IT STARTED WITH HIS UNDIES
By Zachyboy
M/b, dad/son, incest, underwear, oral, fingering, rimming

CHAPTER 1. "DADDY, I'M ITCHY"

I don't think anyone really plans on having sex with their 10-year-old
son. I mean, as the kid's growing up, trading his cute little diapers for
cute little Skylanders undies, it's probably not high on your checklist
unless you're from Arkansas and you live in a cabin. It certainly wasn't
top tier on my agenda, but still, here it is. And without a doubt, I'm
hooked on him. And now I guess I should tell you how it all got started.

Benny is 10, and Benny is short for Benjamin. And actually, that's not even
his real name. My wife named him Aiden Benjamin, after her father and some
guy who helped their family in a big way when she was young. But then she
died far too early when Benny was 4, and shortly thereafter he and I
mutually decided we didn't care too much for being named Aiden and we
didn't give an enthusiastic shit about being called Benjamin either, so
Benny was born. Or reborn. Or whatever reinvention kids put themselves
through when they lose their moms. Even young kids. Sometimes it's just a
lot easier to be someone else.

So Benny has always been my little sports boy. Loves soccer, loves
basketball, loves gymnastics, loves karate. He'd take every lesson and sign
up for every league in sight if I'd let him. He's rough and tumble, always
active, 100% pure boy. And I'd be lying if I said he wasn't drop-dead
cute. Little pink lips, a button nose right out of a Renoir portrait, just
the lightest dusting of freckles, eyelashes that were painted on by God
himself. And naked, even more gorgeous. Soft, smooth skin from head to toe,
tiny little nipples, a tight little butt you could dine on (and I have),
and a cut little two-inch cock that grows to all about 3 when he's hard,
which is a lot more recently than it used to be.

And I know how these stories are supposed to start. "I never imagined I'd
have sex with my son," or "I really didn't mean to do it. It just happened
somehow." And I guess in some ways that's true. I intended to keep his
childhood as innocent as I could, even though he certainly had my attention
these past few years when he'd giggle and squirm while I helped him in the
shower, jumping all over me, thrashing like a naked little goldfish, in
hysterics over how wet he was getting me on his way to his pajamas. In his
bedroom, still half-wet, he'd always lay on his floor, giggling like crazy,
legs up in the air, spreading his butt cheeks with his cute little fingers
to give me an unimpaired view of his tiny little starfish, a hole I've come
to know intimately this past year. This innocent, giggly "look what I'm
showing you, I'm so funny" probably would have led to more
eventually. You'd have thought so anyway. But as much as it aroused me, it
wasn't his liberally-offered sneak-peaks at all. Believe it or not, it
started with his undies.

It had been a particularly active day for Benny and he was already upstairs
in my bed, softly snoring away. He'd been extra busy for a Saturday. He had
gymnastics class in the morning, went to a birthday party in the afternoon
at one of those indoor bounce house places, then shared a playdate with a
friend before coming home to ride his bike for a half hour, round and round
our little neighborhood cul de sac, before coming in for pizza, TV, stories
and bedtime.

Needless to say, on a good, inactive day, my little boy's underwear will
still find their way to the laundry pile in questionable
condition. Freshly-minted 10-year-olds aren't known for their general
wiping prowess and Benny was certainly no exception. A quick swipe with the
TP, and he's outa there, folks. No wet wipes and bidets in his normal anal
hygiene routine.

And I have to admit, that fact had been fascinating me more and more
lately. Turning me on, really. A few weeks ago, I'd found a particularly
skiddy pair of his underwear on the bathroom floor, along with the three
gallons of water he'd splashed out of the tub during his bi-weekly bath. I
picked them up after he scampered off and was just about to toss them in
his hamper when I caught sight of the little brown stain, and God knows
why, decided to give them a sniff-test instead.

My senses were flooded with the scent of pure, beautiful boy. Sweet,
earthy, rich beautiful boy ass. Slightly sweet, slightly sweaty, lightly
musky. It was a scent I hadn't prepared myself for, and it was
intoxicating. Delightful. Delicious. Shutting the door and locking it, I
fished out my cock, which was already hardening and with a pump of lotion
from the bathroom counter, started stroking myself right then and there,
with Benny's lightly soiled, delicious, still-warm undies pressed to my
nose, inhaling every molecule of his sweet little boy hole and not stopping
until I unleashed a wad of hot cum all over the bathroom counter. I used
his undies to wipe it up, mixing my cum into his light brown streak,
swirling the two colors together, and dreaming of doing it to him in the
flesh someday.

After that I was hooked. Benny's undies were my flavor of the day. I'd
eagerly wait until bedtime until he casually, innocently shucked them off
with the careless toss of boyhood, and as soon as he was tucked in bed, I'd
come back to his hamper, breathe deeply of the day's staggeringly beautiful
fresh aromas – sometimes a little poopy – sometimes the tangy smell
of little boy pee to add to the mixture – and I'd stand there in his
room, jacking my hard cock and shooting my cum all over the other clothes
in his hamper. I'd smell his underwear. I'd lick the saltiness of the
crotch. And it turned me on incredibly. And I probably would have let it go
on like that indefinitely, still not wanting to come right out an molest
the poor boy, satisfied instead with my newly-discovered and
completely-unending nightly supply of fresh jack off material, if the
Saturday in question hadn't brought matters to an unexpected speed-up.

Like I said, on that particular Saturday, Benny had been really active. I
mean, he's an active boy anyway, but on this Saturday, he ramped it up
times ten. Between the gymnastics class – you should see him do the
splits during warm-ups, by the way – it's mind-boggling – the bounce
house, the party, the playdate and the bike riding, the poor seat of his
undies couldn't keep up with the contact. Throw in a midday poo for good
measure, and you're talking about a particularly ripe pair of Skylanders
skivvies by the time the day was over.

And like I said, he was in my bed, softly snoring – he'd taken to
sleeping with me after my wife died, and even at 10, I could see no good
reason to kick him out – he'd had a problem with nightmares when he was
4 and 5, and even today, he still doesn't like sleeping in a dark room
alone, even with a nightlight. So in my bed, in his usual spot, I didn't
expect him to be waking anytime soon. He'd had a capful of Dimetapp PM
before he turned in – he'd been a little sniffly toward night's end and
I wanted him to get a good night's sleep – so I gave him a capful of the
grape stuff that usually made him even drowsier than his regular solid
night's sleep, which is saying a lot for a kid who sleeps like a log.

So, hearing his light snoring, or heavy breathing, whichever it was, I
figured I was safe to pick his undies up off the floor of his room and
admire the day's work. It was a large, spread-out stain, but already
dried. I honestly do love the smell of his musky, earthy little ass, but
even I have my limits. I mean, if the thing is caked with the wet stuff,
believe me, I'm not rubbing it on like a mud mask. No, I just like the
heady, sweet smell of his fresh little ass in dried formation. I don't want
to cake it on and roll in the stuff.

So I was breathing deeply, enjoying the aroma, and just about to take out
my dick and start stroking like I'd done every other night that week, when
a sleepy little voice from my bedroom down the hall stopped me in mid-jerk.

"Daddy," he called out quietly from my bedroom. "I'm itchy."

I quickly stuffed his undies in the pocket of my sweats and walked down the
hall into the bedroom. He had thrown off the covers, and looked up at me
with sleepy eyes.

"My butt's itchy," he whined softly. "And it won't stop itching me."

"Did you wipe the last time you went poopy, Tiger?" I asked him, and he
shrugged his shoulders. His tired eyes were already closing again.

"Do you want me to wipe you with a wet wipe and put some cream down there?"
I asked him, secretly hoping the answer would be yes.

"Okay, Daddy," he sighed, rolling over on his tummy, and tugging lightly at
his pajama bottoms. He didn't even come close to pulling them down, just
made a half-hearted effort before I heard his light snores start again.

He probably would have gone right back to sleep, but as I stood there with
the prospect of touching my little boy's butthole fresh in my mind,
permission granted and full speed ahead, I figured what the hell, I'd gone
this far, in for a penny, in for a pound.

I slowly peeled his pajama bottoms down and he didn't even budge. His
perfect ass came into view, this time covered in a pair of Buzz Lightyear
briefs, which I made quick work of. I slid the whole thing down his
legs...undies, pajamas, all of it, slid it right down, took it off and
threw it in a heap at the bottom of the bed. He continued his soft snore,
completely unmoving.

My cock was hard as I took my thumb and forefinger, and reaching into his
crack, spread his little cheeks enough to see his itchy hole. Sure enough,
the telltale signs of a wiping gone bad met my eyes. Not too bad. Just a
couple little smudges left behind, but the sight and the smell were
heavenly.

Reaching into my bedside drawer, I grabbed the small pack of baby wipes I
kept nearby for night time smudges and leftover sticky smears when Benny
didn't feel like washing his hands or face before bedtime. Usually those
wet wipes washed off a smudge of jelly or a little bit of a hot chocolate
mustache. Tonight they were going where no man had gone before. At least
not on my son.

I spread his cheeks again with my thumb and forefinger and with a quick
flick of a wrapped-up finger, I ran the wipe across his crack and wiped
away the leftover poop smear. I rolled the wipe to a clean spot, rewrapped
it, and gave his crack one more pass for good measure. All done. He was
clean as a whistle.

He actually sighed when I wiped his ass. It must have felt good to have
that leftover mess cleaned up. I sat there staring at his beautiful little
butthole for what seemed like hours. It was perfectly clean and smooth, not
a hair on it, not a tiny wrinkle out of place. It was a cross between red
and pink. Wet from the baby wipe, it seemed to glisten invitingly in the
dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"I'm going to put some cream on it now, Sport," I said softly. "Just to
stop the itch, okay?"

"Mmm, okay Daddy," he mumbled, somewhere between paying attention and
dreamland.

For a minute I thought of going to the bathroom and getting some Neosporin
or Benadryl cream. That would probably be more therapeutic. My own mom used
to stick a finger full of Vaseline up my hole when I had an itchy butt when
I was a kid. Not much medicine in petroleum jelly, but it did the trick.

But no. As I stared at that perfect hole, I knew I wanted to scratch that
itch just a little at a time, very softly, with something I could enjoy,
too. I reached into my drawer for the small squeeze bottle of Slippery
Stuff I kept tucked in the back for jack-off sessions when Benny was in
school. Squeezing a dab on my pinky, I spread his ass again and put just
the slightest amount of pressure on his tight hole with my pinky finger.

Like a tiny flower, it opened up almost immediately to admit my pinky up to
the first knuckle.

"Mmmm," Benny sighed. "Feels good, Daddy. Do more."

He instinctively spread his legs as I wiggled the tip of my finger around
in his perfect little butthole, not scratching with my fingernail, but
rubbing slowly and putting pressure on him with the pad of my pinky.

"Itch it deeper, Daddy," he mumbled. "The itch goes way deep inside."

Oh, fuck. This was hot. I took my finger out to lube it up a little
better. Before I did, I brought it up to my nose and sniffed
it. Ambrosia. His musky little ass smell filled my senses. Not exactly
sour, not exactly sweet, just perfectly, naturally boy. It was like light
Colby cheese, or cottage cheese, or something good and unidentifiable,
slightly tangy and warm. Wild and comforting at the very same time. I
touched it to my tongue. I sucked my finger. Sweet little ass taste. I
think I moaned then. Wouldn't be the last time.

I re-lubed my finger and stuck it back into him. This time, I didn't stop
at the first knuckle, but slowly pushed my pinky all the way inside him.

