Bbillings

Busted on the Beach

As the now thirteen year-old Dylan came, he shuddered, cupping his left hand under my chin, while his right hand stroked across his chest, playing with his nipple. A single squirt, a slight dribble, and his sand-speckled pecker was limp in my mouth once more. He pulled out, muttered a thanks, pulled his swimming trunks up, and raced out of the dingy beachside bathroom, leaving me smiling and tasting his fresh load. It was sweet, like usual, because the boy loved his candies. It was one of the many bribes I brought with me on any given day.

I waited for a few minutes, hearing nothing, and stepped out of the stall. Two flies buzzed around the sink, and a bird flew by underneath the awning, but other than that, the bathroom, the men's side at least, was empty. I adjusted myself so my hard-on wouldn't be immediately visible, washed my hands, and went out lakeside. It was nice and convenient to be able to shoot off a load while swimming far into the deeper water, and after the creamy taste of Dylan today, I certainly needed that.

Lake Michigan is a very big lake, but it isn't very deep, so I was able to swim out a good hundred yards from shore and still touch bottom. I'm six foot one [1.85 m], so that certainly helps, but I still crouch down while I'm wanking. Nobody, either on shore or nearby, suspects a thing. I'm just a good-looking guy out floating along in the waves.

Coming out to the lake in the summertime had always been my ritual, even as a kid, though growing up in Detroit, it was a different lake that I visited. It wasn't until I had started college that I found myself servicing the younger generation in the bathrooms. I was just passing on a family tradition to those who were unlucky enough to have never been sucked off by their fathers.

Yes, I was a 'victim' of what most people call 'abuse' as a child, though I, for one, actually enjoyed it. I enjoyed it a lot. My mother died less than a year after giving birth to me, so I grew up with my father as an only child. I don't think I was the only kid who had a fascination with being naked, but I do think that I was the only one of my friends who's Dad not only supported it, but joined in. I saw his hairy butt cheeks and jangling balls on a daily basis, for as long as I can remember, and I can clearly remember that in some of my earliest memories, that cock was flapping around at right about eye-level.

When I turned eleven was when I first started learning about sex in school, and my father took it upon himself to give me a few extra lessons. He went down on my for the first time in the second week of the fifth grade to show me what erections were, as if I didn't know, and used himself as a working model of male anatomy. It was in the third week that we learned about orgasms, and of course, we explored that one in detail, and by the time the teacher was discussing oral sex and masturbation in week six, I knew all about that. I also strongly suspected that I was the only eleven year old lucky enough to have not only seen, but tasted semen. Needless to say, I did phenomenally well in sex ed, and just as well in junior high anatomy, and even better in high school health.

It was never violent, I never felt uncomfortable about it, and at the time, I was naïve enough to think that my dad really was actually just trying to help me get ahead in my studies; he did that often enough in other classes, so why not now? It wasn't until long after classes went on to different subjects, and Dad stood fixed on this one topic that I started to realize that he was doing something inappropriate. It didn't stop me, since I was in my sexual renaissance then myself, and thirteen-year-old me, with sprigs of pubes popping up all over the place, loved the extra attention, and looked forward to coming home from school for afternoon lessons with great gusto.

He's dead now, my father. Died right after I graduated from high school. It worked out in some weird kind of way; my inheritance from him included a good 90% of my mother's hefty life insurance policy, and what I received from his own was more than enough to cover classes and buy me a near beach-side condo in Benton Harbor, so life was good. And in the summer time, the beach was always nearby.

Dylan wasn't my first customer, but he was one of them. I was a fresh, young nineteen-year-old without a care in the world, and after I had taken a whiz in the bathroom, a little teenager of about fifteen waltzed in, dropped the front of his swim suit, and out popped a nice, average-sized cock for his age, maybe three inches [7½ cm] long since he was soft. His stomach was hard, muscles rippling all along the surface of his chest and abs, and that, in combination with his young, thin dick, was irresistible.

I hadn't even known that I was attracted to teenage boys until that moment, but my view from the faucets was impeccable, and he noticed my staring almost immediately, so I cut him off and just went for it. "What do I have to do to get you to let me suck on that?" I asked. A twenty dollar bill wormed it's way out of my wallet, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Even for me, though, with all my money, twenty bucks a pop started getting expensive, and I had to turn down more than a few beauties because they simply wanted more money than I carried, so now I carry a backpack full of goodies: a bottle of vodka, two packs of cigarettes, three porno mags, and a DVD for the older boys, who are far more plentiful, and a small bag of candies for the younger. There's only one thing in there for me, a small digital camera. I don't use it all the time, but I try to keep a huge library for the winters, which get a little lonely for me.

