Cosmo

Diary of a Shota Boy

Chapters 7-11

One afternoon Guus came to see me in my room. It was very unusual for Guus. He rarely ventured into any boy's room. That was one of the things I liked about Guus, he never invaded our private space. Sure it was his club and his hotel, but he respected our territory and never entered a boy's room unless he had permission. So he knocked on my door. I was lounging on my bed at the time. I was just reading. Nothing heavy, only Sherlock Holmes 'The Sign of Four'. I was naked. I hardly ever got dressed these days. I worked naked and fucked naked so there seemed little point in putting clothes on when I was off duty. I got up and opened the door. He asked if he could have a quick word, so I invited him in. Guus didn't bat an eyelid as I let him slip into my room. He had already had my little ass many times, so neither of us were fazed by my nakedness. Tell the truth, I was thinking about the last time he fucked me, which was a good few weeks ago now. I remembered that afternoon when he had spent a good long time with his head way down between my legs, examining my stiffie at close quarters, kissing it gently all over and telling me what a beautiful cock I had. He was always admiring my little dick. He was full of compliments, Guus was. He was such a schmoozer. That was before he licked my star until it was slick with saliva and then laid me on his pudgy belly and stuck his big fat dick into me. That was what was going through my mind as he was talking. He stood in the middle of the room and, as he spoke, I could see him glancing strategically down at my hand as I was groping my crotch. My little cock was getting hard as I cupped my genitals in my fist. I tried to focus on what Guus was saying.

"So will you see him?" he asked.

I hadn't been listening.

"What? Who?"

"This client?" Guus repeated, a little peeved at my distractedness, "He's very important – top UN brass – and he's looking for a nice boy."

I shrugged, pretty non-committal, but secretly flattered that Guus had chosen me for this assignment.

"Sure," I said, "I'll see him."

Guus smiled.

"You're a good boy," he said, relieved but grateful.

It was not common practice for any of us shota boys to be available when the club was closed. This was our downtime, and the only time of the day we could recuperate from the rigors of the sexual treadmill we were all engaged in. But Guus came to see me knowing I was usually quite good humored and amenable, and as a favor to Guus, I agreed to see him. I didn't know who this client was, or why he was looking to fuck boy ass out of hours, but he must have been important to Guus. And hey, it wasn't as if I was doing anything constructive.

"Oh, I should let you know," said Guus, pausing on his way back out, "he's got someone with him."

Then Guus disappeared without further explanation.

That was curious. Guus knew very well that no boy was allowed to entertain two men at once. It was too risky. Two-boys-one-man, yes, but two-men-one-boy was a no-no. I decided to slip my boxer briefs on anyway, already curious as to who this important visitor was going to be.

A few minutes later Guus came back and showed the man in. He was in uniform, as I suspected. No doubt another member of the joint UN forces of UNVERO, but I couldn't work out what origin. He was pretty senior though, and his dress uniform was festooned with emblems and lots of gold braid. Guus wasn't kidding when he described him as 'top brass'. I was about to shut the door when I realized he had a little boy with him. That was something I hadn't bargained for. He came into the room with the little boy in tow. Guus bade them farewell and left. I shut the door behind them.

"This is my son," the man said, looking at the little boy, "He won't be any trouble."

I looked at the little pixie-like boy. He was very small, probably no more than 8 years old, and he was looking quite bemused and apprehensive. But he was very pretty. He had a big mop of shiny chestnut brown hair, a little narrow nose that was slightly upturned, and large liquid eyes that were cute and inviting. He also had big round ears that stuck out slightly, giving him the air of a cheeky scamp. He turned away shyly as I looked down at him.

"Daddy's going to have a meeting now," he said to the boy, "Why don't you wait in the other room?"

The little boy nodded acquiescently, although I wasn't sure how convinced he was. After all, what type of meeting could this be with me standing there in boxer briefs? He didn't question it though. I kinda felt sorry for him. I knew his daddy was there to sex me up in the most uncompromising way, but it was going to be no fun for the kid having to hang around in the next room while his daddy got his rocks off in the ass of another boy.

I took the boy's frail little hand and led him into the next room. I was sure I could find something to keep the boy occupied while his daddy and I were fucking. I slipped open the adjoining door and took him over to the little bookstand. He sat down at the big oak writing desk and waited, with his little palms resting cutely on the desk in front of him. I picked out the most interesting book I could find, a big and colorful volume of 'The Dangerous Book for Boys' and put it on the desk in front of him.

"Here," I said, opening the brightly colored cover.

The gold letters of the title glinted as I flipped the big book open. He looked up at me nervously and smiled.

"You'll enjoy this," I said, "It's one of my favorite books."

He started looking at the colorful illustrations and he seemed pleased by it.

"Will you be okay?" I asked him.

He looked up briefly, nodding reassuringly, then went back to flipping through the book. What a lovely little boy he was.

So I left him with the book and closed the adjoining door. Then I went back to finish my encounter with his father, who was already undressed and was sitting on the edge of my bed in his underwear. I could see the elongated lump of his erection in his boxers, no doubt already anticipating a punishingly stiff fuck. He was a good looking guy too, with a lovely thick head of hair and movie star features, and that same cute slightly upturned nose and protruding ears that his little boy had. You knew straight away he was the boy's father.

When we got down to business, this guy was extremely proficient in bed. He was a very accomplished boyfucker, obviously very experienced, and knew exactly what to do. He was quite affectionate too, holding me very close as he maneuvered me onto his lap, fucking up into me while I was perched astride him. He kissed my face and neck as he was stabbing up into my boycunt. Kissing didn't usually figure in my encounters, but this guy certainly knew the value of it. Tell the truth he really turned me on. His dick was big and stiff and he sure knew how to use it. He seemed to want to pleasure me too. These were the kind of boyfuckers I liked, the ones who really appreciated that part of the sexual transaction was to pleasure your lover as well as yourself. Well he certainly did that. He was one of the very few tricks that actually took time to make me cum while we were fucking. He obviously got pleasure from giving his little lovers an orgasm too, and I knew straight away what he was driving at because he kept altering the angle of his thrusting into my hole, no doubt looking for my gland. When he hit it square on, I stiffened, and that seemed to galvanize him even further. He carried on holding me close, his big hands on my back, holding me upright on his lap, looking lovingly into my face, and he went on stabbing impetuously, hitting my gland repeatedly. I knew he was going to make me cum like that. It sent me into a strange delirium – the kind of plateau phase of sex that I didn't often achieve with my tricks – where you stayed for a while on a plane of heightened pleasure, just on the brink of what you knew was going to be a cum of great profundity. And he was relentless, stimulating my gland to ever greater sensitivity. He carried on striking my little button until it became unbearable. When I could stand no more, my little body exploded. I felt this sudden rush of pure pleasure that rose up gradually building momentum like a distant tidal wave, completely overpowering me and finally crashing ashore, ripping through my whole body with a vast seizure of ecstatic release. It made my little cock pulse with such power and intensity that it spat out a little bullet of clear kidspunk that hit him on his lips and chin. For a few moments it pulsed madly, waggling about aimlessly in my crotch, pressed between us, and a few more serene little jets shot out and dripped back down the end of my little dick and the clear drops ran down my hairless crotch, making my tight little balls wet. He held the back of my head and tipped our foreheads together, looking into my eyes and smiled. He knew the pleasure he afforded me, and looked pleased. He had this benevolent smile on his lips, as pleased with my orgasm as I was. I took a few moments to get my breath back. I loved having the spunk fucked out of me, and it wasn't easy to induce a hands-free cum like that, but this guy knew exactly what he was doing. This guy was damn good.

When he had pleasured me, and made sure that I was happy, he concentrated on blowing his load into me. Well, he had been so good to me, I decided to make it good for him too. I used my best technique to squeeze the muscles of my boycunt every time he stabbed into me, tightening my hole to increase his pleasure. He felt it too. The first time I did it, he gasped and his eyes widened. Then I knew that I was creating a tangible sensation for his big dick. When I did it again, he gasped again, and this time he smiled. He knew I was doing it deliberately and the look in his eyes acknowledged that I was making this extra effort for him. He relaxed into it and submitted to me, closing his eyes in appreciation and letting himself feel the pleasure of my experienced little cunt. He carried on stabbing away. I bounced up and down a little, meeting his thrusts. When he was getting close, he leaned back submissively and allowed me to usher him towards a really powerful cum. He could feel it. Ages before it hit, his breaths became short and quick and he closed his eyes, preparing for the onslaught. Then suddenly, his whole body shuddered violently and this deep, almost guttural vocalization emanated from his throat and then ceased in strangulated pleasure. It was quite loud. I knew his little boy in the next room must have heard it. Then for a few long seconds he was consumed by the pleasure of his orgasm and I could feel his big dick pulsing away, sheathed tightly in my sensitive little snatch, and I felt every twinge and throb as he ejaculated deep inside me. His spunk was warm and comforting, coating the insides of my little chute with his therapeutic cream, soothing the savage sting of his punishingly big cock.

When his orgasm subsided, he thrust into me a few more times, wringing every last spark of pleasure out of my little body, and finally withdrew. His dick was softening and it looked pretty beat up. I could feel my hole slowly closing in the absence of his intrusion, and a little of his spunk was just leaking out and pooling in my perineum. We sat on the bed for a few moments facing each other while we got our breath back. He looked at me and smiled, clearly impressed.

"Thank you," he said, "That was fantastic."

I knew immediately that an unspoken agreement had been struck. He would be back for more. There was no doubt about it. He was already hooked on my little cunt.

We finished up in satisfied silence. I got him a towel, and he wiped himself off as I cleaned up in the bathroom. I slipped back into my boxer briefs as he prepared to leave. When he was dressed, he went to get his son from the next room. The boy emerged without any questions or complaints. He just followed his dad. Before they left, his father took out a slim leather pocket book from inside his tunic and extracted several fresh, crisp notes, which he stuffed gratefully into my hands. It was a lot more than I'd bargained for. This guy obviously knew the going rate, and he had doubled it.

"Thanks," I said, gratefully, slightly incredulous.

He smiled at that, and paused for a moment just to admire my face with a look of wondrous approval. He liked me. That made me very pleased with myself. But more than that, he was impressed with my performance. It sure was nice to know your efforts were appreciated.

After he and the boy had gone, I took a few moments to tidy up. I went about the room straightening stuff up and found the book the boy had been reading, still lying open on the desk. I closed the big, slim volume and slipped it back onto the shelf. Then I went and showered. Soon it would be time for dinner, and not long after that I would be back at work, plying my trade in the smoky atmosphere of the club way down in the basement.

After my shower I was a little more invigorated and fresher, but still somewhat fatigued. My hole was still a little sore, and so were my thighs, from where that guy had stretched my legs really wide across his lap. Tell you the truth, I felt matted and bruised all over. But that was normal. I was tired and feeling the need for some sustenance. I knew I would feel better after I had something to eat.

I decided to go along to the kitchen to see what was for dinner. I slipped back out into the passageway. As I shut the door behind me, I turned, and there was a little figure furtively languishing in the shadows over by the elevator shaft. I knew he wasn't waiting for the elevator. The elevator hadn't worked in months. The hallway was always dimly lit and he seemed to emerge from the shadows of the alcove between the elevator shaft and the stairway, revealing himself to me as I pulled the door to.

"Hi!" he said, beaming with enthusiasm, almost as though he expected me to be pleased to see him.

I recognized him immediately as the boy who had accompanied his father earlier, and had sat in the room next door while his father was busily plowing my little ass.

"Hi," I replied, with a descending inflection, not sure what he was doing here and suspicious of his motives.

He just stood there beaming at me.

"Where's your daddy?" I asked him.

"He's dwinking in the bar," he replied, in his little high-pitched voice.

"So what are you doing up here?"

"I'm weally bored," he said, plainly.

I noticed the way he spoke. He was one of those little boys that had trouble pronouncing his R"s. I thought that was so cute.

"I don't think you should be up here, " I said, "Why don't you go back to your daddy?"

"Can't I hang awound here with you?" he asked, plaintively.

"Why?" I asked.

He giggled nervously, and looked down shyly.

"There was something I wanted to ask you," he said.

I stopped and looked at this innocent looking little boy. He was quite cute in his own way, slight and diminutive, with that fresh-faced precocity that was instantly appealing. He was a pretty little thing, with his pixie-like face and those slightly protruding ears. His allure was instantly captivating.

"What did you want to ask me?"

"Why did my daddy give you money?" he asked, going right ahead with whatever was on his mind.

Obviously a reference to the transaction that had taken place in my room earlier.

"Your daddy gave me money so I would play with him," I explained, in the simplest terms I knew.

He stood there for a moment, assimilating this information, and clearly contemplating the repercussions.

"That's what I do," I went on, elaborating further, "Guys who are lonely pay me money so that I will play with them."

He seemed to be happy with that explanation, and he cocked his head to one side, clearly considering his response. He shifted his weight from one tiny foot to the other, and hung his head down in thought. Then, slowly, he raised his little head and his expression looked more hopeful. He reached into the back pocket of his little jeans.

"I've saved twenty five dollars," he said, holding out a sheaf of rumpled bills in his little hands, and proffering them to me, "will you play with me?"

I have to admit, that really threw me. I had never been propositioned by someone so young, and certainly never with such touching innocence. His cuteness and naivety was disarming, tell you the truth. He stood there, this tiny boy, with those greenbacks in his little outstretched hands, like Oliver asking for another bowl of gruel, and my heart absolutely melted.

I smiled and pushed his outstretched hands away.

"Put that away," I said, moving towards him, "you're my friend. There's no charge for you."

"Oh, cool!" he exclaimed.

He seemed delighted and more than a little relieved by that, tentatively withdrawing his offering. With a resigned shrug, he stuffed the greenbacks into his pocket again.

"My name's Cloud," I said, "What's yours?"

"My name's Simon-Peter," he said.

"Hello Simon-Peter," I said, and I held out my hand as though we'd just met, "that's a real nice name."

He shook my hand quite readily. His little hand felt very warm and pliable in mine. He beamed with happiness, not only at my complimentary words, but also the fact that he knew he had just made a new friend. He seemed so eager to latch onto my company, that I almost felt happy for him. I liked this boy. I liked him a lot. And as we headed down the passageway, his diminutive little frame moving with me in unison, I knew I was going to enjoy getting to know this wonderful little boy.

To my relief the kitchen was deserted. I wasn't in the mood to socialize, tell you the truth, and I just wanted to eat and talk to Simon-Peter without too many questions. There was food on the hotplate as usual. That was one thing that could always be said about Guus: he always made sure there was fresh food for us. He even had a cook who came in every day to prepare it. Today there was a deep tray of penne pasta. I scooped out two small bowls of the stuff and gave one to Simon-Peter. I set it down in front of him with a spoon and he smiled, like it was his favorite food or something.

"Oh thanks!" he said, gratefully.

Such a polite, well-mannered little boy.

He immediately started spooning the pasta into his mouth, smearing his cute lips with tomato sauce, his dimpled cheeks bulging as he chewed. He seemed to be enjoying it.

I sat down opposite him and we both ate in silence for a bit. It was funny, I thought, as I sat in the yellowed and greasy kitchen where we shota boys usually took our meals, that I should suddenly find myself in the company of this little boy. This sweet, innocent little person who was so unworldly, consorting with an experienced shota boy like me who perhaps had grown up too quickly and was too knowing for his own good.

As we settled into our meals, I got up and fetched him a drink. I poured him some juice into a beaker and stuck a bendy straw in it. It struck me how nice it felt to be doing stuff for this little boy. I suddenly felt quite responsible for him, even though I knew that his daddy, who was top brass and very high up in UNVERO, was at that moment somewhere downstairs in the bar.

As we were eating our fill of the pasta, I managed to ascertain that Simon-Peter and his father were staying in the hotel, and were in fact Guus's guests. There were some very well-appointed bedrooms reserved for such guests in the new wing of the hotel that were rarely rented out, but which Guus used to accommodate his many friends and acquaintances. Whatever could be said about Guus, he was very well connected and had friends in some very high places. Not all of them necessarily legitimate, but each with a great deal of influence in one way or another. Simon-Peter said he was from London. No wonder he spoke English so well. His father was very high up in the British Army and was now posted to Verolino as part of the joint United Nations forces. I knew he was something very high up in UNVERO. Simon-Peter's story fascinated me. I told him I had always wanted to go to London. I had read so much about it, and it seemed to me to be a place of timeless romance and mystique. I told him that I hoped one day I would get to visit London.

"I hope so too," said Simon-Peter, "And you can stay with us. You can sleep in my woom."

"That's very kind of you," I said, humbled by this little boy's eagerness to project our friendship into the future, perhaps when the war in Europe was over and we were all free to pursue normal lives.

Then he seemed to zone out for a moment, perhaps thinking his own thoughts as he finished eating, and then he focused back on me.

"Do you play with their pee-pees?" Simon-Peter asked, completely out of the blue.

Tell the truth, I had no idea that this little boy was so knowing about the rudiments of my encounters. I was slightly taken aback. I decided that perhaps I had underestimated him.

"Yes," I said, deciding not to try and deceive him or fudge the issue, "that's exactly what I do."

"Why?" he asked, looking up from his drink.

As he looked up, releasing the straw from between his lips, I could see that he had impetuously chewed on the end of it.

"Because it gives them a nice feeling," I said, not knowing at all whether this was the right way to describe things to such a young and naïve little boy.

"They put their pee-pees in me as well," I went on, deciding he may as well know the full extent of my involvement.

"They bum you?" he exclaimed, in surprise.

I smiled and couldn't help eliciting a little giggle. I'd never heard that term before.

"Yes," I said, "If that's what you want to call it."

"Don't it hurt?" he asked, fiddling with the straw.

"Only at first," I replied, "But you soon get used to it."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," I nodded, "I like it very much."

"Oh cool," he said again, smiling cutely.

Apparently he was reassured by that, and went back to sucking on his straw. I could see the orange liquid being drawn up the slim tube into his little mouth as he pursed his lips around it, and for a moment I could just picture those luscious little lips wrapped around my todger. I was flattered that he was so interested in my exploits. I wondered if he was leading up to something.

