Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 SUMMERTIME 2

   Title: Summertime 2 (Mb, mm, mmg, g11mo, mF, nepi, ped, oral, anal, F
humil)

   by Strato of Sardis <daddymilk@sigaint.org>
Warning: nepi



   **************************

   This story is pure fantasy.  It is intended solely to assist
masturbation or fantasy sex between consenting adults.

   I love feedback.  Write to me!  <daddymilk@sigaint.org>

   **************************



   "Your father's taking us to Venice, darling.  It's gonna be like a
second honeymoon.  It's gonna be fabulous!"

   Mummy's pearly laughter filled the master bedroom.  Dressed only in a
translucent peignoir, she flitted hither and thither, holding my little
brother Matt in one arm.  She kept picking things up and putting things
down, going through the motions of packing--but it was just a game that
made her feel glamorous.  The real packing would of course be done later by
the valet and the maid.

   "I don't get it," I replied, feigning puzzlement.  "It's a second
honeymoon, but you're taking Matty?"

   "Fuck yeah!" interposed Daddy, his deep voice booming from the en-suite
bathroom, where he was shaving.

   "Oh course, honey." Mummy laughed her pearly laughter again.  "That's
the whole point!" Then, in a conspiratorial whisper, she added, "You were
great at his age too, you know." She sealed this confidence with a light
peck on my cheek.

   I gave up the pretence of not understanding.  The previous evening,
Daddy had already regained a rock-hard erection and was already leaking
thick ropes of precum by the time I had blown my teenage load in my little
brother's twenty-month-old arse.  As soon as my prick had stopped pumping
yet more semen into the toddler, Daddy had gathered Matty up in his arms
and, stark naked as he was, had marched to the bedroom where Mummy was
having her nap.  I had overheard their reconciliation through the closed
door.

   "Listen, darling, I'm sorry.  You're right.  The baby needs your
milk--OUR milk."

   This had been followed by a titillating sequence of noises: little
Matt's excited giggles, wet slurping, Mum's unearthly moaning, yet more
giggles from Matty, Dad's deep grunting, sounds of flesh slapping on flesh,
more moans from Mum and Dad, then orgasmic shouting.  The evidence, I had
concluded, was consistent with the little toddler having suckled on Mummy's
clit while Daddy sodomized his tight infant arse--but I would never know
for certain.  Still, it was now useless to pretend to my parents that I
didn't know what they planned to do with the baby--or, more precisely, to
the baby--in Venice.

   Daddy came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and positively pink
with satisfaction.  He put his arm around my shoulders in an expansive
gesture of approval.

   "You did great yesterday, Brad," he said.  "You did good by the family."
With that he sneaked a credit card into my shirt pocket, winking.  He
seemed not to know that only a few minutes earlier Mummy had slipped
another credit card into the pocket of my trousers.

   With a stagey, theatrical motion, Mummy held little Matt out to Daddy,
like a high priestess making a sacrificial offer to Pharaoh.  Daddy went
over to them and French-kissed the toddler, letting his towel drop to the
floor.  I realized I was de trop.

   "Have fun in Venice, guys." I waved goodbye from the threshold, but no
one was paying attention any longer.  Mummy was already busy helping the
baby to deep-throat Daddy's meaty prick.

   On the positive side, I was going to be my own boss for a whole week.  I
had plenty of money too, and I had committed to memory the URL of the
amazing nepi porn website that Daddy had been looking at the previous
evening.  The world, I decided, was full of possibilities.  The first
thing, then, was to ring my schoolmate Aaron.

   I let the phone ring and ring.  With Aaron you have to be prepared to
wait.  After about a minute or so, there was a click, a pause, and then I
heard his voice.

   "What's up, babyfucker?"

   "Um, it's Brad.  Would you like to hang out this afternoon?"

   "Have you got something for me?" Aaron's reply came fast.  It was him
all over: always looking after number one.

   "Oh, I don't know," I hesitated.

   "Listen, dude, I'm kinda busy here and..." Aaron was already losing
interest.  I knew he was about to hang up.

   "Yes," I interjected quickly.  "Dad and Mum and me--we have been fucking
my little bro non-stop for the past twenty-four hours."

   "Way to go, man!" came Aaron's exhilarated reply.  "How old did you say
the baby slut was?"

   "Uh, twenty months old."

   "Phwoar!" exclaimed Aaron.  "Can I come to your house and pork him right
now?"

