*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your State or Country. Do NOT read this if you are easily offended or if you are not interested in fantasies involving young boys. This file contains sexually EXPLICIT material. This story was not written to advocate sexual activity with minors. Agatha Christie wrote about murderers all her life. She was not a criminal. Please support free speech and stop censorship. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* story codes: (b/b, t/b – mast oral anal incest) style: contemporary “So tell me what you want to hear Something that will light those ears I'm sick of all the insincere So I'm gonna give all my secrets away” -O THE PARIS YEARS by DEBONAIR My mother collected short-term relationships like they were coupons. Most of my childhood, I was lugged from one home to another in reconstituted families. A rough way of life for a wee one, but I did not hold it against her. Even quite young, I understood that her job as a therapeutic masseuse did not suffice to pay the bills. And that she had to bag a wealthy man to ensure I got food in my belly and clothes on my back. When I turned eight-years-old, the cycle repeated itself for the umpteenth time. To my dismay, we moved to a home in the 19th district of Paris. This uprooting from a quaint small town in Ohio to a European capital disconcerted me. I attended a school where snotty children who spoke only French were brutally efficient at teasing. I couldn’t eat my beloved Froot Loops in the morning anymore. I had to wear a uniform, short pants plus an itchy shirt. And the worst nightmare of all for a little boy, I had three sisters now! Fortunately, my new daddy had also put on earth a boy my age named Gregory. The turbulent kid could have been my brother. We shared similar physical traits: a mischievous smile, short brown hair and a freckled nose. Despite our inability to communicate, Gregory became my best friend. Not that it could have been otherwise considering our forced intimacy. We slept in the same bed and took< our baths together. Our daily ablutions were an opportunity to know each other even better. Behind the closed door, we studied our respective anatomy, giggling as we compared the names of our private parts. Under the soap bubbles we hugged tenderly. I loved caressing his silky back and his round buns. The erotic contact made me feel as if I was floating on fuzzy clouds of bliss. We also rubbed our stiff dickies together in the warm water. Then we played with them, masturbating each other, pulling on the rigid little rods. Something Gregory enjoyed very much, “Ohhh oui, encore! Fais-le encore!” he raved. The many toys scattered all about the tub inspired us many silly games, childish entertainment that you can only find humorous when you are naked and eight-years-old. For some reason, we shoved Smurfs figurines into our tiny bum holes and ran around the bathroom. Equally peculiar, one of us would put the mouthpiece of a snorkel in his mouth while the other peed at the other end. I found it funny either way, sticking my little penis in the tube to tinkle or getting a mouthful of Gregory’s urine as he laughed like a hyena. Sadly, my good rapport with my step-brother didn’t carry much weight in the balance when it came to living arrangements. When my mother opted to leave Gregory’s father the next year, I was heartbroken. Especially since the next family we joined had no kids to play with. Instead, the family was comprised of two teenagers of Jewish origin: a girl of sixteen and a serious boy of thirteen. The latter was called David. David and I hit it off from the start. He dragged me to the movie theaters on the Champs-Élysées to see French comedies of Pierre Richard, professing it would improve my vocabulary. The chubby teen reveled in his role of tutor. His appearance certainly fit the profile of the reserved teacher type. He had curly dark hair, a non-threatening round face and wore thick glasses. Puberty tormented him but I was too young to figure that out and attributed his mood swings to the burden of religious constraints. David spent most of his free time with me. I had never encountered before a step brother who cherished my company that much nor a step brother who looked at me with such affection in his eyes and relished cuddling me. I thrived under David’s continual attention, learning the basics of French rapidly. It seemed easy and I looked forward to learning more things from the wise thirteen-year-old boy… His number one passion was the game of Chess. We waged complex battles on the board despite my lack of