At this point, our conversation was interrupted by Sunny. Sunny was another of the shota boys at the Club, and one which I didn't have much to do with. But I tolerated him. I tolerated him because he was one of Guus's favorites. Sunny was quite effeminate. Guus liked that, and so did many of the clients. Sunny was popular because of that. He had a thick head of peroxide yellow hair that was styled in big flowing waves. He liked to make out he was blond, but he wasn't fooling anybody. You didn't have to be a natural blond like me to be able to differentiate a genuine shade of blond. You could tell that his blondness was artificial. In fact, everything about Sunny was somewhat fake and phony, right down to the damn false nails he was wearing, painted in a garish pink nail-varnish. And he had a very distinctive lolloping walk, this boy, as though he was bouncing up and down on his ankles as he walked, which made his body wobble about all over the place, as though his bones were made of jell-o. But he annoyed the hell out of me, if you want to know the truth, not more so than because he was usually quite sarcastic. He always had something derogatory to say, always had to pass comment on whatever you happened to be doing. I can't tell you how annoying that was.

We both looked up as Sunny waltzed into the kitchen, his lean body wrapped in a brightly colored silk robe.

"Hey Claudia," he said as he spotted me sitting there, "screwing little boys now are we?"

I guessed he was referring to Simon-Peter. Oh, and that was another thing that annoyed the hell out of me – he spoke in a real camp way and had this grating habit of always assigning us names of a female equivalent. I hated that. I was a boy. I liked being a boy. I liked fucking with real men. Cocks belonged in boycunts, as far as I was concerned. I didn't liken myself to a girl, like he did.

"What's it to you?" I countered, already ruffled by his presence.

"Ooh!" he squealed, already launching into his usual camp parlance, "Get out the wrong side of bed, did we dearie?"

Fuck off nancy boy, I thought to myself. I didn't say it out loud, of course. Although, if Simon-Peter hadn't been sitting there I might have been tempted.

Sunny set about helping himself to some coffee from the percolator on the counter and noisily pottered about the kitchen cupboards looking for a mug. He was unnecessarily noisy and heavy-handed in everything he did. It prevented us from talking simply because any conversation would have been drowned out by the din he was making. He finally found a clean mug, poured himself some coffee, and came to sit at the end of the table uninvited. He pulled up a chair and drew himself right up to the edge of the table.

"So who's you're little fuckbuddy?" he asked, looking at Simon-Peter.

He was talking about Simon-Peter as if he wasn't there, which I thought was the height of rudeness.

"This is Simon-Peter," I said, introducing him.

Sunny wasn't even listening. That was another annoying thing about him. He'd ask you a question and not even do you the courtesy of waiting for your answer. He was too distracted by the task of lighting a cigarette. He was addicted to caffeine and nicotine, this boy. He drew heavily on the cigarette, as though it was his first in a long time, impetuously wolfed the smoke down into his lungs, and exhaled smoke in both our faces. Then he neurotically started to flick his cigarette into the ashtray even before the ash had started to accumulate on the tip. I swear, everything Sunny did was designed to annoy you. Some people were like that. There were certain individuals you just couldn't stand to be in the same room with. Sunny was one of them.

"C'mon," I said to Simon-Peter, "Let's go."

Sunny watched us vacate the table with an incredulous look on his face.

"Ooh, something I said?" he remarked, indignantly.

I leaned over and spoke right into his face.

"It's always something you said," I told him, then, before he could say anything else, I said: "By the way – your roots are showing."

He hated being reminded that he wasn't a natural blond. He opened his mouth to utter some protest or other, but I walked away and took Simon-Peter by the hand, not bothering to look back.

When I got Simon-Peter back to my room, I was very surprised that he wanted me to show him pictures of what I did as a shota boy. He was very interested in knowing more about my exploits. So I sat him down on the bed, and we looked through one of my boyfuck magazines. They were good pictures too, large format and full color, clearly showing little boys playing with big men's dicks, sucking on them and taking them deep into their boyholes, being splattered with spectacular cumshots and little mouths overflowing with copious spunkloads.

As we sat there, turning the pages, I could see Simon-Peter squeezing his crotch, and I knew his little dickie must have been aching with stiffness from looking at those pictures. He looked up at me, slightly red-faced, flushed with sexual arousal.

"Is that what you did with my daddy?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, "that's exactly what we did."

He gazed back down at the big, colorful pictures in the boyfuck magazine, and let out a slow, almost inaudible gasp.

"Oh, that makes my pee-pee weally stiff," he said, and grabbed his crotch again, his little fist clenching at the bulging bundle between his legs, and he squirmed about a little on the bed next to me.

"Cloud?" he said, looking up again, "Will you play with my pee-pee?"

I stared down at him, this little boy sitting there next to me, and his cute face was glowing with little boy lust. I could see from his eyes that his request was genuine.

Then he put the magazine aside and just fell back on the bed, so that he was lying there with his little boyfeet dangling over the edge. He cutely closed his eyes, with his hand still squeezing at his crotch through the front of his pants.

"I wanna to do stuff with you," he said.

Then he opened his eyes and looked up at me, even as he was lying there, and I turned and leaned over him. I looked over this little boy, lying there on my bed with his eyes closed, his straining stiffie stifled in his tight little pants, and he looked ripe for the taking. Tell the truth, I could have ravaged him right there. There was nothing I would have liked more than to flip him over, strip his little jeans down to his ankles, and sink my boydick right into his little virgin ass. Honest, I was so fucking horned up, I wanted to blow my kiddie fuckwad deep inside him right there.

"Do you wanna play with me?" he said, in a plaintive, little boy voice.

"Of course I do," I said, with a smile, "But you mustn't tell your daddy."

"I won't," he said, emphatically, "It'll be our secwet."

He knew exactly what was at stake, and seemed to understand the need for discretion.

"But right now I have to go to work," I said.

"Pee-pee work?" he asked, with a cheeky grin.

It was quite quaint the way he phrased it.

"Yes," I said, "Pee-pee work."

Chapter 8
Simon-Peter

I was in the kitchen on my own having a quiet drink of juice when Sunny ambled in as usual, in that languorous, laid back style of his.

"Oh Claudia, there you are darling," he piped up camply, sounding like we were best friends or something, "Be a dear and lend us a smoke will ya? I'm gasping."

He was out of cigarettes again. I reached into my breast pocket. I had three cigarettes left. My tricks often gave them to me. I didn't smoke, other than passively of course, but cigarettes were good currency. The problem is you always had boys like Sunny trying to cadge them off you.

I gave him one just to shut him up.

"Oh thanks Claudia," he said, with great relief.

He took a light from the box of matches by the cooker and took a deep drag, tilting his head back to exhale the smoke up towards the ceiling. The effect was instantaneous.

"Ooh, that's better lovey," he said, "I'm so stressed."

He came and sat down at the table looking drawn and pale. He looked so plain without his makeup on.

"Dunno how much more of this shit I can take," he grumbled.

I didn't know what he was talking about, but undoubtedly he was going to tell me. Sunny always told you whatever was on his mind – whether you wanted to hear it or not.

"What a bastard Guus is," he complained, "The fat cunt just told me I have to work tonight."

To me that didn't sound like any kind of problem – that was what we were here to do and there didn't seem to be anything unreasonable about it.

"I hate Guus sometimes," Sunny hissed, "It's alright for him, he can do what the fuck he likes while the rest of us have to slog our guts out."

It's his club and he's our employer, I thought. Still nothing unreasonable about that.

"I can't wait to get outta this fuckin' place," Sunny went on, "Maybe I'll get the fuck out and take my chances."

I almost laughed. Good luck with that, I thought. Bearing in mind what Ciggy had told me about what was likely to happen when the UN pulled out, and my own experiences with the KAPO rebels, I didn't fancy Sunny's chances out there on his own.

Tell the truth, I didn't really appreciate the way Sunny immediately started badmouthing Guus, as though Guus was the root of all his problems. I didn't agree with him anyhow. No matter what else could be said about Guus, he did look after us. I respected him a great deal. I think Guus and I understood each other. I knew how far I could string him along. I did little favors for Guus as long as he didn't impose on me too much, and he indulged me as long as I didn't take advantage of him. It was a kind of unspoken equilibrium between us. A lot of the other shota boys didn't understand that. It was give and take and there had to be mutual respect on both sides for it to work. That was why I didn't appreciate boys like Sunny who always complained about Guus. Sunny never seemed to appreciate that we were lucky to have someone like Guus to provide us with a means of survival. We all owed a lot to Guus. Some of us even owed our lives to him. He looked after us even when we couldn't work – like the time some trick had hurt Chip real bad. I remember that vividly. This guy had freaked out on some trip or other – probably some bad shit he'd acquired down in the club – and he'd gone ballistic with Chip. He beat Chip so badly that he was almost unconscious. We found him lying on the floor of his room, broken and bloody, where the guy had just ejaculated all over him and left him there. Poor Chip was beat up pretty bad. He had a broken wrist and several cracked ribs, to say nothing of the black eye and the split lip. We felt so sorry for Chip. He couldn't work for a good long time. The other shota boys raised a collection and we all put something towards his keep to sustain him while he recovered. What the other shota boys didn't know is that he'd had to have surgery for his wrist, and it was Guus who paid for it. I never said anything about that. They might have thought Guus was just a glorified pimp, but he wasn't. Okay, he got to fuck our little butts from time to time – that was the perk of his job – but he actually cared about us too. Guus looked after us in more ways than the other boys realized. That morning, for example, I told Guus I wasn't feeling well, so I wouldn't have to work in the club that night. I knew he wouldn't question it. Guus was very astute, but he was also overly sympathetic if any of us were in the slightest discomfort. That was funny, I thought. He didn't forbid rough and careless treatment by the clients, and allowed his boys to be fucked hard and smacked about and generally manhandled on the club floor, but at the merest sign of a headache or a cold, he was full of sympathy and was liable to flap around you like a mother hen.

I left Sunny to finish his cigarette and slipped back to my room. I didn't tell him that the reason he had to work was because Guus had given me the evening off. With the evening secured, all was set for my tryst with Simon-Peter. We had arranged for him to come to my room and I purposely took the day off to devote to the coaching of my beautiful little acolyte. All day, while waiting for Simon-Peter, my little dick was inordinately stiff with anticipation. I couldn't help it. I had looked forward to seeing the little guy so much, over the past few days I almost wore myself out pulling my little todger over him. I had endless hard cums fantasizing about what I was going to do with him. Actually I was quite flattered that Simon-Peter wanted to take fuck lessons from me. That was the ultimate compliment, I thought. That this tiny boy wanted to learn from me, and put himself entirely at my disposal to teach him all I knew. It wasn't an invitation I was about to turn down. Of course it wasn't the first time I had taken a younger boy under my wing, and, as you know, I was always a good choice for busting little boy's cherries for the first time. I had done the same with Chip when he was a novice. Given my experience with Chip, I already had an idea of what I wanted to do with Simon-Peter.

Simon-Peter was right on time. A gentle rap on my bedroom door and I knew it was him. I opened the door, and his beautiful little figure was standing there, looking up at me expectantly. He was wearing shorts, so that his pretty little legs were exposed, with bare feet and little open sandals. His little pixie face beamed that dreamy smile of his, and I let him slip into my lair, being careful that no one saw him come in. I glanced both ways down the dimly lit passageway. It was deserted. I shut the door and turned to see him standing behind me, quite close, so that as soon as I let go of the door handle, he stepped forward and wanted to kiss me. He was very eager. That was a good sign. I put my hands on his shoulders and decided to begin my mentoring straight away.

"Like this," I said, and opened my mouth slightly.

He immediately understood my intentions and obediently followed my instruction. He opened his mouth slightly too, and waited. I closed in and kissed him hard, sticking my tongue deep into his hot little mouth. He didn't pull back. That was very encouraging. I licked the inside of his mouth and sucked his lips onto mine, pressing his hot little mouth hard against mine. Then I broke the kiss and pulled away.

"Now you," I said.

Still standing there by the door, he complied immediately. He leaned over, raising himself up on his toes, and stuck his slick little tongue into my mouth. I relaxed and let him explore, giving him time to get a feel for it. I quite enjoyed his little virgin tongue rolling over mine, running over my teeth and gums and pressing into my cheeks. It was quaint in a way to have this little virgin boy so willing and so compliant, and I was excited about teaching him all the things he didn't yet know. My cock was already hard. It was so stiff I wanted to fuck him there and then. Tell you the truth, I was so into this boy, so horned up for him, I wanted to stick it into him so hard I wanted to hear him squeal. But I didn't. This was his time and I was going to make the effort to teach this boy properly.

When we both felt ready, and after we had kissed enough, I knew that he was ready for his first fuck. I sat on the edge of the bed, with him standing there before me, and helped to slip his t-shirt off over his head. I pulled it up from the hem, turning it inside out as I peeled it off him, and over his little protruding ears. His perfect little torso was stripped bare, and I could see him shiver slightly in the cold still atmosphere of the room. He tucked his little hands under his armpits, simultaneously folding his arms, a little defensive and nervous about what we were doing. I noticed that he was wearing a little amulet which was strung on a chord around his neck. It was round and made of metal and seemed to be embossed with ornate symbols and lettering. I didn't recognize any of it, but it looked real sexy, that little metal disc nestling against the tight young skin on his chest.

I reached down, while his hands were tucked away, and took his little shorts down. I popped the button with one hand and slid them down his slim hips. Underneath he was wearing the cutest little pair of Ben 10 boxer briefs. I slipped them down his slender thighs and exposed his little jewels. He didn't protest. He just watched quiescently, standing there completely naked. I could see he already had a little stiffie. His little dick was a tiny, stubby little thing, but neatly cut and very pretty, with a rounded little head. It stuck up like a tiny little peg in his crotch, hardened by the impending pleasure that was in the offing. He looked down at it, slightly ashamed that it was so small, and then he looked back up at me apologetically. I ran my eyes over his little body and could barely conceive how perfect he was. His tight little tummy was so trim and neat, with a cute little innie belly button and a little muscular dip down the centre, where his little six pack was going to be. His hips were slim and narrow and his pelvis had retained the whiter shade of his natural skin tone, the tell-tale signs of having been out in the sun where his Speedos had perhaps covered him. That contrasted nicely with the slightly darker shade of his exposed skin, where the sun had colored his little body. He had long, shapely, sinewy legs with perfect knees. He was just so beautiful to me, and that little stiffie waggling expectantly from his tiny little balls told me that he wanted this. It was almost beckoning to me to do things to his little body.

I coaxed him onto the bed. He climbed on and sat there naked, his legs spread straight out in front of him, and his little dick pointing up. I sat with him in middle of the big bed, and smiled at him reassuringly.

"What a beautiful little cock you have," I said.

He seemed more confident with that. I beckoned him closer, and he got up and scooted towards me on his knees. I reached between his legs and cupped his tiny undercarriage. His little balls were like two minuscule marbles suspended there in a tight little sac at the base of his little dick. I weighed his tight little balls in my palm, ever so gently.

"You see these?" I asked him.

He nodded.

"You know what these are?"

He looked down shyly at my hand in his crotch.

"They're my balls," he said, in his high-pitched little boy voice.

"That's right," I said, and proceed to stroke the side of his little sac with my thumb, being careful not to squeeze too tight.

"Does that feel nice?" I asked him.

He blushed and looked slightly sheepish.

"Yeh," he said softly, even leaning towards me so I could get a better feel of him, and he sexily closed his eyes, emitting the cutest little boy sigh.

"Look after these," I said to him, "That's where your sperm is going to be made."

He nodded, and I could tell he was attentive and actively memorizing my teachings.

Then I reached out and took hold of his little dick, squeezing the rounded head quite hard. He gasped, exhaling sharply, and he flinched. The shock made him almost double up and he instinctively put his little hands on my shoulders to stop himself from tipping over. But he didn't stop me. Looking down, his head bowed between his outstretched arms, he allowed me to gently finger the pink cut head of his little dick.

"Hmm, that feels good," he said, this time volunteering the information without being asked.

That was a good sign. He was a willing and eager pupil.

"Good boy," I said, encouraging him, "always say what you're feeling."

With his little hands still on my shoulders, I jacked his little dick between my thumb and forefinger and it seemed to jump with joy. He looked up and smiled, and I could tell that it had given him a little jolt of pleasure, perhaps feeling the first stirrings of just how much pleasure his little cock was capable of. When I jacked it roughly for a bit, it hardened even more, standing up proud and erect. I then leaned in and took his iron hard little rod into my mouth, closing my lips around it and sucking it hard. He gasped, never having felt such sensations before. I made sure I licked the little head of his dick roughly with my tongue, and his thighs trembled a little. He almost recoiled from the sensitivity, and he pressed his hot palms against my temples, holding my head as I gorged on his little organ.

After sucking his dickie for a bit, thoroughly drenching it with spit, I pulled away, and I saw the disappointment in his face as I withdrew. He had enjoyed that for sure. I would have been happy to continue until I had worked his little knob into a frenzy, and made him cum in my mouth. But it was time to get him to the real point of this exercise, the actual fucking. What I really wanted was to get him to cum in my butt. For his first orgasm, it had to be deep in my hole. I wanted to imprint that on him from the start.

I left his little dickie straining upwards and raised myself up to look him in the eye.

"Now I'm gonna show you how to fuck, okay?"

He nodded. Not a hint of hesitation. Why couldn't all boys be this compliant?

I laid back on the pillow and settled myself into a comfortable fucking position. I brought my knees up towards my chest, so that he would have easy access to my boyhole. Exposing my crotch to him, he could see how big my cock and balls were, and he seemed to be comparing. Although I was still hairless, my todger was a lot bigger than his, and it actually made me feel very grown up to have a dick that was more mature than his little kiddie cock. At this moment it was as stiff as an iron rod, and as I opened my crotch, exposing my boyhole to him, my longish boycock was flat against my abdomen, pointing up at my belly button. My feet were pointing up in the air, and I looked at him from between my knees.

"Now put it in, just like I showed you in the pictures," I instructed, reaching towards him to guide his slim little hips against my butt.

