Bill Anderson

Memorial Day Weekend 2012

Chapter 1

"Tom, you CAN'T go to work tomorrow! Jenny and Phil have had us on the list to help them set up for the Memorial Day block party for the last THREE MONTHS! I can't do all the things that we are on the list for BY MYSELF!"

"Aw, gee, dear. I'm really sorry. It's just that this thing came up. It's important. It's business. I really can't help it."

"You're ALWAYS putting your job before your family! Why can't they get someone else to do whatever it is that you have to do? You can't miss this party! I've spent months helping Jenny and Phil plan this! If you're not there, it's going to look very bad! "

At this point, Jane was elevating her tone to a pretty constant shriek. It was really starting to get on my nerves. And I felt my anger begin to slowly build. This was going to end very badly. I had the gift of sight when it came to these matters. The portents were now becoming very clear to me. And all signs pointed to this becoming one of those particularly ugly scenes. She was in all likelihood going to make me painfully aware of the fact that I'd gone and stepped in some pretty serious shit.

"And what about YOUR daughters? You are the one who was supposed to organize the kick-ball game for the kids! How is that going to make them look? You shit!"

"Well you can take care of that can't you? I mean, it's just a party. Just break out the hot dogs and drinks. Throw the kickball in the direction of the park and tell the kids to go after it. How complicated can it be?" I said these things quietly and in a level tone, with a smile on my face. This was how I delivered my finest brand of bitter sarcasm. I was very annoyed that she was bothering me with these petty matters. Over the past couple of weeks, I had remembered with growing dread that this event was coming up. And I certainly remembered with agonizing regret committing myself to a whole long list of nonsense party preparations that now seemed to me to have been a case of the condemned man having helped organize his own hanging. I had blindly promised all these things to her, and goddamn Jenny and goddamn Phil, months ago to basically facilitate my own exit from a conversation that I hadn't been paying attention to at the time, in any case.

Things got very bad from there on out. I won't bore you with all the details. But she rattled off the list of the apparently immensely complicated steps that had to be observed in a certain precise manner, lest the party collapse into chaos and disorder. She painted a bleak picture of the consequences of my not being there to do those things that I had been foolish enough to assure her that I would do. I then retorted, as I usually would in these conversations, that my job enabled her to live in a $750K suburban home in a nice suburb of Baltimore, without her having to get up off her ass to contribute a dime to the mortgage payment. She then came back, in earthshaking tones, that she essentially had spent the last 10 years raising my two daughters alone.

It was then that I closed the conversation with a "Fuck you!" and walked out of the room.

I locked myself in my home office and calmed down. I was an evil bastard. Of that I was sure. I really didn't NEED to work this weekend. It was my own free choice. No one from the office actually expected me to be there. In my defense, I very much like my work. And it's doing things like working over holidays, that assures that I get large year-end bonuses and promotions, that helps me crawl out from under a $750K mortgage, as well as the huge credit card bills that my wife wracks up that I never, ever complain about. By my way of thinking, I'm more than carrying my load in our marriage. She gives me family trivia to talk about at the office, which really is a vital lubricating social element in the professional world in which I travelled. (That, and a working- knowledge of the Baltimore Ravens starting line-up, I have found is rather more useful in the real world than anything they can teach you in an MBA class.) And I give her a pile of cash with which to realize her suburban dreams. Why does she need to drag me into this other god-awful shit, in which no sane man could possibly have the slightest bit of interest?

There came a knock at my door sometime later. I was coolly informed that she had gotten additional help from others in the neighborhood. A better man than I would have felt empathy at the humiliation that this evidently caused for her, reaching out to her friends, who must have been smirking at her on the other end of the phone while she pleaded for their assistance. Such is the world in which housewives live. Not wanting to reignite the earlier war, I didn't observe that at least they would have lots to talk and titter about together at my expense over the weekend in terms of my being an over-the-top asshole.

"Well, that said, WHAT TIME will you be home? You absolutely will not, NO FUCKING WAY, skip out on the whole event."

I told her that I could have things wrapped up around 3:00 or 4:00. I could then be home around 5:00. This seemed to console her considerably, as 5:00 was about when the tedium would be getting into full swing. Well, I could worry about that unfortunate fact later; one battle at a time, as they say.