   "Oh, sorry, no," I explained, my voice tinged with disappointment.  "My
mum and dad are going to Venice on a second honeymoon and they're taking
him with them as their fucktoy."

   "What good's that to me, then?" said Brad, his voice crackling with
irritation.

   "Yes, I know, but I've got their credit cards.  And Daddy has found this
amazing nepi porn site with really fit dudes fucking tiny babies and
shit..."

   My voice trailed off in hope.  There was a pause.

   "M'kay.  Meet me at the park in ten."

   For the events that followed to be properly understood, I need to
establish one crucial fact.  This circumstance may conflict with my
readers' religious or metaphysical convictions, but it is nonetheless the
key to everything that happened.  I note with considerable surprise that
knowledge of this fact appears not yet to have reached certain parts of the
nation, but in my city it is a truth universally acknowledged.  Aaron is
God.  To look on his face is to see the face of God.  To worship his body
is to adore God's body.  He is nimbed with divine beauty, and all creatures
endowed with souls prostrate themselves before the unearthly radiance of
his jock physique.

   The graffiti in the school lavatories, the scribblings on the desks of
all pupils from Reception to Year Thirteen, the inscriptions on the bark of
the trees in the playing fields, all proclaim this truth.  "Aaron is God."
"Aaron is a fit god." "I-heart-Aaron." "Let Aaron's cum rain over us."
"Please Aaron fuck my baby." That last one provided a phone number.  I know
because, in lieu of the true God, I offered myself as his prophet.  It did
not work.

   A divine epiphany is bound to cause trouble, and Aaron's arrival at my
school was no exception.  Mr Rogers, our former PE teacher, got himself
reprimanded and dismissed the very week that Aaron joined his class.  Mr
Rogers just happened to step into the shower room when Aaron was soaping
his tight jock arse under the steaming water, rubbing a soap bar between
his oh-so-tight buns.  All of poor Mr Rogers's blood instantly flowed into
his hapless prick, giving him an erection of grotesquely enormous
dimensions.  I saw it myself as a goggle-eyed classmate poked me in the
ribs and pointed towards the swollen slab of cockmeat, which had snaked out
of Mr Rogers's nylon shorts and was trained on Aaron's wet soapy arse like
a telescope probing the enigma of the Universe.  Unluckily for Mr Rogers,
Aaron turned round at that point.  The jock under the shower flashed the PE
teacher a knowing smile and started to soap up his godlike package, letting
his juicy cock chub out a bit as he got his smooth balls nice and lathered.
You have to understand that Aaron's cock is transcendentally sexy, fat,
long, meaty, incomprehensibly managing always to look obscene and beautiful
at the same time.  That did for Mr Rogers.  Without his hands coming
anywhere near his cock, the poor man started to ejaculate explosive jets of
semen, which splashed across the gym floor, hit Aaron directly on the face,
torso, and crotch, and left gooey trickles on the wall tiles. 
"Spermatorrhea," diagnosed an expert witness sniffily during the inquiry.
"Diurnal involuntary emission" was the coy expression preferred by the
School's disciplinary committee.  But no matter, Mr Rogers had creamed his
pants--hell, he had creamed the entire shower room--by just laying eyes on
one of his students.  He was out of a job.

   You may think that it was wicked of Aaron to flash his dazzling smile at
Mr Rogers, aware as he was of the possible consequences--that it was
particularly wicked of him to lather up his cock and balls in such a
suggestive way.  But he was not even trying to excite the PE teacher--not
really.  And it would be missing the point, anyway.  Aaron is God, but he
is not Christ.  Think of the body of Apollo Sauroktonos filled with the
spirit of Shiva the Destroyer.  That comes closer to the mark.