He looked a little scared, but he spread his knees so that he could be at the right height to penetrate me, and connected the tip of his tiny dick to my hole. He tipped forward against my butt and I felt the warm head of his little cock tickling my star.

"That's right little one," I said, "Put it in."

He pushed his butt forward, but his little dick just slipped off to the side. He wasn't centering it square on my hole and he hadn't anticipated how much force he needed to push it past my sphincter. I decided to help him. Reaching over, I felt for his little dick and held it against my hole, steadying his slim little hips in just the right place.

"Push it in now," I said again.

I guided his little cocklet as he thrust forward, holding it in place so it wouldn't veer off to the side, and with one concerted thrust, he was inside. I felt my hole yield, and the little stab of his dick entering me actually hurt a little. I gasped mutedly at his initial entry, surprised by how much it hurt. He was clumsy and unfamiliar with all this. But I decided to take my time coaching this little boy, not just because I thought he deserved some time and patience from me, but also because I was actually enjoying the idea of being fucked by him. Actually he wasn't even fucking. Once he was inside me, he held his little dick right there, buried in the warm tightness of my moist little cunt, and he seemed to like it. But he didn't seem to know what he was supposed to do next. My palms were firmly clutching his tiny butt, holding his pelvis up tight against me so he wouldn't pull out, and I made sure I maintained eye contact and smiled.

"Okay little one?" I asked, with an encouraging tone.

He nodded, still a little apprehensive. But he was still with me, still compliant, and still eager to please me.

"Try pushing it in and out now," I said, "Slowly."

He tentatively pushed his hips against me, not really drawing back at all, but just pushing his dickie harder into me. He hadn't yet mastered the pistoning motion, but I knew that it would eventually come naturally. His dickie wasn't very big and the amount of movement it allowed for was minimal. So, for now I just let him hump his hips against me. I held him there with his abdomen pressed against my butt. His little dickie waggled about in my hole, but didn't really penetrate very far. But he had the beginnings of what I thought was an excellent technique and I detected that this little boy had the natural propensity to be sensational in bed. He just didn't know it yet. It felt very much like he had a dick that would easily satisfy his lovers when he was older. Maybe all he needed was some guidance and a little instruction into the right techniques, and he could be something really special. I found that prospect very comforting, and the thought that mine was the first hole he had ever fucked gave me a sense of privilege and accomplishment. Now all I had to do was make this boy cum inside me. I wanted to work his dickie into a state of nirvana so I could imprint on him the ecstasy of boysex and the unencumbered pleasure of experiencing that first fine careless rapture in the unbridled paradise of my own tight little snatch. Somehow this little boy turned me on so much that his ineffectual little thrustings made me want to totally corrupt him. He looked so innocent, poised above me with his hips pressed against the curve of my butt, his big round eyes and that button nose making him look so ripe for exploitation, and I simply wanted to thoroughly abuse him and to defile his little body. I just wanted to blow his little mind with every horny, cum-inducing technique I knew. The truth is, this little boy was extremely pretty. He had a beautiful elfin face, his pixie-like features crowned with that mop of unruly chestnut hair and raffish ears that stuck out slightly. And he had a nicely arranged, diminutive little body, with good definition and a musculature that hinted at what a beautiful young boy he was developing into. He was so beautiful to me, kneeling there with his little cocklet barely penetrating my hot and willing little boycunt, I wished he could fuck me real good. I wanted this boy to give me a really good seeing to. Of course, he was too inexperienced to satisfy me like that just yet. But boy, I was so horny right now, and he was so sexy, that even his tiny little peg of a dick nestled warmly in my boycunt was enough to make me want to spray my kidspunk all over him.

There was only one thing for it. I coaxed him into thrusting into me a little longer, hoping that he would soon work himself up to his first boycum. He wasn't really feeling anything yet, but I had hold of his hips and I was working his little butt back and forth as best I could.

"That's right little one," I went on, "Fuck me as hard and you can. Stick your dickie in me real deep."

He bit his lip and scrunched his nose up, and I could see the concerted effort he was putting into this. He impetuously stabbed his tiny cock into me repeatedly. It was so arousing to see this tiny boy consumed by the pursuit of the sexual thrill, a quest that was normally so elusive to someone so young.

After a particularly frenzied bout, he stopped and pulled out, slightly breathless, pausing to peer down at his still hard little cocklet, and I actually felt a pang of disappointment. His little dick in my hole wasn't much, but I desperately wanted him to cum in me. I smiled and pulled his little butt towards me once again.

"Go on," I said softly, "Put it back in."

He took hold of his little dick by the base, pointing it at my pucker, and this time he tilted forward and was able to penetrate me without any difficulty. I was stunned by how fast this boy learned. He resumed his thrusting without hesitation.

After a bit more positive murmuring from me, and plenty of encouraging smiles, he busily worked himself up into a state of excitement which you could see was unfamiliar to him. Strange expressions began to wash over his little face. Something was happening. At first he was uncertain, and as he continued it became even more ecstatic at the sensations that were building up in his crotch. He increased his pace with the onset of the tangible pleasure that emanated from his thrusting. His fucking became more urgent and the thrusting of his little hips became more pronounced. At last he realized he was driving at something, and as the pleasure was building, so he ratcheted up the tempo. There was a period where the sensations became stronger and gradually built to a sudden and unexpected conclusion. Unexpected for him, that is. Suddenly he stopped, with an expression of confusion on his face, as though he didn't understand what was happening, and yet it was so good he couldn't stop himself. Then it happened. His whole body shuddered gently, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the unfamiliar seizure of orgasmic ecstasy gripped his little body. His little dick spasmed just once, with a powerful and pronounced pulse, and he gasped in surprise. He seemed lost in the power of his boycum as he assimilated what was happening, and he gently trembled against my butt for a good few seconds.

When his dry cum was over, he pulled his little dickie out and fell backwards, plopping down onto his ankles. There was this look of incredulity in his face that told me he couldn't believe how good that was. He looked at me, and when he had taken a moment to come to his senses again, he smiled in the most precocious and knowing way. Suddenly, it all made sense to him. He had discovered that little secret that all young boys eventually stumble upon. Good for him. What surprised me was that he looked down at his dickie, still stiff and pointing up in his crotch, and he looked at my boyhole, still inviting and a little dilated, and without saying anything, decided he was going to go for seconds. I admired this little boy's spirit. He had just had his first orgasm, and wanted to repeat it immediately. He got back up on his knees and this time he leaned forward, thrusting his little dick expertly into my little cunt, and with one quick motion was immediately inside me. He stopped and steadied himself, this time noticeably more prepared and tangibly aware of what he was doing. He was so horny, and so psychologically roused by this new experience, he worked himself up into another dry cum very quickly. This time there was no surprise, and the knowingness with which he fucked me was indicative of what a fantastic fuckboy he was going to develop into. With a few still somewhat tentative thrusts of his slim hips, he quickly worked up to another cum, this time preparing himself for the ecstatic seizure he craved, and he seemed to have prepared to relish it this time. The second one ripped through him even stronger. He exhaled sharply and he seemed to double up as it hit, hunching desperately over me as he cummed. His dickie was literally punching into my hole with a strength and force that I didn't think this little boy was capable of, and he fell forward onto me, so that he was literally curled around my butt as he dry-cummed. I could see the utter pleasure in his eyes as he assimilated this new sensation, and I knew straight away that his mind was totally blown. This little boy was hooked, and from hereon in he was going to seek that very sensation repeatedly and with an almost psychotic fervor. Yup. I had finally popped his todger. He had blown his little cherry in my boycunt. In fact, not only had I been fucked by the top brass of UNVERO, I had also been fucked by his little boy. That must have been some kind of achievement surely? I was so proud of myself.

Simon-Peter laid back on the bed, and squirmed into the rumpled bedclothes looking thoroughly spent. My little dick was so hard I needed to blow my kiddie fuckwad real bad. I had fantasized about this boy so much, now he was actually lying on my bed naked, his little cocklet still hard from his exploits, and I knew I was finally going to get to spunk him. I knew I couldn't fuck him, at any rate not without hurting him, and that seemed like too much effort at this point. But his little body was so beautiful I wanted to soil it with my cum. My cock was burning with hardness which I was desperate to relieve and I knew he was going to make me cum real hard. I scooted up and sat across his slender thighs. He looked so tiny pinned between my knees. I looked down at him lovingly and he was looking up at me submissively, with a mischievous smile on his lips and curiosity in his eyes. I took hold of my dick and leaned forward over him, pointing the head of my todger at his little innie belly button, and I jacked as fast as I could, in desperate pursuit of the ultimate pleasure. Within seconds I could feel my little dick mustering its reserves, and as I jacked my fist along my shaft, the tangible little tingles on my gland started getting more and more pronounced. Finally, I hit ignition, and my cock exploded. It was so intense that my vision blurred for a few moments, my whole body gripped by a seizure of pure pleasure. I fell forward, propped up on one arm while my other hand furiously jacked my cock and I witnessed the ultimate pleasure of squirting all over him. The jets of my boyspunk were ejected with such force, and the initial blast was so intense, that they went all the way up his chest. He was only small, so that wasn't very far, but they formed a satisfying pattern of streaks, like whip marks across his tender young skin.

When it was over, I found myself hunched above Simon-Peter with my head hung down directly above his face. My eyes widened in satisfaction and gratitude and he smiled playfully. He even let out a happy little giggle and I noticed the way his flat tummy tightened as he did so. I sat back, still straddling his thighs. He had his arms up, his little hands resting on the pillow on either side of his head, as though in surrender, totally submitting himself to me. My eyes roved over his naked little body and I admired the lines of my clear kiddiecum painted across his belly. I reached down and gripped my wet cock. The remainder of my cum was still leaking from the tip. I squeezed out the last of my juice from my shaft and a couple of big gobs oozed out. I pushed it into Simon-Peter's little jewels and used the head of my todger to thoroughly coat his tiny cock and balls. His little cocklet was still hard with little boy lust, still poking up with arousal, so I pushed my cock onto his. Our little hairless cocks dueled together, and I smeared the residue of my kiddiespunk all over his crotch. He seemed to like that. He stared at me with faint amusement as I anointed him with my essence.

"Happy?" I asked, as I stared down at him, our little cocks still pushed together.

He nodded, his big mop of chestnut hair brushing against the pillow.

"That was weal cool," he said.

"You're a good boy," I said, sounding a little like Guus.

He was smiling up at me with a satisfied grin.

I laid down next to Simon-Peter and we kissed for a little while. He offered me his puckered little lips and I gorged on them for ages, biting his sweet lips and nibbling all around his mouth, and all the time my kiddiespunk was drying on his skin. We laid there for a good long time, just enjoying each other's proximity, and I knew Simon-Peter was enthralled by these experiences. He was happy with this new world he had just discovered, the world of boycunts and cockplay. I was going to get a towel to wipe him down afterwards, but the sight of his little boy jewels glistening like that, thoroughly saturated with my essence, was extremely pleasing. I was going to send him back to his daddy all cleaned up, but I decided not to. I liked seeing him stained with my kiddiecum. So I let it dry on him, forming a thin filmy crust on his skin, where I had squirted it across his tummy, and where I had smeared it all over his little cock and balls. His little body even smelled of young spunk – the heady, distinctive aroma of sexual fluids, thus denoting that he was now marked with my residue. This boy was now mine. That was very satisfying to me. So I decided to send him back to his daddy like that, with my cum stains still on him.

Chapter 9
The Prince

"Can I do it both ways, back and front?" he asked.

I looked at him standing there in my room, beaming gleefully with an almost inane expression, and I hesitated. I didn't really understand his question.

He was a prince. A Crown Prince, or so I'd been told. Not that it made much difference to me. Royal spunk tasted much the same as any other. He was heir to the throne of some tiny oil-rich Arab state. He was still young, only about 14 or 15, not much older than Ten, but already well developed, with the beginnings of a wispy beard on his chin and downy sideburns. He seemed so naïve, it was obvious he was a boyfuck virgin. I got the measure of him straight away. He was completely oblivious – probably led a very sheltered life of wealth and privilege, and had more money than sense. Rich beyond imagination, but with no savvy whatsoever. What did he mean 'back and front'? Only girls got fucked like that. Boys only had one pussy.

"You can do it any way you like," I replied, thinking that the most conducive answer.

His hazel eyes lit up with childlike glee.

"I can put it in you? And shoot my stuff inside you too?"

"That's the general idea," I said, a little condescendingly.

He hurriedly took his clothes off. Apart from his headdress, he was clothed in expensive designer casuals, which he carefully peeled off and laid ever so tidily on the chair. One thing was clear: he had impeccable taste. When he was fully undressed, I took a good look at him. Without his ghutrah headdress I could see his full head of shiny black hair, which was long and thick and wavy. Tell the truth, he was actually quite handsome. Despite the fact that he was a thick set boy, he had quite a nice body. His burgeoning adolescence gave him a slightly muscled physique. He was already quite well built with a neat coating of short, downy black hair on his thighs and forearms, but his chest was still smooth. He had some flab about his middle, but overall he looked quite healthy and virile. His cock and balls was a slightly darker shade of brown than the rest of him, especially where the skin of his heavy sac was gathered up in neat little wrinkles. His balls were big. And his cock was quite substantial, long and fat and neatly cut with a shiny, bulbous head. In its erect state it looked very eager, pulsing with anticipation, engorged with blood, hot and stiff and ready to be fucked hard into my willing little hole. Tell the truth I desperately wanted it in me. This Arab boy's inexperience was tremendously arousing. I loved popping the cock cherries of the boyfuck virgins. The mere thought of it got me so worked up I wanted him to fuck it into me real hard so I could feel it stabbing deep into my little chute, and so he could experience the exquisite pleasure of his cock buried deep in fuckboy ass for the first time. Fuck, I was so horned up I think my little butt was leaking juices in anticipation.

I sat on the bed naked, waiting for him. He stood in the middle of the room, now undressed, but not knowing what to do. I held out my hand, inviting him to join me on the bed. I scooted over so he could lie down. He came and laid flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. This Crown Prince was quite clearly a beginner, and he had this look of perved-out confusion in his eyes like he was waiting for me to show him the way. I knew I was going to have to guide him. This is where a shota boy really earns his money.

I decided that the best thing would be for him to let me do all the work. He tilted his head forward on the pillow so he could watch me. I got astride him, and sank my butt down over his dick, pointing the head at my star, and adjusting my knees so I was at the right height to ride him. I took hold of his shaft and directed it towards my little cunt. When I guided the head of his big stiff dick and pushed it against my little star, he felt the resistance of my sphincter. His cockhead pressed hard against my ring, seeking entry. He stared at me with this look of disbelief, like he couldn't conceive that his cock was going to fit in there. Oh no? Let me show you what Cloud's heavenly little cunt can do. I forced my butt down hard onto his cock, splitting open my pucker, and he gasped, amazed by the fact that his cock actually sank into me. He stared, wide-eyed, as he watched his cock being swallowed up by my magical little chute. He seemed to be in a state of shock, red faced and disbelieving, as I fed his fuckstick further and further in. His expression was priceless, something of a cross between apoplexy and incredulity.

His dick was no further than halfway in, with me squatting astride him trying to get it fully docked into my little cunt, when suddenly he arched his back and his head rose from the pillow. He was overtaken by this low, guttural growl which emanated from deep in his throat, and his dick pulsed. He spunked unexpectedly, emitting four or five spurts of thick, white, sticky cum, which immediately began leaking out of my boyhole and down the sides of his shaft. He seemed surprised. I didn't really like premature ejaculators. It took all the fun out of it. He was just too overexcited. But then again, as this was his first illicit peep into the heights of pedo heaven, with me ushering his dick into a state of nirvana, I decided he could be forgiven.

Quick thinking, as always, and anxious to salvage what I could of this encounter, and to make it as dirty and way-out as possible for him, I reached down with my fingertips clenched together, and wiped up as much of his sticky jizz as I could with my hand, then put it up to my face and licked it like a lollipop. It had the desired effect – he was incredulous. None of his jizz was wasted. Still sitting astride him, I reached down and smothered my hand in what was left and licked it all up off my fingers, at the same time looking into his eyes. That's it, watch me savor every drop of your young Arab spunk – witness a prime piece of fuckboy ass performing his dirty tricks for you. He was absolutely mesmerized by my antics.

He was still hard, and still laying quiescently on the bed, looking down at his crotch which was now wet with his premature jizz. I moved off his hips and sat down between his legs. He obediently spread his legs for me. So there I was sitting between his open legs as he lay back on the bed, his dick still hard and pointing up, and I thought maybe he could go again. I knew from experience that some guys just needed to have a quick and urgent cum to relieve their initial overexcitement, and could then settle down into a more refined fuck afterwards, which took a bit longer and which they could then take the time to savor. Well, not this guy. His dick practically had a hair-trigger which could spunk from the slightest stimulation. I took his big thick shaft in my little hand and this time he knew what was coming. He smiled and relaxed into it, but again it didn't take long. My little hand jacked him fast and within a few strokes he was erupting again. Fuck, I had never seen a guy cum so quickly and in such quick succession. It was incredible. What I found even more unbelievable was that he spunked as much the second time as he did the first time, and he even smiled in surprised delight as his cock sprayed all over my arms and chest as I jacked it. His cumshots were spectacular.

Even after the second cum, we sat there facing each other, wet from the sprinkling of his cock, and he was still hard. This young Arab prince was something really special. His 15 year old body was probably capable of some amazing stuff which he was only just starting to discover, and the look on his face told me that he was already finding out things he never knew about himself.

He drew a deep breath as I reached for his dick one more time.

"How did you do that?" he asked, amazed.

"Do what?"

"How did you make my johnson explode like that?"

His johnson? I hadn't heard that term in a good long while. It was almost funny.

"Doesn't it usually do that?" I asked him.

I know that's not the kind of question you should ask a Crown Prince, but then I was sitting there with his engorged dick in my hand, both of us naked, already soaked by two of his spunkloads, so I didn't think it too disrespectful to enquire as to his personal wanking regime.

"I don't know," he said, totally deadpan, "I don't do that at home."

I switched hands and carried on jacking him as we entered into this strange conversation.