I crept out of the house at 5:00 the next morning. It was an easy drive to my office, particularly since it was a weekend. I lived a way's north of Baltimore and my office was located in the downtown area of the city, near the harbor. Normally it took me about an hour to get in. But today I stopped along the way to grab breakfast at an IHOP, and after a leisurely time spent eating and reading the morning paper, I was still able to roll into my office at 6:30.

I worked for a real-estate investment company. Basically we buy up lots of commercial real estate, while other investors turn around and buy shares in our company as a way of playing in the real estate game. My intent in working this weekend was in fact motivated by more than a desire to avoid the hell of the party that my wife was all gung-ho over. I had been eying a couple of strip malls outside of Richmond, Virginia, which looked very promising. And I wanted to finish my analysis in time to get the approval from our company board to move on the properties as soon as possible.

By 9:00, I got the first call from my wife. I dared not ignore the call. I had to promise her in no uncertain terms that I would be on my way home by 3:30. I reconciled myself to my fate. I could at least take solace in the fact that all was well with my proposal; and by Tuesday morning, after the holiday weekend, I would be ready to make my pitch to the board. But things were not to be so predictable for me during this holiday weekend.

At about 9:30, I got a text message. Pittsburg Phil! Holy shit! Not today! The message said, "Got a hot one. He's just for you. Call me, now. I gotta get this set up, in like the next 15 minutes! Fish or cut bait! NOW is the time!"

Pittsburg Phil was my, how shall I put this, entertainment coordinator-relaxation coach. Well, ok. Pittsburg Phil was a pimp. And to me, he was a more valued member of my family than my wife or daughters. Because as I'm sure you can imagine a pimp who specialized in little boys is a rare and precious thing indeed. As his name implied, he worked out of Pittsburg. By trolling the depressed industrial areas of Pennsylvania and Eastern Ohio he'd amassed a pretty good stable of attractive prepubescent boys and young teens, whose parents were happily free enough of morals that they were willing to bring in money any way they could. As it happens, this was why I worked damn hard to make sure that most of my portfolio of properties that I brought in for the company was but a short drive away from locations where Phil could conveniently schedule dates with one or another of his boys. So it was easy for me to arrange a night of passion buried up to my nuts in an 11 year-old boy's ass, and then cover my tracks with a trip to buy up an apartment building located two towns over. Such had been my very happy working life for the past several years.

I snatched up my cell phone and walked towards the elevator. I always talked to Phil outside the office building, at a private spot behind the parking garage. Even though no one else was in the building today, it was these little habits that kept me out of trouble.

I took up my usual station, and then called him up.

"Tom, dude! You got my text! You at home today?"

"No, Phil. I'm at the office."

"Shit! I thought I was the only one working!"

"Not with what you charge for a date, Phil. How do you think I manage to afford it?"

"Ha-ha! Well, buddy, if you want to complain about prices, you should go with women."

"Try looking at what I pay to keep a wife, Phil. Then decide just how cheap you think women are."

"Ha-ha! I know, Tom. I've listened to your complaining for YEARS. But, anyway, listen the reason I wanted to talk, I got a good one. I mean a really sweet kid. His name's Derrick. He's 10. Brown hair, bowl cut. Real clean cut looking kid, just the way you like. His uncle's bonked him a bunch. But he's not screwed up. I mean, he's nice and compliant, real good company, if you know what I mean."

"I got you. He knows how to handle dick in a live fire situation."

"Exactly! And here's his pic, sending it right now." A second later, the picture of the kid came through on a text. And Phil wasn't lying. The kid was sweet and cute. He was wearing a denim jacket, jeans, and t-shirt. He looked kind of forlorn. But he had a very nice face, cute, almost pretty, and definitely all-boy. He was just the kind who really rang my bell. And right away, I wanted him in a big way. I had to have him.

"Nice, Phil, really nice. Where is he, and can you hook me up with a date tomorrow or Monday?"

"That's the thing, Tom." His mom wants some quick cash so she can spend the weekend in Atlantic City. She's handing him over to me at 5:00 this afternoon. I'm hoping I can hook him up for the weekend. I hand him over say at about 6:00 this evening, and then get him back Monday afternoon, about when his no good mother gets back in town. I figure that's a good solid weekend of ass pounding, which would only run $2500 for the lucky man who seized the opportunity. If you can't jump now, just let me know. I've got a Methodist minister in Cincinnati who would be just as happy to rip this kid's clothes off of his hot little body. So he's my next call if you're not interested right now. I can always schedule you for next weekend. I mean, you'd probably be his first booking after this weekend."