As I floated alone out in the lake, though, I didn't think about that, I thought about my friend Dylan. I first met him when he was only ten, and at first, he wasn't so sure about me sucking his cock, but he was very happy to pose for pictures if were willing to give him some of those sour candies, which, of course, I was. His tiny little cock was a prize, shrunken and shriveled that long ago June day from the chilly lake water, not much longer than the distance between the tip of my finger and my first knuckle when I first started snapping photos. I moved him into the privacy of the stall, though, and he let me warm him up a little with my hand, and soon, a little erection started forming in between my fingers, and I snapped up a few more pictures before letting him leave.

A week later, I was scoping out the bathroom for possible targets, and sure enough, I watched Dylan run in, and when I got there, he was peeking in between the stall doors. I asked him what he was up to, and he just dropped his pants. "I'll let you do that thing today, if I could maybe have some of those sour candies." Minutes later, his knees were quaking in the throes of his first dry orgasm, and he's seen me every summer Saturday since.

I now have over three hundred pictures of Dylan's lanky naked body, on my hard drive, everything from his ten-year-old soft pecker to a hard-bodied set of photos taken at the end of last summer, about three months before his thirteenth birthday, where you can see just one single pubic hair jutting out from above his balls. I made a mental note reminding myself that I needed to get more pictures of this new Dylan, who's pubes were now much more prolific, and who's dick was starting to chub out and thicken thanks to the magic of puberty.

The ice cold water of this part of the lake, reminiscing on days spent with one of my favorite young customers wasn't half bad, but it tended to kill my arousal, and every moment spent out here in the lake was a minute not being spent with another young boy draining their balls down my throat, and that simply wasn't going to work. I gripped my adult, man-sized cock harder, and beat it mercilessly until it started to ache, but I didn't let go or stop until the brown, cloudy water underneath me started to take on a silken creaminess, and my cock returned to it's natural limpness, albeit a bit larger in the chilly waters than many others' probably were.

Unlike most beach visitors at the Warren Dunes State Park, when I returned to shore and sat on my blanket, I didn't face the lake. I turned around backwards, facing out towards the parking lot where, less than 50 yards away from me was a run-down yellow brick building that housed the washrooms where I hunted. This isn't my favorite beach, since it's not only a twenty-minute drive from my house, but also a beach more frequented by the elderly, but what's nice about it is that the washrooms are fairly private, and even on the busiest days, there's rarely a time when it's too crowded to make a discreet pass at a hot young boy.

Aside from Dylan, I didn't have any regulars coming by this day, so I had to lie there on my stomach watching the people go by. There were some scorching hot little teeny bopper girls who wandered down the hill like a gaggle of geese, laughing and hollering about something, though I couldn't make out what. While preteen and teenage boys are who I prey on most, and while it's their images I jack off to in the privacy of my home, and in the publicity of the lake, there's still something that's just so raw about the form of a teenage girl. I've gotten myself invited to a number of high school parties based on my ability to buy beer, and I've taken a number of virginities on those nights too. Not even all of them were drunk when I did it. Like I said, I am a good-looking guy.

But alas, I hadn't yet worked up the courage to walk into the women's restroom and buy a fuck, nor did I think I ever would, so I simply waited for the right boy to come along. An hour passed, and I considered trying to ask someone from the lake to join me, but as I scanned the beach, almost everyone had come with friends or their family, and few young targets were going to be isolated. There was always greater risk with friends around.

But as I looked, I saw one boy, an Asian boy in black swimming trunks, come out of the water, wipe his face with a towel near his beach blanket, and start ascending the hill. It was too far away for me to get details on his appearance, but he was fairly short, and with Asians, their cocks are usually so small, even on older boys, that it's pretty easy to pretend. I grabbed my backpack, stuffed my blanket inside and headed up the hill, intent on beating him to the bathroom.

I did beat him there, though that group of girls had run up right after me and went in the women's side, and I got to examine the little Asian a bit better as he trudged the last few sloped, sandy steps, which were always the most difficult. I leaned back against the wall, in the shade, and set my backpack down for a moment, the vodka bottle I kept as payment clinking against the concrete flooring that supported this building. An older Chinese lady gave me a scowl, but I thought nothing of it as I waited for the boy, taking him in.