"Oh, Daddy. So good," he whispered with a sigh, still more asleep than an
actual participant.

I wiggled my finger slowly around inside the delicious, gripping heat of
his tiny little ass chamber. I felt the moisture inside along the walls,
the heat and the pulse of his heart in there. Each time I pressed, I felt
him growing looser and looser, made more pliable by the movement of my
pinky.

My own cock was rock hard at this point. I reached into my sweat pants and
wasn't surprised to find pre-cum beading at the tip.

"This is so fucking hot," I whispered to myself. "You okay down there,
tiger?"

No answer at all. He was fast asleep, legs splayed apart, with his dad's
finger up his ass, scratching an itch both of us should have seen coming a
year ago.

"That's okay, baby," I said to him softly. "You just keep sleeping. Daddy's
going to scratch it until it all goes away."

I took my pinky out, smelled and sucked on it again, marveling at the sweet
little boy taste, wishing I would have thought of this years ago, and
reached again for the bottle of lube.

Knowing he was fast asleep, I did three things nearly simultaneously. I
lubed up my much larger forefinger, I pulled his dirty underwear from out
of my sweat pants pocket and gave them a good, long smell, and pulled my
own rock hard dick out of my sweat pants and poured a little lube on that,
too.

"I'm just going to help him, I'm just going to help him," I said in my
mind, over and over like a mantra, not wanting to hurt him, not wanting to
fuck him. Okay, that part's not true. Of course I wanted to fuck him. A
man's dick has its own mind, and I challenge anyone to look at the sight of
my son's perfect, welcoming ass chamber and not want to stick it full of
six inches of dick. (Eight, nine or ten if you read a lot of Nifty).

I sat there for the next ten minutes with liberal lube, coating my finger,
coating my cock, slowly jacking myself while I stuck my forefinger deep
into Benny's ass, scratching his itch, marveling at the sight of my own
thick finger moving in and out of a hole that small. I was finger-fucking
my own 10-year-old son, and he wasn't even aware of it. If anything, all he
gave was an occasional, contented sigh and a deeper breathing, finally
getting that troublesome itch taken care of.

I knew it wouldn't be long before I came. The sight of his asshole with my
finger slowly moving in and out and swirling around deep in the comforting
heat of him was going to push me over the edge soon. But like I said
earlier, in for a penny, in for a pound, if I was going to shoot my load
with my little boy's ass, literally at my fingertip, I was going to step
this thing up a notch and go for the gold.

Repositioning myself on the bed, I kneeled over him so my face was level
with his ass. Removing my finger once again, I continued to jerk my cock as
I bent forward and pressed my nose into his sweet little buttcrack. The
lube I use is odorless, so the scent that greeted me was pure boy. I'd
cleaned him well with the wet wipe before, but the prolonged act of moving
my finger in and out of his deepest recess brought a buffet of new aroma to
the surface, and I hovered there just slightly, enjoying the spicy sweet
boy musk, before leaning in and giving the length of his crack a long, soft
swipe with my tongue.

I was immediately greeted with the taste of salt. It was a warm night, his
crack was sweaty from the close physical contact. It was like salt water
mixed with ginger mixed with the lingering perfume of the baby wipe.

Knowing what I wanted and still stroking my cock, I centered my tongue on
that most precious of treasures, my little boy's asshole, and I feasted
tenderly. I made love to his perfect little rosebud with my eager, dancing
tongue, savoring its beautiful taste and committing the multitude of flavor
flashes to memory. Salt and spice and copper and a hundred other things
that made me moan out loud and made my heart pound in my chest.

I licked lower and smelled and tasted his beautiful little ball sack which
was just in reach of my eager tongue. So sweet, so good. Like cloves. Like
graham crackers.

"Mmmm, baby," I whispered, licking across his balls before coming back up
and eating his ass slowly and deeply. "Daddy has more cream for you,
baby. More hot cream."

I could feel my dick starting to tingle. I could feel my heart pounding
heavy in my chest. It was perfect. This boy, this ass, this night. He was
so fucking hot. This was so fucking perfect.

My cock exploded in my hand, shooting ropes of cum onto the blanket
below. I caught the first of it with my other hand, quickly bringing a
fingerful to his tight asshole and pushing it inside of him. It was so
fucking hot, breeding my own cum deep into his chamber with my finger while
my tongue continued to eat him out.

He moaned at this point, almost in discomfort. Maybe I was pushing too
deeply? I backed off a little, slowed down, but when he started snoring
again, fingered up more of my cum from the bedspread and started pushing it
inside him, too. I don't know what made me do this. The desire to possess
him completely, I guess? To leave this mark of me inside him. To know he
had always been mine, but now he was mine again in an entirely new way.

"Mmm, good cream, Daddy," he mumbled in his sleep. "No more itch now. Feels
really better."

"Good boy," I said in a soothing, soft voice, in between final licks of his
beautiful sweet ass which was now mixed with the bleachy tang of my own
thick sperm. I finished up, pushed as much inside him as I could until none
was left on the sheet. I took a final look at my work, a tiny droplet of my
cum still beaded on the very rim of his star. That one I left, just because
it looked so perfect there.  I knew even then, it wouldn't be the last.

"Such a good boy," I said to him soothingly, hoping he could hear me, even
though he was fast asleep. "Such a good, brave boy, letting daddy put some
special cream inside you."

Tired and happy, I slipped off my sweats, slid in next to him naked, and
turned off the bedside lamp. Instinctively, like he did on all nights, he
rolled closer into my arms and wrapped himself around me. I kissed his
perfect forehead and held him tight, the sweet coppery spice of him still
dancing on my tongue; my sticky, softening cock now pressed against his
little leg, sticking to it as the lube dried.

"Thank you, Daddy," he whispered. "You itched me really good."

And instantly, in the way that only boyhood can manage, he fell deeply
asleep again.

"I love you, Benny," I whispered, kissing him and stroking his hair. "Sleep
good, baby boy. Daddy's got lots of new stuff to show you now. Stuff that
can make us both feel really, really good."

He cuddled to me closer.

"I think you're going to like it," I promised him, drifting into slumber
myself, half asleep, half in a dream.

I yawned, I slept, I cuddled him closer.

Something new and good had just begun.

# # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 2. "BENNY AND THE JETS"

So, the thing is, the next morning I should have felt a little guilty,
right? You'd have thought so anyway. The night before, I'd had my finger so
far up my little boy's ass, I was nearly playing speed dial on his small
intestine, but the truth of the matter is, I really didn't feel guilty at
all. I just felt sort of cool and peaceful about the whole thing. Zen and
the Art of Colorectal Maintenance, I guess.

And Benny, for his part, didn't seem to give two shits, if you'll pardon
the pun. If he had any memory last night of his daddy devouring his boy
parts like Thanksgiving dinner at Father O'Malley's house, he sure didn't
mention it. So, shrug, what the hell, maybe I got away with it. I mean, is
that even possible? Give your kid a little shot of cold medicine, wait
until he's out like a light, then spend the next thirty minutes feasting on
his rooty-tooty fresh and fruity like a man fresh out of seminary school
and not have him ponder the meaning of life a little? Apparently so.

We had breakfast, Benny watched Netflix. He's streaming Wild Kratts now and
he's up to about season 90, I'm pretty sure. There's nothing left for the
Kratt brothers to turn into anymore. Swear to God, they're going to hit
those buttons next season and turn into an amoeba and a pancreatic cancer
cell or something. There's just nothing left. But Benny loves them, and I
love Benny, so Wild Kratts it is.

He scampered off to school. No 10-year-old really scampers, but it seems
the right word to reflect his mood. It implies a certain amount of skipping
and carefree joviality, and not so much, holy shit, my dad ate my ass and
scooped his cum into my hole last night, and I'm pretty fucking freaked
about it. What I'm saying is, everything appeared to be boy business as
usual.

And as soon as he left, of course, I got down to my usual business, which
was checking out his undies from the night before. They were still wadded
at the bottom of my bed where I'd taken them off in my lust to get at
him. Benny had slept naked with me last night, my sticky cum turning to a
flaky glaze between his butt cheeks: the Dunkin Donuts of Boy. And you can
bet I'll be in that breakfast line any chance he gives me.

But left alone to my own devices (and say, wasn't that an idea, I thought
to myself, remembering the little four-inch dildo I'd bought on a lark not
too many months ago, when the heady thought of eventually licking Benny's
enticing little cock was getting so strong, it required a prosthetic
pacifier so I didn't jump the poor kid in the bathtub on Tuesday Mr. Bubble
night.

Fishing it out of the back of my drawer, and grabbing the lube for good
measure, I squirted my palm with a healthy glob of Slippery Stuff, always
the brand that pleases, and stood right there at the foot of the bed,
smelling Benny's underwear and getting down to business.

There wasn't much scent left on the colorful little Cars briefs. What had
been there the night before had mostly been lost to the ravages of time and
saliva. They were still damp from where I'd licked them far too sloppily,
getting every last molecule of euphoric taste from Benny's most private
places. Between eating Benny's underwear and eating Benny's ass, it's a
wonder I still had tongue muscles left this morning.

But I sure as hell did, because I licked those babies to another raging
erection, and putting down the underwear, I picked up the little four-inch
dildo, pink as a baby's bottom and rubbery hard, and slid it slowly into my
mouth, licking it, sucking it, moaning a little in spite of myself, knowing
only eight hours ago, I'd had the real deal dancing across my tongue,
waiting for that magical shot of the first watery cum that wasn't quite
ready to pop yet in my son's tiny testicles. Plenty of time to gobble that
later I thought, as I licked my substitute penis and imagined what I'd like
to do to my beautiful baby boy when he got home from school.

My fantasies, I'm embarrassed to say, always lean a little toward the
aggressive side, and I'm sure in my mind, I was treating Benny a little bit
more ruggedly than I'd ever dream of doing in real life. In my mind,
standing there masturbating with a fake cock in my mouth, I had him face
down on my bed, holding him down with my hands as I brought my nose down to
the crack of his pajamas. Breathing deeply until the spicy scent of his
earthy crack filled my lungs I imagined him moaning a little and grinding
his butt back into my face.

"Pull my pants down, Daddy," he says in my fantasy, his treble voice still
years away from deepening. "I want my pants down. Please, Daddy."

"You need Daddy to lick you down there again, baby boy?" I said to an empty
room, my eyes closed, still stroking my slippery dick.

"Mmm-hmm," said the imaginary boy on my bed. "I like it when you smell my
butt, Daddy. It makes me tickle down there."

In my fantasy, I squeeze the cheeks of his ass together, a little rougher
than I have to, and he moans again. My hands feel the soft, hot flannel of
his pajamas. My eyes see the colors and the little Ninjago characters. My
nose smells the fragrant, impossibly beautiful combination of Downy and boy
ass and pheromones. He presses back against me harder as I continue
massaging his ass through his jammies.

With my thumbs, I start to press inward on the fabric, finding his
butthole, finding his crack.

"Daddy! Ummmph!" he groans as my right thumb finds its mark and presses
inward and downward, pressing his undies right into his hole. Pressing his
pj's into him too.

"You like it when Daddy pokes your hole, don't you, tiger? You like it way
down deep inside there."

"Feels good, Daddy," he says in my mind. "Poke it in some more. Really go
deeper."

"Like this?" I groan, sticking my thumb in even farther, the mixture of
heat, pajama flannel and unbridled boy ass making little fireworks pop off
in my mind. My heart is racing. I feel shaky and determined.