The thing to have done would have been to schedule a date for next weekend. It would have been an easy thing to arrange, an completely uncomplicated and painless common sense solution for all concerned. But that pretty little face, so sweet and so vulnerable, I wasn't about to let some Methodist minister from Cincinnati, Ohio see those lips wrapped around his cock before I'd had the privilege. Such is the reasoning of a man whose actions can be governed by the snap of a boy's fingers.

"Fuck that, Phil. I'm good to go. Half to your PayPal right now, same as usual?"

"Yeh, Tom. You got it. Can you get here by 6:00? I mean, I can hold him 'til 7:00 or 8:00, since I know you're on your way."

I shot the $1250 to Phil's account while he talked. "Well, it's only about 10:00. I'll cut out in the next few minutes. It's only about four or five hours. So I'll be there in plenty of time. Is it actually in Pittsburg?"

"No. He's actually just the other side of Wheeling. Here's the address where I'll be. It's a Super 8 Motel right on the river." I got the address and dropped it into my phone's GPS. It mapped out a trip of just over five hours.

"O.K., I'm thinking that I can definitely be there at 6:00. I'll check into the motel. Then you come around and drop him off, same as always."

"That's a plan, my friend! See you then!" When he'd hung up, I was left with the creeping dread of dealing with Wife Thing. The job thing was no problem. I could still easily have that all wrapped up during the course of the following week. But Wife Thing was another matter altogether.

Do you know the Henry Fonda movie, Fail Safe, where he's being told what he'll hear when the U.S Ambassador's phone in Moscow melts from the heat of a nuclear explosion? My next fifteen minutes were along those lines. I was literally numb and raddled from the searing heat and rage that travelled from my phone at home, and blasted out into my ear. I had quickly cooked up some horse shit line about having to deal with a sudden emergency down in Richmond related to the strip malls. I was good at this. Half my life was based on being able to spin webs like this at the drop of a hat. Not to mention the lies that my job demanded of me, since after all my job essentially had to do with buying and selling real estate.

My wife was seriously pissed. But she was used to the dance. I ended up owing her, my daughters, and her and my parents a Disney cruise over 4th of July weekend. That was harsh punishment of a particularly brutal kind. But I told her to go ahead and schedule it. $6,500 down a rat hole, I thought. I suitably swore up and down that I would be on the boat with her and, shudder, her and my parents. And there was no way out. In the life I lead, a karma meter in my head was an absolute requirement. It's not the same as a conscience, but it does get you many of the same results. I always knew when I had abused a person's trust about as much as I could get away with, and that the time had come to accrue back some of that lost karma. Fucking my wife on Memorial Day so badly, and I do mean REALLY badly, had blown away a whole bunch of the karma in one big go, I couldn't afford to let it go any farther than that. Maybe Phil could even plant a boy on the boat with me. That sure would make it fun for me! If might be something that could be pulled off. Crazier things had been known to happen. I made memo to myself on my I-Phone to ask Phil about it.

By 11:00, I was on the road to Wheeling. I was happy. Young Derrick and I were going to have a wonderful couple of days together. And already the little wigglers in my balls were getting all excited at the prospect of being sent on a mission to explore the little boy's insides. They were the lucky ones. Unlike the ones who got rudely slammed against the wall of a latex condom, while I performed the unfortunate duties that befell me in my domestic life.

By 4:30, I was pulling into the parking lot of the Super 8 Motel where Phil was to meet me. After going to my room, I texted him to let him know that I'd arrived. He texted back that he had picked up the kid from his mom, and was about a half hour away somewhere across the river in Ohio, and was on his way. I told him to meet me at my room at 7:00 instead of 6:00, which he was cool with. This would give me time to freshen up.

I'd buzzed out of town with absolutely no change of clothes. Having been on the go since early in the morning, despite the euphoria I was feeling at the prospect of soon banging this little kid, I was still kind of shagged. I showered quickly, and headed out to a Wal-Mart that I had passed on the way in. I got myself a change of clothes, as well as a few clothes for Derrick. From the picture, I could judge his size pretty well, and I now had some experience at knowing what clothes size would fit kids of a certain age. We were going to be together through Monday, and I didn't know if he would have anything to change into. A mom who prostitutes her son for money to travel to Atlantic City can't be expected to have taken care of little details like that.It was my all to frequent experience that they didn't. I also grabbed a couple of enemas, and a large jar of Vaseline.