"You don't jerk off?" I said.

He stared at me looking slightly guilty.

"I try not to," he said, in a tone that implied I had suggested something improper, "My mother says I must not use up all my sperm or there will be no one to succeed me to the throne."

What the fuck? Did I hear him right?

"What do you mean use up all your sperm?" I said, with a mocking tone, "You don't have a lifetime voucher y' know."

"You don't?" he said, astonished.

"Nah!" I said, "If you use it up, you make more."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Praise be to god," he said, "I was afraid I would use it all up today."

"You sure jizzed up a hell of a load," I said, impressed, "Twice!"

"I know," he replied, "I saved it up."

"You SAVED it?" I reiterated, slightly disbelieving, "How long for?"

"Three months," he said.

I nearly fell off the bed. I stopped jacking him momentarily.

"You didn't jerk off for THREE months? No wonder you jizzed up so much."

To me that would have been unheard of. Not only unheard of, but damn near impossible. If little Cloud didn't get any attention on a daily basis, he would be standing up insistently in my crotch begging to be smacked about until he gave up his load. And if I didn't touch him for a long time, he would spit out a load in my sleep anyway, just to spite me. You had to admire the little fucker – his spirit was irrepressible.

"My mother said I mustn't do it, it's ungodly."

She seemed to have a lot to say, this mother of his. How significant, I thought, that such a philosophy could only originate from someone who didn't have a dick themselves.

"It's normal," I said, reassuring him, "All guys do it."

"What even the priests?" he asked, trying to be clever.

"Especially the priests," I said, with a sly smile.

And I should know. Clergymen were the biggest boyfuckers around, followed closely by the judges and magistrates.

The Prince seemed to whisper something to himself, like he was trying to assimilate all these startling revelations. I carried on jacking him, determined to get a third cumload out of him.

"What else does she say, this mother of yours?" I asked him, coaxing the conversation along as I jacked him.

I swear it was one of the most surreal exchanges I had ever had, carrying on this odd conversation with this Crown Prince, both of us naked on my bed, his last ejaculation still drying on me, my hand stroking his big brown shaft.

"She says it's dirty and shameful."

"Really?" I said, distinctly unimpressed, "And what do YOU think?"

He stared at me, obviously loving the feel of my slender young fingers around his big, thick shaft, and he smiled guiltily.

"I can't help it," he confessed, looking away bashfully, "All the time I think about boys."

He actually blushed as he said it, his dark cheeks turning a shade of deep red, and I could tell how ashamed he was. I also knew how much we boys were ruled by our dicks and I kinda felt sorry for him, having this burden of duty for being a Crown Prince, heir to throne of his country, with all the resultant obligation and responsibility weighing on his young shoulders. What I saw before me was a wonderful boy, not quite a man, still a child in many ways, in the prime of his youth, bursting with energy and vitality, at the peak of his sexual development, his balls heavy with fresh young sperm, his cock stiff with the first flushes of sexual desire. Here was a boy whose sexuality drove him to seek young boyflesh, who craved the sexual thrill and the companionship of other boys, who wanted to fuck about and experiment with them and discover all the wonderful secrets and delights of cock and ass play – what could be so wrong about that?

"So do I," I said, hoping to establish some solidarity with him, "I wanna do it all the time, and when I'm not doing it, I'm thinking about it."

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Really?" he said, raising his thick black eyebrows, "Even you?"

"Yes," I said emphatically, "It's a basic need, just like eating and sleeping."

Again he stared, and I could detect the machinations in his head as he was assimilating this way of thinking. Something told me he hadn't bargained for being jacked off by a horny young shota boy who could also hold a conversation, who was deep and thoughtful and who had his own philosophy. I wasn't just a pretty face. Sure, I could suck and fuck with the best of them, but I was no doof. I could also dispense a few pearls of fuckboy wisdom from time to time too.

"So tell me," I went on, still jacking his rampant dick with long firm strokes, "What would you like to do to me?"

Again he looked ashamed and averted his gaze. The look in his eyes told me that he had never voiced those thoughts aloud. I wanted to see if I could get this young Arab prince to talk dirty to me and put into words the sordid little fantasies he secretly toyed with in his mind. I knew it would make him spunk real hard to hear those things being enunciated. But he was going to need some encouragement.

"Go on, tell me. I'm here to please you. You can do anything you like to me."

I waited till just the right moment, then lowered my head and took his dick into my mouth. The moment my lips were encased around his shaft, he moaned quite loudly and threw his head back, opening his legs wider and even thrusting up a little, raising his butt off the bed to force his cock even deeper into my mouth. Then he spoke.

"I want to suck your johnson," he said, with his eyes still closed.

"Uh hum," I said, my mouth still full of his cock, "What else?"

"I want to fuck your butt."

The way he said 'fuck' told me that he didn't often use those words. This was a liberation for him, sexually and verbally.

"I want to fuck you hard," he went on, "Would you like that?"

Now he was asking me questions. That was a good sign. He wanted to do some verbal role playing. How bold of him.

"Yes," I said, momentarily raising my head, "I love being fucked hard."

"I want to fuck you in all your holes and shoot my stuff in you."

"Mmm," I said, my cheeks bulging on his shaft, "What else?"

"I want to make you scream as I fuck you."

Seems he liked it rough. I stared at him intensely, almost defiantly, looking up with the head of his cock still firmly between my lips, sucking on it like a popsicle.

"Do it," I said, goading him, "I want you to fuck me real hard. Hurt me. Make me cry out."

At this point, his ass rose up off the bed and he rammed his dick right into the back of my mouth and he moaned loudly, emitting two or three loud vocalizations, each one rising in volume.

"Oh, oh, ooh!"

And he spunked. Fuck, did he spunk. He spunked good and hard, his dick waggling up and down strongly, trapped between my lips.

I buried his cock in my head as he was cumming, taking it as deep into my mouth as I could, and grabbed it with both hands so he wouldn't pull out. He squirmed away blindly on the bed in front of me, and I held onto his dick as it pulsed away in my fingers, eagerly sucking down his load. His spunk was thick and creamy, this time more substantial since it had had more time to muster, and it was blood-warm and tasted very earthy. I made sure to smear the tip of his cock around my mouth as he finished spunking, so he could see my lips wet and shiny with his essence as the last few pulses dribbled from his spunkhole. As I raised my head to look at him, a big frothy gob of his cum dripped off my chin, and I slowly poked out my tongue and licked around my mouth. He was incredulous.

By the time his encounter with me was over, he walked out of my room slightly bowed, almost limping, and I knew it was because his cock and balls must be hurting. I had made him cum three times in less than an hour. The very thought that I had done that to him made my little cock stiffen. I could almost have cum in my pants thinking that he was walking out of my room with his balls depleted and his cock still leaking the remnants of his last cumwad, the unmistakable testimony of a good day's work on my part. Both his cock and his mind were well and truly blown. Yup. Another satisfied customer.

* * * * * *

The very next day, Guus accosted me in the common room. He took me aside on the way back from the kitchen and asked me if I would care to have a quick word. I was on my way to see Simon-Peter actually, so I was a little reluctant to be waylaid. But because it was Guus I thought it wouldn't be wise to fob him off. As we stepped into the common room, Sunny was in there, flounced across the sofa talking loudly into his cell phone and cackling with laughter. He was always loud and showy when he was on the phone, like he wanted to involve everyone else within earshot – they got to hear his conversation whether they wanted to or not. The TV was on, but no one was watching it. The coffee table was cluttered with an array of used mugs, and the ashtrays were all full to overflowing like miniature slag heaps. That was why I didn't spend much time in there. The place always looked like a tip. It was supposed to be a place for us shota boys to relax and chill out, perhaps socialize a little, but if it meant making conversation with boys like Sunny, I'd rather retire alone to my room. I had much more enlightening and edifying entertainment there. I preferred my own company anyway. Even pulling my own todger and squirting my boyspunk into my palm was infinitely more interesting than having to interact with boys like Sunny. Besides, I met a better class of people that way.

Guus and I tried to have a conversation above Sunny's cackling laughter. Guus stepped quite close and touched me on the elbow.

"You do know what's happening on New Years Eve, don't you?" he said, with an expectant tone.

"Yeh, I know," I said, "It's the New Years Eve orgy," I replied.

Guus grimaced and closed his eyes momentarily, as though I'd said something distasteful.

"I do wish you wouldn't call it that," he said, in his guttural Amsterdam accent, "It's so vulgar."

"Well, that's what it is," I asserted, sticking to my description.

"It's a New Years Eve Bacchanal," he said, correcting me.

"If that's what you want to call it," I replied.

Guus laughed. That's what I liked about Guus, he always retained his sense of humor.

"So what about it?" I asked.

"I hope you're saving up your reserves," he said, raising his eyebrows in cryptic reference.

"Do I need to?"

"Oh yes," Guus insisted, "You're my star attraction."

"ME?" I exclaimed.

"Of course you," said Guus, taken aback, "Who else?"

"Gee, I dunno," I replied, "I thought we were all taking part."

"You are," said Guus, "I want every boy on duty that night. But I want you for the finale."

"The finale?" I queried, a little suspicious.

"Yes. I want you hard as a rock and full of spunk."

Guus never did mince his words.

"What will I have to do?"

Guus looked at me, hesitating slightly, as though unsure how to phrase it.

"Cum hard, spray like a fire hose and scream like the little cumwhore that you are," he said.

Now it was my turn to laugh. How poetic. Guus had such a way with words.

"You can count on me," I said, flattered that he had designated me as his star attraction.

Then Guus dug his hand into his pants pocket and extracted something. "You'll need these," he said, proffering a little phial of blue pills.

I looked up at him, flummoxed.

"I don't need those," I said.

He held the glass phial up, pointing the cap towards me. When I failed to take it, he pushed it onto me anyway.

"You will for what I have in mind."

Guus was such a sexy, dirty bastard. He loved seeing boys having strange things done to them. His sex parties were legendary for the outlandish activities and the sheer depth of the depravity he wanted to subject us to. They were always well attended, and the New Years Eve Bacchanal, as he insisted on calling it, was the highlight of the Saxon Club's social calendar. The event attracted the most unsavory characters, and the ones who were most proficient at concocting painful, demeaning and extreme sex acts for us shota boys to endure, all for the guest's edification. It usually meant our holes were pumped full of spunk, our butts would be red raw, and I'd be feeling nauseous from the sheer volume of spunk I will have swallowed, to say nothing of the soreness of my dick and balls. My foreskin would be grazed and my balls would be aching from multiple cums. It was certainly the most extreme kind of sex I had ever known. It was sheer unencumbered excess and debauchery. Given the circumstances, I knew the Viagra would help.

Guus detected my ambivalence.

"I think you should take them anyway," he said, "It's going to be a pretty marathon session."

"Thanks," I said, accepting the phial hesitantly.

I didn't really know if I would use the Viagra. I could try and wing it without any assistance. I was fairly confident I could keep wood AND cum several times if I paced myself. But on the other hand, I knew the Viagra would make my stiffie ultra-stiff, probably keep wood all night continuously, without any real effort, and make my cums gut-clenchingly powerful. It also helped to regenerate quicker – I could cum faster, harder, and more often. The attraction of those little blue pills, even when you didn't really need them, was certainly a temptation.

Well, the Viagra proved to be more of a temptation than I thought. Later that evening I was on the club floor with an inordinately hard little dick, having taken 25mg of the stuff. It worked a treat. Even when I wasn't focused on him, little Cloud was as stiff as a ramrod, reluctant to be overlooked, as if to ask me why I wasn't paying him any attention. No matter how much I distracted myself, I couldn't get my dick to go down. It was sticking out in my crotch, long and straight, like some divining rod seeking boy pussy. The music was thudding away in the background, the smoky atmosphere thick with intrigue and sexual promise. My little hairless balls felt heavy with spunk, anticipating a good hard cum at some point in the evening, when they would delightfully release their cargo in a welcome and rapturous explosion of sheer pleasure. Oh fuck, I needed to burst my little kiddie fuckwad real bad.

Sure enough, I hadn't been on the club floor for very long, when Guus approached me. I was sitting on my usual stool by the corner of the bar, my little cock awkwardly poking up between my legs, and me trying hard not to play with it. I fiddled with it from time to time, but stopped short of actually jacking it. Even Ten was too busy tonight to come over and give me a little token suck. Fuck, I needed to get off so bad it was almost hurting. When Guus came over he was looking at my stiffie with a grin of admiration and amusement. I thought he was going to offer to relieve it for me. But he didn't. He walked up to me purposefully and interrupted me taking a swig of my drink.

"There you are," he said, "I've been looking for you."

"What's up?" I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, wondering what the urgency was.

"Someone's waiting for you in the backroom," he said, one hand on his Uzi, which was pointed at the floor.

"Who?" I asked.

"He didn't give his name," said Guus, "He asked especially for you. He paid a lot of money for you too."

At this point Guus delved into his hip pocket and drew out several large bills which he stuffed into my arm strap. I admired the way they were pinned there against my bicep, waxy crinkled paper pressed against smooth young boy flesh, shiny new bills lined up in perfect symmetry. It was a lot. Way above the going rate for a backroom encounter.

The backroom was reserved for those clients who, provided they could come up with the readies, sought to have a one-to-one with the boy of their choice. They would usually pick the boy out on the club floor, then take him into the backroom for a quick session. It was a better alternative to the ad-hoc encounters on the club floor where they could slip a few bills into the boy's arm strap and jerk or blow him right there in front of everybody. Those encounters were more of a spontaneous thing. Of course, if they wanted a boy all to themselves they could always spend the night, and that was when a boy would take a trick up to his room and give them the works. The backroom offered a kind of midway encounter. It provided some semblance of privacy without the obligation of staying the whole night. It was good if the client wanted to enjoy one of the boys at their leisure, and it was also good when there was a group of clients together who could join in without any risk to the boy. A boy couldn't take more than one trick up to his room, for obvious reasons, but in the backroom a boy could be enjoyed by several guys at once. The backrooms were monitored and the sessions were strictly timed, so it was pretty safe to be left alone.

I was suddenly curious. Curious, but eager. I was intrigued as to who it was that had paid so much money for me. I could only surmise that, if he had asked for me by name, it must be some trick that had played with me before. I had many admiring tricks that appreciated my expertise as a fuckboy. It was only to be expected that they would come back for more at some point in time. Indeed, I would have been offended if they didn't.

My stiffie was harder than ever as I made my way to the backroom. The way my little dickie waggled about in my crotch drew all kinds of longing and envious stares from the clients as I glided past them. When I got there, I opened the heavy wooden door, which had a little hatch in it for observation, and I slipped inside quietly. It was always quiet and calm in the backroom, and the lighting was always subdued – a stark contrast to the noise and heat and smoke on the club floor. I pushed the door gently shut by shoving my butt against it backwards. The music of the club was silenced to a dull background thud, and I felt an instant calm and relief.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

"Hello Cloud Nine."

I turned to the side and I saw a wonderful and welcoming sight sitting there, open and relaxed on the big low sofa. Of course I recognized him instantly – I recognized the floppy black curls and the bandana, and the gold earring, and that handsome jaw suavely working away on an inordinately large piece of gum.

"Ciggy!" I exclaimed, squealing with delight and surprise.

My heart soared. I flew into his arms. He rose up and caught me as I jumped on him, and he enveloped me in his strong embrace, pinning me against him, with my arms and legs wrapped around him koala-style. It was exquisite.

"How are you lil man?" he said, muffled into my hair.

We nuzzled for a long few moments, squeezing each other, our bodies melding together in warmth and affection. He felt so big and strong against my small, naked body, and he smelled of cinnamon. It felt good to be in Ciggy's arms again.

After our initial greeting was over, Ciggy held me against him, and dropped back down on the sofa with a plop, with me still clinging to him. In the sitting position, I was astride his lap, a very sexual position even with his clothes on. He held me out in front of him, his big hands on my bare shoulders, and he looked searchingly into my face.

"Jesus I've missed you lil man!" he said.

I smiled, flattered and a little bashful. Tell the truth, I had really missed him too.

"I wondered if I'd ever see you again," I confessed, and I fiddled with my stiffie in my crotch, which was harder than ever after seeing Ciggy.

We looked into each other's eyes for a long few seconds, just appreciating the moment, each of us taking in the sight of the other. I was so horny for him, I rose up on my knees and pressed my hard little dick into his chest, hoping he was going to suck it or jack it for me. I held onto his head, for the moment savoring the exquisite pleasure of pressing my little erection into this gorgeous young man.

"Don't," said Ciggy.

I sank back down onto his lap, crestfallen.

"You don't wanna play with me?"

"No, there isn't time," he said, ignoring my dickie which was straining upwards, begging for his ministrations.

"But you paid all that money," I said.

He smiled.

"It was worth it just to see you again," he replied.

"But why did you want to meet in here?" I asked, "Why not in the club like before?"

"I'm incognito," he said, "I can't let anyone see me here. They're looking for me."

"Who?"

"Everybody," he said, with a vague, expansive gesture, throwing his hands up.

"What do you mean everybody?" I asked, confused.

"Everybody," he reiterated, "the police, the UN, the VLA, everybody."

The VLA was the Verolino Liberation Army, the nationalist rebels, and sworn enemies of the KAPO militia.

"What did you do?" I demanded, unable to grasp why they would all be looking for him.

"Long story," said Ciggy, dismissing my question, "It doesn't matter, I just need you to listen to me."

He looked serious. I nodded, making a real effort to concentrate.

"Listen carefully," he said, holding me out in front of him, his hands now firmly around my wrists, holding them in his lap between us, "I mustn't be seen with you. I'm sorry I can't stay. I only came to warn you."

I lowered my eyebrows confused.

"UNVERO is finished," he went on, "The UN is pulling out. They're gonna abandon Verolino."

"When?"

"I don't know when. I only know it's imminent. Could be tomorrow, could be next week."

I didn't know what to say to that. Of course we had all half suspected that it could happen eventually, but somehow never thought it would.

"You're sure?" I asked him, searching for confirmation.

"Pretty sure," he nodded, "You've gotta get out Cloud."