strategic knowledge to be competitive. Sometimes David proposed that we play the ‘strip’ version where one loses a piece of clothing every time the opponent captures a Chess piece. I agreed readily, happy to lose quicker and find myself nude, tickled on the floor by the big boy. On the evening of my ninth birthday, I received a lot of gifts from the rest of the family. David gave me the most memorable one: my first orgasm. Thereafter, I benefited regularly from his manual favors before going to sleep. Whenever I saw him grab the tube of hand cream, I scooted across the room, lowered my jammies and jumped into his bed. David smeared the lotion on my smooth crotch until it shone in the dim glow of the night light. “Chut! Ne fais pas de bruit.” David reminded me to be quiet. I rested my head on the pillow and let his friendly hand conquer me. The slippery fingers traced the outline of my small rigid penis. They gently rolled the foreskin off the sensitive head. Then, they pinched the thin shaft and began rubbing it. “Oh David, faster! Fais-le plus vite, maintenant!” I encouraged him to speed up. “Comme ça?” the young teen wrapped his fingers around my boner and pulled harder, admiring my ecstatic reactions. “Ouiiii!” My little inflated sex throbbed in the grip of his frisky fist. I raised my midsection off the mattress to meet his pumping. Each flick of the wrist brought me closer to ecstasy. Tears of joy moistened my eyes as my balls contracted and I suddenly surfed on the waves of a prepubescent orgasm. It was just a fleeting instant of pleasure but such a formidable one. Satisfied, I regained my breath while my dickie softened. Then I shifted over David’s groin to return the favor. The hardness of his circumcised penis felt like steel in my hand. It was chubby like him, not that long, maybe five inches. The large head looked like an angry mushroom on the verge of exploding. I was particularly fascinated with it because it shot white globs of cream when I rubbed it well. After that, I usually stayed in David’s bed, spooned by the big boy until I dozed off. One evening, we couldn’t find sleep. David began to caress my butt lovingly. I pulled down my jammies under the covers thinking he wished to play with my boner again. It wasn’t his intention. David’s drooling cock slipped between my globes and pressed against my anus again and again. I didn’t resist him. The idea that he wanted to sneak his sausage into my poop exit seemed deliciously naughty. The more David increased the pressure, the more I needed to feel him inside me. I nibbled my lip and loosened my hole to accommodate him. I backed my small butt onto his erection to indicate my consent. The sound of his thumping heart filled my ears, indicating David was really excited to try this. The firm roundness of the circumcised head wormed into me millimeter by millimeter. David stretched my ring cautiously not to cause me any pain. When my hole finally swallowed the crown, our sighs chorused in unison. We were both very happy with this success. David started to give me his cock in repetitive thrusting motions. His arm draped over my thin chest held me tight as he fucked my butt. “Ohhh ouiii ohhhh!” I whispered, appreciating the frenetic coupling. But just as I was to get into it more, the hot juice gushed out of his dick. The feeling of his penis swelling and squirting in my guts triggered my climax. I had to stifle my cries in the pillow or the whole neighborhood would have heard! After my deflowering, David became distant and boycotted all physical contacts, depriving me of the sex education I desired so avidly. Guilt gnawed at him for doing sex stuff with me because I was a child. “T’es trop petit...You’re too small…” he said. “J’ai neuf ans!” I replied proudly, convinced that nearly a decade of existence constituted a strong argument. But, my eagerness to be molested again did not appease David’s anguish. He looked at me as though I was a tempter sent by Satan. From that point on, my sexual curiosity was still strong but I could only convince David to let me watch while he beat off. Fifteen months later, we left that family because my mom couldn’t tolerate the scorn of her mother-in-law who never accepted that she didn’t convert to Judaism. Thankfully, she had a backup plan. I ended up on the other side of Paris in a working class area. This time my environment was very manly. There were two much older boys in the house, soccer players who drank beer and roughhoused together. Philippe was fourteen and Franck seventeen. I had turned ten-years-old by then and had never lived with truly masculine