"Unngh. Mmmmph! Oh, Daddy! That's so good when you do that so deep like
that. Lick my butthole, Daddy," he moans in desperation. "Lick my butthole
really hard and put your tongue way up inside me."

"Oh fuck yeah," I moan, my eyes still closed, still lost in my fantasy. I
pull his pajama bottoms off roughly, without fanfare. I do the same with
his thumb-lodged undies which come loose from his hole with a soft
moan. The pop of a tiny cork. Unplugging the entry to nirvana.

I mash his ass into the bed and roughly spread his cheeks. He moans and
writhes, wanting it. Needing it. His butt shoots upwards. He wiggles it
toward my eager face like a cute little doggie I'm waiting to sniff. He
whimpers, he waits, he wants me to stop teasing him. And then I go wild.

I spread his cheeks and dive into his ass like a man consumed. He pushed
back and thrashes as I eat his ass and listen to him groan.

"Lick my ass, Daddy, lick my ass, lick my ass." His breath is coming heavy
and his words are gathering rhythm, like a mantra, like a choo-choo train.

"Lick my ass, Daddy, lick my ass, lick my ass," I whisper along with him,
alone in my room, stroking my cock, sucking my fake little dick, as I
shudder from head to toe and my dick erupts with wads of hot goo all over
his undies lying bunched on my bed. I drop the dick and pick them up in my
other hand, shooting the rest of my cum right on the crotch of his
underwear, my thick ejaculate coating the smiling face of Lightning McQueen
or whoever the fuck it is today. I don't even care. I don't even see it,
I'm cumming so hard.

"So good Daddy, so good," I whisper to the empty room, still impersonating
my son's last gasps. I cum so hard I see stars. That's all it takes. Just
the thought of him. Just the scent of him. It's almost like having the
actual, real-life boy for a son is just icing on the cake. If I had nothing
but his picture in my mind and his fragrance in my face, I could die a
happy man. Actually getting to do that to him last night was a preposterous
bonus. The fantasy alone could keep me going for decades.

My breathing slowed, my heart stopped pounding, I came back to the world, I
came back to reality. I cleaned up his clothes, I threw them in the hamper,
I took my shower. Another day had dawned. Another fantasy to get it
started.

Benny got home from school, smiling and happy as always. A little hot, a
little sweaty. It was summer in Nevada, never a crowd-pleaser, and the
slight sheen of just walking from the school bus on the corner had him
rosy-cheeked and flushed as he came through the door.

"Hey, Sport," I called from the kitchen. "Come get a snack."

He did, and we sat at the table, eating grilled cheese with raisins –
don't ask, his favorite – and talking about the day. He had soccer in
gym class, scored a goal but broke a shoelace. Math seemed to be a blur of
triangles, trapezoids and pentagons, none of which he seemed to give a shit
about, and frankly neither did I, because at 38, I've yet to get myself
into a tough fix where I've magically wormed my way out by measuring a
fucking trapezoid, but hey, fourth-grade teachers have to make a living
too, I guess.

Anyway, it was much the same as it always was: Tales of a Fourth Grade
Somebody, but I listened intently like I always did, following a wise quote
I'd tacked up on my refrigerator. Because if you don't listen intently to
the little stuff when they're little, they won't tell you the big stuff
when they're big. Because to them, it's always been big stuff, all of it.

"I'm sticky," he announced suddenly. And by sticky, he didn't mean
cum-splattered and glazing over like the night before, when I'd unloaded
the ejaculatory equivalent of Hoover Dam and finger-fed it up his honey
hole. He just meant he was hot and sweaty and wanted to wash off the dust
of the day.

"Why don't you hop in the hot tub," I shrugged, cleaning up the
dishes. About five years ago, I'd cashed in a little leftover 401K money
from a job that didn't pan out and instead of rolling it over for, I don't
know, enjoyment in the old folks home, I said what the fuck, and bought us
a hot tub. I've never regretted it either. That much instant stress relief
for $5,000 ought to be illegal, and probably is in some wacky
countries. All I know is, that hot tub has been a nearly-nightly friend,
offering a quick wet down and a relaxing massage for more days and nights
than I can remember.

"Okay, Daddy," Benny chirped, and with the casual, completely unembarrassed
"no further ado" that comes so naturally with boyhood, he shucked off his
clothes, shirt, pants, undies and all, and shot out the door into the
rejuvenating warmth of the spa outside.

Out of his sight line, I quickly picked up his discarded clothes, and on
the way to the laundry room, unwedged his underwear form the leg of his
pants and gave them a sniff. Pure heaven. They were still hot, fragrant and
ripe from the sweat of his crotch. The front pouch was still toasty warm
from his little dick and smelled faintly of pee. The elastic leg bands were
actually damp with salty, tangy moisture, and I knew, because I tasted
them. Like vinegar and graham crackers. Delicious. The ass fabric was a
gift from the gods of Mount Olympus themselves. Rich, wild, boyishly musky,
straight from the source, still hot from his body, strong and fresh and
good. I breathed deeply, lungful after lungful, like a thirsty man gulping
water in a desert. Satisfied, I shucked my own clothes into the laundry
basket on the floor and joined my son in our private back yard.

"You got a big cock, Daddy," he giggled as I walked into view. "And hairy,
too."

"Nothing you won't have in a few years, slugger," I grinned at him. "All
the ladies will be chasing you down to get a hold of that thing."

"You're funny," he said, dunking his head under the water and coming up
again quickly, his hair wet and glistening in the four o'clock sunlight.

I climbed in the tub and sat across for him, enjoying the day, enjoying the
life we had, enjoying the warm, bubbly nakedness of him.

"Know what I'm doing?" he giggled.

"I have no clue," I said honestly.

"I'm lining up my butthole on the water jets," he grinned.

"Thrilling," I said drolly, but in all honesty, it was.

"When I put my butt like this," he said, scrunching his face a little and
contorting aquatically into a reimagined position, "all the water shoots up
into my butt crack." He paused and grinned a little more, as if this might
shock me. "And sometimes a little piece of water goes right up inside my
butthole."

"Really," I said casually, completely faking boredom. "I suppose it goes up
your butt and shoots out your ears."

"Nope," he announced proudly. "Just up my butt. I don't know where it goes
after that."

Where indeed, I thought. I wouldn't mind following that MapQuest upriver to
see where it led.

"Want to see my butthole after I do it?" he giggled.

Oh God, this kid was going to make me cum in the hot tub.

"Sure," I said nonchalantly. "I never miss a chance to see a kid's
butthole." And Lord in Heaven, that part was true.

He stood up on the side seat, bent forward a little, and spread his cheeks
for me right there for God and Country, and there I was, face to face with
the most perfect little rosebud that ever crinkled in the breeze.

"See?" he said proudly. "It gets it nice and clean."

"No poop there," I had to agree. "Clean as a whistle."

"You should blow on it," he giggled.

"Blow on it?" I said, genuinely befuddled.

"If it's a whistle, you should blow on it!" he said cheekily, proud at his
own cleverness. And with that, he started walking sideways around the bench
and bringing his cheeks, still spread widely apart, even closer to my
hungry eyes.

"Okie-dokie," I shrugged. "Ask and you shall receive, nutbag." And with
that, I sure as hell did blow on it. Like the lady said to Humphrey Bogart,
I puckered up and blew. And he giggled again as my cool breath blew into
his hot hole.

"You're a good butt blower, Daddy," he grinned, plopping back down in the
water.

"Oh, I've got all kinds of magic butt blowing powers," I told him. "Some
day I'll have to show them too you?"

"Like the way you licked my butt when I was sleeping last night?" he said
with another giggle.

"Like the...whah..." I sputtered.

"Like the way you licked my butthole and my pee cock last night," he
repeated with a grin. Pee cock was his cute little kid word for penis. He
used to say it all the time when he was 4 and 5. It sort of fell out of
vogue after he turned 6. I have to say, it was more than a little exciting
to hear its revival.

"Did you like it when I licked your butt and your pee cock?" I asked him
quietly, with a smile on my face.

"Oh yeah," he grinned enthusiastically. "But next time you should let me
come out and wash my butthole on the jets. That way you won't get poop
breath."

Not really an issue, kiddo, I thought to myself. Not even remotely an
issue.

And with that, the subject was over. He went back to trapezoids. Or Brenden
Dixon's new electric scooter or some equally inane bullshit lost in the
buzz of my tingling headspace.

Did that mean he was okay with it? All the stuff I did with him the night
before? He hadn't dreamed it, he knew I did it, and it was no big deal? He
wasn't uncomfortable? He was utterly unconcerned?

I didn't know if it was a fluke of the moment or if the open season sign
had just gone up.

But the night was young. My dick was hard.

And I was damn sure going to find out.

# # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 3. "THE THINGS WE CAN DO WITH OUR PEE COCKS"

"You almost ready to get out of the hot tub, tiger?" My son smiled at me
and nodded his head. Just moments ago, he'd stuck his butthole in my face
and asked me to blow on it for him. And then he asked me if I'd enjoyed
licking it the night before, something I'd had no clue he knew I was
doing. And then he went back to giggling and splashing in the hot tub like
those questions were nothing out of the ordinary at all. Talk about leaving
me hanging. Or not hanging, and in fact, pretty fucking hard, as the case
may be.

And damn, talk about the sweet juxtaposition of being caught between that
particular rock-and-a-hard-place. The hard place, obviously, being the
sixer between my legs, which was plumping up just fine thanks to Benny's
anal inquiries and invitations. The hard place being wondering how much of
his hot tub come-on was flirting and how much was just innocent boy. Well,
like they say in the movies, there was only one way to find out.

"I'm ready," he giggled. Then with a pout and a lift of his arms, "Carry
me?"

He said it with his little boy voice. So soft, so sexy. Big little almond
eyes staring up at me, faux-pleadingly.

I'd carried Benny upstairs to bed for many years, but at 10, he just
started getting too heavy for me to do it reguarly. But lust has its own
way of increasing a dad's muscle output – significantly – so I was
more than happy to step out of the hot tub first, still naked and dripping
myself, and reach out to swoop him out and carry him wherever he needed to
go. Upstairs to my bedroom was my vote.

I picked him up under his naked little arms, all slippery and hairless, and
he latched himself around me, arms around my neck, legs locking around my
hips, latching on like a slippery little fish. The skin-on-skin heat of our
bodies, freshly warmed from the hot tub, was warmed even more by my pure,
unadulterated lust for my son. At this point, our body contact was charged
with electricity and the unknown promise of things to come.

J.M. Barrie, the man who wrote Peter Pan, breathlessly wrote about bathing
and disrobing a little boy in "The Little White Bird," where this most
famous of all boylovers said, "It was what I have been wanting all
along...this little boy, who in the midst of his play while I undressed
him, suddenly buried his head on my knees...of his dripping little form in
the bath, and how when I essayed to catch him, he had slipped from my arms
like a trout."

Benny was like that, nearly slipping from my arms like a trout, a little
too wet to get a good grip on, but I held onto him for dear life anyway,
his smooth and slippery little body rubbing up and down my hairy chest.

"Your chest hair is all scratchy, Daddy," he giggled in my ear, still using
his flirty little boy voice, his hot breath even warmer than his skin. "It
makes my pee cock tickle."

"Do you like it when your pee cock tickles, Benny?" I asked him quietly,
almost whispering it in his ear.

"Yes," he whispered back with a soft giggle. "And yours is really hard. I
can feel it on my legs and butt."

"Do you want to come upstairs to Daddy's room, baby?" I whispered back, my
own need urgent and my own dick still growing between my legs and his. "I
can make your pee cock feel really, really special, tiger. If you'll let
me, that is."