I cruised around the area a little bit more, finding a mall we could hang out at tomorrow. I'd shower the guy whatever gifts he wanted me to buy him, as I always did with these boys. I kind of figured that I owed them that much. I then put in a quick call to my wife, letting her know that I'd arrived safely (as if she cared) in Richmond. I knew Richmond well enough to spin yet another small web of lies about where I was staying, enough details to make things totally convincing. I could hear the party going on in the background, so I knew she was preoccupied with that, and probably didn't need to hear any of this. But it was these little extra efforts that I had made into a habit that kept me out of trouble. To most, the truth is easier to remember than a lie. But that's not how my mind works, at all. After all, I buy and sell real estate for a living.

A few minutes of 7:00, and I was sitting in my room watching CNN. Then Phil was knocking on my door. I opened it up, and we greeted each other like the old friends that we were. Derrick shuffled into the room, and sat down in a chair. He stared at the wall in front of him, ignoring us. I settled up with Phil, shooting him the other $1250 I owed him. He told me that he would be back to pick up Derrick at noon on Monday. I asked him if he was able to maybe help me out with something special, hinting at my Disney Cruise problem. I didn't want to go into a lot of details right then. But I told him that I could see dropping maybe seven or ten grand for a few days worth of very discrete youthful company. He told me that he could make just about anything happen for a fee like that. He had a large grin on his face, and I told him that I'd talk to him about the details sometime tomorrow. Meanwhile, there was Derrick to attend to.

Phil exited the room, and Derrick and I were left on our own. I wasn't nervous or anything. I'd been in these situations enough times to feel confident that I was in charge. And Phil knew boys well enough to know how they were likely to act. And any kid he thought would give a client a hard time, he wouldn't touch him. So there never were any real surprises in these situations.

"Hey, kiddo, I'm Tom. So you're Derrick?"

"Uh, yeh." He stared at me and said this in a matter-of- fact manner. I drank him in. Damn, I was glad I'd jumped on him and not waited until next weekend. He was a serious cutie. Phil knew that my physical ideal was a kid along the lines of Kevin Zegers, from Air Bud. This brown haired sexpot came pretty damn close to matching that type.

I sat down in the other chair next to him. "Did Phil get you dinner on the way here?"

"Uh, no." He was kind of flat and lifeless. Whatever personality lived inside Derrick's head was currently rolled up into a ball, not wanting to come out. Some guys were fine with that. Some guys would rip his clothes off, toss him on the bed, and spend the next couple of days treating him like a kid sized inflatable doll. But for me, part of my desire for boys was because they were boys. I liked to see them smile and laugh. I liked to hear them talk when they were happy or enthusiastic about something. I needed to see them happy at least once while we were doing this thing together or for me the whole date was ruined, and it became just a bitter memory that I did not want to recall, regardless of how nice the sex had been. I knew that I wasn't maybe the best thing that was ever going to happen to them in their lives. But I wasn't as bad as some of the people I knew that they were likely to encounter. And in the real world, that's got to count for something. So a smile from a boy that I was paying to have sex with did not to me seem like too much to ask.

"Hey, look, there's a McDonald's a couple of blocks away. Wanna take a ride over with me?"

"Uh, sure!" He smiled at me. Boys are so easy.

The McDonald's was close enough to walk to. So I decided that we could do that rather than drive. It would also give me opportunity to chat with him, to get him to loosen up, before the time came to loosen him up in that other way. The side-walk ran right along the Ohio River. So Derrick got pretty lively, pointing out the boats that were running up and down the river. So the walk had the effect that I intended. I got to see my little boy as a bubbly little boy. I touched him for the first time during our short walk, letting my arm come to rest on his shoulder. He flinched as I did this, and gave me a look that was not altogether friendly, but I left it there all the same. After a little while he seemed to accept it.

We sat together and enjoyed a reasonably pleasant dinner together. I always marveled that I could sit in the middle of a public place, with a boy that I would to the utmost of my ability be molesting in only a very short while. There was just something pleasingly ironic at buying a Happy Meal for a little boy, who I would soon be shooting full of cum. Derrick contentedly chewed on his cheeseburger, as I looked at him and had these thoughts. I also laid out some fun plans for him tomorrow, telling him about a trip to the mall to let him get what he pleased. He really brightened up at the prospect of having a shopping spree.