types; boys joking about jerking off and acting overly obnoxious. The younger of the brothers presented a soft childlike face under a shaggy brown mane. His docile character and goofy attitude made his company somewhat bearable. The elder intimidated me with his rock hard abs and his aggressive temperament. The handsome jock looked like the invincible heroes in movies. However, his soul was decidedly corrupt. Of course, I was the victim of their tyranny. My position in the family hierarchy – the bottom of the ladder - and my small stature didn’t afford me any leverage. The brothers pushed me around and did everything to make me yell. My falsetto voice resounded in the house all day long. They were very imaginative in finding ways to torment a little boy. While I slept, the two acolytes crept to my bed and covered me with shaving cream from head to toes. They put bugs in my schoolbag or pungent cheese. The cruelty of their pranks exceeded the limits of fraternal rivalry. Sometimes, while Philippe held my wrists behind my back, Franck straddled my thighs and fished his erection out of his fly. The diabolical duo laughed as I wriggled madly to escape and begged, “Non, arrêtez! Lâchez-moi!” Franck brandished his cock under my nose. It was huge and surrounded by dark hair. One hand wanking it, the other on the nape of my neck, he exulted, "Ohhhh ça vient! Ouiii ça vient!" I couldn’t move and had to watch the older boy jerk his big prick. The whole time, Philippe chuckled behind me holding my wrists. After a while, Franck exhaled and threw me a treacherous smile. The spurts of his ejaculation started to fly. I shut my eyes and shook my head but couldn’t avoid getting the abundant semen all over my face. As soon as they freed me I dashed to the sink to get rid of this slime. The brothers continued laughing, giddy from the amusement of humiliating me. The only time I felt safe was when a soccer game was on. The siblings and their father congregated in front of the TV set, cheering and cursing for hours. They couldn’t understand why I didn’t get swept up by the sport. I withheld the urge to tell them soccer was boring, knowing they would frown and call me ‘the American’ again in a demeaning fashion. I just stood aside, fascinated by their passion. Watching and spying on Franck and Philippe occupied most of my day, seeing as I had never been near male role models. The manners of French teenagers were confounding. They acted all macho but greeted each other with hugs and kisses on the cheeks. They debated about insignificant things and slapped each other. Well mostly Franck did the slapping. There was never a dull moment with the brothers. One day, returning from school, I caught the two teenagers committing incest. The door to their room was closed. The complaints of Philippe scared me because he was obviously in pain, “Arrrgghh! C'est trop gros!! Arrrggh Putain! Arrête de m'la foutre au fond! Ça fait mal!” “Ta gueule,” Franck fumed, protesting that he was almost done. “J'ai presque fini!” I turned the door handle and glanced in the smelly room. Franck was sodomizing his brother roughly. He was stretched on top of him, crushing the younger teen under his broad frame. My eyes locked on his muscular buttocks, tightening every time he swayed his hips. He showed no mercy, ramming his cock in Philippe’s ass. The images of their hairy legs and the noise of the violent intercourse distressed me. I quickly shut the door. From then on, I lived with the fear that Franck would make me his butt boy too. He often pushed me against the wall out of the blue. His hands plunged into my undies and kneaded my buns. "Hmmmm, c’est doux ..." he’d whisper in my ear. “Fais pas le con, lâche-le.” Philippe intervened in my favor, pointing out I was too young. “Il a pas de poil aux couilles!” Over time, I realized that some kind of order had been established in the house. Philippe protected me. He sacrificed his ass to save mine. I thought it was out of pure kindness. But I was wrong. The fourteen-year-old boy was almost as perverse as his brother and afflicted as much by the need to drain his balls. He estimated that his altruism merited compensation and asked me bluntly to give him blowjobs. I agreed to do it, terrified by the alternative: being defenseless against the powerful Franck. My services were required on a daily basis. I had to perform properly and always swallow everything that came out of him. Philippe devised a code for our furtive meetings. He tapped my shoulder three times. I counted a hundred seconds and joined him in the farthest closet of the house. Kneeling in