Benny threw his arms around me tighter. Nuzzled his nose into my neck even
deeper. Kissed my skin. Just a chaste little peck. He squirmed and
shifted. Felt my fully-erect cock pressing upwards against his butt. He
squiggled a little more, feeling it slide and slither against his baby
smooth skin.

"Yes," he whispered quietly in my ear, all naked and slippery. "Yes."

# # # # # # # # # #

I carried him upstairs just like that, both of us bare naked, still damp
from the tub, his little arms and legs wrapped around my body – me
barely noticing his weight as I eagerly took him to my room and laid him
softly on my bed. He watched me intently to see what would come next. I
don't think I knew what it would be myself. Benny's arms were up. His legs
were slightly spread, showing off his beautiful three-inch penis, hard and
inviting, and the little acorns that hung below.

I drew the blinds and the room became tender and dim. He was so beautiful
laying there, and never before have I wanted anyone so much or so
lovingly. I stopped just a second to admire him before even moving to him,
letting my eyes wander up and down his creamy skin, his lean, coltish legs,
his perfect torso, his tiny brown nipples, his long arms with their blond
feathery down. His neck. His fingers. Everything about him was so
beautifully boyish, I honestly didn't know if I wanted to fuck him or paint
his portrait. I'd have shot cum all over him doing either.

I'd been leading up to this for weeks, inhaling the scent of his
sticky-sweet undies and tasting his flavors. Masturbating over them,
fantasizing about what fucking him would feel like, and finally, last night
after a long, two-week painfully patient lead-up, fingered his tight ass
while he slept. I stood masturbating over him in the dark, smelling his
underwear, deep rich gulps from the fabric, watching Benny sleep, then
losing all semblance of self-control, getting incredibly bold and
hungry...fingering him, licking him, and pushing my cum up inside him when
I finished. Feeding my wad straight into his hole, a finger full at a
time. I thought he was sleeping, but he was only pretending. There I was,
pushing my own spilled jizz into my little boy's most private opening and
he was half-awake, half-asleep, but understanding it all.

And now here he was on my bed, bare naked, open and inviting, knowing
full-well what I'd done to him the night before, and asking me in that
sweet little boy voice of his, if I dared to do more. And oh yes, I did.

"Can you kiss me, Daddy?" he looked up with pouty, pretty eyes.

I lay down next to him immediately, him on the right, me on the left,
turned my head to face his, and planted a soft, chaste kiss on his tiny,
pouting lips, full and exciting, the color of a soft claret. His cheeks
were flushed and rosy. His breathing was deep. Labored and excited,
catching in his lungs and giving us both a little gasp when our lips met.

"Kiss me like grown-ups, Daddy," he whispered in that excruciatingly-sexy
little baby talk. I thought I would lose my mind or pop out of my own
rock-raging dick skin if he kept talking in that sweet little boy voice. "I
can teach you if you want me to," he giggled.

"Oh you can?" I said softly, teasing him back, nipping at his lips a little
with my teeth and withholding what he wanted. "Where did you learn how to
kiss like grown-ups?"

"Me and Ryan practice on each other," he said simply.

Ryan was a classmate who lived down the street from us. Benny and Ryan were
great friends, had sleepovers all the time, and it didn't surprise me at
10, and inquisitive, the two boys might be exploring each other's emerging
playthings with increasing activity.

I'd never seen them directly, but I did notice Ryan coming out of Benny's
room one afternoon with a clear hard-on showing through his too-tight
shorts. I chalked it up to natural law. When you're a boy their age, you
spend half the day with a hard dick. That little thing is loaded and ready
to go as soon as the wind blows. But in retrospect, it turns out little
Ryan may have been dick-hard and anxious for entirely other reasons, some
of them having to do with what appeared to be a few impromptu
tongue-sucking sessions with my little son. Well, good for them, I thought
with a smile. A boy's gotta learn somewhere.

"Does Ryan kiss you like this?" I asked Benny, closing in and giving him
another chaste peck on the lips.

"Nuh-uh," Benny giggled, immediately understanding the game.

"Does Ryan kiss you like this?" I asked again, this time lingering longer,
still a peck, but with a little swipe of my tongue, just the tip, running
across the top of his lip. The little dimple between his nose and his
mouth. That perfect alley little boys have. That philtrum, that medial
cleft that's so sexy and pronounced on little boys. And Benny's was no
exception. I licked it lightly again, my tongue dancing across it's tiny
alleyway. "I bet that's how he does it."

"Nope," Benny grinned. "Not that way either."

"How about this," I said, softly grabbing the back of his neck and pulling
his head toward mine. I could feel him shudder when I unexpectedly pulled
his face closer to mine so quickly, but again, I just lightly brushed his
lips with mine, licked across their tiny length with my tongue, and let him
go. I think he almost whimpered.

"No, Daddy," he said to me softly. "Like grown-ups. Like this."

And this time, he grabbed my head. And he pulled it toward his. And he was
on my lips instantly, with eagerness, with sweet little, fumbling
hunger. With very little sophistication, but with amazing sincerity
. Uncoordinated and shaky, but with a decidedly impressive little tongue
dance I would definitely have to remember to thank little Ryan for the next
time the tyke came over to play. Holy shit, that was a kiss.

Benny's little tongue probed through my lips instantly, darted into my
mouth, which opened on instinct to let him in, and he started licking it
with great eagerness against my own. His whole body rubbed up against me as
he kissed me, and between his legs, I could feel his little dicklet seeking
purchase, a hard little spike as eager as he was.

"Mmmmm" I moaned quietly, making both of our lips vibrate and tingle. He
still tasted like grilled cheese and raisins, his after school snack. His
tongue was an explosion of flavors. The sourness of dairy. The sweetness of
raisins. The beauty of a boy. There is no better taste. Anywhere.

We laid there making out, me moaning, Benny lapping and darting his tongue
against my mouth for seconds that ticked into minutes. For at least five
full minutes we greedily lapped and sucked at each other's mouths. Benny's
little hands came up to rub and grab at my chest hair, my hands slipped
down to cup his sexy bottom, squeezing his creamy white globes, kneading
them, pulling them apart and just barely grazing the fiery hotness of his
little rosebud with my thumbs. Instinctively when I did, Benny began to
hump up against my hip, throwing a leg around me, mashing his now rock-hard
little cocklet against my side, jabbing it into me, rubbing it back and
forth, faster and faster.

"Whoa," I said, pulling back from his mouth. "Slow down a little,
sport. There's no need to hurry it, baby. We can go nice and slow."

"My pee cock needs its tickles," he pouted, disappointed. "It needs its
tickles really bad, Daddy."

"Okay, baby," I smiled at him, pulling away from his precious face. "Let's
see what we can do to make your pee cock feel nice and tickly, okay?"

Benny smiled and looked embarassed. "You're going to cock suck me, aren't
you?"

Apparently Benny and Ryan were picking up all kinds of new vocabulary.

I whispered with a husky voice, turned on by his innocent verbing of the
term, looking down at his hard little fuck stick, standing straight up to
his belly button and begging for attention. "I'm going to cock suck you as
long and as special as I can."

And with that, I kneeled over him, pushed him back toward the headboard a
little, lifted his knees up, and immediately went down on his little pride
and joy. My tongue took a broad, leisurely lap at his tiny sack and
testicles. He shuddered and giggled. I looked at his little balls, tight
and firm in his acorn sack. He had a tiny mole on his ball sack, under his
left testicle. It had always been there, since birth. I'd seen it a million
times. But I'd never licked it until right now. Right this second.

"You're licking my magic marker dot," he giggled.

"God made a special little dot on you with a magic marker," we used to tell
him when he was little and he asked about the mole. "A dot so he'd always
remember which little baby you were."

Just hearing those words echoing back through the years turned me on even
more, picturing Benny's pretty little package at birth, at two, at four, at
six...that little mole, that dot from God, a reminder of how special he
really was. I put my nose to it. I teased it with my tongue.

"Do you like it when I lick your dot?" I asked from between his legs, all
pure thoughts of God and heaven aside.

"Mmm-hmm" he giggled as I did it again, letting my tongue flick across his
tiny balls, bringing a tiny contraction of his hard little penis. I did it
once again and his baby stick jumped in reflex.

"Please, Daddy," he whined adorably. "Suck my pee cock! It really needs a
cock suck!"

Demanding little man, calling the shots like that. I wasn't about to give
in that easily. I wanted to prolong his pleasure as much as mine. I wanted
him squirming for me to go down on him, and he nearly was already. I lapped
at him once again, this time going lower and taking a long, slow lick of
his crack and his boyhole.

"Daddy!" he cried out, jumping and tensing. And then with another giggle,
"You're licking my butt crack again!"

"Mmm-hmmm," I murmured...and not just your crack, kiddo, your whole tasty
hole, I thought, slathering it with my tongue, as instinctively he spread
his legs and raised his ass in the air, giving me freer access to his most
sacred of openings. I could see it clearly in the dim light as I lapped at
it. A tiny starfish, no bigger than a dime. It was pink, hairless and
perfectly symmetrical, a delicious little rosebud that began to loosen,
relax and finally open up for me the more I licked and probed it with my
tongue.

The tight muscle came loose, allowing my tongue tip to slip just slightly
inside, where instead of the tight rubber band entry of his anus, I could
now taste the smooth, soft, lubricated inner tissue of his rectal
wall. From tight and rubbery to soft and spongy in one glorious second of
entry. He shuddered when it entered him. He ground back against my face,
wanting more.

He had just been in the hot tub, so there was no poopy taste at all. He was
perfectly clean, inside and out. Hell, he'd given himself an enema on the
hot tub jets, laughing and giggling that "a piece of water just went up his
butt." And in the history of all mankind, not to point out the obvious,
where water flows, man will follow.

And tasting him, it was clear he was clean. There was no sweet-and-sour,
earthy vinegar taste left over from his last poopy, or any of the
intoxicating aromas I'd loved so much and been jacking off to, with his
warm, cast-off undies held tightly to my nose every morning after he left
for school. This was just pure, clean body and skin inside of him. Slightly
salty. A little bit coppery. And a little bit sweet, like graham crackers,
or soft cinnamon, or something undefined.

"Mmmm," he moaned as I continued to eat him. His dickie was forgotten as
his little hands came down to grab my head, pulling it further into him,
pushing his asshole up against my face, trying as hard as he could to get
just a little more of my tongue inside of him. I jabbed him with it as
deeply as I could, until every muscle inside my mouth was sore. Then I
licked the outside of his perfect anus again, and came up for air to see
him smiling, head back, eyes closed, in heaven.

Replacing my tongue with a spit-soaked finger, I came back up and kissed
him on the lips while slowly rubbing my finger against his sphincter.

"Did you my tongue in your poopy hole, baby?"

He didn't even speak. Just looked at me with big, wide eyes. Nodded yes.

I pressed the finger into him and he inhaled in a pleasured gasp. His eyes
rolled back. His jaw dropped open. He ground back against me, digging the
finger in further, all on his own accord.

I leaned in for a kiss and he opened his mouth for me. Tonguing him deeply,
circling my finger inside his wet, welcoming, hot little tunnel, pressing
up against the tiny magic button of his prostate, he moaned and pressed and
wiggled and kissed back. His dick was rock hard and his ass was opening up
like a flower to accommodate me.

"Please, Daddy," he moaned in heat. "Please suck my pee
cock. Pleeeeeaaasseeee! I need it soooo bad!!"