   The case of poor Mr Humphreys was even more tragic.  Mr Humphreys taught
English in Senior School.  In his leisure hours he wrote--poems, plays,
essays--and by the time Aaron arrived at the school he had become
moderately famous and was regarded as one of the treasures of the
institution.  From the very moment he caught sight of Aaron, however, poor
Mr Humphreys was consumed by a debilitating infatuation.  We saw him
wasting away right in front of us in class.  Poor romantic creature that he
was, he never breathed a word of his passion to Aaron.  But his
increasingly glassy eyes followed the young god feverishly, incessantly,
whenever they caught a glimpse of his blond ideal.  Mr Humphreys wrote a
glorious sequence of prose poems during his infatuation with Aaron.  The
executor of his will found them among his papers after he committed
suicide. These prose poems went on to win a glittering string of posthumous
literary prizes, and the following year they became an essential part of
the A-level English Literature curriculum.  Mr Humphreys left his estate to
the school, which built the Humphreys Library with money from the
royalties. I wonder how poor Mr Humphreys would feel if he knew that the
study cubicles in the Humphreys Library are one of Aaron's favourite spots
for getting his teenage prick sucked by little kids, and particularly for
fucking the little four-year-old boys in Reception; that he and four other
Senior School students once smuggled a one-year-old baby into the library
store for an all-night nepi gangbang.

   I learnt a lot from Mr Humphreys's misfortune.  The main lesson was that
Aaron hates drama.  You have to play it super-cool with him.  Whenever
anyone becomes too needy, or comes on too strong, Aaron will cut them
mercilessly.

   "What, are you going to top yourself too, like Mr Humphreys?"

   So, as I waited for Aaron at the gates of the park, I wore a
long-practised look of perfect nonchalance, and when he arrived I pretended
not to notice that the sun shone brighter, the birds sang louder, and the
sky glowed bluer.

   "Hey, man," he greeted me.  "So I hear that you and your perv parents
have been porking your baby bro all day.  Awesome!  I want all the dirty
details."

   Behind Aaron, smiling shily and waving hello discreetly, stood Alistair,
a Year-Thirteen young man that Aaron owns.

   "Owns" is the aptest word--but Aaron's title of ownership over Alistair
requires a bit of explanation.  Alistair cuts a fine figure of a man: well
over six feet tall, and built like a young Hercules, he is the captain of
the school rugby team, and last year he led us to victory in the School
Rugby Cup.  Alistair is perfectly straight too--straight as an arrow.  In
fact his chief sexual interest is anal sex with MILFs.  He has a pet
project of using his twelve-inch prick to destroy the arses of all of his
mother's lunch companions at the country club.  On the day of our meeting
at the park gates the project had already progressed beyond its midpoint,
and I have no doubt that he will bring it to successful completion very
soon.  So Alistair does not ask Aaron for sex; he does not need sex from
Aaron, although he will of course perform with alacrity any sexual requests
that Aaron may have.  No, it is simply that being Aaron's buddy, his
sidekick, his wingman, defines the core of Alistair's identity: serving
Aaron gives meaning to Alistair's life, creates room for him in the world,
makes him who he is.

   Aaron asserted his ownership over Alistair in spectacular fashion on the
day of the Rugby Cup win.  Alistair, the victorious captain, was holding
court over his fawning team-mates in the dressing room.  He was being
lionized.  He was a hero.  Unexpectedly, Aaron sauntered into the dressing
room.  Alistair immediately silenced his team-mates with a wave of his hand
and went to greet Aaron.

   "Hang on a moment, chaps....  Aaron?"

   Aaron stood in the middle of the dressing room, his eyes fixed on
Alistair alone.  With slow, deliberate movements, he undid his flies and
exposed his amazing prick, wet and already pulsating with a throbbing
erection.  Aaron's sexual excitement had grown during the match as he saw
his buddy, his sidekick, lead the school team to victory.  The power, the
triumph, the utter subjugation of the rival team, the merciless crushing of
all their hopes, the destruction of all their efforts had been
exhilarating. His pulse was racing.  He addressed Alistair in a low, husky
voice, which was nonetheless audible to everyone in the room.

   "Suck me, buddy."

   "What?"

   "Kneel, buddy.  Suck my cock."

   The sporting hero fell on his knees and took Aaron's huge meaty prick in
his mouth.

   "Look into my eyes, buddy.  Do me the way you like it done yourself.  Do
me like your girlfriend does you."

   Alistair gripped Aaron's slick member in his right hand, and started to
give him a slow, lustful, wet blowjob, making sweet love to Aaron's
cockmeat.  Everyone watched in amazement, most team-members wanking
discreetly, afraid that any noise might break the spell.

   It was not long before Aaron's breathing became ragged.  It was obvious
to all that he was immensely turned on.  Alistair continued to look up at
him with puppy eyes while he deep-throated his beautiful prick.

   "Oh, buddy, you look good with my cock in your mouth.  I'm about to
cream your throat.  Are you ready?  Can you take it?"