"How?" I asked, incredulous, unable to envisage ever escaping Verolino if it was attacked.

"When UNVERO pulls out, the rebels will move in. You gotta get to the airfield before they do. Do ya know how to get to the airfield?"

"I think so," I replied, "It's only six miles [10 km] away."

"That's right," he said, "All you need to do is make sure you get to the airfield before nightfall. That's when the last transporter takes off. I've arranged for us both to be on that plane."

"But… how…?"

He shook his head, as if to dismiss my questions.

"Just be there," he said, "I'll be waitin' for you."

I hesitated, unable to take in the magnitude of it all. Ciggy shook my wrists, as if to force my acquiescence.

"Promise me," he demanded.

He stared at me intensely, seemingly pleading with me, willing me to accede to his request. I looked into his warm brown eyes and saw how much he wanted my agreement. At that moment he was so beautiful to me. He was so handsome, and I was so drawn to him, my heart just melted. I already knew what my answer was going to be.

"Okay," I said, "I promise."

Chapter 10
New Year – I

For days all I could hear outside my window was the constant whir of helicopters. There was an almost continual stream of twin rotor Chinooks passing overhead, this time with Royal Air Force markings. They were a dark olive green color, almost black from a distance, and they always flew nose down as they crisscrossed the sky. Some were carrying slings laden with howitzers or armored vehicles. The distinctive chopping of the air from their twin rotors became incessant. This went on nearly all day, and for some of the night. The rest of the time, I could see the silhouettes of C130 transporters, distinctive with their fat, stubby fuselage and turboprop engines. I watched their unwieldy, almost jerky maneuvers, twisting and turning clumsily in the skies above Verolino, heavy with cargo, like some migrating bird exhausted after a long flight, looking for a safe place to put down. They circled the airfield, always taking the long way around, dropping decoy flares as they approached. Those magnesium flares were very beautiful, burning brightly like some kind of pyrotechnic display as the heavy aircraft banked and tipped its wings this way and that, trying to fool the enemy radar and throw any heat-seeking missiles off the scent. With all this aircraft movement, it was as though Verolino had suddenly become the world's busiest airport. Beyond the compound walls, I could hear the sound of heavy engines – big turbo diesels from armored vehicles, gears crunching and columns of trucks being maneuvered into place. There were echoed shouts, the sound of sturdy boots tramping the sidewalk, and the whir of tailgates and lifting gear, chains clanging and heavy items being dropped with a loud thud. There was so much activity you would have thought Verolino had become some kind of vast construction site. But it wasn't. It was the sound of the UN peacekeeping force preparing to abandon us, just as Ciggy had foreseen.

I thought a lot about Ciggy. I was missing him. I wished he was here with me now. He would know what to do. I was apprehensive about what was going to happen. The satellite news stations were next to useless in predicting anything useful. UNVERO were so tight-lipped about their intentions, supposedly to ensure security, that they gave no indication of their immediate plans. All they would say was that their mandate in Verolino was still in force and that they would continue to protect the UN-declared safe area until it was decided otherwise. I thought that was characteristically ambiguous, since there was a wide scope of interpretation as to who was responsible for doing the deciding.

On top of that, as New Year approached, Verolino was in the grip of a harsh and cruel winter. Almost overnight the temperatures dropped and everything froze over. When the snowstorm was over, the snow lay thick and compacted on the ground, and the initial beauty of the snowstorm had transfigured into a dull gray slush that blanketed everything. Then the snow merely became a hardship and a chore. It was below zero outside. This sterile, forbidding time of year meant that no one had the energy nor the inclination to go looking for a shota boy to fuck. Even the UN boys were not interested. I put it down to the excess of drugs and alcohol over the Christmas period. The Club was relatively quiet over Christmas. It was always a period of downtime for us. There were no rampant military cocks bursting to be fucked into our little boy cunts, or sucked hard until they squirted their sperm into our willing shota boy mouths. The UN contingent had until then provided a steady source of clientele to keep our little butts and cocks busy. But that seemed to slow to a trickle and then dried up altogether. The UN boys didn't seem to want to celebrate Christmas with us. But then, that may have had more to do with the fact that the UNVERO contingent now comprised of troops from Japan and Kuwait, and Christmas didn't seem to mean much to them. Even the volunteers from the relief organizations didn't seem to have the inclination to shed their fuckwads into us. For a good few days we were pretty much redundant.

During that curious few days between Christmas and New Year, when nothing much seems to happen, the Club reopened, and we shota boys went back to work. Some of us were quite relieved to be earning again, others fairly indifferent. Yet others, namely Sunny, grumbled that it was too soon and that he was still tired and fatigued. But then, Sunny was always tired and fatigued. That was why he was always smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. He claimed he needed that to keep him awake. Personally, I think it was the nicotine and caffeine that deprived him of sleep in the first place. Still, that was up to him. I was tired too, but I was also incredibly horny. If I didn't fuck about with anyone for a day or two, I got 'withdrawal' symptoms. When you are at the peak of your sexual performance, young and hard and full of spunk, you really feel the need to fuck. You want to feel your hard little dick pressed firmly into another boy's butt and pumping young spunk deep into his chute. Don't let anybody tell you that fucking is not an essential need. It is as much a need as sleep itself: no matter how much you put it off, you just know you will have to succumb at some point.

We didn't have to wait too long. Eventually New Year's Eve arrived, and the excitement was tangible. We were all still very apprehensive about the military situation, but we really had no choice other than to get on with it. In some ways, the New Year's Eve Bacchanal was a welcome distraction. It was always enjoyable. Hard work, but ultimately fulfilling. Tiring, but oh so much fun. It was actually good to have something else to focus on.

Now the New Year's Eve Bacchanal traditionally took place in the more salubrious part of the hotel. If the weather had been more clement, it might have taken place outside. There were some well-kept gardens and an outdoor pool in the central courtyard of the hotel, overlooked by the more well-appointed bedrooms in the newer part of the complex, where Simon-Peter and his father were staying. Quite a few of the top UN brass were staying in that part of the hotel, I discovered. That was one thing about UNVERO: they were never stingy in providing the best facilities for their commanding officers. UNVERO always commandeered the best of whatever was available. I doubt there was any equivocation that The Saxon Club was the best shota club around. But since the outdoor pool was pretty much out of the question, the New Year's Eve Bacchanal was taking place in what had once been the spa and leisure center of the hotel. It was rarely used these days, and pretty much redundant most of the time since it was difficult to maintain and the water supply was severely restricted. But somehow Guus had managed to pull out all the stops and he got the indoor spa operational. No doubt he had had to grease a few palms, but Guus always got what he wanted in the end. The indoor spa was very elaborately prepared and tastefully fitted out. The floor was marble, and there were ornate pillars, a low ceiling and mosaics on the walls. There were full length mirrors and hidden lighting, which added to the ambience. It was opulent, but not intimidating. In fact it was very welcoming and homely. At one end of the long room there was a circular Jacuzzi, which was really a small pool sunk into the floor. It had room for about twenty people. At the other end of the room was a little arena of beanbags and futons – essentially the fucking area – with enormous blankets and comforters and lots of oversized fluffy pillows scattered everywhere. The sight of it was very inviting and intimate. To one side, there was a small cocktail bar, serving drinks and various other psychoactive delights. There was also a buffet counter, stacked high with edible treats, both sweet and savory. In the background, an elaborate sound system played music of all genres, and in the air were the most alluring scents and aromas, sweet incense was burning, and scented candles added to the pleasantness. In this environment, all the senses were stimulated and pleasured in the most uncompromising way. In some respects it was sensory overload. Guus had literally thought of everything.

I knew from experience that these events were extremely hedonistic and self-indulgent. They were the type of grand and elaborate fuckfest where nothing was forbidden. They encompassed every single vice imaginable, an all-consuming evening of total debauchery which involved just about every earthly pleasure obtainable. Not only were the best of us shota boys provided as entertainment, there was food and drink and drugs all laid on, and all the guests could pretty much do as they liked. There was a litany of prescription drugs available, a whole array of sex aids and sex toys and there were basically no rules. The only stipulation was that there were no guns, and no clothing allowed. It was one of the very few nights that we all performed with numerous tricks. The leisure center was turned into some kind of enormous arena, where the privileged guests would get to pick the shota boy of their choice and do whatever they liked with him. The activities involved just about every fetish and paraphilia you could think of. It covered the entire range of sexual behavior, and anything or everything the men could possibly want to do to a shota boy in a sexual context. It included mild bondage, like tying the boy up and gagging him, maybe giving him a light whipping or caning; it could be watersports, where the boy got pissed on, and some of the more unusual peccadilloes such as spitting on the boy, or wet-and-messy fetishes like covering a naked boy in some kind of messy edible substance, like whipped cream, ice cream or peanut butter. My personal favorite was chocolate sauce. It could even include things like inserting objects into their boycunts. A lot of shota boys liked that and were quite proficient at it, especially Chip who, as I have already said, could take a twelve inch [30 cm] dildo with no problem. There were also dressing up fetishes which included leather or even dressing the boy in diapers. Wet diapers were very popular. Whatever perved-out little fantasy they wanted to act out, they could do it without reservation, and everyone else got to watch. I liked it for its utter perversity. It was exciting just to witness the sheer inventiveness of the depravity they wanted to indulge in. If you were willing and in demand, as Chip and I invariably were, the evening could turn into more of a test of our stamina and endurance rather than our profligacy or prodigiousness. We could take tremendous punishment, taking multiple loads up our butts, and swallowing quite a hefty serving of spunk. By the end of it, our lips would be blistered and our butts would be red raw. Our bodies would be streaked with dried cum stains. We would be hot and sweaty, panting from our exertions, our joints would be creaking and our muscles sore from all the mauling and manhandling.

The evening started off with us shota boys putting on a little show. We cavorted around naked on the futons, guilelessly frolicking around amongst the pillows and beanbags, our hairless stiffies awkwardly jutting into one another. Whilst we played, the guests were assembling. The privileged men, who were all Guus's guests, filtered in slowly, and I was aware of the room gradually filling up. Our admiring audience stood on the sidelines, just biding their time. Some fondled their dicks, enjoying the live show, some just stood back, drinking and smoking, waiting for the Viagra to kick in or until they were stoned and mellow enough to want to join in. They seemed to be in no hurry, and content to savor the sight of us frolicking around on the floor. We were gentle with each other, all of us taking it easy and being loving and affectionate. We wanted to set the tone for the rest of the evening and were determined that it was going to be a loving and easygoing event, not characterized by too much oppressive man-boy sex, no heavy fucking and certainly no violent sex acts. We were all just rolling about naked really, playing with each other's stiffies and giving each other the odd token suck, kissing and sticking our fingers in each other's butts – all pretty fundamental stuff, but a good preamble for what was to follow. The music was already thudding away in the background, some up-tempo dance track that was designed to get everyone's hearts racing and their toes tapping. I was already flying. I was a little high from a joint that Ten had shared with me well before the proceedings were under way. I was full of energy, feeling good and – most importantly – extremely horny. I was lying on top of Chip, just kissing, his diminutive little body trapped underneath me, our little hairless dicks squashed together, and I rubbed my stiffie against him. Chip was really into it, gorging on my lips, twisting his bespectacled head around, sucking my tongue into his little mouth, his pretty lips pouting and twitching expertly. He even thrust his hot little dick up into my tummy, maneuvering his hips with such expertise that his experience was tangible. Meanwhile, the men were watching studiously, like a pride of lions preparing for the hunt – picking out their prey and deciding which boy they were going to target. The lights were dim, but it was just possible to make out the guests as they looked on lasciviously, circling us like predators. Not surprisingly, Chip and I were the first to be claimed.

It was hard to make out much detail in the semi-darkness, but I felt someone lie down next to me on the futon, and a pair of big strong hands pulled me off Chip's little body and onto his. It was a stark contrast. One moment I was pressed up against Chip's hot, hard, smooth little body, the next I was being lifted by a mighty pair of hands, and then warmly embraced by a big, strong man. He was a big guy, firm and muscular and a little hairy. I didn't mind. It was soft, downy hair, not the rough, crinkly kind. He laid me on his chest and started kissing me. His breath smelled of aniseed and tobacco. He stuck his slobbering tongue into my mouth, at the same time fiddling between my legs trying to locate my boyhole. He was already hard, and his dick was pressing insistently into that sensitive spot behind my balls, no doubt seeking the entrance to paradise. I reached down and, even as I lay on top of him, was able to maneuver his dick into the threshold of my little snatch. He held me tightly on top of him, and then thrust hard up between my legs and he was instantly inside me. I felt my little cunt expand with his girth, and he immediately started pummeling into me. He was impetuous and clumsy and a little rough, and the way he held me against him was a little too tight and uncomfortable. But he wasn't thinking of me. When you were being fucked like that, you could always tell when a guy was only thinking about his own orgasm because he hammered away without a thought for your own comfort. At moments like that, you were just a warm cunt – a welcoming orifice for his rampant dick – a mere spunk receptacle. I laid there and let him do what he wanted, hoping he wasn't going to take too long to blow his fuckwad into me. It was one of those ho-hum type fucks that you just submitted to by going through the motions and thinking of something else.

As he was fucking me, I saw that this guy had a tattoo on his upper arm. It was a faded illustration of an anchor with a ribbon intertwined around the shank – usually a sign that he was in the merchant navy. It made sense. His skin was brown and leathery – the result of too much sun and saltwater. I didn't much fancy this guy, so I imagined I was with someone else. As he was stabbing his dick into me, I found myself thinking about Ciggy. I wondered if it was significant that he was the first person that came into my mind. I liked that image. I played it out in my mind, and tried to imagine that it was Ciggy's dick that was busting my little cunt right now. I pictured Ciggy with a great big hard-on, tried to envisage his beautiful cock with an inordinately stiff erection, and Ciggy excitedly burying it into me, his face portraying the delight of finally getting to experience the exquisite pleasure of my little snatch. It was a pleasing vision. Perhaps one day I would play it out for real. You see, even us shota boys allowed ourselves to indulge in a little fantasy from time to time.

When he finally pumped his spunk into me, it was hot and watery. I could feel it warming that little spot at the top of my chute. It was very much like the sensation of swallowing a hot drink, and feeling it burn the inside of your stomach, except this was much lower down, somewhere deep in my pelvis, just below my tummy. He pulled his slick fat dick out of me and I felt his runny jizz trickle out as he withdrew. I laid on top of his mighty frame, rising and falling with his breathing as he recovered. He took a few moments to get his breath back, then kissed me and thanked me. I rolled off him and he got up, no doubt in search of his next fuck. His dick was still stiff, still rampantly sticking out from his hairy balls, and I knew that, with his initial overexcitement relieved, he was probably going to blow a few more loads before the evening was over. What he had just injected into me was just the first.

I turned over, and on the futon next to me was Chip being fucked face down, with a pillow under his hips, raising his hot little butt up in the air. Chip had a beautiful little butt, firm and round and smooth, and very slim hips which made the rear view of his butt infinitely fuckable. The big, surly guy that was astride him was very refined in his technique, drawing back fully and plunging back in with great precision. A good long-dick action was very rare. Consequently, when you did come across a trick that had got that particular technique down to a fine art, you just had to admire it. He was astride Chip, his big muscular thighs straddling the little guy, and his rampant dick pistoning in and out of Chip's little snatch, ready to burst a copious load deep in Chip's narrow little pelvis. Chip's pretty face was pressed sideways into the futon, his little round glasses glinting in the half light, his eyes closed, but he was smiling. Chip was so horny, so virulent, so eager. Such a dedicated little shota boy. Fuck, it was beautiful.

As I laid there on the futon, looking around curiously at all the sex acts that were taking place, I admired the little sea of naked boys and men and the feverish way they were locked together in groups of two or three. Guus's New Years Eve Bacchanal was like a scene from some Hogarthian masterpiece. Boydicks and smooth boy butts everywhere, cavorting with naked men, all thrown together in an all-consuming bacchanalian panorama of hedonism and debauchery and sexual excess. Fuck, it was fantastic. I was amazed at how quickly the guests had got down to business. A few were just talking to their boys, drinking, sharing a joint or just kissing and fondling. Most had thrown themselves into the proceedings and were already fucking feverishly or were at least at the stiffie-sucking stage. It was quite a sight to behold. From somewhere in the little sea of naked bodies a boy urgently cried out "I'm cumming daddy!" A few laughs and snickers went up, like a little flurry of amusement, amongst the assembled guests, and it helped to lift the tone somewhat.

Across the room, Ten was by the cocktail bar. His job was to dispense drinks, and the only thing that distinguished him from the shota boys was the dickie-bow around his neck, looking like some decorative choker against his smooth olive skin. Other than that, he was completely naked, like the rest of us. He glanced over and saw me looking at him. He smiled and winked. I smiled back. For a few moments I watched Ten as he went about the room with his tray, delivering cocktails and little snacks, collecting empty glasses and getting groped by the guests. He didn't have a hard-on, but that didn't discourage the horny clientele from feeling him up. I liked the way Ten handled their advances. He was such a beautiful boy, with his sultry, Mediterranean looks. He had such a trim, well-sculpted body and good definition, where his burgeoning adolescence was giving him the beginnings of muscles on his arms and chest, and even a quite discernible little six pack. He even had a few thin hairs around his dickie. I could understand how the clients wanted to touch him and stroke him. He was infinitely fuckable. When you saw him, you couldn't help being drawn to him. He was exceptionally beautiful. Ten was the kind of boy who exuded sexuality. Many people said the very same thing about me. I had been told that I exuded sexuality. I don't know if I would go that far, but if I did exude sexuality, it was nowhere near on the same scale as Ten. The difference between me and Ten was that I knew I was sexy. I played on it. Indeed, I earned a living from it. But with Ten, the attraction was in the very fact that he didn't know it. He really didn't know what he had. Sure he was handsome and confident, but there was a quiet self-assuredness about Ten, an x-factor that you couldn't quite put your finger on, an unknowingness that he carried with him, a kind of guileless innocence of his own attractiveness. And that very guileless innocence was a rare and fine trait indeed. In my eyes that made Ten very special.