His calves had an athletic build to them, and only the ankles showed any sign of body hair, and only a little at that, another Asian trait I appreciated. Those black wisps were matted to his skin in swirled patterns, and helped highlight his very lightly colored tan – it was still early in the summer after all. His black swimming suit was soggy, and clung to his legs, which had particles of sand stuck all over them, an unfortunate side effect of having to trudge through the sand to get anywhere around here. His chest and abs were flat, but utterly unremarkable, with no musculature showing through, and his nipples were dark and tightly wound, probably thanks to the transition from cold water to hot sun. His darkly colored eyes slanted upwards, and I think I remember hearing from a friend of mine back when I was in high school that this meant he was Japanese, but I could be wrong. He had a darkly colored birthmark on the right side of his chin with a single hair pointing out, and a haircut that was pretty typical of most high school kids these days, medium length, straightened, and gelled into spikes that were so firm you could cut yourself if you ran your hand through them.

He was far from beautiful, but, well, that didn't matter much to me. I was like a bear just out of hibernation, ready to gobble up anything that fit my tastes. If I had to guess his age, I probably would have put him at fourteen, which is near the top of my preferred age range, but I could be wrong. Asians always look young to me, but like I said, today wasn't a day to be picky.

Sure enough, the kid walked right by, turned the corner, and taking a quick glance at the signs, he wandered right in to the men's washroom. I waited for a moment, allowing him to get comfortable, and hopefully finding his chosen place so I could find just where to stand for the best view of him pissing. Then, I grabbed my pack, and walked in.

This bathroom was, like all beach or forest preserve bathrooms, dark, cold, and open-aired, meaning that there was a gap between the ceiling and the walls. That gap brought just enough light in to make it workable, but not much more, so it always took my eyes a second to adjust to the din. The light blue stalls were pretty common among public facilities, and just like others of it's kind, these were rusty and dated, with graffiti all over the walls. The tiled area that held the urinals was primarily white, with a full pantheon of various tints of blue. It was there where I first looked to find my Asian prince, and it was there where he was standing.

When I saw the boy, I walked over to the half-wall where the sinks were, which was perpendicular to the urinals and toilets, and standing there washing my hands, I was able to look over the half wall separating bathroom and wash-station. I had a great view. Two rows of two urinals faced opposite one another, and were right next to the stalls, and my little Asian boy had chosen to pee at the near-side urinal, right in the middle of the room.

He was a little thing, I noticed, now that I could compare his height to other boys I had seen in that same position, maybe five foot three inches [1.60 m] tall at the very most, and he was very cognizant of being watched; before he even saw me, he was pulled up as close to the dirty porcelain as he dared to be, and only the head of his uncut pecker protruded over the lip of his pants. He peed upwards at an uncomfortable-looking angle, not bothering to pull back his foreskin, hitting just underneath the upper lip of the toilet rather than aiming down, like most people. To adjust his aim would have meant that he'd need to reveal more of himself than he already was, and he seemed rather reluctant to do that.

When he saw me, he glared, rather than looked, and his hands instinctively rolled up the fabric of his swimming suit millimeter by millimeter, unwilling to permit even a passing glance at his pubescent manliness.

I almost turned around and left. Kids who were this timid when they were all but alone in the bathroom usually turned me down, and for fear of having them say something about my offer to other adults, I usually leave the beach immediately. But then again, he was shorter than he first looked, and the little nub of a cock I got to see implied that he was much younger than fourteen 3; and that simply made me want him more.

My decision to try made, I simply needed to figure out an approach, so I continued to casually wash my hands, my eyes still focusing on the young boy's privates, but, thanks to my sunglasses, he could only guess that I was staring at it. I was at the second sink from the entrance, the first one being broken, and I had strategically placed my backpack right in front of the other two sinks, so when he came around, I made a great show of making sure it was out of his way. I got a nice closeup of his ass underneath the wet suit, as well, having needed to bend over and move the pack carefully because of the bottle. He started washing up when I made my move.

"Hey, if you don't mind my asking, how old are you?" I asked the boy, and he spun, probably looking to make sure I was talking to him. He took a peek behind him as well, towards the stalls and the door, to make sure before answering.

"Me?" he said in the high pitched voice of a child, "Oh I'm only twelve." I thought I could hear his voice cracking towards the end, and he coughed to try and cover it.