   Alistair nodded with his lips pursed around the base of Aaron's cock. 
Suddenly his mouth--a virgin mouth until that day--was flooded with semen.
The amount was unbelievable.  It filled his throat, making him splutter and
gag.  As he coughed, big drops of Aaron's sperm came out of his nostrils.
He struggled to regain his breath.

   "Sorry, Aaron."

   "No, buddy.  You did well.  So well."

   Aaron put his cock back in his trousers.  As he did his flies up, he
waved goodbye to the astonished audience.

   "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I like to mark my property.  Well played,
by the way.  I'm going now."

   Alistair continued to kneel in the middle of the dressing room.  His
sperm-streaked face shone radiant, transfigured.

   "Aaron's property," he whispered to himself, a beatific smile playing
over his handsome features.

   Since that day, Aaron and Alistair became even more inseparable than
they had already been previously.  Before, Alistair had usually found a
polite reason for being elsewhere whenever Aaron and the nepi delinquents
he liked to associate with had a little child to fuck.  From the day of the
Rugby Cup win, however, Alistair could just as often be found behind the
bike shed, working quietly with a physics or mathematics textbook open on
his lap, while Aaron and his accomplices tag-teamed toddlers abducted from
the kindergarten.  Alistair would smile affectionately at his friend while
Aaron ejaculated in a baby's little mouth or tight arse, and while the
other pedo kids in the school queued patiently for their turn to have
sloppy seconds in the infant.  Aaron and Alistair would joke, make plans
for the weekend, poke fun at the teachers, or discuss the latest sports
news while Aaron and the Senior School boys lucky enough to join him--often
me--porked babies with abandon, "porked" being Aaron's favourite term.

   So, when Aaron met me at the gates of the park and asked me for all the
juicy details of my family's steamy sex session with my baby brother, I was
not at all surprised to find Alistair in tow.  The surprise would have been
for him not to be there.  As usual, he was still wearing his school
uniform, primly starched and pressed, and he was carrying two satchels on
his shoulders, Aaron's and his own.  Aaron, in contrast, was wearing his
gym outfit: a pair of very small shorts, lovingly hugging his bubble but,
and a loose low-cut tank-top made of some unidentifiable satin-like fabric,
which managed always to offer some vertiginous vista of his toned pecs and
perky nipples, or his tight abs, or his smooth lickable armpits, from
whichever point of view you might happen to be looking at him.

   "So, come on, spill the beans," urged Aaron pruriently, putting his hand
down his shorts to give his semi-erect cock and his loaded balls a quick
rub.

   I was about to begin my tale, when Alistair interrupted.

   "Look, chaps!  It's Mrs Osborne.  Phwoar, she's so hot!"

   Mrs Osborne could indeed be seen in the middle distance, pushing her
baby daughter in her stroller down one of the park's verdant lanes.  She
was wearing a discreet but unmistakably expensive Chanel suit, which gave
her an air of demure exclusivity.  Mrs Osborne stands very close to the top
of the social pyramid of my city.  For any society woman, being invited to
her tea parties is a badge of arrival.  Of course, Alistair's obscenely
rich mother was on first-name terms with Mrs Osborne.

   "Mmm, look at that woman's arse." Alistair was licking his lips.

   "Fuck, Alistair, you're a pervert," joked Aaron.  "She is like, what,
thirty?  Yuck!  You're sick, buddy."

   Alistair laughed good-naturedly.

   "The baby slut, on the other hand..." continued Aaron.  "How old is it?"

   "It's a girl.  Eleven months.  Mummy and Mrs Osborne are planning a big
do for her first birthday."

   Aaron looked very pleased with this piece of information.

   "Come," he instructed, springing suddenly into action, "I'm gonna talk
to her."

   In an instant Aaron was walking rapidly towards Mrs Osborne, zooming in
on his prey.  Alistair and I followed closely.  As Mrs Osborne saw us
approaching, she recognized Alistair first.

   "Oh good afternoon, Alistair.  Are these your friends?"

   Alistair waved hello, but only Aaron spoke.

   "Yeah, Alistair is my buddy, Mrs...?"

   "Osborne, Mrs Osborne," the woman responded, blushing furiously.

