end of January." The droughts in California had been going on for a couple of years. And though my parents could afford the water surcharges to keep a swimming pool filled, they thought it was wasteful. "Can we skate in it?" Mark asked. Empty pools were the new terrain for skateboarders changing the very dynamics of the sport. But there was no way my parents were going to let that kind of liability enter their lives. Optimistic that the climate would shift, they decided against filling the pool in, and planned to cover it with a deck and potted plants. They were only waiting until I was out of my cast, so I could take a final swim. The Kesslers got back from visiting Mark's grandparents a few day's later, so he was able to stay over on New Year's eve. My parents were staying home and hosting. They didn't want my big sister on the road on "Amateur Night," so her boyfriend Jeremy was staying over, and she invited a couple of their friends. My almost-11-year-old brother invited his close buddy Pablo for the night, and my folks had a few friends over. Paul dropped Mark off around 5, and stuck around for a beer with my dad. Mark and I went upstairs to my room to drop off his bag. Then Mark insisted on seeing the lederhosen I could not wear with a cast. I pulled the black leather shorts out of my closet, and Mark snickered. "Boys really wear these in Europe?" I sighed. "It's this weird rustic thing in the Alps, and a lot of older people are into them as a tradition." I explained that they used to be active wear before the 20th century, then they got popularized with Octoberfest. I never saw anyone wear them in Zurich, though at climbing camp in the French Alps, some scouts did. Mark took the soft deerskin shorts from me, and raised an eyebrow. "Can I try them on?" I snickered and nodded, and in seconds, Mark had kicked off his shoes and socks, stripped off his jeans and was pulling on my lederhosen. I helped him do up the front flap and waist thing. Then they fell almost below the bulge of his bone white underpants. My grandfather hadn't included the traditional braces, but someone had given me a pair of suspenders I'd never worn. I crutched into my closet and pulled out elastic, clip-on rainbow suspenders some might remember from "Mork and Mindy." Back then, rainbows were a hippie thing, and maybe it was the gay community in San Francisco that coopted the concept. Anyway, looking at the yellowing photo I have from that night, it's prescient my gay boyfriend hitched up black leather shorts with rainbow suspenders, over the t-shirt he'd dyed black. Mark casually draped one hand on a hip. Turning forwards and back, he smiled. "Well?" He asked. My dick quivered, and I traced my fingers from his short thigh seam, up to his waist and back. We thought it'd be funny to see if anyone noticed him wearing them while eating dinner. And, of course people noticed. His sinewy, winter-pale legs almost shone in contrast with the black leather. You couldn't not look at his swimming and ballet-toned calves. And people thought they were hilarious. My parents set up a buffet-style dinner, and poured champagne for the their friends and the older kids. Chris and Pablo nodded out well before midnight, and my sister herded them upstairs. For some reason, she asked Mark to help, and I saw them whispering some conspiracy as they left. Near midnight, my parents offered champagne to Mark and me, but neither of us liked it. When midnight struck, cemented by taped celebration from Times Square on the TV, Mark and I kissed very quickly and discretely, since we didn't know a couple of Lori's friends. Pointing with his chin toward the TV, Mark whispered, "I love it when balls drop." I giggled, because mine were finally separating from my crotch alcove. He swore my nuts were getting bigger, too. He was such a sweet liar. The adults left soon, and my parents put Lori in charge, telling her to keep it down. We followed them upstairs, eager to put more force into our New Year's kissing. We took turns peeing and brushing our teeth, then Mark stripped me naked, helped me into bed, and turned off the lights. Mysteriously, he told me he'd be right back, and closed the bedroom door. A couple of minutes later, he slipped back in. I couldn't make out anything different about him from the hallway light silhouette. But a couple of feet from the bed, pale street light refracted through fog revealed my slender 13-year-old shirtless in my sister's black leather motorcycle jacket, and a pair of her black nylon stockings, which reached beneath his lederhosen. Mark's hands were on his hip, and with an impish smile, he twisted one way, and then another. "I've been having very naughty thoughts all night, Robin," he whispered in a low voice. "I think I need to be punished." We both giggled. "Take off that jacket," I whispered, in a mock stern tone. Like a stripper, he slowly removed his outerwear, revealing his creamy, slender torso, divided twice by the rainbow suspenders covering his nipples. Ridiculous in memory, it was really sexy at the time, and my dick engorged under the