Chapter 1
Mr. Quackers

Characters: Pete (8), Cole (18).

Story codes: Mb, cons, anal, mast, first, hyp, inc.

"Fuck a duck!" Cole called out in surprise as he closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa.

A faint shuffling sound filled the room making him look around in confusion.

"No! I didn't mean it literally! Come back!" he called out in panic.

The small, tow-headed form of his younger brother waddled back dutifully, head bowed, arms hanging limply at his sides, socked feet dragging along the carpet.

"Would you really have done it, Pete?" Cole asked cautiously, "Would you really have gone and fucked a duck?"

"Yeah," Pete told his brother dully.

"Do you even know what fucking is?" questioned Cole.

Surely his seemingly innocent eight-year-old old brother wouldn't know what fucking was.

"It's when a boy sticks his dick in another boy's butt," the youngster answered in a monotone.

"A boy and a boy?" Cole repeated.

"Yeah," Pete confirmed sleepily.

Cole shifted nervously in his seat; had he just unintentionally outed his brother?

"Have you ever done that?" Pete asked, unable to rein in his curiosity. "Put your dick in another boy's butt or had one in yours?"

"No," said Pete simply before taking a small breath, "but I want to."

"Have one in your butt, or put yours in a butt?" his eighteen-year-old brother asked.

Pete just shrugged, which Cole took to mean that his not so innocent brother wasn't bothered which happened, as long as dicks and butts were involved, and one of them was his.

"You are hypnotized, right? You're not just screwing with me?" Cole asked in barely more than a whisper.

"I am hypnotized," Pete said in a flat voice.

Either he truly was hypnotized, or he was a much better actor than Cole gave him credit for.

Nevertheless, Cole decided that he would wake Pete up a few times and quickly put him under again to test if he was faking it or not.

SNAP! "Awake," Cole said, snapping his fingers in front of Pete's face.

The boy stood up straight, lifted his head and looked around the room.

"Hey! Did it work?" he asked his big brother, bringing his hands up to chest height and wriggling his fingers.

"What do you think?" Cole asked in return.

"I dunno, I…" Pete started to say before Cole interrupted him.

SNAP! "Sleep!" Cole said forcefully, snapping his fingers again.

Pete looked like a marionette that had just had its string cut. His head flopped down to his chest again, his arms dropped and swung loosely at his sides, and his knees sagged a bit as he swayed on the spot.

The effect had been near instantaneous, and by Cole's estimation his brother wouldn't have had time to fake his return to trance.

But he had to be sure, and he kind of found it sexy that his brother liked guys and was under his hypnotic command.

Before raising his hand to snap his fingers again, Cole used them to prod his growing erection into a more comfortable position.

SNAP! "Awake," he commanded the cute boy, looking into the soulful green eyes as Pete lifted his head and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Wow." Pete said, pushing himself up onto the tips of his toes, and stretching his arms and legs, "Did it work? Oh… Déjà…"

SNAP! "Sleep!" Cole said, cutting his brother off.

"Vu…" Pete managed to add in a low, slurred mumble as his body melted but somehow managed to remain upright.

"Fuck me," Cole breathed, running his snapping fingers though his dark hair.

"Okay," Pete said in a neutral voice, numb hands already pulling out the elasticated waist of his football shorts, and pushing them down his thin legs.

"Whoa! Whoa! Stop!" Cole cried out as Pete stepped out of the pool of fabric.

The boy never wore underwear beneath his shorts when he was at home, so Cole got a front row view of his brother's stubby little dick. It had risen half way, pointing out a good two-inches [5 cm].

Cole wasn't sure if it was all the sex talk that they had been having that made his brother start to bone up, or if the youngster was starting to get turned on by being hypnotized as much as Cole was getting turned on by hypnotizing him.

Cole gulped. "Can I touch it?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah," replied Pete with all the passion of agreeing to hand his brother a soda.

With a trembling hand Cole reached out and took the pink noodle between his fingers.

Pete made no effort to move, or no sound to indicate whether he was enjoying his brother's touch or not.

"You enjoying this bro?" Cole asked.

"Yeah," Pete said with no intonation to his voice, he could have been answering a question or acknowledging a command, Cole couldn't tell.

"Answer me honestly," Cole said, trying to sound authoritative despite the tremble in his voice and hand.

The latter having the effect of encouraging the short dick to lengthen.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Pete, his tone not changing despite little humping motions starting in his hips, sliding his growing dick between Cole's grasping fingers.

"Why?" Cole asked.

"Because you're hot, and cool," Pete said, and Cole thought he noticed a slight smile play over the boy's lips.