"Well listen, boy," I started, but backtracked a moment, realizing that he probably wouldn't be comfortable with the name 'boy', so I asked, and he told me his name was Ken. "Listen Ken," I began again, deciding on the approach I used with most older boys. "My name is Daniel, and I'm a photographer, and right now, I have a kind of difficult assignment. It's actually really fortunate you're here," I gave a low, chuckle of a laugh to try and get him to see that this really was kind of embarrassing for me. "Anyways, my project is to take pictures of teenage Asian boys, and I have a bunch already, but I need some more. I know you said you're only twelve, but I think you look old enough to fake it. Would you be willing to help me out with that?"

He tilted his head to the left as I pulled out my digital camera, clearly skeptical. I think he mumbled "what kind 3;" but then stopped when I smiled at him. I knew that if I overwhelmed him I'd overcome a lot of objections. "I'm doing a kind of urban theme, you know, so I thought the bricks behind the stall would look like a kind of alley." He turned and looked, and I motioned him to go in.

"That's what you're using?" he asked, and I nodded. "Riiiight," he said, drawing out the words as if he didn't believe me, though if that was the case, this little boy was smart beyond his years and probably a skeptic to boot. After a short pause, he added "well, I guess I'll let you take a few." And with that, I started clicking.

I always like to take a bunch of photos of the boys wearing something first, because when I page through them later, it's almost like a striptease. With Ken, I started with his face, and eventually backed out as far as I could with the door still closed. If someone else came in, there would be no warning, so this privacy, and the tight space, was necessary.

"Good, now turn your head to the left," I said, directing the boy as I photographed his body from various angles. When he turned his head, I crouched down and took a few shots from crotch-level looking up, the exact viewpoint I'd have if I was lucky enough to get to eat this little boy's penis. "OK, now, to the right," and I shot a few more. Once I was happy with my current set, it was time to get him to undress a little.

"So you know those guys who sag their pants? You know, like gangbangers? Can you do that for me?" The boy gave me a flat stare, looking up at my face while tilting his forehead down.

"Are you just trying to get me naked?" he asked, a tinge of anger now entering his voice. "Because that's sure what it seems like, being trapped in a stall all alone with you."

"Well, I 3;" What I wanted to tell him was the truth, but I knew now that this had gone far enough. All the signs were there now; I could tell that he was pretty much on to my scheme, and I needed to leave before he had cops on my tail. He surely would make a scene if I did anything else, so I quickly strategized a full retreat.

Before I could complete my sentence coherently, Ken added "And there's no way you're a photographer with that little shit-speck camera, my uncle is a real photographer, and he has a big old thing with five different lenses."

"I guess," I said, looking for a quick way out of this situation, "I guess if you don't want to do this then I have to find someone else who will." I turned, as casually as I was able to, and started fumbling with the lock on the door. It was old and rusty, like the rest of these shitty public facilities, and with a camera in my hand, and my pulse racing as it was, it wasn't easy to open. Ken, behind me, was more quick with his hands than I.

He grabbed at the camera, yanking down quickly, and pulled it free from my grasp. I needed that, since it still had photos of not only him, but two other boys that I hadn't transferred onto my hard drive yet, and was covered with my fingerprints, and more than a few pictures of my face as I gleefully filled my mouth with boy-dick. Ken twisted away when I tried to grab it back, and turned his back on me. "Don't touch me you perv," he said, loud enough for me to hear the commanding tone, but quiet enough to not be overheard by any but the closest eavesdroppers.

"You're going to listen to me," Ken said, turning back, his eyes flickering between the camera's LCD display and my face, his fingers working the controls rapidly. He was scanning through all of the pictures, and would soon come to Kevin's nine-year-old nakedness, and then Peter, age fifteen, who had even taken the liberty of taking video footage of me with my own camera while I worked an orgasm out of him. "Oh, sick 3;" he said, suddenly, and I knew he was on Kevin's photoshoot. "This is disgusting, perv, and if I give this to my dad, he'll probably kill you."

I didn't doubt it. I'd never had a run in with a parent, but I couldn't imagine it going well for me. "So what do you want from me?" I said, panicking now. Ken scowled, and I knew he wasn't going to bargain. My fingerprints were all over that camera, and my face was on it as well. Running was not an option, and neither was negotiating the camera away from this boy. The only option, then, was violence.

Ken saw it too. As I grabbed for his throat, he dropped the camera on the concrete, reached his arms back, and two seconds later, I was kneeling down, my chin resting on the lip of the toilet bowl. My ears were ringing, both of them, and the world spun as I reached down and tried to right myself. My knee wasn't supporting me, and I stumbled once, and crashed into the wall of the stall, feeling something wet against the side of my face.