I couldn't deny his need any longer. I disengaged from his mouth. I licked
my way down his chest. I lapped the salty sweat from his tiny brown
nipples, trailed my way down to his belly button, his hairless pubis, his
tiny mound, and then at long last I settled in, engulfed his raging little
boy boner in my mouth and listened to him sigh in relief and coo in
satisfied delight as I began sucking and tonguing his sweet little treasure
stick in earnest.

Straight out of the hot tub, there was no flavor except that same clean
cinnamon skin. The usual scents of pissy little boy crotch I'd enjoyed so
much in his undies were nowhere to be found. There was no taste other than
spices and boy and the lingering scent of chlorine.

But he more than made up for the washed-off pheromones by writhing and
squirming underneath me, so grateful, so unrestrained. So unembarrassed to
have his daddy making him feel good this way. My oral ministrations were
gentle at first, but increasingly hungry as time went on, causing him to
twist and moan, occasionally causing him to shiver in an unintentional jerk
as I increased my suction and speed and the feelings were nearly too much
for him to process.

I took my mouth off for a moment and he immediately began to whimper,
wanting more. I looked up at his beautiful face, his eyes wide open, glassy
with hunger.

"Does Ryan cock suck you like this?" I asked him.

"Oh, no, Daddy," he whimpered, pushing his dick up at my face, trying to
put it in my mouth again. "Ryan cock sucks me just a little. You cock suck
me GOOD."

It was so adorable teasing him like that. Stopping for just a second and
feeling him pushing against my desperately, poking his hard little cock at
my cheek, at my nose, whimpering, trying desperately to stick it back into
the warm mouth that was treating it so magically. I couldn't deny him any
longer.

I went back to work, nibbling at him, slurping deeply, pulling at him with
the suction of my mouth, from the root of his Lifesaver-roll cocklet to its
throbbing pink and purple almond head. His cock was a little bit larger
than the length of my thumb, I thought. Same length and thickness. Suck my
thumb, I thought to myself, ridiculously. Suck my thumb whenever he's not
here, and it would be the same size, shape and experience as sucking
Benny. I moaned, imagining how many times I'd start sucking my thumb now
when I was masturbating with his underwear when he was away at school.

Only this was not a thumb. This was a hard little boy spike, and now Benny
was taking full control of it, grinding it into my mouth in active rhythm
now, going from a passive recipient of my lavish attention to a horned-up,
sexy, fully-needy boy in the driver's seat, thrashing, worming, wriggling,
twisting.

He was pushing so hard I was actually starting to feel it touch the back of
my throat. And that was an incredible turn-on to me. I liked him there,
pushing and grunting, trying to drive it home...that powerful feeling of my
10-year-old son pushing his cock into my mouth so hard I could actually
feel it touching my throat. And then, to make it ever more perfect he
grabbed me by the head and started pulling himself into me, gripping me,
yanking at me, honest-to-God face-fucking me. I could have cum right there.

"Cock suck me, cock suck me, cock suck me, cock suck me," he was whispering
in perfect rhythm to his thrusts, bucking and stabbing at me with his hard
little cocklet. "Cock suck me, cock suck me, cock suck me, cock suck me."

And I was only too happy to comply. My own cock was rock-hard and dripping
now. I could feel the dick slime oozing off my head and sticking to the
bedspread, his legs, wherever it rubbed.

He bucked. He clenched. He grabbed my hair. He mashed himself against me
with all his might, and then with an explosive shudder, Benny came.

"DADDD-EEEEEEE!" he wailed, as he shivered from top to bottom and just held
me there, his spasming cocklet pulsing and jerking in my mouth. Nothing
came out, not a single drop of the sweet boy nectar my greedy throat and
imagination were craving. It was a complete and exhaustive dry-cum for him,
but it was still incredibly sexy all the same, my 10-year-old son
shuddering and shaking in my arms, his sweaty hands still wrapped around my
wet hair, his little body gasping and trembling, as his juiceless orgasm
took him to a whole new place, a magical realm of utter release and total
relaxation.

"So good, Daddy," he gasped in breathless wonder. "So good, so good."

I licked my way up his tummy, tasting a salty little sweat trail all the
way up to his neck. I licked his Adam's apple and he shivered again. I
nuzzled into his neck, licking and nipping at him lightly. He giggled. I
came up to his mouth and kissed him again, a deep French kiss, my tongue
taking the lead this time, his little mouth opening to let me in. He could
taste his own little dick on my tongue and I could tell it excited him. I
lapped at him hungrily, my dick still hard between my legs. He reached out
and grabbed it. He gave it a squeeze. I moaned, still kissing him.

"Let me cock suck you," he whispered in my ear. "You cock sucked me so
good, Daddy. Let me cock suck you back."

"You better not, baby boy," I warned him. "Daddy's about to blow a lot of
juice right now, sweetie."

He looked at me quizzically.

"You remember how we talked about babies being made?" I reminded him. "And
how when a man and a lady want to make a baby, the man squirts the juice
out of his pee cock and into her vagina?"

"Her pussy," he giggled, delighting at the naughty word. "He shoots in her
pussy hole."

"Her pussy hole," I repeated back, growing even harder, and licking and
nibbling at his lips. "If you sucked Daddy's pee cock right now, tiger, a
whole bunch of that same sticky juice would come out and it would get all
over the inside of your mouth. And you might have to drink some of it. And
it would be a very big drink right now, sport. You've got me very excited
right now, and it would be a VERY big drink."

He seemed to consider this for a moment, but then went for the gold. "Would
the drink taste icky?" he asked simply.

"Not icky," I said. "Just salty and thick. And hot. Kind of slimy."

"Ewww," he giggled, wrinkling up his nose. "I don't know if I want to
swallow any drink of your slimy."

"It would taste like this," I told him, suddenly inspired. I reached down
and swiped a finger full of pre-cum off the tip of my cock and I brought it
up to his little lips.

"Like this?" he asked, as he tentatively licked it, curious and excited.

"It's just like that," I watched, turned-on as he ate it, "only thicker and
stronger."

"Mmmm," he said simply. "Tastes salty. Like peanut shells."

I watched him lick the shiny, sticky liquid off his finger. He put his
finger in his mouth all the way. Slid it in and out slowly, never losing
eye contact with me. He was blowing his own
finger. Pantomiming. Deep-throating himself, and even more exciting to me,
he knew he was making me hot. I could see it in his hungry eyes. He know he
could make me want him by doing this. Where in the world did this little
boy learn a lesson like that? From Ryan? Was Ryan was getting some
attention at home too? I'd have to look into that some day soon.

I studied Benny's little hands as he continued to slowly, erotically suck
my juice from his finger. They were losing the pudgy, adorable baby fat of
his earlier childhood. His fingers were becoming longer, leaner, delicate,
and birdlike. Frail, but incredibly sexy at the same time.

As I watched him suck his finger, I studied those perfect little hands and
wondered what they'd done before. I instantly imagined him exploring his
own little asshole for the first time with that very same finger, maybe
sucking it and getting it extra wet, soaked with his own spit like he was
doing now, before he pushed it inside himself, cautiously at first, then
deeper, needier.

I imagined those perfect fingers wrapped around his own slim dick as he
masturbated in bed at night. I'd heard him. Peeked through the doorway, so
I knew he did it. But it was always under the covers, so I'd never seen
it. At night, I can hear the soft sounds he's making while he strokes
himself. Little soft dove coos and whimpers. Now I could imagine those very
fingers wrapped around the small length of his little boy toy.

And then, of course, I imagined the shape of that perfect hand wrapped
around my own thick cock and I was too far beyond reason to hold back
anymore. Rather than switch positions and lay on my back, I simply moved up
over him, straddles his chest, my big balls nearly dangling on his nipples,
and I took his little hand in mine, and gave him exactly what he wanted. I
wrapped it around the hard, hot thickness of my cock.

Benny looked at me with happy surprise, then down at my cock, then back in
my eyes again, his lean, tiny fingers wrapped girth of my fuck stick, not
exactly masturbating me but just squeezing it gently, biding his time,
feeling it throb. No hurry, just getting used to the weight and the size
compared to own tiny fuck stick.

I looked at his hands around my dick, then at his eyes, then at his hand, I
could have seriously just lost it right there, all over his face, just
obsessing over, delighting over, the size and shape of his hands, and what
they might have done already, and what they could possibly do the next time
he sleeps over at his little friend's house. He was learning new lessons
tonight, and I knew he would share it with Ryan. A knowledge. A power. What
boys do with boys and what men do with men.

"Come on, Daddy," he whispered again, eagerly, bringing me out of my
reverie. "Let me cock suck you a little. Then you can give me a drink."

"You need a drink, baby?" I asked him hoarsely.

He didn't say anything. Just looked up and nodded at me, doe eyes
glistening in the reflected hallway light. Not saying a word. Just looking
up at me tenderly. Licking his lips slowly. Nodding yes.

Unable to hold off any longer, slowly, to savor what was left of this
first, beautiful moment, this incredible moment of truth, I brought the tip
of my hard cock down onto his beautiful, closed mouth, knowing nothing
would ever be the same between us from this point on. I ran it over his
lips gently, coating them, painting them with a soft, silver sheen. As soon
as I did, he licked it off. Swallowed. Smiled. Nodded yes again.

"Good," he whispered. "Tastes good, Daddy. More." And then not taking his
eyes of mine for an instant, he opened up and took me in.

My dick was big, almost impossibly big for his mouth, but he opened wide
anyway. I am only six inches, but to a little boy, that's massive. That's
plenty. That's more than enough. He made his biggest, most adorable "O," a
stretch and an effort to the best of his ability, and he took in my
glistening tip with all the gusto he could muster, his little lips smacking
at the taste of my salty pre-cum, licking it off and swallowing it down.

His little tongue came out, dancing and darting over the tip of my dick. It
swiped at the underside. It licked around my glans. It explored me
hungrily, darting at my piss slit, trying the texture and the flavor,
finding it good, trying it on for size, judging it, exploring it, measuring
it with his mouth. Then he opened wider, and tried to go deeper, only to
gag slightly at the length of my bone. When he made that soft gagging
noise, I moaned and jerked forward in spite of myself.

"I can't do it, Daddy," he said with tiny tears forming in his eyes. "It's
just too long for me. It won't go in all the way."

"That's okay, tiger," I told him. "Just the head, baby. The head's all we
need. You're doing fine. You're doing fine."

"But I WANT it all the way," he insisted stubbornly.

"Oh, sweetheart," I told him. "You've got lots of time to worry about
that. You're doing a great job right now. So good, baby. So good. Better
than anybody!"

"Really?" he said, disbelieving.

"Nobody who ever did this to me made it feel this good," I told him
honestly. It was 100% true as I watched his beautiful mouth just
millimeters from my dick head. "I mean it, Benny. You are better at this
than anybody."

He smiled, proud, and went back to my head. He latched on and began nursing
on me like a little baby boy. Feeding himself, soothing himself into a near
exhausted slumber as he sucked lazily on my cockhead. I think he actually
would have fallen asleep nursing on me if I'd let him, but my own needy
dick, almost insane with a mission to cum at this point, had much more
demanding ideas.

Gently, I began rocking my dick in and out of his mouth, not going deep,
but moving in and out enough to build up a gentle rhythm.

"Mmmm," he said with a mouthful of cock as my tempo increased. He was so
stuffed, cheeks bulging, eyes wide, it was all he could say.

Reaching behind me as I rocked in and out of his mouth, I felt for his
little dick and wasn't surprised to find it hard again and ready to
go. Benny was always hard at his age. From one little shudder to another,
he needed no recharge time at all. He was always just ready to go.