Before leaving the McDonald's, we stopped off in the bathroom. It was then that I felt the need to test him a bit before the real fun started back at the room. I stood next to him in the urinal. I didn't have to go, but he did. When he finished with his business, I leered at his little boy's cocklette, and reached down and started stroking it. The reaction I was hoping for was what I got. He didn't make any attempt to slap my hand away or anything. I already knew he wouldn't freak out or try to run away. Phil made sure that no boy who would ever react in such an embarrassing or potentially disastrous way ever got served up to a client. But sometimes the boys could have some barriers that needed to be breached. But Derrick seemed to really react positively as I stroked his dick to its hardened state.

"Oh, yeh, mister. Do that for me. I like it, I really like that shit."

"Jeez, Derrick, call me Tom." I kept stroking him, slowly. "Did your uncle do this for you?" I remembered from talking to Phil earlier in the day, that Derrick's uncle had already been fucking him.

"Yeh! And he sucked it. You wanna suck it?" As tempting as the little morsel in my hand was, I daren't actually drop down and slurp it up in a McDonald's bathroom.

"Let's get back to the room, my little friend. Then we can really start to play!" He positively beamed at me.

We headed out just in time. Someone was heading in just as soon as we'd exited the room. We hiked back to the motel a little faster than we'd moved before. The kid was primed, and really wanted his dick sucked. And I certainly was in the mood to satisfy his need.

Safely back in the room, my hand immediately went to his crotch. He was already hard as stone down there. I massaged him firmly as I leaned down to kiss him full on the mouth. He didn't offer the slightest resistance. In fact, his mouth opened to receive me, and his tongue started stabbing mine with great enthusiasm. He was hot, this one, a real natural it seemed. I gave thanks to God that his uncle seemed to have taken some care when he moved on the kid, as it seemed to me that he really was welcoming my sexual attention.

I knelt down in front of him as we both stood by the motel room door. Pulling his jeans and briefs down with one yank, I was immediately hit by the sweaty crotch smell of the little boy. I groaned with happiness as I drank in the wondrous aroma. Leaning forward, I took his cock into my mouth, and then it was Derrick's turn to groan. Reaching around to cup his tight buns in my hands, I applied my cock sucking skills to the smooth little stalk in my mouth.

Derrick writhed and squealed at my ministrations. His hands went to my head to stabilize himself, and once recovered from the shock of the sudden pleasure that he was feeling, he started a fucking motion in my mouth. Whether this was spontaneous or not, I didn't know. But I stopped my sucking and just knelt there in front of him, letting him more or less have his way with my mouth, only actively participating by slathering his cock with my tongue as he went in and out.

He really built up some speed, and got to where he was going like a rabbit. "Oh, shit, yeh! So fucking great. So fucking great. Shit, gonna cum, here it comes. FUCK!" Then he squealed like only a prepubescent boy in the throes of orgasm could. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He bucked his cock into my mouth a few more times, riding out his dry cum. Then his grip on my head relaxed, and he just sagged as I let his deflating cock slip out of my mouth.

I kept my hands on his butt. And, still kneeling, I hugged him, and then kissed his tummy. .

"Thanks, that was nice, Tom."

"Glad to help. You must have been very horny."

"I was! I like to do sex stuff. But I've only ever done it with my uncle. So when I found out I was gonna do sex with some other guy… I got kind of scared. But you seemed nice. And since you sucked my dick, I know that means you like me! I was afraid, really afraid that you'd hurt me. You know, just stick it in my butt and then do it hard. My uncle always does it to me slow. So it really doesn't hurt at all anymore. Can you do it like that? I mean, so that it doesn't hurt for me?"

"Well, I do like you, Derrick, I like you a lot! And I wouldn't dream of doing anything at all to hurt you at all, ever, for any reason." I kissed him on the mouth, and he responded as he did before. We kissed each other deeply for quite some time, with him wrapping his arms tightly around my neck, and pressing his warm body closely to mine. I hugged him back, letting my hands cup his bare ass-cheeks, rubbing and massaging them. With my fingers, I pried his crack apart, letting one finger massage and pry at his rosebud, giving him an idea of how much I wanted to get inside him.

I whispered into his ear, "Ok, baby, I think it's time to get serious." I got up and led him by the hand towards the bathroom. He stepped out of his pants, which were still around his feet, and I helped peal the rest of his clothes off, until he stood before me naked. I couldn't resist bending down to suck each of his nipples, which elicited from him more groans of joy and pleasure.