   Aaron stood in front of her, smirking.  With his right hand he gathered
the fabric of his tank top, as if to dry the sweat that had gathered
between his toned pecs.  In the process he exposed his oh-so-tight abs to
the woman's increasingly fascinated gaze.  Aaron's waistband hugged his
narrow hips very low, just above his pubis, revealing the full glory of his
Adonis belt.  Mrs Osborne's breathing became laboured.  Aaron took a step
towards the woman, now standing very close to her.

   "Oh it's such a hot day, isn't it?"

   Aaron had decided that the randy whore deserved no better than a tired
cliché.  He pretended to stretch out, lifting his arms above his head and
then crossing them behind his neck.  The woman's pupils became widely
dilated as she caught sight of the pale, smooth, silky skin of Aaron's
armpits, nestled beautifully betwen his pecs, his biceps, and his anterior
deltoids.  Her hungry eyes lost themselves in the hollows of Aaron's
armpits as if in a honey pot.

   Aaron was now standing so close to Mrs Osborne that the masculine scent
of his armpits reached her nose.  Aaron had been working out at the gym,
and he had deliberately not showered.  The musky odour made her head swim.
The smell whispered wordless messages of sex in her ear.  An image of a
mare being covered by a stallion flashed across her mind, the male's black
hide streaming with sweat as it pumped its foaming, gigantic prick into the
passive female.  She began to tremble.

   Aaron leaned forward and breathed in her ear.  He did not allow his lips
or nose to come into contact with the woman's skin.  He said nothing.  He
just let his quiet, regular breath caress the woman's earlobe and play with
the tendrils of her hair.  Mrs Osborne had trouble standing.  She looked as
if she might lose her balance.  She gripped the handles of the stroller,
panting desperately.

   Alistair, accustomed to such scenes, stepped forward.  With a smooth
movement of his right hand he lifted Mrs Osborne's skirt and dipped his
strong masculine fingers into her knickers.

   "Fucking hell, Aaron.  The bitch is soaking wet!"

   Aaron made a gesture, commanding the woman to follow.  Mrs Osborne
pushed the stroller behind Aaron, her gaze shifting erratically from the
nape of his neck, where a pretty curl of blond hair hung above his powerful
trapezius muscles, to the firm masterful curve of his well-developed medial
deltoids, and finally to the unsettling, disturbing oscillation of his
rounded, perky bumcheeks, more revealed than hidden by the sweat-drenched
fabric of his shorts.

   Meanwhile, the eleven-month-old baby in the stroller was oblivious to
the erotic maelstrom that was engulfing her mother.  Her still toothless
gums chewed contentedly on the floppy ears of her favourite stuffed rabit.
Ignoring Mrs Osborne, however, Aaron looked back over his shoulder at the
infant, eyeing lustfully the chubby baby cunt which his expert nepi gaze
could divine under the flimsy fabric of the child's tiny knickers.  As he
walked, he grabbed his erect prick and loaded balls, making them hang over
the waistband of his shorts.  He started to masturbate in anticipation of
fucking the little baby.

   Finally, we arrived at our destination, a secluded grassy spot, hidden
from the rest of the park by a thick privet hedge.  Mrs Osborne looked
disoriented; she had never been there before.  To Aaron, Alistair, and me,
in contrast, it was familiar territory, home ground.  Aaron turned round,
now wanking his juicy cock openly in front of Mrs Osborne, smiling at her
with contempt.  Her breathing was still shallow and erratic.  Her
distracted eyes could focus on nothing but Aaron's face and Aaron's body,
his huge, beautiful prick having become an object of particular
fascination. Alistair grabbed the handles of the stroller from her, and
parked the buggy sideways in front of a bench.  Having done that, Alistair
and I guided her to the seat.

   "Take her clothes off," Aaron commanded.  "Slowly."

   A look of wild joy flashed across the woman's face.  The stupid cow
honestly believed that Aaron was preparing to fuck her.  Keeping our poker
faces, Alistair and I helped her out of her jacket.  She raised her wrists
towards us, encouraging us to undo the cuff buttons of her blouse.

   Meanwhile, Aaron let his shorts drop to the ground and peeled off his
tank-top.  He stood naked in divine majesty before Mrs Osborne's subjugated
eyes.  He pumped his swollen cockmeat with long, firm strokes.  The woman
gasped and drooled.  Her right hand wandered absent-mindedly towards her
clitoris, but Alistair pushed it away with a sharp slap.

   "I'm gonna put on a show for you, bitch," whispered Aaron seductively.