"And you're really enjoying this?" Cole asked, a small amount of guilt creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, I really am," Pete responded with a slight moan, his now impressive three-and-a-half-inch-er [9 cm] sliding between Cole's fingers.

Cole was worried that there was more emotion creeping into Pete's responses. Was the boy waking up on his own, or was it just an automatic reaction to the pleasure he was undoubtedly feeling?

"And you really want to fuck me?"

"Mm, yeah," Pete murmured back, a definite moan accompanying his words as he shimmied his hips, trying to get as much of his dick in contact with Cole's fingers as possible.

"Okay, let's go to my bedroom then," Cole said lustily, reluctantly letting go of Pete's dick. "No, scratch that, let's go to your room," he said, changing his mind. Getting fucked by his younger brother on his younger brother's bed sounded way sexier than on his own.

"Okay," Pete said as he started to shuffle out of the room and up the stairs.

The journey up the stairs lasted less than a minute, but it was like torture to Cole as he watched Pete's cute little butt swinging to-and-fro.

"Take the rest of your clothes off," Cole commanded the boy as he started to strip himself.

"Okay," said Pete placidly as he pulled the football jersey over his head revealing a little rounded stomach.

Cole got tangled up in his own clothes as he hastily pulled off his pants and shirt.

Throwing one of Pete's pillow to the middle of the bed and resting his hips on it to give them some elevation, he patted the space between his legs and told Pete to "Hop up."

"Okay," Pete said as he scrambled onto the bed, shuffling on his knees to line up his dick with Cole's quivering hole.

"Fuck me," Cole told his little brother, groaning as the boy pushed forwards, spearing his big brother's hole with his little pole.

"Yes," hissed Cole as Pete picked up the pack, his thrusts erratic and inexperienced.

Cole didn't mind though and just lay back enjoying the novel sensations.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Mr. Quackers–Pete's stuffed toy he had owned since he was a baby–watching them.

"Fuck a duck!" Cole called out as Pete entered him at just the right angle to hit his prostate.

"Okay," said Pete, pulling out of his brother, dismounting the bed, and shuffling over to the shelf to pick up the duck.

Chapter 2
Duck Call

Characters: The Boy (11), The Man (20s).

Story codes: Mb, nc, mc, mast, oral, first, hyp, interr.

The boy emerged from the rustling, tall grass. "Um, hi," he said hesitantly, looking at the tall man.

"Holy shit kid! I could have blasted you!" the man exclaimed, hastily pointing his shotgun away from the intruder.

As he broke it open and pulled out the cartridge he looked the boy up-and-down. If his guess was correct, and he admittedly wasn't very good at guessing boys ages even though he watched a lot of them, the lad appeared to be about eleven years old.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said placidly, seemingly unconcerned that the man had been moments away from mistakenly shooting him.

Nervously he brought his hand up to his mouth and started chewing on his thumb, brilliant white teeth contrasting with his earthy brown skin.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked, examining the boy's clothes. It didn't look like he was duck hunting.

"I dunno," the boy said, "I just walked over here from Cutters Pond."

"What were you doing there, that's like a 5-minute walk from here," the man asked. He had noticed the slight twang in the boy's voice when he first spoke, and it sounded clearer now; Indian, or maybe Pakistani, his family probably came from somewhere in that region originally anyway.

"Yeah, it is," the boy answered simply before a frown appeared on his brow, "I left my fishing rod back there, it's a good one. Like, a really good one. Why did I do that?"

He had indicated with his other thumb the direction from where he had come, but aside from a slightly confused tone he showed no emotion at leaving his most prized possession unguarded.

"I dunno," the man answered honestly, "Maybe you should go back to it then?"

"Yeah, I guess so." the boy said in a hollow voice as he turned and walked back into the tall grass.

The man gave the boy a couple of minutes to travel a safe distance before he blew on the duck-call again, hoping the boy's appearance hadn't spooked the fowl that frequented the area.

Two minutes later the boy reappeared, looking even more confused.

"Are you okay?" asked the man, worried there might be something wrong with the boy.

"I dunno," the boy said again, "I heard something and I had to come back to you …."

"You heard something…?" the man asked, "You mean this?"

He raised the duck-call to his lips and blew it again.

"Oh," the boy said with a surprised little gasp as he swayed on the spot and his eyes glazed over.

"Can you hear me?" the man asked in mild concern.

"Yes…" the boy slurred.

The man looked at him cautiously. "Touch your left ear," he commanded experimentally.

The boy did so.