I walked over to the bed, and grabbed the bag of Vaseline and enemas that I'd gotten at the Wal-Mart earlier in the day. "You know how to use these?"

"Yeh. I'll take care of it!" I left him to do his business, as he walked into the bathroom to deal with the one bit of boy sex that I just really didn't want to get involved in.

I stripped down, sat on the bed, and toyed with my own leaking hard-on, while I waited for him to finish. I heard the toilet flush and the shower come on, and then I headed into the bathroom, to join my little lover in the shower. He immediately went right for my cock, starting to jack it for me. I bent down and sucked on his ear and neck, and let him toy with my dick so that he could get used to it. He surprised me a little, when without warning, he dropped down to his knees and sucked the whole thing right into his mouth. In a flash, the boy was sucking me ALL the way in, his head bobbing up and down on my entire cock. Damn, what a whore, I thought!

He was a loud and messy cocksucker, that's for sure. He slurped and slurped and slurped. And I had to lean forward and stead myself on the towel rack.

"Shit. Slow down, Derrick. What's in my balls is for your ass. I can feed you some stuff later, if you want."

He broke off from his sucking. And with my cock still in his hand, he looked up and grinned. "OK! I think I'm ready for you to fuck me, now."

We got out of the shower and dried off. He trotted right over to the bed, without even being needed to be told. He crawled onto the bed and arranged a pillow in the middle, and then crawled on top of it so that he ended up lying on his stomach. He looked back at me, and said "I hope this is ok. I mean, this is the position I like to do it in. If you just go really slow, then it shouldn't hurt me at all."

"No problem, baby. I'll do just like you say." I crawled up onto the bed, and placed the Vaseline that I'd grabbed out of the bathroom onto the nightstand. I got some on my fingers, and then smeared it up and down my primed cock. Derrick had done a really great job at getting me ready with his blowjob. I felt like I had about a thousand gallons of jizz that needed to be blasted out of the end of my dick at the speed of sound.

I maneuvered behind him, and then leaned over him, kissed him on the back of the neck. "You're so beautiful, baby. I don't want to hurt you. I want you to love it as much as I do, sweet little boy, my sweet little boy." I positioned the tip of my cock at the entrance to his hole. I felt him tense in fear and anticipation. I then pressed slowly forward, looking only to breach him slightly, in order to get a sense of how quickly his body would yield to me.

But the boy was a marvel. His diligent uncle had trained him magnificently in all areas of man/boy love, it seemed. His sphincter gave way immediately, and the tip of my cock entered him. He winced at the sudden invasion. But that was all. "That hurt at all, baby?"

"Nuh uh. You're doing it right. Just don't push in quick." I followed his instruction, and started pushing my pole in a little bit at a time. But it really wasn't slow by some standards. I'd had some boys who were whiners. You really had to work it in SLOW with kids like that. This pace really felt like a normal, steady pace. And soon enough, I was up to my nuts in 10 year-old boy ass. I groaned quite loudly at the thrill of another conquest. This was what I and my cock lived for. Another boy was soon going to be the lucky recipient of the contents of my balls!

"Ok, kid, here we go, ready for the ride?"

I got a muffled "Guess so," from somewhere out of the pillow where his face was buried. I couldn't tell if there were any tears. I hoped that weren't.

What followed was more about me. There was time for sweetness and gentleness when loving a boy. But for me the actual fuck didn't allow for anything like that. This was a physical manifestation of my taking possession of a boy – it was where I completely and totally claimed the body that I'd speared with my cock.

From the first couple of strokes, with the wonderful sensation of Derrick's velvety insides rubbing against my cock, I was in a world of my own. All that existed was my cock, and the hole that I was fucking, and the distant goal of release that I gradually ran faster and faster to reach. I just desperately need to spew my sperm into this hole. Nothing else mattered. I slammed harder and harder, and I was dimly aware of a Yip! Yip noise, which I knew to be apparent sounds of pleasure that Derrick was making each time he was pounded into the pillow on my down stroke.

"You're going to get it soon, boy! Do you want it? Do you want daddy to cum all over your insides?"

"Yip! Yip! Yip!"

The moment to seed was now close. There was no stopping a man who had as his singular object to squirt his essence into the orifice he was screwing. And that's all Derrick was at the moment, an orifice making little, distant "yip, yip" noises, as my cock slid in and out of it.