the dark, my nervousness reached its peak because I was afraid someone might discover our hiding spot, either Franck, his father or worse, my mother. Philippe enjoyed this situation as the smile on his pimply face attested. I hurried to pull down his sports pants and his underwear. His dick bounced up at my chin. It was at least six inches long, slender and elegant, jutting over a pair of plump testicles. I retracted the foreskin with my small fingers and brought the member to my tongue for a thorough licking. “J’adore quand tu lui donnes des bisous…” Philippe always suggested that I kiss his dick, which I didn’t mind doing. And when he got tired watching me slobber over his penis, he commanded, "Suce maintenant... " Without missing a beat, I wrapped my lips around the erection and started to bob my head. Philippe’s slender dick could enter my throat without discomfort. So despite being ten-years-old, I was able to absorb the whole thing. On the way down, my nose, buried in his pubic hair, sniffed the spicy aromas of his crotch. “Ohhhh ouaiiis…Putain que c'est bon…” Philippe whispered his appreciation. “Oh ouais, pompe ma bite!” His penis seemed to harden even more each minute. I sucked greedily, ultimately elated to see the tall boy turn delirious from the stimulation of my little impetuous mouth. His flat stomach undulated with the rising pleasure. I slowed the pace down, squeezed the flesh between my lips then pursued faster. Without warning, thick cum flooded my mouth. Immediately, I siphoned the sauce listening to the teenager’s long sighs of contentment. I wish I could say that at some point, I stood my ground, decided to be brave and put a stop to it. But I can’t. This went on for over two years. I swallowed Philippe’s load every day, down on my knees in the closet. Needless to say I got very good at sucking cock and he thought I was a great kid brother. The news of Franck’s arrest for stealing jewelry caused a shock wave in the family. He had attained the age of the majority and therefore was sentenced to jail. Despite Franck’s departure and with him the bullying, Philippe still expected his daily blowjob. I had experienced a growth spurt in the twelfth year of life and demanded reciprocity. My dick was thicker and my balls dangling now. Some fine hair adorned my pubes and droplets of translucent jizz spurted from the head during every orgasm. I needed to get my dick sucked as much as he did. With time, the physical relationship with Philippe became increasingly sensual. We kissed and sucked each other like lovers. I put my dick in his butthole and pumped his ass with the ardor of a dog in heat. In return for this access, I let Philippe take me in the missionary position. He held my ankles and slid in and out of me gently. I jerked off watching the grimacing teenager between my raised legs, evidently euphoric that he was fucking the tight ass of a kid. “Ohhhh ouaiiiss, c’est tellement bon de t’enculer…T’es vraiment un super gosse!” Philippe praised me. He was quite a gentleman. He always waited for me to cum before pulling out and shooting a load on my belly… After a few years of agreeable coexistence with my step-brother, a stupid fight between my mother and Philippe’s father ruined everything. We were kicked out of the house. We had to live in tiny rundown apartments on the north end. Mom had grown older and her charms could no longer get us through the front door of anyone’s home. The high cost of living in Paris took its toll on our lifestyle. I attended a public college filled with unruly Arab immigrants. I worked at a pastry shop on rue Calon under the dictatorship of a ruthless chef. Those were the miserable years, my rebellious period when I couldn’t stand my mother and held a grudge against her for impoverishing us again. This dark era lasted until I was sixteen when she finally met a wealthy film producer who lived in a glitzy manor. The gray-haired man in his late sixties craved younger women and procreated like a rabbit. He was still raising a nine-year-old son from a previous marriage. A blond waif he shared custody with his ex-wife every other weekend. As much as I loved my new upper class home, I despised the boy. The kid was an annoying Richie Rich kind of brat. He corrected my mistakes in French, wore Lacoste clothes and behaved pretentiously. During the weekends Olivier slept at his father’s home, I avoided his presence, leaving the spoiled rotten child to play with the mountain of toys in his large bedroom. Olivier saw to it that I didn’t get any peace. He tried to grab my attention in every way. The supple kid pulled