bedcovers. Like a cat, Mark slid over me, leaning in for a deep kiss. Our tongues were meant to be together, fused like conjoined twins. I reached between us for his suspenders, pulling them the 3 or so centimeters between us, and let them snap into his nipples. He giggled into my mouth. Then I reached underneath and pinched his tits, and Mark moaned. I squeezed his leather-clad ass while we kiss longer, deeper, and with forceful passion. His buttocks felt even firmer in pliant shielding. Our groins began to rock together, and my dick needed release. But I wasn't going to waste it right away. I told Mark to straddle my chest, and he quickly complied. Undoing the front flap of his lederhosen, I was rewarded with a rich smell of boy and tanned skin, and a fully erect cock propelling into my nose. He'd removed his underwear, and was naked in his leather wrapping. As a vegan today, the memories are mixed. But back then, I was a pre-pubescent animal. And I hungered for his steamy dick, licking his length with more hunger than teasing. Then, I sucked him hard, with my cheeks and tongue, until he gasped without control. When his climax neared, I pulled off, and Mark whimpered in frustration. "Your punishment has only started," I whispered, in a terrible Peter Cushion imitation. "Take off those naughty shorts." Mark's beautiful lips grew into a dirty smile as he climbed off me, and stood to drop his lederhosen. So toned and slender and milky in moonlight, my black-haired boyfriend's 5-inch cock bounced with his heartbeat from a hairless crotch, off-set with black nylon stockings. With the same mock-stern whisper, I ordered Mark to get the dildo and lube from my dresser, and my ruler from my desk. Quickly returning with his hardness bouncing in anticipation, Mark handed me the props, pulled back the covers and bent over my naked lap. Striking his firm melons softly, but quickly with the wooden ruler, I soon had Mark moaning and grinding his erection crosswise into mine. Tossing the wood straightedge aside, I lubed my fingers, and then worked them between Mark's stinging buttocks. Making sure his anus was very slippery, I gently worked the boy-sized vibrating toy through his clenching gates. I had Mark straddle my head with his knees, facing my hairless, 14-year-old dick. His equally barren, but bigger cock bobbed toward my lips, a thin line of clear syrup started to drip from his nozzle. I grabbed him by the stalk with a thumb and forefinger. Pursing my lips under ridge of his inflamed head, I sucked in his slightly salty pre-cum, and lightly tickled his pee-hole with the tip of his tongue. Mark quickly sucked in a breath, then leaned down to drag his tongue along my length. When he sucked in my hairless little bag, it was my turn to gasp, as his tongue grew lazy circles around each of my tightly bound little marbles. As I continued to work on Mark's sensitive knob, and gently stroked his stem, I used my other hand to gently fuck him with the artificial phallus. His hips began to grind and he took my slender four inches all the way into his mouth, partially into his throat. Mark tormented my tip with swallowing motions, then massaged me with his cheeks and tongue. Squirming from his moist suctioning, I held his nuts and base in my palm, sucking down his length. Then I flipped the switch on the vibrator, and Mark groaned as I pushed it all the way in. I could feel the quaking through his nuts, and he was thrusting into my mouth. I managed to open my throat, as all five inches plunged to his hairless base. I couldn't breath and suck him all the way in for more than a few strokes, so I had to pull off for a second, and Mark whined. Then I sucked him back in, holding him by the base so I could focus on his knob, and he could pump into my fingers. With my other hand, I slapped his naughty buns, spanking him on either cheek with every thrust. Thankfully, a rumble of music from downstairs covered the sound of slapping flesh and boy moans. He peeled away from my cock as his stifled moans climbed in agonizing pitch, and he thrust hard. I sucked down a furious jet of thin, watery lava. He groaned again, as I spanked two more eruptions into my hungry mouth. Then I turned off the vibrator and milked the last dribbles into my ravenous mouth. Mark could have collapsed, but staggered to his feet, pulled the toy out of his butt and climbed astride my hips. Holding my little shaft by the base, he slowly lowered himself, and guided me into his hot, squeezing anus. As his firm buns settle on my barren groin, I could see he was still diamond hard. Squeezing me again with his bowels, he rode me hard and fast. He was panting through gritting teeth, and occasionally grunted a quiet, "Fuck me, Robin!" I fondled his nuts with one hand, while stroking him with the other. I pounded him as furiously as he savaged me. I felt my climax looming, and I tried in vain to hold it back. My teeth were grinding, and I flexed my skinny belly to choke my cry. As white fire burst from my nuts through my dick, suns exploded in my tightly shut eyes, and I fell into a deep sleep.