I mashed my hand against his hard little cocklet, still rocking my six in
and out of his mouth, not much farther than the head, certainly not all the
way down the length of the stalk, but the tip was all I needed. He
increased his suction, whether by instinct or training – I made another
mental note to make sure Ryan came over for a sleepover VERY soon – and
before I knew it, I was on the verge of exploding into him. I felt it
coming, like a train approaching daylight at the end of a long, dark
tunnel.

Quickly, I brought a finger up to my mouth and wet it liberally with
spit. Reaching behind me and down as far as I could between his spread
legs, I groped desperately for his little rosebud, but in the awkwardness
of my position, I couldn't quite find it. Couldn't quite get it in.

Knowing what I was trying to do, miraculously, gratefully, Benny reached
down with his own hand, still looking me right in the eye, and helped guide
my searching finger to the tip of his rosebud, where he pressed hard,
inviting me in. It was so sexy, this gesture, this help, I almost lost it
right there.

My finger slipped into his tight heat tunnel, and he gasped a little,
closed his eyes at the intrusion, but then opened them again, looked at me,
nodded, an almost imperceptive "go ahead" as I continued to rock into his
lips, my finger slowly sliding in an out of his rectum, deeply,
insistently.

My breath became ragged. My tempo became more forceful, eager. I fought
with myself not to just shove into his mouth and throat as deep as I
could. I moaned a little picturing everything in my mind. His soft little
cocklet turning hard. My mouth tonguing his sweet back door the night
before. Blowing at his little puckered asshole in the hot tub. The mole on
his ball sack, his dot from God. Sucking on his tongue and tasting sweet
raisins. It was too much to handle. My mind was on overload, and I could
feel my legs begin to shake as I pushed my dick in his mouth as far as I
dared. His eyes opened wider, but he didn't miss a stroke.

I took my finger out of his ass. Smelled it. Tasted it. Moaned at the
muskiness of him. Then wrapping my hand around my cock and never losing my
place in his mouth, I began to stroke my shaft quickly, so I could bring
myself over the edge and feed my little boy.

"Mmmph, God, oh, baby," I moaned. "I'm going to give you a drink now, okay
baby? Mmmph. Ungggh. Gotta...give you...just a little drink right now,
sweet Benny. Open wide. That's it. Open...really wide for
Daddy. Open...Wiiiiiii---"

And he did. His mouth flew wide open. A target I couldn't miss.

"MMMMPRRGGGHH!!!"

And I just absolutely creamed him.

I creamed his mouth, his face, his lips, his darting little tongue, his
teeth, his nostrils with the pent-up semen I'd been saving all day. The
creamy cum I'd been dying to feed him for the past two weeks. The hot load
of man jizz that wouldn't stop shooting, wouldn't stop gushing into the
sexy open mouth of my little boy below. And he was just amazing, licking at
it, gobbling at it, swallowing in big, hungry gulps, trying to get as much
of it as he could.

With the first swallow, he made a little face, surprised at the strength of
the taste, but then, little trooper that he was, got right back down to
business without any fear at all, eating it, taking it, even reaching up
with his own little fingertip to catch a little that had shot on the side
of his nose, only to feed it to himself, not wasting a drop.

"Oh, baby," I moaned, watching him feed himself my cum. "Such a good boy,
baby. Such a good boy for Daddy."

"I love you, Daddy," he whispered to me. "I love you, I love you, I love
you. So much. So much."

I squeezed every last drop onto his lips. He licked me clean. Licked off
every remaining molecule and swallowed it.

I crawled off him and lay down beside him, panting and exhausted. He leaned
over and laid his head on my chest. He stroked my chest hair and sighed in
satisfaction.

"Salty," he giggled. "Your juice tastes really salty."

He reached down and squeezed my sticky, softening cock. It lurched at his
touch.

"Maybe next time we'll have to put it somewhere else," I whispered to him,
between heavy breaths.

He giggled again.

"You mean in my butt," he said simply.

"One step at a time, baby," I whispered, sleepy. "No hurry. Plenty of
time."

He squeezed my dick again. I laid there letting him, sleep already coming
for me.

"Okay, Daddy," he yawned, nuzzling into me for a well-earned nap. "This
time we played pee cocks, next time we'll play butts."

Simple as that. The magnificent structure of boyhood, where everything has
order and logic. Even this.

We fell asleep, hearts slowing, bodies spent, minds at rest. Bare naked and
curled up against each other, we slept for hours, ruining that night's
sleep cycle for sure, but it didn't matter because tomorrow the weekend
started. We could stay up all night long if we wanted.

And it turns out we did.

It turns out that we did indeed "play butts" next time. In more ways than
I'd imagined.

The greatest adventure of them all was just hours ahead. And to think, it
all started with his undies.

# # # # # # # # # #

CHAPTER 4. "FINALLY SCRATCHING BENNY'S ITCH"

I don't think anyone really plans on having sex with their 10-year-old
son. I mean, as the kid's growing up, trading his cute little diapers for
cute little Skylanders undies, it's probably not high on your checklist
unless you're from Arkansas and you live in a cabin. It certainly wasn't
top tier on my agenda, but still, here it was. And without a doubt I'm
hooked on him.

Hooked on his hair, his ears, the curve of his lips.

Hooked on his button nose, and tiny freckles, and the way his neck looks
from the back, with fine the downy hair, almost invisible. Almost
transparent.

Hooked on the way he mumbles in his sleep and wakes up in the middle of the
night for a drink of water, climbing in bed with me and cuddling up, asleep
again in an instant, breathing deeply, his hot breath on my neck and in my
ears. His arms wrapped around me.

Hooked on his perfect penis and tiny little ball sack. Hooked on its taste,
its hardness, its little-boy urgency as he grasps my head and thrusts it to
the back of my mouth, dry-cumming, gasping, and shaking with
gratitude. That dick that will fuck many little girls someday. Or many
little boys. And I'm glad I'm the one who first showed him how good it
could feel when he used it for something other than peeing.

And finally, I'm hooked on the rich, earthy smell of his ass. I think you
know that I love that by now. The nutmeg-vinegar musk of his sticky little
boy hole. A smell I've come to crave like nothing else, on my finger, on
his crack. Buns up and kneeling in front of my face, while my nose and my
tongue pay it worship, or passing in the hall, picking up his discarded
underwear and jacking off with them in the bathroom before taking them to
his hamper and turning off the light, inhaling them deeply and gratefully
along the way.

It started with his undies. But now here we are. And now it's something
else. Profound. And bigger than we imagined.

# # # # # # # # # #

I read a story once about a father and son. The 10-year-old boy played
soccer, and he came home exhausted and sweaty after a long game. And
noticing he had the sniffles, his dad gave him some cold medicine. And the
boy got drowsy. But before he fell asleep, still sore from playing, he
asked his daddy for a massage.

And the dad did. And while the boy fell into a deep slumber, the dad rubbed
his back with lotion. And then his thighs. And then the mounds of his ass,
first through his underwear and then without them. Sliding them off, he
lotioned the tip of his little finger and gently inserted it into the boy's
tight asshole.  Knowing he might never have this chance again, he pulled
down his pants, lubed his dick, and began moving it in and out between the
boy's thighs. But it wasn't enough.

And God, do I know that feeling.

He lined up his thick, mushroom head with the boy's little hole and he
gently pushed forward. The tip went in, the sleeping boy's ass swallowed
his cock, and inch-by-gentle-inch, he made love to his son until he
couldn't hold back. He erupted with cum, coating the inside of his
sleeping, sighing boy. "I shot more times than I ever have," he
said. "Buried inside my son." The little boy woke the next morning, none
the wiser, but wondering why his butthole was sore.

And later in the story, when the boy realized what his dad had done, and
became an eager and willing participant, the two had sex all the time. But
one time in the story's most erotic scene, the father actually pulled off
the road in a moving car, to fuck his son in the back seat of the car on
the way home from soccer practice. The dad was nearly blinded with lust for
his son's sweet ass. He looked in the rear view mirror. Saw his son
stretching out a coltish leg. Saw him tracing circles on his thigh with his
fingers. Teasing him. Seducing him.

He stopped the car, opened the back door, grabbed his horny little boy, and
roughly tugged his shorts and undies down. He unleashed his own cock, lubed
it with lotion, flipped the boy tummy-down in the back seat and lifted his
ass into the air, parting him, licking his little ball bag, rubbing his
face in the boy's spread butt cheeks. "The scent of his ass drove me wild,"
the dad said. And sticking his cock up to the boy's sticky starfish, he
buried himself balls-deep and loved him fully and blasted him with cum.

"The scent of his ass drove me wild," he said. And even thought it was only
a story, its plot and author long forgotten, I've always remembered that
line. "The scent of his ass drove me wild."

Because I knew it so well. I believed it with all my heart. Fuck. I lived
it with Benny.

And now, after sniffing him, after fingering him, after eating him and
sucking him, after him sucking me, I was finally about to feed him my
cock. To slip it sweetly up his tiny sweet chute. I was going to mate with
my son. Fill him with my cum and mark him as my child, my boy, my lover
forever.

And I wanted it to be good, and right, and kind and gentle like my own
first time with a man. I didn't want Benny to do it just for me. I wanted
Benny to do it for Benny, because he wanted to feel me. He wanted to know
what it was like to take my dick deep inside him. And I guess in my heart
of hearts, I wanted to do it in a way that was so special and perfect that
he'd ask for it again like I did, when I was fucked for the very first
time.

"Again, Daddy," I wanted to hear him say when we finished. "Do it again."

I looked at him sleeping. I watched him begin to stir. I fondled his cock
and I fingered his little rosebud. We'd just sucked each other two hours
before and he was exhausted. It was a big experience for him and I didn't
know if he'd sleep the rest of the night. But as I fingered his ass, felt
the hot, sticky heat of him, I guess I had my answer:

"Daddy, I'm itchy again," Benny whimpered in his sweet, sexy, sleepy
baby-voice. "I itch in my butt, Daddy. Please make the itch go away."

That was Benny's way of saying, please Daddy, put something in me.

# # # # # # # # # #

So many memories of Benny fill my mind as I lean down in my bed to kiss
him, my tongue dancing in his mouth, tasting soda and sperm.

My sperm. The sperm he just ate for me.

So many memories.

Memories of Benny at three...a squiggly fish, squirming out of my arms,
naked and slippery in the bathtub.

Benny at four...playing with trucks in his room, squatting down, no pants
on, little willy visible. Just a pinky-tip at that point...pink, sweet,
with a perfect, tiny, acorn head. How he hated wearing pants at four. "Hi
Daddy," he'd smile up at me as I stood in the doorway. "Wanna pway frucks?"

Benny at five...tummy-down on the living room floor, piled onto pillows,
eating graham crackers, watching Jake and the Neverland Pirates, butt
cheeks already tight and alluring in his Spider-Man underpants...tiny
briefs that held his little baby bone and always smelled just a little too
much like tangy piss in the morning.

Benny at six...wanting to do everything. Soccer, karate, gymnastics,
basketball. He was always playing. Always breathless and sweaty. And so was
I, watching him. There was never an age I didn't want my son. Beautiful,
glistening boy. There was never an age I didn't want to make love to him.