his foot to his mouth and sucked his toes to impress me. “Regarde-moi! Regarde-moi!” he called me. When this didn’t work, he followed me around and repeated my words like a robot, until utterly exasperated I punched his arm. Sometimes I spoke to him in English, having a bit of fun, knowing he didn’t understand a thing, “Are you a cocksucker? Do you eat cum?” I truly hated him and wondered why. Perhaps, because he had it easy and I never had? Perhaps, I was jealous of his childish beauty now that I was a clumsy hairy teenager with disproportionate limbs? The most annoying thing about him was surely the fact that he practised ballet. I had to attend his dance shows, an excruciating torture for a teenager of sixteen who deemed this form of art laughable. However, after a while, I found that looking at the graceful children’s bodies, highlighted by snug white tights, excited me terribly. My dick got hard as I watched the slight boys extend their leg to make arabesques or skip all about the stage like fawns on the tips of their dainty feet. Olivier, the son of our host, was the prettiest of the gang with his angelic face and golden bangs. His delicate features and slim figure made him seem almost feminine and furiously gay. At home, I had noticed that Olivier’s gaze often drifted to my crotch. It occurred to me that it would be fun to find out how much he liked me. Waking up in the morning, I remained in my boxers until noon. At sixteen, I had fully grown adult attributes down there, balls of a bull and a long meaty cock that swung left and right in the loose fabric. It didn’t take long before Olivier peeked at the area every chance he got. The kid copied my casual style, walking around in skimpy pastel bikini briefs that hugged his taut dancer ass. I could not distinguish who was trying to seduce who anymore? It didn’t surprise me that Olivier accepted when I proposed that the loser at the Super Mario game must suck the winner’s dick. He had blushed slightly hearing my suggestion, nodded and grinned, delighted by the attention he’d been desperately coveting. A few times I lost on purpose and enjoyed driving him wild, nibbling his hairless balls and slurping on his short boner right down to the root. The little sex maniac became progressively aggressive, clutching my head and darting his stiff penis in my mouth to a bumpy dry orgasm. I didn’t expect he would ask to repeat the same bet every time. And I found myself giving the brat his dose of pleasure on a regular basis. Olivier especially fancied having his ass eaten out and begged for it with his squeaky voice, “Allez, s’il-te-plait, lèche mon trou-du-cul…” I frequently spent long minutes with my face between the kid’s buttocks, generously licking his anus, swiping my tongue over the rosebud, watching it wink at me. When Olivier started to lose on purpose in order to suck my dick too, I recognized the same nine- year-old boy I had been, the eager kid curious to learn and experience everything about sex precociously from David. Unlike my old teacher, I didn’t have hang-ups about using the ample skills I now possessed. Olivier was a good student. He quickly did wonders with his hand and his mouth. The devoted little boy held my erection tightly in his little fist, jerked it and sucked it actively. He engulfed nearly all seven inches and slowly suctioned on the way up. His lips clung to the head as he swirled his tongue over it, then he went down on my cock again. I was gladly surprised he did not shy away when I came. He just smiled coyly receiving the numerous blasts of hot cream. My spurts drew long white lines on his face from his chin to his forehead, a sight that heightened the intensity of my orgasm. We both wanted to make the most of our sexual relationship. Of course, many weeks of dilatation were necessary before I could penetrate just the tip of my big teenage cock in the kid’s tight asshole. Olivier cooperated. “Ouille! Juste un peu! Stop! Attend! Bon, vas-y maintenant.” he guided me, getting accustomed to the intrusion and learning to abandon himself. Eventually, his tiny bum hole was ready to accept the girth of my hard-on. I had dreamt of the pleasure I would feel when I finally got to sodomize the intrepid nine-year-old. The real sensation proved to be even more wonderful! His anus clenched my cock the whole time. My body was a feverish ball of lust. Fucking the skinny boy kept my excitement level at the top. I came perilously close to ejaculating each time I pushed my cock inside his moist rectum. Olivier whined a lot that first time, but he managed to cum soon after I filled him