Ten looked about him and saw that there were no guests waiting to be served. He dumped his empty tray and sauntered over to me. I wasn't with anybody, so he decided to have a quick snog with me. That was the thing about Ten: he only liked boys younger than him. He was only turned on by hairless little dicks, like mine. That was probably why he chose not to become a shota boy, though I'm sure Guus had given him plenty of incentive. Ten scampered over the pillows that were strewn around, nearly treading on a boy who was being spit-roasted by two men, one in his ass, one in his mouth. Ten simply stepped around them and threw himself down on top of me, both of us bouncing back up on the big pile of pillows. He kissed me hard. That was the kind of ad-hoc snog that I didn't mind. Ten was beautiful, with his long black, floppy hair and his dark, emerald green eyes. As I said before, I was kinda in love with him. I knew his feelings towards me were fairly indifferent. Our friendship could never go anywhere, but these little stolen moments with Ten were exquisite. He may have been only a bar boy, but he was also very sexual. As I laid there beneath him, pressed into the pillows under his weight, he rubbed his dick against mine. He was horning up and I thought he was gonna make me cum just by frotting. Ten was an expert frotter. I could feel his firm, rounded butt humping me and as I looked down along the length of his smooth back, his butt going up and down on me, he whispered into my ear.

"You're so fuckin' horny."

He raised his butt a little and moved up, pressing the tip of his dick against my tummy, rubbing it a little on my belly button. Then he rolled off me. Shit! I wanted him to make me cum. Then I realized he was fiddling with something in his hand. He held a phial of poppers out for me with the cap flipped open. He took a big hit, holding the opened cap up to his nose and inhaled deeply. Then he proffered it to me. I leaned over and inhaled a deep hit of the heady liquid. As I did so, Ten held out his arms and rolled back on top of me so we could both enjoy the moment together. As soon as the fumes hit my brain, my heart jumped and started hammering away in my chest at warp speed. Two seconds later, with Ten lying on top of me, both of us in an affectionate embrace, I was in orbit. The whole room fell away and I was instantly launched into the stratosphere, plunged into a warm womb of pure pleasure where my brain was arrested in a momentary seizure of deep ecstasy. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. I could only feel a rush of pure energy and a profound high that left my head swirling and my cheeks flushed with blood. That was the thing about poppers – the high was incredible, but apart from a few dead brain cells, there were no lasting effects. A few seconds later my head had cleared and I was able to carry on as normal.

When we had both recovered, Ten got up on all fours above me, and started jacking his dick, firmly stroking it in his fist and pressing the head into the soft flesh of my tummy at the same time. As he did so, he was staring down into my eyes. I laid there submissively, fawning up at him, totally overawed by how much I adored this boy, and waiting to see what he wanted to do. He took a furtive look about him, and saw that everyone was busily attending to their boys. No one was about to stop him, so he decided to go for the win: he started jacking his dick in earnest and he whispered down at me.

"I'm gonna spunk you baby boy."

I loved it when he called me that.

He was gonna cum on me. I put my arms behind my head to give him free reign, to demonstrate that he could do whatever he liked to my body. He took his big thick boydick in his fist and moved up to sit astride my chest. I giggled playfully. I knew what was coming. Ten rose up on his knees, his thighs straddling my chest, and his fist fudunking away over his rampant boycock. It loomed threateningly over my face, purple and engorged, and about to blow angrily.

When he was getting close, Ten expertly reached for the poppers again and, using only one hand, flipped the top and inhaled, holding one nostril closed. Then he also held it up to my nose, so I could get the hit with him. As the fumes of the poppers infused into his bloodstream, he threw himself forward, so that his dick was directly over my face and he cried out urgently.

"Oh fuck!"

My brain went into overdrive as Ten's orgasm began to play out. It was almost as though we became detached from what was going on around us. For a few moments, all that existed was me lying beneath Ten, and his beautiful body above me in a state of seizure. My head was rushing, but the events I was witnessing had reverted to slow motion. Ten spunked good and hard. I have already said, he spunked up a lot for a boy of his age. He was gonna be one of those boys who ejaculated copious amounts and could easily manage twelve good-sized squirts. Six to eight was about average for a boy in his prime – I should know, I've counted – so in my view anything more than ten squirts should be considered noteworthy. His hot boyspunk lashed my face with thick wet gobs. His spunk was always thick and sticky, not thin and watery, like mine. It had a beautiful stringy viscosity to it and it was pure white in color, making it not only inviting to swallow, but also good to play with.

As his orgasm receded, so did the high of the poppers, and Ten was still sat astride me, slightly breathless with his wet cock in his hand. I laughed, even through a faceful of his boyjizz. It was pooling in one of my eyes and running down my cheeks and neck. Ten thoughtfully reached for a towel from one of the stacks that had been strategically positioned around the floor, and he lovingly wiped me down. At the same time, he stared mischievously into my eyes, both of us content and elated by our spunkgames. I licked what I could from around my mouth, and even dabbed my fingers in what was left, so I could suck it off, but the rest Ten cleaned off me and then took a deep breath. He swooped down and kissed me, by way of thanks, then got up.

"Ah well, back to work," he said resignedly.

I felt a pang of disappointment as the weight of his beautiful body lifted off me. I enjoyed what he did, but I was left wanting. I really wanted to cum on him too. But Ten just turned and walked off, the cheeks of his gorgeous olive-skinned butt shifting sexily from side to side as he went. I would have loved to squirt my boyjizz over that butt. Instead, little Cloud was left forlornly straining upwards with stiffness, his load still intact, probably wondering why no one was making him spunk up. I realized that I had already taken two spunkloads but was yet to cum myself. That was not a very auspicious start to the evening. I could feel my little balls churning, preparing to squeeze out a wad of kidspunk that was already starting to leak from the tip of my stiffie. It was precum of course, and left a tantalizingly shiny little blob of clear gel accumulating on the opening of my exposed cockhead, like some kind of liquid appetizer, waiting expectantly for some eager tongue to lick it off.

I stood up frustratedly, watching Ten walk away, and Sunny came up to me. He emerged from the throng, having witnessed what had just happened, and decided to offer me a bite of the rather large cooking apple he was parading around with. How symbolic I thought, just like Eve in the Garden of Eden. He was using the apple as an excuse to stop and snog everybody. He stepped towards me with his arms open and gave me a quite affectionate hug and a kiss, speaking softly into my ear.

"Never mind lovey," he said, in his camp and husky tones, really quite sympathetic, "He's a real heartbreaker that one."

Sunny licked my cheek and started feeling me up all over. He seemed to be in a very lovey-dovey mood. He stuck his tongue in my mouth and stroked my back, pressing his erect boycock against me. He sure was frisky. But he was very sweet. He was being quite complimentary and gentle with everyone as he shuttled around the room. His dick was inordinately hard even as he did so, but his pupils were so dilated and he was so hyper I knew he must be on something. Knowing Sunny it was probably E. It was the only time I ever found Sunny remotely tolerable. Whatever could be said about E, the transformation on boys like Sunny was remarkable. It was as though he was magically transformed from his usual neurotic, self-obsessed bitchiness to a relaxed, sociable and positively likeable boy. It was amazing.

When we had all been fucked at least once, including Sunny – who, whatever you said about him, could take cock like a real pro – there was a hiatus where everyone rested and recharged. It was essential to ensure there were plenty of breaks, if not just to let the boys recover. The event could go on all night. That was several hours. Sure, some of us could keep going all night non-stop, but at some point I knew we were going to need time for a drink, a quick puff on a joint and something to eat. After all, a tummy full of spunk, whilst certainly containing plenty of protein, could hardly constitute a balanced meal.

One by one, as we finished off our initial encounters, the boys all regrouped over by the Jacuzzi. As the guests were resting between bouts, we boys jumped into the bubbling water. Guus was trying to keep us all in order and trying to get our attention, but we were all too hyper and excited. It was rather like trying to hitch up a team of frisky ponies. The other boys were yammering away animatedly, wide eyed and antsy. Guus too was naked. He had joined in and had been walking around amongst his guests playing the genial host, making sure everyone had what they wanted. I noticed he was wearing a cockring, tightly trapping his cock and balls. It looked painful. His balls were pulled up tight, so that the skin was shiny and stretched. They looked about to burst. His big fat dick was sticking out long and straight and hard and the tip was glistening with precum. Guus stood by manipulating his thick dick. It was clear that he wanted to fuck too. Knowing Guus, he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to dip his wick in fuckboy ass. He certainly knew how to sample the delights on display and was never too unforthcoming to stick his hand in the cookie jar. One thing I will say about Guus, he may have been fat and camp, but he sure fucked as good as any macho military guy. For one thing, Guus had a big fat cock that was infinitely satisfying, and he could go for hours. He could cum two, three times in one evening and still keep wood, and even after his well was dry and he had virtually depleted his cum reserves, he could keep going. When Guus fucked, he fucked like a porn star. He could bend your knees right back against your shoulders, holding both your ankles in one hand, while holding the base of his dick in the other, piledriving that thick rod into you with such ease and familiarity. Yup – Guus was an expert boyfucker.

Guus jumped into the Jacuzzi with us and the other boys all gave an excited cheer. I wasn't sure if it was because they welcomed the prospect of getting fucked by him or because of the size of his splash. After submerging himself briefly, Guus's rotund frame bobbed back up, spluttering the water out of his face. For a few moments he laid back, enjoying the therapeutic bubbles of the pool. He wallowed about for a bit, literally rolling around with us all in the warm water. He still had his cockring on, and his big dick was red and engorged with blood. Guus was in quite good spirits. He seemed relaxed and playful, and started grabbing at the boys crotches, causing some of the younger ones to squirm about and squeal excitedly. Then he scooted over to the nearest boy, floating up behind him, grabbed the boy's hips, lying on his side, and was instantly inside him. Getting fucked by Guus was an occupational hazard. To most of us it was as routine as getting a haircut. Watching him was an education. He fucked good and hard, working his way around the tub, fucking each boy in turn. He would simply slip out of one boy and turn over, slipping into another with consummate ease. It was like a game of musical butts – a matter of chance who's butt he happened to be fucking when it was time to blow his wad.

Well, it was me that got Guus's spunk in the end. It was just a question of who he chose to take his load, and it was my little ass he filled. After fucking all the other boys, it was me that finished him off. I felt quite privileged. Guus fucked me longer than any of the others. We never openly acknowledged it, but I knew I was his favorite. I think Guus even had little fantasies about me. I could just imagine him pumping his big fat rod thinking about my slim, slight, hairless body. I bet he spunked real hard imagining his big thick fuckstick sinking into my soft, tight, round little ass. Guus was such a sexy, dirty bastard. Fuck, it made my hairless little dick hurt with hardness just thinking about it.

I knew when he was getting close. When Guus was heading for his bomb run, the other boys suddenly quieted down and I could feel them all watching us, fascinated by the sight of Guus digging his dick into me. They arranged themselves around the edge of the tub, kicking their toes up out of the water, and savored the show. I laid back quiescently, floating on the surface, my skin shiny with a greasy sheen and my usually shaggy mop of thick blond hair now slicked back with wetness. The warm water was bubbling away around my ears, and Guus pinned me against the edge of the Jacuzzi. He parted my legs, forcing himself between my thighs, and pumped his dick into me with all his strength. He was grunting with each thrust and ramming that thick fuckstick so deep into my boycunt that it was actually quite painful. I didn't mind. I knew I was gonna cum even harder with his big dick striking my gland. He knew how to press into the sides of my chute as he was fucking into me. His technique was excellent. Guus didn't last too long in my veteran little cunt. When Guus was cumming, he rammed his dick so hard into me, I had to grasp the sides of the pool to meet his thrusts. Then he spunked inside me. He emitted a deep, guttural gurgle as he filled my cunt. His spunk was warm and thick, and he even had the presence of mind to pull out as he was cumming, so that the last couple of jets of his spunk went all over my balls and tummy, to be washed away by the pool water. The sight of that was enough to tip me over the edge. He knew my boycum was imminent and, like the expert boyfucker that he was, reinserted his dick to coax my orgasm along. When I cummed, I nearly screamed my orgasm. My iron hard little pole was sticking out of the water and it squirted good and hard with Guus's dick hammering my gland. My hot boysperm was ejected into the vastness of the bubbling pool, my few precious drops of unripe kidspunk dissolving in the hot, fizzy water. The other boys all cooed and gasped as they witnessed it. I breathed a long, deep sigh of satisfaction. This was my first cum of the evening, and my dick had been hard for so long it craved relief. Finally, I had achieved release. It was a good, hard hands-free cum. Good old Guus. I loved having the spunk fucked out of me.

Chapter 11
New Year – II

It was getting late. The New Years Eve Bacchanal had been in progress for hours now. As the time approached the last hour or so before midnight, Guus started to round up the lucky guests for the eagerly anticipated and much hyped climax to the evening – the grand finale. This was to take place in the club itself, for reasons which soon became apparent. Not everybody was interested of course. Some stayed in the spa, preferring to carry on simply fucking away on the beanbags and pillows with the few boys that were still coherent and sober. Actually, they didn't even need to be sober. There were clients who would have fucked the boys regardless. So long as they could bury their rampant dicks into a hot little shota boy cunt, the quality of the conversation was irrelevant.

I was fresh out of the Jacuzzi for the second or third time that evening, because a lot of the guests seemed to think that fucking a boy in a pool of hot bubbling water was somehow more erotic. I suppose in a perverse way it was, but it does begin to lose its appeal after the first couple of times. Anyhow, I climbed out having just had another guy fuck my little ass. He didn't cum in me this time. I think he was saving his load for the finale. I had to admit, I admired the discipline of guys who could do that: fuck a little boy's butt without blowing their load into him. I guess they just liked the act of boyfucking, and could simply fuck their way around the room, sampling every boy in sight, and working up to a big cum at the end, kinda like a long-drawn-out fuck that took the whole evening to culminate. You had to hand it to them – their self control was amazing.

I was a little hazy from the numerous joints that were being passed around, and my body was starting to protest from all the mauling and manhandling. My balls hurt because some guy had decided to try and suck my cock and balls at the same time – that is, take all my genitals into his mouth at once. It felt damn good when I had that done to me, almost like my whole crotch was being swallowed up, and it was an incredible feeling to have your cock and balls encased in a warm, wet mouth, something which, alas, was only possible with a kiddie-sized cock like mine. I also had a hickey on my butt where some guy had tried to kiss my butt cheek and had ended up sucking on it so hard it was more like he was trying to take a bite out of it. Little Cloud was slightly sore too. My little cock had been roughly sucked and jerked by many eager punters and I was starting to feel it. Oh, little Cloud was still as hard as a nail, no problem there. My erection was still more or less intact and still good to go. I had guaranteed my stiffie with a 50mg dose of Viagra which, even if I didn't really need it, would mean I had reserved at least one last hard cum and still had enough little boy spunk in my balls for the grand finale. Guus still hadn't let on what that was going to be. I wrapped myself in an oversized bath towel and took a few moments to dry off and recharge. I ruffled my hair into a big halo of spikes and left it still a little damp. Some tricks liked it that way, especially if you were giving head. Somehow a head of damp hair brushing against their crotch as you sucked them was infinitely more erotic. I wore the towel around my shoulders so that it hung off me like a long cape and went downstairs to the Club.

On the floor of the club, Guus ushered everybody in, still clutching their drinks and their joints or whatever other intoxicating substance they were into, and they arranged themselves around the edge of the little stage. Now remember, the stage of the Saxon Club was sunk into the floor, like a little shallow arena, so the spectators were able to sit around the edges to observe the proceedings. They sat with their legs dangling down the sides, enclosing the stage on all four sides, save for a small gap that Guus had left for the performers to get in and out. The men assembled, still naked, and many still erect from the proliferation of Viagra and other sex enhancing drugs that pervaded the proceedings.

On the stage, someone had decided it was a good idea to start playing 50s style rock 'n' roll music, and there were multicolored disco lights and strobes flashing away from the overhead gantry, so that it was instantly transformed into a dance floor. A group of young men had no hesitation in carrying their boys naked onto the middle of the floor – boys always got carried by their men during these events – a shota boy ostensibly became a commodity in these circumstances and, as I have said before, the men could do pretty much as they liked. As a shota boy, nobody asked you to dance – you were simply compelled to do as you were bidden. The naked boys and men all launched into a tremendously fast jive, and the men seemed quite proficient in lifting their boys, and throwing them this way and that, so that the smaller, lighter, more nimble figures of the boys were being literally wrapped around their older partners. Some of that dancing was extremely erotic, especially when the boys were hanging off the men's shoulders upside down, or sliding through their legs, or when they were being spun around and flipped over, or tossed into the air with a somersault, almost like they were the men's own little boy dolls – walking, talking living dolls, as the lyrics claimed. On the edges of the dance floor, there were boys and men all thrown together in little clusters, cuddling and kissing, chatting and passing joints back and forth. Some of the men held their boys on their lap and were casually playing with their limp little todgers, fingering their floppy little dicks and just enjoying the feel of having a young, hairless boy to hold, savoring their warmth and smoothness and relishing their nubile proximity, with all the sexual promise that those boys possessed. It was a beautiful sight. Every now and then a man would get up and lead his boy onto the dance floor and launch into some energetic shimmy. Sometimes it was the boys that led the men onto the dance floor. It was so erotic, mainly because I could see no other way for it to culminate than those boys being rewarded with a thoroughly hard rooting from their adult partners. It was a beautiful precursor to what could only appropriately conclude in a feverishly hard fuck. After all, what was dancing other than simply artistic foreplay?

While I was drying off, I took a little tour to observe what was going down in the other parts of the Club. The lights were still low, and the music was still loud, and the place was getting incredibly hot and smoky. It didn't take long for the cavernous room to fill with a thin veil of smoke and for the general din to rise to an unbearable level. I went to explore what was happening in the back rooms, where the usually more illicit activities were conducted, and something different was happening as I passed each room. I went along the open doorways, peeping into each room, and I was amazed at the sheer variety of peccadilloes that were being perpetrated. As I poked my head into one of the rooms, I was brushed aside by two of Guus's goons – the heavies who watched over the activities and made sure no one got out of hand. They were escorting somebody out and had literally picked him up, one either side of him – so that his feet were treading thin air, rather like in the cartoons. The waxen-faced goons didn't take any crap – if any of the punters stepped out of line they were thrown out. This guy was pleading his innocence even as they frog-marched him away, "I wasn't gonna shit on his face, honest!" I had to laugh. There was always some wise-guy who couldn't restrain himself; always some fuckwit who went too far.