"Scratch your chin," the man ordered.

The boy did so again.

Licking his lips in anticipation, the man decided to give the boy the ultimate test.

"Get your dick out," the man said in a hushed voice.

Mechanically, the boy plunged his hand into the front of his pants and fished out his dick.

Four, maybe four-and-a-half, inches [10-11.5 cm] long and mostly hard, a lighter coloured tip peaking out from a darker foreskin, the boy's cock looked delicious.

"You want to see my dick," the man told the boy.

"I guess so," the boy answered, non-committally.

The man blew on the duck-call again.

"You want to see my dick," he repeated.

"I want to see your dick," the boy replied automatically.

"Come over here and get it out then."

"Okay," the boy said as he shuffled towards the man.

His hand delved into the man's pants, withdrawing the eight inches [20 cm] of thick dark meat.

"You want to stroke it."

The boy had started to run his hands along the considerable length before he replied. "Yes."

"If feels good in your hand."

"It feels good in my hand," the boy replied, his hand slick with the man's precum.

"You want to kiss it."

"I want to…" the boy paused–the man blew on the duck-call–"… want to kiss it," the boy said in a vague voice.

Dropping to his knees he held the rampant dick steady as he planted loving kisses on its tip.

"You want to suck it," the man said breathlessly.

"I want to…mmph!" the boy said, cutting himself off as his mouth surrounded the head and it snaked its way towards his throat.

"Yes!" the man hissed, "Suck my cock kid."

Taking a firm grip of the boy's head in his big calloused hands he directed the depth and speed of the boys sucking.

"Gonna cum!" he informed the mute boy, firing his seed into the boy's mouth, filling it before the boy could swallow.

"Okay, stand up," the man said after recovering from the intense orgasm.

He blew on the duck-call again and began to give the boy his instructions.

"You're gonna forget what happened here and go back to your fishing; if you hear my duck-call again today you'll ignore it, but it will make your dick hard; if you hear it again another day, you'll come and find me and offer to suck my dick again. You got that?"

"Yeah," said the boy, simply.

"Go on then," the man said, watching the boy disappear into the long grass again.

Chapter 3
Quack like a Duck

Characters: Keone (9), Parker (20s).

Story codes: Mb, reluc, mc, anal, hyp, intrerr.

"You're doing it wrong," Keone muttered with great effort, his thin, dark eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

"You're not meant to say that," he complained, attempting to glare at Parker with unfocused, heavily lidded, deep brown eyes.

His bare bronzed chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as he breathed deeply through his wide, short (and exceedingly cute) nose.

A pair of protuberant ears framed the tanned face which Parker longed to caress with his charcoal fingers; run them through his soft brown hair, tips bleached copper by the tropical sun; over soft, supple cheeks adorned with finger-painted markings in a richer, deeper umber; drag them along his delicate pink tinged lips; cup his chin, and slide them down his slim neck; follow the collarbone and dance over the ribs, tickling the light coffee coloured nipples, firm nubs standing proud; around the adorable outie belly button; further down too, to what would undoubtedly be a silky smooth pubis and the hidden treasure below.

A trip to Hawaii and an encounter with a handsome, innocent native boy was a dream come true for Parker, and that the boy was so susceptible to his hypnotic charms made it so much sweeter.

Except for one small problem.

Patiently he repeated his command to the dazed and subdued boy.

"Keone, when I snap my fingers," he snapped them close to the boy's lovely ears for effect, "you will quack like a duck."

For a moment Parker thought it had worked. Keone seemed to struggle with the thought for a second before his face settled into the placid, lopsided grin that showed off just a glimpse of his pearl white teeth.

"No… Cluck like chicken," he whined irritatingly. With his arms, he imitated a chicken flapping its wings, or at least that was his intention. The feeble flailing of his arm proved to Parker just how profoundly entranced the boy was, and yet somehow his boy-ish stubbornness was prevailing in this one aspect, pushing through the pleasantly stupefying fog coiling around his mind.

Undeterred, Parker tried again, deepening Keone's wonderful trance as he went on.

"Listening to my voice and drifting for me feels good, doesn't it Keone," Parker told the boy.

"Yesss…" Keone replied with a sibilant sigh.

Parker noticed the smallest jump, the tiniest twitch, in the front of Keone's loose-fitting board shorts and grinned.

"Yes," he agreed, "they make you feel especially good in all your special, secret places don't they."

"Mm, yeah…" Keone intoned softly, shuddering all over as the tent in his shorts grew more pronounced.