up with my spunk. Our forbidden encounters took place in discreet areas of the house; the laundry room when the help wasn’t around or the bathroom upstairs with a lock on the door. Thankfully, Olivier's father was a big opera fan. He often took my mother out, which meant babysitting the kid. I acted out a teenage fit, pretending to be outraged by the mandatory chore. The clueless millionaire opened his wallet and handed me a wad of cash. Sometimes, I felt ashamed taking money from the old fart. Not for the fact that he paid me too much but because I knew I was going to have insane hardcore sex with his son all evening. In his defense, no one can imagine this eventuality when they leave their innocent nine-year-old boy alone with a polite and well-mannered teenager. It was the reality. I had trained Olivier to become a cum dump. The little blond boy occasionally played hard to get, running through the large house chuckling. “Tu vas pas m’attraper! Nah nah nah!” he nagged me, wiggling his behind. I chased the runaway child, turned on by the sound of his bare feet smacking on the hardwood floor. Eventually, Olivier ceased to flee and sucked my cock. All evenings of babysitting ended with anal sex. The flexibility of the little dancer lent itself perfectly to all sexual positions. I twisted his body and bent his legs out of the way so that I could bury my cock straight into his anus. Then I fucked him without restraint. Olivier weighed barely fifty pounds. My sustained plowing shook him as if he was in a ride at the theme park. The little bottom boy never demanded that I be gentle. He liked it rough, toes curled up, face tortured by grimaces, and mouth wide open to spew plaintive moans of rapture, "Ohhh Ouiiii unnnggh! unngghhh! Ouiii unnngghh! " I banged his butt a good while. Sometimes, Olivier got three or four dry orgasms during the longer sessions. Feeling him shiver from his cum confirmed that he was enjoying anal intercourse as much as me. He wasn’t such a bad kid after all… I preferred to take him from behind. There was a comfy couch ideal for that in the living room. Olivier obeyed my instructions, getting on all four and spreading his cheeks to expose his puckered hole. My lubed cock leaked as I flexed my long legs, crouching over the small of his back. I extended both arms under his armpits to make sure he leaned forward. Olivier winced as my hard cock plunged into his ass initially. I fucked him steadily from the start. His slutty wails grew louder as I slammed more inches into his bowel. In that position, I could give him a good pounding. It usually took ten minutes before I could go ball deep. Then, the sight of my fat cock disappearing entirely in his distended anus made me grunt like an ape. Driven by the energy of my youth, I copulated as if it was my last fuck. My testicles got bloated and ached from slapping on his firm little butt. This was usually the time when Olivier trembled from a string of orgasms. When the need for relief became intolerable, I withdrew my cock and grasped the shaft. Olivier’s gaping anus was crimson between the little white mounds of his butt. I groaned, looking down at my cock shooting powerful jets into it. The pleasure radiated from the tip of cock all the way to the top of my spine. During all his preteen years, I had anal sex with Olivier again and again with some variances. But it was always raw, pornographic and simply amazing. Until my late teens and my return to the States, Olivier was my sole sexual partner. Looking back, I can’t say I feel remorse. I was just a horny teen living abroad, with no friends to speak of. Sometimes a window of opportunity presents itself and you jump without giving it much thought, especially at sixteen. It’s something that cannot be erased anyway, a part of my past, like a historical event. And although sometimes I have a hard time believing it, it’s a fact. For three years, I fucked a cute little boy hard in the ass at least twice a month. After my departure from France, Olivier sent me letters across the ocean. At thirteen, he officially came out of the closet, announcing he’d fallen in love with an older boy in his ballet troop. Olivier revealed that his boyfriend had a bigger penis than mine, nine thick inches that brought him much satisfaction. I am a young man now. Already the souvenirs of my years in Paris are starting to fade. There are a couple of things I learned that surely never will. I can ascertain that 1) families take many forms and 2) some boys are glad to learn and experience everything about sex precociously. But you already knew that, uh? THE END