Next door, in another smoke-filled room, several naked men were sitting around in various poses on the futons with their boys, noisily playing dice. They were so focused on the game that they didn't even notice me. They had cut themselves off in their own little corner and were busily smoking big fat joints and placing wagers on the dice rolls. The boys were sitting in their laps or were curled up next to them, watching, fawning and offering little tokens of encouragement. Next to them, in the opposite corner, another group were playing poker. The men were all variously interposed with their boys, some sharing joints, others breaking off to give their boy a kiss and an appreciative stroke. It was a heartwarming scene because it was clear that the joints had made everybody mellow and relaxed and probably quite horny, and there was genuine affection between the men and their boys. What I couldn't work out was where they stashed their dough. Everyone was naked, so there was no convenient place to carry dosh. Perhaps it was best not to speculate on that, I decided.

In the next room, there were two horny men leaning over a naked boy who was lying on the table with his stiffie pointing straight up in the air. One of the men was gently stroking the boy's stiff little rod between his fingers, moving the elastic skin up and down over his rounded little cockhead. Meanwhile, the other was stooped over him, snorting lines of cocaine off his body. It was a sight that I particularly relished, especially as I recognized the boy. Well, I recognized his little dick first, in the same way as I could distinguish every little todger I had wrapped my lips around. It was Cosmo. Cosmo was very pretty. He was about 10 years old, slim and slight in build, and sported the battle scars of his boyishness – he had faded scabs on his legs where he had grazed his knees, and little purple bruises on his shins and elbows. He even had a little puffy cut on his lip. Cosmo was a scrapper – always getting into fights with the other boys because he was lippy and ornery and was given to smartmouthing and sarcasm. He was a cheeky scamp and always looked a bit seedy and streetworn. But he was nevertheless lovable, in an Artful Dodger kind of way. But then some men liked that. They found his rough and ready seediness very arousing. In my experience, the sheer range of men's tastes in boys was infinite. There was simply no end to the type of things they liked to see in their fuckboys. And they weren't always slim and lithe. Even the slightly chubby boys were appealing in their own way. Anyhow, the sight of little Cosmo submitting his pretty body to the men's depraved foibles was very arousing. It was true decadence, I thought, that they could indulge their every whim in this way. Four lines of white powder were arranged on Cosmos flat tummy, and he was quiescently lying there giggling, almost ticklish, but happy to allow the man to snort the stuff off his skin through a rolled up greenback. It struck me what a stark paradox this was: this illicit powder arranged there so symmetrically on that flawless young skin that was as tight as a drum; this iniquitous substance corrupting the boy's youthful innocence. There was a strange kind of abstract beauty to it.

Finally, I shed my ample bath towel and was once again naked and dry. I made my way back to the main room, contemplating everything that I had seen, and it struck me that the old adage about sex and drugs and rock 'n' roll was particularly relevant here. I giggled to myself because I never anticipated I would encounter all three simultaneously.

Back in the main part of the club, Guus was busy assembling the rest of the boys over by the bar. By this time he had removed his cockring and his dick was soft, but I knew that was just a routine break for recuperation. Guus had plenty more fuck mojo, and I knew he was gonna bust a couple more fuckwads before the evening was out. For now, he was super efficient in briefing us on what we had to do. I noticed that he had only picked out the select few hardcore shota boys for this, so I knew it was gonna be something really special. Knowing Guus, it was probably something exceptionally pervy and depraved, but hey, it WAS New Year. I wasn't altogether surprised that I was amongst this select group, as were Chip and Dax, along with Kai and Sabu. Guus had certainly picked a good variety of boys. Kai was Finnish and had creamy white skin, very light brown hair – not quite blonde – with a cute smattering of freckles across his nose, and eyes that were the palest blue. Sabu, on the other hand, was Indian in origin, very slim and diminutive, a veritable Mowgli of a boy, with a thick head of black moptop hair and deliciously brown skin that was the color of caramel. They were both very beautiful. Along with Chip, Dax and myself, we were the best that the Saxon Club had to offer.

When the dancing had finished, the stage cleared and a more evenly-paced music was playing discreetly in the background. The lights were lowered, adding to the general sense of expectation. There were spotlights trained on the centre of the stage, where Guus had strategically placed futons and pillows. The five of us marched into the center and sat cross-legged on the futons. It was almost as though we were about to engage in a karate lesson. The sight of us sitting there, looking beleaguered in the center of the little stage, with the spotlights on us, ratcheted up the general sense of spectacle. There was a kind of hushed anticipation amongst the guests, like a little buzz of excitement that hung in the air.

Guus came on and stood there with us sitting at his feet, like he was some kind of revered pedagogue. He announced that as the midnight hour approached, some of his best boys would entertain his guests with some amazing feats. There was a little smattering of applause from the audience that surrounded the stage, obviously welcoming the start of the finale. Then Guus asked Dax to sit in the center of the futons and the rest of us all to sit in a circle around him. Dax, with his long, lanky, teal colored hair, and his incredibly long legs, shifted over and sat in the middle of the floor looking quite forlorn and abandoned. He always looked white and pasty, slightly underfed and still had those dark rings around his eyes. He was such a slight, slim, lean boy, only a little younger than me, but so much smaller in stature. There were very faint whip marks across his back and scarring on his skinny but otherwise flawless little butt, and small blotches on his arms and legs, the remnants of some not too recent bruises. Some men found that incredibly arousing. As I said before, Dax was known for his propensity for physical punishment, and had a loyal following of respectful clients for that very reason. We arranged ourselves around him. Then Guus went over to the edge of the stage and I could see Ten, still naked, with that sexy little dickie bow around his neck, and he handed Guus a little black device. It looked like some kind of battery operated remote control unit, with a couple of switches and dials. It had two thin cables trailing out of it, one attached to a slim steel probe, the other attached to a little steel ring. A little murmur went up amongst the assembled onlookers.

Guus came over with the little black box in his hands. Then he handed the attachments down to Dax, feeding out the cables, and nodded assuredly to him. Dax, sitting there looking up at Guus, nodded back affirmatively. Now the center of attention, he played with his thick hairless dick quite roughly. He pumped it quite hard in his fist and within seconds it was fully erect. He tugged at it quite insistently, until it was safely engorged and anchored to the deck at full mast. The pretty cut head looked infinitely suckable. He even stopped and tilted his head back, and he played up to the audience, admiring his own hairless todger for a bit and allowing us all to have a nice view of his impressive appendage. Dax's rather large boydick was pulsing tangibly in his crotch. His boycock, now hardened with arousal, looked so disproportionate on him – Dax had such an inordinately large dick for such a small boy.

Guus handed Dax a tube of lube, which he used to coat the little probe, and he even put some on the steel ring. Then he leaned back, propping himself up on one arm, and spread his legs open. With the other hand he put the little steel ring over the tip of his stiff boycock, carefully maneuvering it so it was around the most sensitive part – just below the rim of the reddish little head of his dick. With that in place, he then began to insert the steel probe into his boyhole. There were a few muted gasps from the audience and a murmur of excitement went up. They loved pervy stuff like that – boys having painful and demeaning things done to them, except that in this case Dax was quite willingly doing it to himself. Dax stuck the probe way up into his little cunt with no hesitation whatsoever. He sat on the floor with his legs out in front of him, and studiously fed the entire length into his little snatch. I couldn't believe how his tiny body could accommodate that fearsome looking object so easily. He grimaced all the way through, but he persevered, pushing that probe slowly until it was completely sunk into his willing flesh. His experienced little boyhole effortlessly swallowed the whole thing. Dax threw his head back and screwed his eyelids tightly shut. When the probe was fully inserted into his little cunt, he looked at the little wires trailing out. He was now attached to the machine via those little wires. The rest of us all looked around at each other, impressed and somewhat puzzled at the same time.

Guus explained to the assembled audience that the machine was called a TENS unit, and it was used to induce orgasm using electrical impulses via the nerves. I could see the expectant faces of the audience looking ever more attentive at this particular piece of information, their ears pricking up with morbid curiosity. Like an athlete about to perform for the judges, Dax stopped to reflect for a moment, as though mustering his reserves and preparing for the trials and endeavors he was about to undergo. Then he looked up purposefully at Guus and nodded. Guus held the little machine in his two hands and flipped a switch. The TENS unit started humming softly. The initial flow of current was turned on, and Dax waited. It wasn't until the dial was turned a little way up that Dax reacted. He jumped as though in shock, and a look of delighted surprise spread across his pretty face. He smiled. He liked it.

"Can you feel it?" Guus asked him.

Dax nodded, still grinning to himself, and appreciating the sensation that was being transmitted into his sweet little cunt.

"It tickles," he announced, looking around at his enthralled audience.

Dax was still smiling. The dial on the TENS unit was turned up a little. The hum of the machine increased and Dax's smile became broader.

"Oh yes, I can really feel that now," he said, his gray eyes widening.

The TENS unit dial was turned up further. Dax stopped smiling. In fact he looked shocked for a moment, trying to assimilate a new level of sensation. He didn't look horrified, but he did look as though he was becoming more uncomfortable. He started to concentrate more on the impulses being infused into him, and gradually he assimilated the new level. He was doing well.

When the TENS unit dial was turned up further, Dax let out a little gasp and his big dick waggled violently in his crotch, as though galvanized by the sensations being induced into his hairless little snatch. He could feel the impulses even stronger now, and it looked rather like his dickie appreciated the gesture, as though the stimulation being directed into Dax's little cunt was a source of energy for his oversized erection. Dax jacked his stiff dick in his fist, mechanically pumping along its ample length with his long, thin fingers curled around it, but for the most part he left it alone, and it waggled about in his crotch, ever stiffened by the electrical impulses, and all the more psychologically roused by it all.

It wasn't until the dial was turned up once more that Dax began to look uncomfortable. The machine was now humming quite perceptibly, and Dax jumped, starting to breathe faster with little shallow breaths. He was bearing the sensations very well, and I wondered if he was in rapture or distress. It was difficult to tell. But he made no effort to stop the proceedings. No doubt he had a safeword, but if he did, he didn't use it. If anything, he acquiesced to whatever was being done to him.

When the dial was turned all the way, the machine buzzed manically, and Dax was breathing fast as though in an effort to bear the sensations being discharged into his lithe body. He thrashed his head about a bit, and he started moaning. The audience let up a murmur – almost a gasp of awe – and he made sure to lean back on his arms, his legs still spread out in front of him. The wires were still trailing from behind his hairless balls, and he looked down at his engorged cock with that painful looking metal ring clamped around it. His beautiful dick was straining upwards, pointing straight up, and it was now waggling up and down, seemingly trying to break free of his crotch. Eventually Dax closed his eyes, threw his head back and lifted his skinny butt up off the floor. It was as if he went into some kind convulsion. It all happened in slow motion. His thick dick pulsed incredibly in his crotch, all on its own, violently jerking up against his abdomen, so that it was pointing at his face. Dax let out a quick shriek of profound ecstasy. He was cumming. His high-pitched scream reverberated into the stuffy atmosphere of the Club and in our ears. A moment later, a big squirt of spunk burst forth, like a dam breaking, followed by a few less powerful little jets, and it ran down his tummy and onto his balls. His spunk was always so abundant. So thick and creamy. Fuck, it was so sexy. The appreciative audience gave him rapturous applause, with whistles, shouts and catcalls and an enthusiastic stamping of feet. They loved it. When his butt was back down on the floor, Guus switched the machine off. The buzzing stopped and Dax gasped as though struggling for air. He was hyperventilating, the ordeal for now over. Then he removed the slick little probe from his snatch and pulled off the spunk-stained ring from around his softening cock, tossing the steel attachments aside. But he was okay. In fact he seemed pleased with his orgasm. Fuck, how did such a slight boy endure such treatment? We were all amazed.

When Dax had left the stage to go and clean up, the audience descended into loud murmuring and chattering, expressing their incredulity to their neighbors. I could see some of the boys in the audience having their todgers pulled extra hard and a few were squirming about with some man's head firmly buried in their crotch, enduring the rough stiffie-sucking that nearly always resulted from watching such extreme antics. It made the men so much more callous and cruel with the boys, and seemed to encourage rough and painful treatment. And the proceedings were only just beginning.

Guus moved the performance on swiftly. Next it was Chip's turn. Chip had perfected his own specialty. I don't know whose idea it was, but Guus magically produced a little wooden presentation box which he opened, flipping over the lid. Inside was a molded insert with a set of thin steel implements of varying sizes. They looked like very long, thin pencils. Except it was clear that they weren't pencils. They were probes of some kind. They were tapered at one end and had a little rounded bobble at the other. Guus offered the box to Chip. Chip stood up on the futon, his little dick already hardening and elevating up by degrees as though it was hydraulically operated. Chip looked over the probes in the box. His little hand hovered over the items before him, almost like he was selecting from a box of chocolates. He took one of the thin steel probes. Again Guus produced a tube of lube. Chip diligently lubed up the little probe with his fingertips, making sure to smother it completely with the clear gel. He then settled himself on the futon, lying down flat so that everybody could see his cut little todger pointing up proudly. Then he took his stiff dickie in one hand and with the other started threading the thin probe, rounded end first, into the hole in his dickie. The audience gasped and cheered, throwing in catcalls of encouragement. Some of the younger boys on the sidelines looked away squeamishly, others looked on incredulously. Like a brave little Eagle Scout, Chip expertly and unswervingly inserted that probe all the way into his erect little dick with a minimum of formality, feeding it slowly and evenly down his piss-slit so that it must have at least reached the base of his dick. When he had finished, the top was sticking out of the end of his little cock, almost as though his dick was impaled. He was even able to waggle it about, with the exposed end of the probe waving up and down erratically. The audience cheered, impressed by his antics. Chip laid there for a while, stretched out on the futon, with his hands behind his head, almost as though he was sunbathing, and he tilted his head forward slightly, admiring his impaled dick with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Now, I don't know about you, but having anything up my urethra is ultra painful. I mean, I love the thought of shoving things up my dick, but the reality is that the sensitivity is just unbearable. It was obviously tissue that was never designed to accommodate solid objects – and it was all the more repellent to the sensitive lining of my tube since it had only ever carried liquids before. It stung like nothing you had ever felt before. Even just introducing something into the head of your dick was painful – I had felt the sensitivity whenever a trick licked the rim of the little hole, just managing to graze the very top of the tube, just inside the little piss-slit, and that was unbearably sensitive – so how Chip managed to take the full length of that steel probe, I'll never know. But I do know one thing – he must have been experimenting. This was clearly not the first time he had stuck something into his tube. Yup – you had to hand it to him – Chip was obviously well versed in the art of shoving things up his dick. Oh yeah, no doubt about it, the dirty little tyke was way ahead of me on that score.

Chip jumped up to a standing position, flipping himself upright with a quick flip of his little body, making the tight little curl on his forehead bounce briefly. His little stiffie was proudly sticking out. Then he reached down and slowly removed the metal probe, withdrawing it in one, smooth action. A slick string of lube came out with it and he held the little probe aloft. The appreciative audience applauded. Chip soaked up the admiration, clearly reveling in the limelight.

As the applause for Chip gradually petered out, Guus announced that I was up next. That drew a renewed and appreciative round of applause. That surprised me a little, because I didn't realize I was so popular. Guus explained that I was going to try a technique that was slightly risky and possibly painful and that this little demonstration required a boy who could spunk. Kai and Sabu didn't spunk up yet and as Dax had already shot his bolt, that only left me. My heart jumped because I didn't really enjoy stuff like that. I could tolerate a little pain, and I even found mild bondage somewhat arousing, but anything too painful was stiffie-sapping. And yet, my little todger was hardening at the thought of it. Little Cloud was becoming ever more tumescent, strangely aroused by the idea, the pervy little fucker.

Without further explanation, Guus brought out a strange looking device which I can only describe as a little clamp. It was like one half of a pair of handcuffs – a rigid ring with a rotating hinged section which clamped into the other half. It was exactly like a miniature handcuff, except this was used for clamping the base of your cock. It was similar in principle to a cockring, but it wasn't for enhancing an erection. This was specifically designed for something Guus called retrograde ejaculation. Essentially, it clamped your urethra closed, blocking the sperm from coming out. The orgasm would basically be dry. Guus was quite knowledgeable about stuff like that, and the technique was not entirely new to me. Various tricks had tried it on me in the past, usually by pressing a finger hard into my perineum, just behind my balls, to block off the tube and stop the spunk from coming out. That forced the spunk back into the bladder. But there were simpler methods too. In fact it was Guus who taught me to pinch the head of my dick when I was cumming, closing off the hole so that the spunk couldn't come out. It meant that the spunk was forced back into the urethra, which made the prostate work harder – thus prolonging the orgasm. It worked too. Retrograde ejaculation always made my cums stronger and longer. But I didn't do it too much because my balls always hurt after doing that, and squeezing the tip of my cock just on the point of ejaculation was not always conducive, nor desirable. Besides, part of the pleasure of jacking my little dick was the thrill of watching my kiddiecum squirt out.

I stood up, with Chip and Kai and Sabu sitting around me on the futons. Their pretty faces were focused on my dickie, all three pairs of eyes wide with fascination. Guus handed me the little metal clamp. There was a strip of felt underlining which went on first, to prevent damage to the skin, and then I attached the clamp over it. I must admit, the snugness and weight of the clamp, pinching the base of my little dick, felt very pleasurable. I could feel the tightness on the underside of my dick, where my tube was closed off and it was the same kind of sensation as when my dick was buried balls-deep in some other boy's hairless little cunt. It made my dick crave stimulation. It really did make me want to fuck it into something.