Benny at seven...and the first time I ever saw him put his finger in his
ass. He giggled when he did it, undressing for his shower. He thought it
was funny. Giggled and howled with delight. We were tickling each other,
laughing and playing. In the midst of it all, he took his little
forefinger, still pudgy with baby fat, and licking it quickly, bent over
and poked it into his little hole, proud to show me. He pulled it out,
tinged with creamy brown and giggled, "Smell it, Daddy. Smell my poop
hole!" And he rubbed it under my nose and laughed again, running for the
bathroom, while I sat there, eyes closed and immobilized, senses reeling,
with the scent of my baby boy's ass still dancing across my lungs. I
couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I inhaled, still smelling him, and saw
colored sparkles fly across the landscape of my mind.

Benny at eight...riding his bicycle around and around the block. Always
wanting "one more time." Even when it was starting to get dark and I was
standing patiently in the driveway waiting for him, "just one more time."
His little moist ass crack pressing down on the bike seat. His little Angry
Birds undies lodged up into his butthole, making the fabric sticky, turning
it warm and rich and a beautiful creamy tan. The perfect, fragrant work of
a boy on a bicycle. Powerful, innocent, unintentional...and so freely
given. Every night, creating masterpieces, and never even knowing.

Benny at nine...jacking his own little cock under covers in him
room. Bedtime couldn't come too soon when Benny first discovered his dickie
and masturbation. "Night, Daddy," he'd casually say, and run up the stairs,
pajama shirt open, bottoms warm and cozy. And I'd stand in the hall outside
his door, silently waiting for – yes, there it was – the soft
"shicka-shicka" of spit-slicked hand meeting skin, pulling his little dick
up and down, back and forth, faster and faster, little gasps and puffs of
breath, until finally a heavy sigh, a shuddering squeak, or a dreamy
whimper signified his shivery little dry-cum...always dry, but no less
enjoyable. No less practiced.

And tonight, Benny at ten.

Benny at ten, lying naked in my bed. The son I was fingering, whose ass I'd
just eaten. The son whose nutmeg dicklet and cinnamon balls had been in my
mouth just two hours before. The son whose tummy was still swimming with
the thickest load of semen I'd ever produced...

"Mmmph, God, oh, baby," I'd moaned, just two hours before. "I'm going to
give you a drink now, okay baby? Mmmph. Ungggh. Gotta...give you...just a
little drink right now, sweet Benny. Open wide. That's it. Open...really
wide for Daddy. Open...Wiiiiiii---"

And he had. His mouth flew wide open. A target I couldn't miss.

"MMMMPRRGGGHH!!!"

And I just absolutely creamed him.

I creamed his mouth, his face, his lips, his darting little tongue, his
teeth, his nostrils with the pent-up semen I'd been saving all day. The
creamy cum I'd been dying to feed him for the past two weeks. The hot load
of jizz that just wouldn't stop shooting, wouldn't stop gushing into the
sexy open mouth of my little boy below. And he was just amazing, licking at
it, gobbling at it, swallowing in big, hungry gulps, trying to get as much
of it as he could.

With the first swallow, he made a little face, surprised at the strength of
the taste, but then, little trooper that he was, got right back down to
business without any fear at all, eating it, taking it, even reaching up
with his own little fingertip to catch a little that had shot on the side
of his nose, only to feed it to himself, not wasting a drop.

"Oh, baby," I'd moaned, watching him feed himself my cum. "Such a good boy,
baby. Such a good boy for Daddy."

"I love you, Daddy," he whispered to me. "I love you so much."

I'd squeezed every last drop onto his lips. He licked me clean. Licked off
every remaining molecule and swallowed it.

I crawled off him and lay down beside him, panting and exhausted. He leaned
over and laid his head on my chest. He stroked my chest hair and sighed in
satisfaction.

"Salty," he giggled. "Your juice tastes really salty."

He reached down and squeezed my sticky, softening cock. It lurched at his
touch.

"Maybe next time we'll have to put it somewhere else," I whispered to him,
between heavy breaths.

He giggled again.

"You mean in my butt," he said simply.

"No hurry," I said, kissing his forehead. "Plenty of time."

He squeezed my dick again. I laid there letting him, sleep already coming
for me.

"Okay, Daddy," he yawned, nuzzling into me and falling asleep
himself. "This time we played pee-cocks, next time we'll play butts."

And now it was two hours later and Benny was waking up again.

Benny at ten.

"Next time" was already here.

Benny at ten, about to offer me the ultimate treasure a son can give his
daddy. The most precious of gifts. His own virgin rectum, so tight and so
tiny. My beautiful Benny, willing to open himself up and take me all in.

"I'm itchy again," he whispered hungrily in his soft baby voice. "My butt
itches, Daddy. Please make the itch go away."

Precious sweet son, naked on my bed, so trusting.

"I will," I whispered as I kissed his sweet lips.

He had an itch in his body he could barely understand. A "need" requiring
answers. The same need I had felt not too many years from his age, when I
was a boy, and I was fucked by a man for the very first time. It was an
itch I was finally going to scratch for him, for real. He'd always be my
baby, and he'd always feel a need so similar to this one, the one he was
feeling right now, but it would never be quite the same as this.

Not like tonight.

Not like his first time.

# # # # # # # # # #

My dick was rock hard and Benny's heart was pounding.

"I'm kind of scared, Daddy," he admitted to me softly. "I think it's really
big and I think it might hurt."

"Do you want to stop?" I asked him gently? "We don't have to do this if
you're not ready."

"But I am ready," he whimpered. "I'm just not regular-ready yet. I'm just
scared-ready."

"How can we make you regular-ready?" I asked him softly.

He shrugged. Penis hard. Wanting me, but not knowing how. Asking for a
solution.

I whispered. "Why don't you just relax for a minute and not be scared. I'm
going to make you feel really, really good with my tongue first. Nothing
scary to start with, okay? Nothing new. Nothing hurty, okay?"

"'Kay."

I lifted his legs, moved my face between his wide-open ass, and began to
feast.

# # # # # # # # # #

There's a different scent, a different flavor, a different heat that comes
from a boy's beautiful anus when he's upturned and open and ready to be
fucked.

The salty, coppery, vinegar-sweet tang of boyhood-in-his-undies is a
magnificent lead-in, but when a boy is ready to be fucked, the temptation
is replaced with something much more grown-up, something much more mature.

It's a yeasty smell, a bready smell, open and warm and hot and inviting. As
if the boy knows something very grown-up is about to happen inside him. It
won't just be simple. It'll be complicated and important. And his body
knows, by instinct, to open up and flower in a way it's never had to do
before. And it makes all the necessary adjustments and scents and internal
slipperiness to make that first, powerful moment of complete copulation
intimately possible.

Benny's ass smelled like that now. Bready, yeasty, hot as an oven. Open,
baking, and ready to be fucked.

I ate him deeply. He moaned and writhed on the bed sheets. His little hands
grasped my head, pulled my ears. His fingers twisted at my hair as he cried
out and whimpered, "Daddy, please fuck me."

My tongue was tasting him, so deeply. Like spongy-hot bread dough. Like
goodness. Like heaven.

He lifted me, pulled my face away, brought me to his lips, his mouth, his
hungry tongue. Kissing me. Moaning. Tasting his own open ass flavor on my
tongue.

Eager, he climbed on top of me, grasping for my cock, attempting, too
quickly, to sit on me. Wincing when he missed, but wanting me in him and
wanting me now.

"Please, Daddy," he whimpered desperately between kisses. "Make me feel
good, Daddy. With your cock. With your dick."

I slid my finger into him and he gasped at the length of it.

"Ohhhh," he moaned loudly. Still trying to sit on my
cock. Desperate. Clumsy. Not getting what he needed. He leaned forward,
aggressive, eager.

"Fuck me, Daddy," he whined, almost crying now, almost mad, biting my ear,
sucking on my neck, grasping wildly and ineffectively at my penis and
trying to align it with the desperate heat of his gaping anus. "Please!" he
cried, with real tears in his eyes. "I don't want to wait any more. I want
us to do this. For real. Forever."

"I love you," I whispered, taking his hand away and aiming my dick.

I grabbed him by the ribs. Fixed the angle. Touched the entrance of his
anus with the pounding mushroom head of my cock, and pulled him slowly
down.

I kissed his sweaty chest, licked his nipples, and his eyes rolled back,
gasping and joyful. I pushed forward.

"Oh yes," he whispered. "Put it in me, Daddy. I want it so much."

I licked the sweat off his belly and lunged forward. I popped through his
ring and felt him gasp as I tipped him.

"Ahhhhhhh" he cried out in perfect, moaning happiness. "So good! So good!"

I pushed forward further. His tube started to take me in.

"Daddeeeee!" he cried. "Fuck me good, Daddy! I love you so much, Daddy! I
love you so much!"

I kissed his tears. I pushed myself into him. He opened and cried. Shivered
in joy. I licked his sweet salty nipples and my cockhead pushed forward
past his first gripping sphincter, and finally began its long-awaited,
glorious journey into the welcoming ass of my 10-year-old son.

# # # # # # # # # #

When I was a child, the first man who fucked me was very, very gentle.

I was 12-years-old that summer, his name was Colin and he was a friend of
my mum. Called back overseas for a family emergency, my great-grandmother
in Ireland was dying, Colin was the man my mother trusted to take care of
me during the ten days she was gone. I had no dad. He'd died when I was a
baby. And Colin was sort of an unofficial uncle. A friend of the family and
he only choice to watch me.

He moved into our house to look after me and he was very kind. He was
always kind to me. Always caring. And knowing I was missing my mum, he was
kinder still.

I was already having sex with a neighbor boy across the street by
then. Scott was a bigger boy, three years older, and not always easy on me,
though I grew to like the roughness of his fucks in spite of his nearly
frantic urgency to finish in me fast. I sometimes convinced him to go
slower and to take his time. And in those beautiful moments, I could almost
imagine he loved me.

It was during one of those times, those slower times up in my room with
Scott, that Colin walked in. I was naked on my bed, on my stomach, while
Scott, laying across my back and gripping my chest with his strong arms,
something I loved, was sliding his thick, wet cock in and out of my
12-year-old ass, and judging from his breathless tempo, was just about to
cum.

"Sean," said Colin, entering the room without knocking. "Are you boys ready
for supper now or..."

He stopped suddenly, realizing what he'd walked into.

"Oh, God," he said quickly. "Please excuse me, boys. I should have
knocked."

And that's all he said. He turned around as quickly as he'd come in,
quietly shut the door, and retreated downstairs. Not another word was said.

I was horrified, but while Scott was embarrassed, he still wanted to cum. I
felt his dick still testing me. Prodding forward, a toe in the water. Would
I let him finish? Even after Colin had caught us?

"Can I cum?" he whispered.

"Stop!" I said, rolling over and pushing him off. "He saw us! He saw!"

Scott's dick was red. Still erect.

"He said `excuse me,'" Scott replied. "He went away and shut the door. He
didn't care."

"I care, Scott! Get off of me! Go away!"

And Scott, confused, put on his underwear, his pants, his socks, and
quietly slipped out of my room.

I was mortified. My cheeks flushed and burning red, I got dressed, slowly
inched my way down the stairs, to find Colin in the kitchen, humming,
cooking dinner, throwing spices into a big crock pot of stew that would
have smelled wonderful if it weren't for the massive, sick butterflies in
my stomach.

"Colin," I started. "I can explain."

"There's my boy," he said with a hardy smile, as if nothing wrong had
happened at all. "Reach into the fridge and grab me an onion,
oh-gracious-one." That was his nickname for me, "oh-gracious-one," because
my name "Sean," in Gaelic, means "God is gracious." I felt less than
gracious now.

"Colin, I'm sorry," I said.