"And following my voice, agreeing to my commands feels almost as good as…" Parker told the boy, pausing to run his thick finger along the slim, fabric-covered shaft, "…my finger doing this."

"Ugh," Keone moaned as his boy-cock pulsed with pleasure.

"But that's nothing compared to following my commands," Parker said, leaning forward consiprationally, whispering directly into Keone's ear, warm breath gliding over it.

Keone mumbled something in Ōlelo Hawaiʻi, biting his lip, panting as his back arched, and pushed out his groin obscenely.

"You'll get an extra special reward for doing that…" the man told Keone, slipping his hand past the hem of the shorts and touching the very tip of the slick boy-cock with the very tip of his finger.

Keone squeaked and squirmed at the touch, ready to do anything, anything, to feel it again.

Satisfied that the boy was totally his to control now, Parker straightened up, and removed his hand, if only temporarily.

"When I snap my fingers, Keone," he said for the final time, "you'll quack like a duck."

"Nooo…" moaned Keone for the last time.

"Ah, fuck it!" Parker grumbled under his breath in annoyance.

"Drop your pants; get naked," he snapped at the boy, his smooth tone disappearing.

Instantly Keone compiled, deftly pulling at the drawstring of his shorts, allowing them to fall down his coltish legs, over his knees, one baring a thin vertical scar, and into a pool of cloth on the sand.

"Turn around," Parker commanded, and Keone obeyed without hesitation.

"Bend over," Parker said gruffly, pushing Keone's upper half onto the table in front of him a little more roughly than he had intended, his dark muscles bulging.

Keone didn't seem bothered by Parker's man-handling, sprawling himself over the wooden boards.

Keeling behind the boy's prone form, Parker placed both of his large hands onto Keone's plump, rounded peach. Splitting it gently down the middle, he revealed the throbbing, pink pucker winking at him invitingly. His long, flat red tongue swept over it, eliciting an appreciative groan from Keone. It was soon joined by dark, earth brown lips kissing and sucking the loosening hole, and bone white teeth nibbling at the sensitive wrinkled flesh.

Paroxysms of murmurs; convulsions of incoherent babblings; wriggling, wiggling of the slight torso; arching, twisting of his slender back and a raised head, eyes staring, unseeing into the sky. That was Keone's reaction to Parker's expert ministrations on the most hidden source of a boy's pleasure as the man's dexterous tongue alternately swirled around the perimeter of the welcoming opening, and dived inside, probing and searching for…

"Eee!" Keone's shriek broke the silence, except for the gentle lapping coming from his rear, as the exploratory appendage stiffened and poked at his unmolested, undefended, and up until that precise moment, unknown centre of mind-blowing delight.

Drooling and barely cognisant of his surroundings, Keone lay waiting, dimly aware of what was going to come next, scarcely able to grasp the great depths (and great widths) of joy he was about to experience

"What a strange kid," Parker thought as he rose to his feet again and lined up his long chocolate dick, plum purple head glistening with precum, with the boy's brown, spit shined starfish and applied a steady, constant pressure, "Won't quack like a duck, but will bend over for a fuck…"

Chapter 4
Rubber Duckie

Characters: Jay (11), Jay's Father (30s).

Story codes: Mb, nc, mc, anal, mast, first, hyp, inc, toys.

Eleven-year-old boys don't play with rubber duckies; not according to Jay anyway. And he knew this simple fact by virtue of being eleven years old himself which, as he would point out to anyone foolish enough to ask, was practically a teenager already. A mature, sensible, non-rubber-duck-playing-with-almost-adult. So he was mightily aggrieved by the presence of the bulbous yellow intruder in his bathwater.

He prodded it morosely, watching it float past a small hillock of bubbles drifting in the opposite direction. The bubbles themselves were bad enough, but at least his dad had the decency to not buy the silly fruity scented liquids his peers and the younger kids still delighted in having. Groping for the rough loofah to scrub himself with he eyed the orange-billed blob of plastic with contempt. How many times had he told his dad that he isn't a little boy any more, and…

"OH MY GOD! It just pooped bubbles!" Jay screeched in undisguised glee, his unbroken voice shrilly bouncing off of the black-and-white tiled walls. All thoughts of maturity and 'grown-up-edness' flew from his mind as he stared at the hilariously funny toy, waiting with bated breath until it 'pooped' again. Ever so slowly as he watched, he became aware that the little motor inside the rubber duck was still whirring away, it's soft hum reverberating throughout the small room.