And then the moment arrived. And I ejected the first rope of searing cum into Derrick's waiting rectum! And I roared in triumph! This was not a moan of orgasm. With boys, for me it never was such a noise as one makes at the moment of common orgasm. I experienced those with my wife, when such things were unavoidable. For me, that first release inside of a boy that I was fucking, as it always did, felt like Caesar conquering Gaul: For I knew of no other way to describe it, but as a moment of conquest. No matter where he went, and no matter who else he screwed, he would ALWAYS be mine. Each boy I fucked lived inside of me. And I could daily feel their presence. I felt as though as my sperm was pumped into a boy, I pulled his soul out of him at the same time. And so it was with this boy, as I gritted my teeth, clenched my eyes shut, and traded essences with the impaled body of Derrick underneath me… and, as I took his soul from his body, he in return received the gift of my seed. And as sure as I knew that the sun would rise in the East the next morning, I was assured that Derrick now and forever was MY dear, sweet Derrick. It's a weird ego thing, I know. But if you hadn't gathered, there's not much in my life that is not equally weird.

Spent and sated, like most males, I just collapsed onto my partner. I moaned happily in a low tone, and I placed kisses on Derrick's head, neck, cheek, and ear, in fact on any part of his body that I could easily lay my lips on as I laid on top of him.

"Get off me! You're crushing me!" I rolled off, my cock plopping out of his ass. I sat up next to him and checked the condition of his hole – always a huge moment of pride for me, seeing a read and swollen boy hole that I'd just screwed so magnificently. I slapped his ass cheeks, both of them, and poked at his hole until my finger slipped into him.

"Whatya doing that for? Aren't you done?" I didn't answer, but porked him for a few moments, then pulled my finger out. I was greeted with the sight of a small rivulet of semen flowing out of him. I smeared it onto my finger, then, to his surprise, pushed my finger into his mouth.

"Told ya I'd feed ya!" I held his head with my other hand, as I forced him to suck my finger clean.

Finally, I let him go. "Ew! Gross! Not out of my ass! I thought you meant you'd let me suck you off." He wiped his face with a certain amount of disgust. But he still seemed to be in good spirits, considering that he was a 10-year old boy who'd just been fucked in the ass.

I laughed. And then he started laughing. I lay down, and pulled him on top of me, and pulled his face to mine. We locked lips again, and just smooched happily. Kissing with a young boy can turn a man on again like nothing else that I know of. Within only a few minutes, my cock was fully primed for action. From where Derrick was laying, he felt it. "Want to eat a fresh load, kid? Not something recycled out of your butt?"

"Yay!" He crawled down to where he was hovering over my cock. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed.

"I felt my cock enveloped once more by the wonderful sensation of his skilled mouth. This was different from a fuck of domination. This was a sweet little boy, who of his own free will was giving me love. This was also a hungry boy, who was moaning and pumping on my cock with both hands, frantically trying to extract a load of jizm that he badly wanted to eat.

Though it's hard to compare to the sacred ritual that is fucking a boy, to have an eager kid putting forth all the effort, while you just lie back and admire his talent, is in a way even more exciting and erotic. This was a need that arose from within the boy himself. And to me it might have even seemed like I had really made him all mine.

"Shit, kid, get ready. I'm about to feed you." He honestly did squeal with pleasure, as I erupted into his mouth. Christ he was a pedo's dream! This little kid LOVED to eat a man's load of cum! He didn't spit it out. He didn't reluctantly swallow, because that was what Phil told him was part of the job that he was getting paid (or rather, the parents getting paid) to do. This kid ate the load, because he loved it.

When I'd squirted my last, I opened my eyes to the sight of Derrick now kneeling on the bed, flogging his little kid's dickie with amazing intensity. His two fingers and thumb were a blur. I watched completely fascinated by the site of the prepubescent boy masturbating with such great fury. When he'd squeaked out the last vocal expression of his boyish orgasm, he crawled back up into my arms.

It was late now. I rearranged the bed, and pulled the covers over us. Derrick was already asleep. I turned out the light, and the room was completely dark except for the little light that got in through the window blinds from the parking lot outside. I moved into a comfortable position, with one arm wrapped around Derrick; as he lay with his head on my shoulder, now sound asleep. I felt myself drifting off, with the sound of his breathing, and the sensation of his hair on my shoulder and face. The strangely pleasant smelling Super 8 motel shampoo that he'd used in his hair was the last thing I thought about, before I, too, drifted off to sleep.