[Breeder] The Boy with Something Extra

[TheBreeder]

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“Where do you want it?” I ask, looking down at the boy. Our eyes are locked. Mine are unblinking. Unwavering. His are full of moisture.

His chest rises and falls as he struggles to find his voice. It’s nighttime. The lights are off. Our bodies glow pale and blue in his bedroom’s dimness. “In my hole, dad.” When he’d opened his door and greeted me an hour before, he’d affected a gruff, deep timbre. Now he sounds breathy. Light-headed, even. Vulnerable. “I want your daddy dick in my hole.”

“Which one?”

I watch him thinking. Mere minutes ago he might have affected a shrug, or a diffident shake of the head. Now, though, I’ve got his defenses down. Slowly, he reaches down, lifts his hips. It’s with an almost-shy slowness that he pulls apart the lips sheltering his most private place.

I nod. Correct answer. “You want me to fuck your boycunt.” Like so often in this kind of situation, it’s not a question.

“Please,” he whispers. Then he adds, “Daddy.”

I shove two fingers inside. He’s already wet in there. I feel the folds of his skin conform to my knuckles, softly wrapping themselves around the ridges. “You want me to wreck this boy hole.”

“Oh fuck yes,” he says. Then, aware he’s betrayed himself with his eagerness, he adds, “If you want it, sir.”

I kneeling between the boy’s spread legs. My cock is rigid. “Oh, I want it. On your knees,” I order.

He hesitates, then quickly pulls himself up and turns over. He puts his rump in the air, displaying himself for my pleasure. I let my fingertips play in the soft pleats of skin. He jumps and gasps when they graze the nub that gives him the most pleasure. Then I run my hands over his smooth, pale ass, causing him to moan. Those cheeks are still sore from the beating I’d given him, just minutes before.

He’d wanted to be placed over daddy’s lap, to be spanked for being bad. And not just spanked. Spanked hard. He wants my wedding ring to leave welts on his backside that he’ll feel for days. I’ve gladly obliged—first straight out of his underpants. Then with his ass slicked over with a thin layer of lube, to magnify the pain. “Please,” he says, pushing back and presenting to me, like a bitch in heat, despite the soreness.

My cock has been ready for a long time. I find the correct spot with my fingers. Spread the lips. Slide the length of myself down the ass and under. Then the taut surface of my cock’s head parts those flaps of skin and sinks in, inch by inch. The boy’s head jerks back; his jaw drops. He lets out a soundless gasp until all of me is enfolded by his flesh.

His body shudders, then subsides, until all that’s left is the faintest quiver in his loins. I’m stretching him wide. My right hand rests on the base of his spine, keeping him calm, the way an owner soothes an animal on the vet’s table. My left hand reaches under, between his legs, to rub him where he likes best. The quivering intensifies, ebbs, then grows in fervor once again. “Shit,” he curses to the mattress. “Holy shit. This isn’t fair.”

“What’s not fair?” I ask. I’m not thrusting. Not yet. Just easing back and forth, making a home for myself in that sticky, wet tunnel.

“You can’t just—fuck, dad.” He wrenches his head around to look at me. He’s a beautiful boy. Heavy, dark eyebrows. A masculine chin. My left hand travels from his most sensitive spot to the flat planes of his chest, where I trace the hard ridge that delineates his pectorals. Now he’s shuddering. “You just can’t. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair I can walk in and make your holes mine?” He’s upheaval from stem to stern, an earthquake made flesh. When he doesn’t reply, I say, “It’s not fair some stranger knows what you need better than you do?”

I can hear the tears in his voice when he finally replies. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, dad.”

My right hand has been keeping him quiet, but we’re past the need, now. His shaking rattles the bed frame. When I haul off and slap his already-aching butt with my cupped palm, he lets out a yell. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Christ! Yes dad!”

I’m thrusting more of myself in and out of him now. My fingers dance down the flatness of his abdomen, feeling it heave in and out with every breath, to nestle again between his legs. “It’s not fair that I can fuck your boy cunt better than anyone you’ve ever had.”

His forehead is banging against the mattress. “Yes sir!”

“It’s not fair this fuck exceeds your expectations.”

“No!”

“And your expectations are already low to begin with, aren’t they?”

He’s trying to use a vocabulary that’s abating by the second. Even in the dark, even with his face turned away, he can’t hide from me now, though. “I get treated like a . . . like a freak.”

“Instead of the little faggot you want to be.” He grunts. Pushes back. Clinches down on my slippery pole. “Instead of a hot little fuck boy with a sweet pussy.”

“Oh god.” The top half of his body is at a perfect incline, now. His arms are stretched out, his hands clutched into a single fist. He offers up his hole without reserve as I fuck my way in and out of its silky depths. “I don’t even believe in God, but . . . oh god.”

I don’t say a word more. My fingers knead between his legs. My cock slides in and out. I know it’s not going to take long for him to climax. When he does, I pull him up into my arms so that we’re locked together, his back glued to my chest. We’re separated only where his spine arches so he can clamp my cock inside him.

I hold him tightly while his shudders subside. When his head lolls back, my shoulder is there for him. My hands, flat and warm and broad, move up and down his naked torso to smooth the electricity from his skin. The gyration of his hips slows, like a spinning toy top, faltering once, then twice. Then he ceases.

For a long moment I hold him close, and still. He sighs.

But we’re not done. Toy tops are made to be spun more than once. “Don’t stop, daddy.” The whisper cuts through the silence.

“Don’t worry, boy,” I murmur into his ear, and begin the slightest in-and-out motion. “I’m far from done.”

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