Jay giggled as the duck deposited another mound of bubbles into the bathwater, watching with interest as the white mass floated across the surface, obscuring his submerged three-inch [7.5 cm] boy-cock. He was proud of his little dick, maybe not its size, but with the fact that he had been one of the first in his circle of friends to discover wanking, and had even taught a couple of the older boys how to do it too! Had it grown and hardened just a little as the bubbles had passed over it, he wondered, peering into the distorting water?

As he reclined in the bath, observing his cock, he began to notice that the duck's vibrations were causing small ripples in the water. A tide seemed to be going in-and-out around his innie belly-button, filling and emptying the little divot with a constant rhythm. The tiny waves were tickling his pink toes, just peaking above the waterline, making him smile and squirm. Yes! His boy-cock was getting harder–it was at least half-hard now, lazily pointing upwards toward the water's surface.

Quack! The sound almost startled him, the duck's motors low, ever-present hum had lulled him into a sort of stupor. He had just been laying there listening, feeling as the duck did whatever it was doing. And there was something else too, a low, nearly inaudible whisper masked by the echoing 'quack'.

Quack! There it was again, almost like a voice hidden behind the fading 'quacks' that bounced around the walls.

QUACK! A sudden low, bass 'quack' pulsed through the air and water, buffeting Jay's fully-hard dick, making it twitch pleasantly. The vibrations from the plastic toy had shifted in frequency without him really noticing, rising and falling now in a perfectly calculated pattern, matching his slowing breathing. Or was his breathing now matching the duck's pattern, he couldn't tell?

Jay was also formulating new and exciting thoughts as ideas presented themselves to his dulled and sleepy brain. If, they said, the vibration felt this nice through the water, surely they would feel even nicer right against his dick? It took more effort than he expected to lift his limp arm out of the water and grasp the shimmying duck; spreading his legs felt like a monumental task too.

Plunging the plastic toy beneath the surface he aligned it so that its stubby tail was pressed on, and very slightly into, his wrinkled, pink butt-hole. Resting it along his perineum, the body of the duck parted his balls in their sack, jiggling each one independently, making him gasp at this new-found pleasure. Its neck ran along his short shaft, and the back of its head nestled perfectly in the inverted 'V' of his exposed glans.

Jay emitted a low, guttural groan as the pulses ran along his throbbing cock. The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced in his young life, and he knew he could easily become addicted to it.

Watching him with hungry, lust-filled eyes, Jays father smiled as his son succumbed to the insidious device's charms.

"Time to get out Jay," his father said, lifting the wondrous apparatus from his son's dick.

Jay moaned in frustration, he was just about to get the marvellously tingly dry orgasm that he craved. Since he had started playing with his boy-cock the majority of his life had consisted of wanking, playing video games, wanking, eating, wanking, playing soccer, and wanking, with a healthy dose of mind-bending, toe-curling, breath-stealing orgasms accompanying most of those activities.

Jays father towelled down the vacant-eyed, drooling boy, paying particular care not to touch the rampant dick standing at right-angles from his son's thin, honey coloured body.

"Come with me," the man told his son, leading the stumbling boy by his hand to the master bedroom. Once there he lowered the boy to the bed, propping up the narrow hips on a few fluffy pillows and gently pushing the muscular legs up to the boy's chest, encouraging the lad to hold them in place with his spindly fingers.

On display was the winking pink hole, gently probed and loosened by the duck's meticulously designed tail, awaiting its approaching partner. Gripping the upturned feet and rubbing his thumbs over the lighter skin of the soles, the man bent forward to nibble on the wriggling toes. Soft, empty-minded giggles flowed from Jay's mouth as some small part of him recognised what was happening.

"Ugh," Jay called out, a primal grunt torn from his lips as the wide corona of his father's man-sized cock teased his under-developed prostate during the inward stroke. Another grunt fell from the boy's lips as the small nut was rasped again when the cock was withdrawn. A litany of grunt, moans, groans, and sighs filled the air as the man pumped his prick into his son.

With a long-awaited and highly anticipated squeak Jay's body shuddered as he threw his head back. Wildly his boy-cock thrashed in the throes of the most intense orgasm of his short life. The black void that had filled his head since the middle of his bath was replaced with burning white fire as pleasure burst from his long denied dick.

Squeezing tightly, rhythmically, and involuntarily on his father's invading dick, he unknowingly caused the man's own orgasm, filling himself with hot, thick adult cum.

"Mm. What…? Did I fall asleep?" Jay asked his father, curling up on the bed, feeling relaxed, but also oddly aching in very particular spots.

"Yes, son, after you had your bath," the man said.

"Okay," Jay replied, "That's nice… but I had a really weird dream though…"

To Be Continued