   Aaron rummaged through the bag that hung from the stroller's handles. 
He finally found what he was looking for: a little pot of strawberry
compote for the child's mid-afternoon snack.  He opened it and spread the
sweet contents on his meaty member.  Then he stood in front of the
stroller, to which the baby was securely strapped.  Gripping the handles to
keep his balance, he bent his knees until his massive prick, smeared with
sugary jam, was level with the baby's mouth.

   "Blow me, baby whore," he told the uncomprehending tot, pushing his
obscenely swollen organ into the baby's mouth.

   Encouraged by the sweet taste of the jam, and soothed by Aaron's
transcendental beauty, the baby started to do what babies do best: she
began to suck.

   "Aaaah sweet infant slut," sighed Aaron in nepi delight.  "You're good
at this.  Ungh." Flashing a wicked smile in Mrs Osborne's direction, he
added, "You're such a good cocksucker.  I bet you've been practising since
birth.  Mmm.  Dadda pushes his swollen nepi prick between the bars of your
cot, eh?  Fuck.  Or do you have a teen brother like Brad over there?" I
blushed crimson.

   Mrs Osborne mind was shattered.  A part of her brain remembered dimly
that she ought to be scandalized, outraged.  But the point where her baby's
sucking mouth enveloped Aaron's pulsating cockmeat had become the cynosure
of her eyes.  All the beauty of the world was gathered there.

   Aaron took his prick out of the toddler's mouth and let her slobber for
a while on his sweaty balls.  He finally stood up and moved away from the
stroller.  He walked towards the bench, sticking his tongue out in a
gesture of depraved enjoyment.

   "Your turn, Brad," he gestured.  "Fuck the baby's throat."

   I ran to the stroller, quickly lowering my trousers, anxious to stick my
throbbing member in the baby's throat.  The excitement had been unbearable,
and the sweet relief of the infant's strong nursing action on my sensitive
cockmeat washed over my whole body in waves of pedo pleasure.  The baby no
longer needed the inducement of strawberry jam: she had learnt to soothe
herself by sucking meaty pricks.

   Mrs Osborne's face wore a look of hungry hope, of insane delight, as
Aaron approached the bench where she was sitting.  She was now completely
naked, and Alistair was tying her wrists behind her back.  Aaron waved his
engorged fuck tool in front of her, sprinkling her face with droplets of
precum and baby saliva.  As Aaron bent towards her, she struggled in vain
to meet his body, just as the faithful rise to meet the arrival of their
God.  Alistair, however, held her back, pulling firmly on her manacled
hands.

   The woman's hope turned to mind-crushing despair when Aaron moved to one
side and grabbed her clothes, piled on one end of the bench.

   "Stupid bitch," he whispered to her.

   Aaron moved away.  Mrs Osborne looked on in agony, like a castaway on a
desert island who sees the rescue ship disappear under the horizon.  Aaron
began to lay Mrs Osborne's clothes on the grass in front of the stroller.

   "Lie down on top of the bitch's clothes," he instructed me.  "We don't
want your back getting wet."

   I did as I was told, my painfully erect prick cooled by the
mid-afternoon breeze blowing through the park.  Aaron again rummaged
through the bag on the stroller, and extracted a bottle of baby oil.  He
tossed it in my direction.  Then he unbuckled the baby's straps and picked
the pint-sized tot up in his arms.  As he walked towards the spot where I
was lying, he kept his eyes fixed on Mrs Osborne's eyes, while speaking to
the infant in a low, husky, but clearly audible voice.

   "Come on, whorebaby, let's have at you."

   Aaron kneeled next to me.  He laid the eleven-month-old child on the
grass, undressed her, and smeared her little cunt and arse liberally with
baby oil.  Then he grabbed her in his strong hands, and raised her in the
air.

   "We're gonna DP this infant fucktoy," he grinned at me.  "You get her
baby cunt."

   I was trembling with excitement.  Like many very young babies, Mrs
Osborne's daughter had a mouthwateringly chubby cunt.  Her outer labia were
turgid with baby fat.  As Aaron rubbed the infant cuntlips on my
hypersensitive glans, I felt as if I was about to fuck a marshmallow.  Then
Aaron put his hand over the tot's mouth to prevent her from screaming, and
shoved her body firmly down onto my cock.  My eight-inch prick stuffed
itself to the hilt into the baby's hot body, making her cute little
belly-button bulge out.  I felt as if I was about to pass out from
pleasure.