"Sorry?" he said, putting down his stirring spoon, sitting on a chair and
beckoning me forward. I came to him as if summoned. Stood between his legs
shamefaced, my head down, starting to cry.

"Now, little man," he said softly, lifting my chin and wiping my tears. "No
need for that. Do you think you're the only wee lad who ever found a friend
that way?"

I sniffled and looked up.

"Why, when I was in boarding school...it was just boys' boarding schools in
my day, your grace..."

My eyes darted up, intrigued...

"Ach, but that's another day's story," he said. He put his hands on both of
my cheeks. Held my head in his hands and I felt so nice, so safe, so warmed
by the kindness of him.

"Is that bigger boy hurting you?" he asked simply.

"Oh no, Colin," I shook my head. "He's my friend. It's fine. I ask him to."

"Well then," Colin smiled gently. "No one's the wiser then. And if no one
is hurt, and if everyone likes it, well then much more the reason to give
him your love."

I sniffled and nodded.

"The love of a boy's a remarkable thing," he said sincerely. "It can't be
bought, it can't be borrowed. It has to be given freely. And when the boy's
ready, and you know he's ready, well then, that's a special time indeed. To
be treasured and thought of the rest of your life."

I looked up with tearful eyes and nodded.

"Fear not, bairn," he smiled. "Your secret's safe with me."

And four days later, when I climbed into his bed in the middle of the
night, naked and warm, wrapping my arms around his soft, downy chest,
nuzzling into his neck and feeling his big, muscled arms instinctively
wrapping around me and holding me tight, I was more than content, I was
mesmerized. I was growing up, right here in bed with this man, where I knew
it should happen. I was more than ready to be loved by this friend.

"Are you sure, your grace?" he asked, hugging me tenderly and kissing my
eyelids.

I nodded. I was sure. I put my hands on his cheeks like he'd done to me in
the kitchen that night. I leaned forward and kissed him, my lips tasting
his toothpaste and his manhood. And he moaned softly and kissed me back.

I don't know who the needier boy was that night, me or Colin, but somehow
we came together and found each other, and when he opened by legs and
pressed his beautiful warm penis into my waiting flower, it was more than
gentle. It was soft and sweet and it was achingly tender.

It was the perfect dichotomy of hardness and love, manliness and tenderness
I'd craved so long with any man, but never achieved. Fatherless child that
I was, I needed this man to open me this way. And kissing him as he filled
me, I cried because it felt so good, and he cried too as I asked him to
fill me deeper.

My world turned from black and white to color that night.

And when Benny was born so many years later – Aiden Benjamin, my son and
my pride – it was Colin who I asked to be his godfather. Colin, who
gratefully accepted with a heart full of pride and eyes full of tears as he
held the baby boy in his arms.

It was Colin who had followed me all my life, in tenderness and in
memory. Colin, who so many years ago, had turned a lost, sad boy into
goodness. Into grace.

"If no one is hurt, and if everyone likes it, well, then much more the
reason to give him your love."

"The love of a boy's a remarkable thing. It can't be bought, it can't be
borrowed. It has to be given freely. And when the boy's ready, and you know
he's ready, well then, that's a special time indeed. To be treasured and
thought of the rest of your life."

Thank you, Colin, for patiently teaching me when I was 12-years-old, the
way I needed to love my Benny tonight.

I prayed I'd make him ask for more. To be so good, he'd beg me, "again,"
the way I always asked for you.

# # # # # # # # # #

I wish I could describe for you the inexplicably perfect moment when my
hard penis finally burrowed its way into Benny's grasping colon. That
achingly slow, sweet moment when I could feel his warm and spongy rectum,
his hot furnace gently yielding, gliding slowly down the shaft of my cock
until he came to sit on me, fully impaled, eyes closed, head tilted back,
his little penis rock hard as he took me all the way inside him.

There was no look of pride, no victory, no acknowledgment required. We were
both just so satisfied with the full completion and the breathtaking
inevitability of it. Here it was. Just like we'd dreamed. And even when
he'd fully filled himself with my cock, he pushed down harder still,
looking for just a little bit more. Wanting to be filled just a little bit
further. Needing to be just a little bit closer.

"Oh, baby," I whispered, stroking his cheek and loving him more than I'd
ever loved him before. "You feel so good on my cock, little boy. So
brave. So good. Your ass is so good on Daddy's big dick. Do you like it
baby? Do you like my big dick in you?"

"S'big," he whispered. "It's really, really big."

He pulled himself up a little, held in mid-shaft for a moment, then lowered
himself down again. Grunted. Winced.

"It's really, really big," he whispered again.

"I'm just gonna move it really slow now, okay baby?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"You let me know if it hurts, okay? And we'll stop."

"Okay," he grunted. "But it's okay now. I think it's okay."

It was almost too big, but it wasn't too big. His ass opened up, relaxing
into my rhythm. I rocked up into him. He was still sitting on me, eyes
closed, head tilted back.

"I wanna lay down," he whispered. "I wanna do it laying down."

Sliding him sideways, without pulling out, I leaned us both to my left and
laid us down, spooning, his head on the pillow and mine right behind him. I
wrapped my arms around his chest, pushed my dick farther into his ass and
hugged him deeply from behind.

"Mmmm," he sighed, melting into my arms. I kissed the back of his neck. His
hair was sweaty, poor boy, from the effort or the fear. But now he was
okay. His heartbeat was slowing down. Now he was sighing, melting into me,
letting the lovemaking begin.

"Are you okay, Benny?"

"Yeah," he said softly. And I could hear his smile. "I'm really okay."

Slowly, tenderly, with no hurry at all, I moved my hardness in and out of
his velvety rectum. He pushed back against me, inviting me deeper, helping
me fuck him. Helping me take his virginity and scratch the itch that he now
understood. This is what it felt like to be loved by a man, this deep full
feeling that overtook everything...body, bowels, history, heart. Our whole
lives had been leading up to this point. And now here it was.

"I feel so full," he whispered softly. "Like it's all the way inside me. In
my tummy. Up to my throat. It makes me happy daddy," he said with a
sob. "It makes me want to cry it's such a good feeling."

I held him tighter and I fucked him gently. And he really did cry. And
laugh. And whisper that it felt good. I reached around and stroked his
little penis. Rock hard. Anxious for my touch. Our pace began to
quicken. His breathing became more ragged.

"I'm going to go harder now, baby," I said to him softly. "I'm going to go
harder and faster until I squirt my juice in you now, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," Benny laughed and sobbed and whispered and cried. "Let's go
harder."

"First I'm going to pull my cock out for a minute..."

"Noooo," he moaned, pushing back against it, not wanting me to take it out
yet.

"Just for a minute, baby, so I can put you on your back and lift your legs
up."

I pulled out quickly, he tensed, sucked in air. I rolled him on his back,
re-lubed, and lifted his lean naked legs up. I looked down and could see
his anus, stretched and gaping from the thickness of my cock.

"Here it comes again, baby," I warned him. "I'm coming back in."

I placed the tip at his open hole and pushed forward. He swallowed me up in
one stroke.

"Nnnngghh," he said, deep in his throat as it went back in. "So big, so
big. I want to say swears, Daddy. I want to say lots of swears."

"Go ahead, baby. Say your swears."

"FUCK me, Daddy," he hissed out in passion. "Fuck my fucking hole with your
big, fat COCK."

His dirty language made me even harder.

"Fuck you like THIS?" I asked, jabbing it into him.

"Unnngh," he grunted. "So big, so hard. Your COCK is so hard."

"Gonna fuck you with it," I whispered in his ear. "Gonna fuck you hard,
baby."

"Fuck me!" he shouted, grabbing my ass and yanking me in him as far as he
could. "FUCK my FUCKING CUNT ASS!"

He was wild. Writhing. In heat. I'd never seen him like this.

Holding his legs up, I fucked my cock into him deeply and forcefully and
long. I made wide hip thrusts and I bent down to kiss him as I did. His
legs lowered and locked around my back. He was taking me all, starting to
pant.

"Fuck my ass, fuck my ass," he was whispering in rhythm with my thrusts.

Grabbing the lube, I squeezed a generous amount on his cock and my tummy,
where his little spike was rubbing and grinding up into me as I fucked
him. The new slipperiness of his dick on my skin made him gasp. His hand
came between us to stroke himself as I fucked him.

My pace picked up and so did Benny's. In and out, I gave him my dick. I
licked the sweat from the top of his forehead. The bedroom smelled like
pheromones and baby powder, like my sweating pubes and his open ass, that
thick yeasty dough rising up from his stretched tunnel, filling the room
with heat and boy musk.

"I can't believe you're fucking me," he whispered with happy tears in his
eyes. "Why didn't you do this sooner, Daddy? Why didn't you do this
sooner."

"You feel so good, Benny. You're such a brave boy."

"Your cock feels so good," he said. "So deep and so hard."

"I'm going to cum in you now, baby. Is that okay?"

"Oh yes, Daddy," he moaned. "Cum in me, Daddy. Make me have your baby."

"Ughhh, fuck. Gonna fill you with my cum now..."

"Cum in me, Daddy..."

"Gonna shove my cock so far in you, and fuck you full of cum..."

"Fuck me, Daddy. Fill me with your CUM!"

"Oh yeah, baby. Oh yeah. Gonna be soon now...gonna be soon..."

My pace had become frantic, slamming into his ass, but before I could
shoot, his finger reached down to his lubed and musky ass. He filled a
finger and brought it to my nose. He lodged the finger between us, sniffing
it, licking it, wanting to share it with me.

"Smell my ass, Daddy," he said into my mouth. "Smell my ass when you cum
inside me."

He put the finger up to my nose, rich and musky. And that was all I could
take.

"Ungh, ungh, UNNNGHH!" The sight of my son, covered in sweat. His soft
little boy voice, talking dirty. The smell of his ass and the flavor of his
musk.

"UNNNNGGGGGH!" I grunted explosively, seeing stars. Seeing fireworks. I
shoved my cock forward as far as it would go and unloaded into his fiery
bowels. Ropes of my cum shot into his ass. His legs locked around me,
pulling me deeper. His ass constricted around my squirting cock, hungry for
a feeding, milking me raw.

"DADDDEEEEE!" Benny wailed. "You're making me cum, Daddy!"

"Oh baby, oh Benny!" I punched it forward, giving him more. Breeding him
deeply and making him mine. Benny at ten, his ass open and earthy, the
smell of his sex ripe in the air as I fucked him full of my seed.

"Nnnngggh!" he grunted, freezing, shaking and panting in a shuddering
dry-cum. "DADDDEEEEE!"

My little boy at ten, fucked into orgasm. Fucked into cumming. For Daddy,
for Benny. For both of us.

I don't know how long we lay there after that, recovering from that first
massive cum. I flipped him onto his side again, spooned him, wrapped him in
my arms, my dick still lodged up his sticky, wet ass. I'm sure we
slept. I'm sure we did.

And I woke to the wonderful feeling of Benny's mouth on my cock, cleaning
me off, making me hard.

He looked up, mouth full of cock, innocent eyes, so much older than he's
seemed just a day ago. So much older. So more mine.

He looked up at me with a mouth full of dick and asked me with his eyes. I
smiled and nodded and stroked his hair.

He crawled up my legs and straddled my fresh, throbbing bone.

He said what I wanted. He said what I prayed for.

Already lowering himself, his eyes full of lust...

"Again," he said in a husky hot voice I would have never imagined...

"Let's do it again."

# # # # # THE END # # # # #

Love,
Zachyboy
z.blake@mail.com