Luckily, Chip obliged. He didn't wait to be asked – Chip was always hungry for cock, so he got down on his knees and leaned in, swallowing the entire length of my swollen dick right into the back of his throat. He impaled his sweet little head on my rod and the feel of his hot, wet little mouth encasing my rampant dick was heavenly. His longish, light brown mop of hair brushed right up against my balls, and his little spectacles pressed coldly into my tummy. The audience certainly appreciated it. They emitted a rousing cheer of encouragement. Clearly Chip's reputation was as solid as mine. The two of us together only doubled the spectacle. Of course they liked it – this was after all nothing less than live porn.

I knew I wouldn't last long with my cock in Chip's mouth. Chip was an expert cocksucker. He could give head like no other boy I knew, sucking and licking, twisting his head this way and that, even putting his warm little paws on my butt to pull my dick right into the back of his magical little orifice. His little teeth chomped down on my shaft, heightening the sensation, as he sucked good and hard on the sensitive head making me melt with pleasure. Oh fuck, how I wanted to cum in him. I wanted to thrust real hard into his pretty face; I wanted to blow my wad right inside that hot, wet little cavern; I wanted fill his head with spunk.

Gradually, Chip's efforts on my cock began to bear fruit. My dick was inordinately hardened by his antics, licked and sucked and dripping wet with his spit, and becoming ever more sensitive to his ministrations. It felt like he had inflated it to bursting point, making the clamp feel tighter, so that the base of my dickie was pinched painfully, making my erection unbearably hard. I couldn't help thrusting hard into Chip's mouth, so that the spongy head of my dick was actually digging into the back of his throat. But Chip took it. Like a true fuckboy, he never complained or pulled away. He seemed to have an innate understanding of how a bit of rough treatment was inevitable. He knew the exquisite pleasure he afforded me. He was compliant and cooperative and I knew he relished what he was doing. Chip was specialized and accomplished. He was not only beautiful, horny and precocious, but his technique was unparalleled. There was no doubt. As a fuckboy, Chip was sensational.

Chip ushered my cock to the brink, quickly and expertly bringing me to the point of orgasm, deftly administering the paradise stroke. Then he abandoned it, leaving my little cock pulsing redundantly in mid air. My orgasm was already under way, and Chip leaned back, still on his knees, and watched with a delighted grin. As I cummed, I was overtaken by a powerful sensation which made my whole crotch clench in profound ecstasy. I nearly screamed, both from the pain and from the incredible intensity of my orgasm. My little cock was throbbing madly, trying vainly to expel my little kiddie load, what there was of it. I could feel the pulses deep behind my balls, the muscles contracting tightly, trying to squeeze out my kidspunk. My tubes were constricted with spunk, my cock and balls were filling with fluid, and this was accompanied by a strong desire to relieve the pressure. It was wonderful and frustrating at the same time. Then came the pain. For a few seconds I was doubled up in sweet agony, and I could hear the audience gasping in morbid delight.

When my orgasm subsided, and my little cock stopped pulsing, even with the heavy clamp around it, I sat down on the futons. When the pleasure of my cum had waned, the pain became overriding. I needed to relieve the pressure real bad. That clamp around my dick was now painful and uncomfortable. It was Chip who had the dubious pleasure of removing the clamp. He was my savior. He scooted over on his knees. Luckily the clamp had a quick release mechanism. Chip pressed a little clip and the clamp magically fell off. The build up of spunk in my crotch suddenly burst out of the tip of my dick, like a big splat of almost clear fluid, making it feel like my whole cock had burst open. It was painful and pleasurable at the same time. The feeling of release was incredible. It really did feel as though my dick had exploded and the pronounced tingling in my balls felt like someone had wrung my balls out. I looked at the little puddle of kiddiecum on the futon between my legs and was amazed by the amount I had spunked. But I was shocked to see that the cloudy liquid also had little ripples of red in it, like tiny threads of blood. Guus threw down a towel to wipe it up, probably hoping that none of the other boys had seen it. But Chip had. I saw the worried look in his steel-gray eyes. He didn't say anything, though we both knew the audience would have no idea what had happened. They weren't close enough to have seen it.

Guus helped me up. I got up tentatively, my crotch still hurting savagely, and the audience applauded. Guus escorted me away from the stage, with an arm around me, his substantial frame almost holding me upright as he led me away. Beneath the cheers and catcalls he asked me if I was okay. I told him it was hurting. Guus, who knew a lot about ejaculation, explained that sometimes it did hurt like that if you had a really hard cum. He said your balls were likely to hurt for a while if you were emptying your reserves, and if you continued to have more cums after they started hurting like that, you could cause yourself a permanent injury. He ordered me to take a break, and he told me that I didn't have to resume if I didn't want to. I must admit, the sight of my clear spunk rippled with red like that was a little scary. Guus said it was nothing to worry about. It was just from pressure on the blood vessels. He said if you ever see blood in your spunk, you know it's definitely time to stop. I made a note to remember that.

I sat on the sidelines with Guus, just on the edge of the stage, and Ten very tenderly sidled up to sit next to me, with a comforting arm around me. He looked genuinely sympathetic, and handed me a glass of Black Death. I turned and managed to muster a smile of gratitude, gratefully accepting the drink with both hands. I swallowed it greedily, feeling the need for something to stun the pain. My cock and balls were pulsating with a dull, reverberating ache, a sure sign that my body was starting to protest at the demands being made upon it.

Raising the tone once again, Guus introduced Kai and Sabu, who put on an excellent little show. It was nothing too heavy this time. Kai and Sabu were both little clowns who liked a bit of slapstick and practical jokery. Their little performance involved butt and nipple play. They seemed to enjoy sticking things in each other's butts, starting with their fingers, then thin little dildos, and eventually butt plugs.

As I watched Kai and Sabu enthusiastically doing stuff to each other, I enjoyed Ten's proximity. With his arm still reassuringly around my shoulders, he gently slipped a lighted joint between my lips, and held it there for me to inhale. I leaned into him, taking a deep drag of the joint, and rested my head on him. The swirling fug of smoke soon enveloped me in a warm, mellow haze, and my head swam with a momentary high of dizziness. Ten was still naked, and I could feel his warm, strong shoulder comfortingly against my cheek.

I was a little detached as I watched the two little clowns on the stage. I was aware that what they were doing was vaguely funny, as well as highly erotic, and I could hear the audience variously gasping and murmuring every time they did something way out. They attached little nipple clamps to each other. They also licked each other out as they cavorted around on the futons, burying their little faces right into the other's butt, rimming each other real good and tonguing their boyholes slick and clean. They rolled around, their little stiffies jutting out, kissing and administering cute little nips. They were just like two little puppies playfighting. What I liked in particular was the combination of the two boys – Sabu's dark, caramel-colored skin contrasting nicely against Kai's lighter creaminess. There was something very beautiful about that.

After they had rolled around and wrestled each other, Kai and Sabu got down to their specialty. Their particular party piece was watersports. That is, they liked pissing games. What amazed me was how much they peed. First they peed on themselves, lying on the futons with their stiffies pointing towards their faces, and they let go a wonderfully coordinated little arc of boy pee all over their own little bodies. It was so perfectly synchronized, that little performance would have been worthy of Olympic gold. Then, in perfect coordination, they stopped and got up on their knees, facing each other. They then peed all over each other, directing their little jets of boy pee all over their chests and tummies, the warm liquid dripping off their crotches, and pooling between their knees, in little puddles which had a delicate golden tinge, like jasmine tea. They both had these manic grins, clearly pleased with their antics. There was a perverse artistry to their performance, and I think they knew it. They were able to turn their waterworks on and off at will, it seemed, stopping to pee on each other in various poses. It was as though they had endless reserves in their bladders – and again it wouldn't have surprised me if they had been conditioned to do this – pissboys were known for training their bladders to hold vast quantities of pee. It was almost never ending.

The climax of their routine was a little more rough stuff. The peeing now finished with, both of them drenched in little yellow droplets, they reciprocally resumed shoving things up their butts. Kai shoved a rather long and fearsome looking speculum into Sabu's little butt, which he took with consummate ease and without protest. The audience applauded when the monstrous implement bottomed out, firmly embedded between Sabu's brown butt cheeks, with the end of the big steel implement still sticking out between his legs. Sabu then rose up and stuffed a string of anal beads into Kai's butt. Kai seemed to love it, purring away with pleasure as his little body was invaded by those painful looking beads. Then they both paraded around the stage doing a silly little erotic dance, thrusting out their stiffies and pulling funny faces at the audience. Sabu jumped on Kai, and they both fell on the futons giggling. Sabu held Kai there, pinning him down, and pushed the anal beads harder into his butt. Kai loved it. He taunted Sabu, begging him to rip the beads out quickly. Sabu smiled manically, his little white teeth contrasting against the dark skin of his face. It was a crooked little smile of perverse joy – the kind of perved-out joy that was characterized by the prodigiousness and profligacy of an experienced fuckboy – and then he gritted his teeth and ripped the beads out of Kai's butthole with one quick yank. Kai threw his head back sharply in pleasurable anguish as he felt the sting of his young cunt being punished by the beads. He screwed up his eyelids and opened his mouth in a gasp of sweet agony.

"Ah!"

The audience applauded, and I could see Sabu proudly holding up the string of beads like they were some kind of trophy. He even licked his lips, clearly relishing his work. Yup, Kai and Sabu certainly vindicated themselves. Their little performance was amazing. The only thing they didn't do was fuck each other. But it was a fitting link to the last element of the finale, which was planned to culminate precisely at midnight – on the stroke of New Year.

The last element of the finale was a bukkake. One lucky boy always got chosen to take the final volley of spunkloads from the still horny clientele, and thus provide a fitting ending to the day's depravity, as well as providing a quite delightful spectacle for the rest of the already depleted and exhausted guests. That boy, to my extreme delight, was Chip. There was nothing I would have liked better than to see his tight, well-toned, beautiful little 10 year old body thoroughly saturated with man sperm.

The boys cleared the stage, and quickly removed the futons and pillows. Guus helped to dry up the mess they left behind. When the stage was clear, the last element of the finale was able to proceed. Chip was brought out, escorted back onto the stage by the other boys like a captive little slave, and in no time at all, he was surrounded by horny men. Chip got down on his knees and they all jacked their stiff adult dicks. Chip was really into it, ratcheting up the eroticism by goading the horny guys who surrounded him, pointing their rampant dicks at him. "Spunk me!" he was calling out, "Fuckin' blast me!" You could see the guys responding to his plaintive demands, provoked by his taunting, inveigled by his fuckboy prodigiousness. The audience on the sidelines, meanwhile, watching the proceedings, were variously jacking themselves off over their boys or were preparing to join in. They could do whatever they liked. Even some of the boys were having their little cocklets sucked or were busily tugging their stiff little todgers as the men jacked off over them. More of the guys from the audience got up one by one, their big adult dicks inordinately aroused by the spectacle unfolding before them, and were of course free to join in as they wished. This autonomy – this understanding that they were free to act on every little whim – was, I'm sure, the primary attraction of Guus's New Years Eve Bacchanal. There was really nothing else like it. The amazing thing was that Chip was so eager, so willing, so fervently committed to what he was doing, that he succeeded in whipping up the anticipation to almost fever pitch. I could see Guus sitting on the sidelines watching all this, with a self-satisfied smirk of twisted delight and pride, like some accomplished ringmaster. Meanwhile, the men were surrounding Chip who was kneeling on the floor, offering their hard dicks for him to suck, and he was sucking on the tips of their cocks, moving from one to the other giving each a token sampling of his magical little orifice. The men stroked and pumped their dicks, mustering their reserves as midnight approached. The countdown to New Year started and the audience all gathered around with eager anticipation, counting down aloud. When they were ready to let go, it was as though Chip was assailed by an angry cum-fountain – every inch of his tiny frame and smooth young skin was sprayed by the misappropriated fuckwads of thirty or so massive cocks, most of them from horny and virile young guys who ejaculated with an almost violent vigor. He got it full-force in the face, washing over his cute little round spectacles, soaking the tight little curl on his forehead, dripping all over his pretty pecs and tight tummy, in the crack of his perfect bubble butt, even his armpits and little boyfeet.

On the stroke of midnight, everyone cheered, welcoming in the New Year, and when the guys had finished, the last few stood back and surveyed the diminutive figure of Chip. He was dwarfed in the middle of those tall adult men, and they seemed to be admiring their work. Droplets of pure white man sperm trailed down his body. His tight little balls were glistening with it. It was even running down the shaft of his stiff little dick, dripping off the end of his erect boycock. It looked so sexy, almost like he had spunked all over himself. That thought was inordinately arousing, tell you the truth. Seeing that thick, white, gobby sperm dripping from his stiff dickie and hairless little balls, especially knowing that Chip was too young to spunk up yet… oh fuck, it was beautiful.

Chip stood up and paused for a moment, looking lost in the midst of all those men. He held his arms out, away from his body and looked down at himself, enthralled by the sight of his body greasy with sperm. Then he looked up, smiled mischievously and seemed to shrug with a "What the heck" expression. Then he threw himself down on the futons and started rolling around like a dog in mud, as though trying to cover every inch of his little body in the stuff. Chip loved this kind of stuff. He seemed to have this innate understanding of the pleasure this afforded his audience. He was a real performer – and that was the difference between a fuckboy who just went through the motions, who merely submitted passively to whatever was being done to him, and one who was really into what he was doing, who was not only sexy and dirty but had an inherent awareness of how to demonstrate his zeal, and how that zeal was perceived by his audience, and the incalculable value that added to his performance. He was utterly devoted to his vocation. You can't buy that kind of dedication. And you can't fake it either. You either had it or you didn't, and Chip had it in abundance.

Kai and Sabu were standing on the sidelines watching, their little bodies still shiny from their piss-games earlier, their little todgers stiffly sticking out. They both looked at each other with a resigned shrug then simultaneously jumped on Chip with a rousing cheer. All three boys started wrestling and writhing together on the futons. They happily set about smearing themselves and each other with this big puddle of cum, literally wallowing in spunk. Fuck, these were quite the most depraved shota boy antics I'd ever seen.

On the sidelines, I sat with Ten who was gently stroking my stiff little dick in my crotch, not jacking it, just massaging it gently. Next to us, Guus had surrounded himself with his own little harem of boys. He had already emptied one load deep inside me earlier in the evening, but then the other boys all gave him a nice blowjob too, and had been working him up over a long period. They all licked and sucked on his dick and played with his balls, jacking his rod until he came close, then letting it go. Guus loved those kind of edging games – keeping him just on the brink of orgasm, so that he was fairly close to blowing, but not actually allowed to cum. When they had played with him enough, he was literally begging them to let him shoot. His cock was pulsing with anticipation, as hard as steel and aching to spunk up. Finally, with a few deft flicks, they jacked him hard and he sprayed his copious spunk all over them. It burst so high up into the air that he gave them all a little cum shower, and they all closed in, presenting their naked little bodies under his big cock so they could get sprayed by him. Fuck, it was fantastic.

After that, the boys could do pretty much as they liked. Those of us who hadn't cum yet, or wanted to do it again, just fucked each other while Guus watched. His cock was sore and he couldn't cum any more, so he just played with it, softly stroking his big fat rod as he watched. The nicest bit of all, for me, was watching Chip fucking around with Kai and Sabu. Chip powerfucked them both, pneumatically rooting them each hard and fast, his firm, hard, rounded little butt thrusting into their boycunts with a technique which implied maturity and experience. Chip's technique was way beyond his years, more reminiscent of a seasoned porn star. What surprised me about Chip was that he was maturing in a very alluring way. His little todger was growing and his stamina was quite impressive. He cummed twice, dry cumming in each of their little butts. The second time, Chip cummed so hard that it made his little balls tremble. Of course, that was nothing out of the ordinary for Chip. As I said before, Chip could dry cum repeatedly. Fuck, how I envied the horny little bastard.

Meanwhile, I was assailed by a few renegades who obviously hadn't had their fill yet, and was efficiently fucked by a whole series of mancocks in quick succession. My butt was so much in demand that I was barely able to keep count of how many men fucked me. By then I was tired and hazy, my head was spinning and I felt generally weak and apathetic. I simply didn't have the energy to be a lively fuck. Not that it mattered. They fucked me anyway. They had to relieve their rampant organs somehow, and the ubiquitous Viagra almost compelled them to seek the relief of an obliging shota boy cunt. I'm sure some of those guys overdid it, but if you think a dose of Viagra makes little difference, think again. I can tell you from experience that my sensitive little snatch felt their tumescence very keenly. A natural erection is at least a little malleable. But with the Viagra, they were so hard and irrepressible that their tumescence was almost painful. A Viagra-induced erection is altogether more rigid, harder and less flexible, thus more painful when its proprietor chose to fuck it into you real hard. There was something else as well. Psychologically, their erection was guaranteed, which made them more violent and reckless. In fact, it encouraged the men to be rough and impetuous. They knew they could be as rough and aggressive as they wished because even a bit of pain and discomfort was not going to diminish their hard-on. Such was our fate as fuckboys. A violent and painful rooting was part and parcel of being a shota boy.

And that was exactly how the evening ended, what I remember of it, with a thoroughly brutal fucking, face down on the futons, so I didn't even get to see the last guy's face. He was big though. A heavy, brute of a guy, with a thick dick which filled my chute with his fuckslime, and he even did me the courtesy of staying in me, pummeling my dripping snatch even after he had shot his wad into me. To give him his due, he didn't stop until he had made me cum too. My little dick eventually gave up the last few precious drops of kiddiecum I had left. I cummed with my hard dickie squashed against the futon. I could feel my little hairless balls draw up so tightly that they nearly disappeared into my body. Damn, that hurt. My balls were pulsing so strongly it was almost as though they were being squeezed dry. I really had no kiddiespunk left. It was all gone.

That evening of total debauchery may as well have been the final days of Sodom. Though we didn't know it at the time, it was the last such event of its kind. It was the last day we were all together, and the last time we enjoyed the freedom that Verolino was famous for. The day after New Year's Day, there was a dramatic turn of events that made Ciggy's warning frighteningly prophetic. Even as we partied, UNVERO was preparing to abandon Verolino, just as Ciggy had predicted. That left Verolino in danger of falling to the rebels and us lucky to escape with our lives.

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