   A scream was heard, but it did not come from the baby.  It came from Mrs
Osborne, as Alistair, who had made her bend over the bench, drove his
twelve-inch prick into the woman's hitherto unfucked arse.

   "I'm soooo going to destroy your arse, Mrs Osborne," laughed the jock.
He was doing what he liked best, and enjoying it all the more by doing it
in front of his owner.  Aaron ran quickly to the bench and high-fived
Alistair.  He stopped for a second to watch the twelve-inch prick
pitilessly sodomizing the stupid bitch, whose hands, still tied behind her
back, were contorted in a gesture of agony.  Then Aaron held Alistair's
face in his hands and kissed his mouth passionately.

   "I love you, Alistair."

   "I love you too.  I always will."

   Mrs Osborne's agony was not caused by the oversized jock prick pistoning
her arse.  Nor was it moral pain inflicted by watching me bounce her
eleven-month-old baby on my juicy teenage dong.  No, it was the torture
caused by the insatiable hunger in her cunt, inflamed by the unbearably
exciting, excruciatingly arousing proximity of Aaron's godlike body.  Her
vagina was in flames.  Her engorged, erect clit was on fire.  But, with
exquisite cruelty, Alistair had tied her hands behind her back, stopping
her from frigging herself.  Thus, the monstrous snake invading her arse
only added to her need: her arousal mounted, without being compensated by
the slightest stimulation of her famished clitoris.

   Now fully enjoying the scene, Aaron walked back to the spot where I was
fucking the baby's cunt.  Grinning from ear to ear, he slowly aligned his
engorged member, still covered in the tiny child's saliva, with the tot's
diminutive arsehole.  With a long, smooth movement of his hips, he stuffed
himself into the baby's arse.

   "Aaaah," he exhaled as his body was racked with pleasure.

   The pleasure was indeed overwhelming.  As his cockmeat filled the baby's
arse, the tot's cunt spasmed around my prick.  I could feel Aaron's godlike
cock across the child's internal membranes, his pistoning action caressing
my erection like a masturbating hand inside the infant's hot body.  Most
delicious, most titillating of all, Aaron's sweet ballsac was skimming, oh
ever so lightly, the sensitive skin of my own scrotum.

   Mrs Osborne's mind finally broke.  Most of all, she wanted to see
Aaron's godlike body engaged in vigorous fucking.  She needed to see him
ejaculate, if not in her own hungry cunt, then in her infant daughter's
arse.  She found herself cheering the beautiful pedo boy as he sodomized
her baby, and she fervently prayed to God for a long, creamy ejaculation.
She was grinding her teeth like a lunatic, tortured by her cruelly
neglected clit, while her whole body shook with the thrusts of Alistair's
monstrous prick in her arse.

   As Aaron's orgasm approached, he looked down into my eyes while he
continued to sodomize the baby.

   "And you, nepi fag," he smirked at me, "I turn you on too, don't I?"

   Reader, I lost it.  Aaron's flirtatious banter as we DPed an
eleven-month-old infant brought on a mind-blowing orgasm.  As my prick
swelled in the baby's cunt, the pressure increased on Aaron's own
sodomizing member.  The tot's anal ring tightened around Aaron's meaty
shaft, causing him at last to blow his wad deep in the baby.  A warm liquid
feeling engulfed his crotch and mine.

   "Shit, dude," he exclaimed, "my balls are soaked in your nepi milk!"

   At the same time, Alistair was flooding Mrs Osborne's destroyed arse
with his virile sperm.  Only the females failed to cum, the baby because
she was not capable of orgasms yet, her mother because satisfaction was
cruelly denied her.

   We slowly put our clothes back on and walked away from the scene, Aaron
embracing Alistair's waist with one arm and mine with the other.  We
watched in amusement as Mrs Osborne, her hands still tied behind her back,
crawled on her knees towards her baby.  When she finally reached the
infant, she shoved her mouth hungrily between her little legs, desperately
lapping at the child's arse, trying to taste the remnants of Aaron's divine
sperm.  The young god laughed a joyous, open-throated laugh.

   "Make the most of my splooge, bitch!  You'll never taste it fresh."



   **************************

   This story is pure fantasy.  It is intended solely to assist
masturbation or fantasy sex between consenting adults.

   I love feedback.  Write to me, guys!  <daddymilk@sigaint.org>


   **************************