Ken was wobbly in my view, standing off to the side of the toilet, behind the toilet paper dispenser, blood covering his right hand. He reached down into the toilet bowl and shook it around, and the bowl turned crimson as his hand was cleaned. "You dumb son of a bitch," he said, his voice cracking once more on 'son'. "You think a Korean boy doesn't know TaeKwon Do?"

My loins erupted in pain as he kicked me in the balls. I cracked my forehead against the porcelain as I fell, and I curled up into the fetal position. Dizzy, in immense pain, and bleeding from my ears, I was in no shape to do anything. And just a few seconds after that was when I heard a 'plop;' a sound that reminded me of a towel flopping down onto a tile floor, and I craned my neck just enough to see the little Asain boy's feet walking out of his swimming trunks.

A small hand grabbed me by the back of my neck, while his other hand lifted up under my chin. I saw the boy's legs again, getting a slow look over them once more as he lifted my head. I saw where the small circles of black hair surrounded the crystalline specks of sand, I saw his lightly tanned calves as they transitioned from hairy to bald in the space of a few inches. I saw where his tan-line was, and the stark whiteness of his upper thigh, with a rather large scratch running down the front of his left. And then two pasty white marbles came into my view, shrunken tightly against his body, no larger than the grapes I had eaten for breakfast.

And even though he had not moved my head any farther, I rolled my eyes up, towards the top of my head. I dared not crane my neck, knowing that he could easily twist and break it from this position (and that was basically all I knew of martial arts or self defense at the time), so I was careful 3; and slow.

So ever so gently, I moved my eyes up, along his hips. A fat little shaft that was far too wide given it's length greeted my view, and was rock hard. It was almost like someone took an adult-sized cock and affixed it to this little boy, and he just needed puberty to grow it out. His cock-head was the thinnest part of the three-inch [7½ cm] fatty, pointing straight up in the air like a rocketship about to take off. It was the strangest looking dick I'd ever seen on a kid, but that didn't mean I didn't want it in my mouth, spewing his thin jism down my throat.

I smiled, and I could sense the boy doing so as well. "You like it?" Ken asked, still cradling my head, and I tried to shake it up and down. I think he felt it more than saw it. He bent over, leaning extremely close to my head now, and whispered. "OK, perv, now you've gotten exactly what you wanted, but it's what I want too. You're going to do exactly what I want you to do, and if you don't, I might kill you." I had no doubt that he could after what he had already done, despite our size difference.

"Or maybe, I might leave you here and go find the cops," he continued. "Or I might have my dad come in here and talk with you. My older brother, maybe. He's a black belt."

"OK," I said, my words coming out louder than I thought thanks to the pain in my body and my increased heart rate. A good volume of blood was pumping through my genitals now, that was certain, but I had a feeling that it was more than just that. Moderating my tone a little bit, I tried to sound as completely defeated as I felt, and quietly added. "What do you want from me?"

Ken stood up now, stretching a leg over the edge of toilet and settled his tiny, twelve-year-old as right over the bloody bowl. "Come here fag," he said softly. "Suck this dick."

I tried not to smile. I really did. I have no idea if I pulled it off , but this tiny little kid and his upside-down carrot cock wouldn't have all too long to see it if I had. I opened wide, and swallowed up the three-incher [7½ cm], and his balls, completely whole. He tensed as soon as my lips wrapped around his ball sack, but before he could mutter a word of complaint, my tongue started drawing small figure eights around each of them, and he relaxed. I built up the spit in my mouth, and used it like a car wash, focusing on the testes and nothing else, the most inviting part of this kid's entire body, and less than twenty-seconds into it, I felt them suddenly release some of their tension and the tiny grapes fell from the tree and dropped into my mouth, no longer holding a deathgrip on Ken's hips.

I knew as soon as this happened that if I wanted to get away, this would be my chance to simply bite down and end it, but little did this child know that in taking control of this situation like he did, that he'd be fulfilling a deeply hidden secret fantasy of mine, and I was intent on playing it out, even he did turn me in afterwards.

I pulled my mouth away for a moment, intent on diving back down and focusing on his dick this time, when he put a palm on my forehead. I looked up, and saw him breathing very hard, almost like he had run a mile through the sand, and watched his chest heave as he recovered from this attention. I had seen this before from many of my young boys, especially their first time. It was almost like the orgasm a girl has when you tongue-wrestle their clits into submission. They're unable to take any more for a short time, even if they haven't yet came, but after a short recess, they want even more.

"No," he said as I again tried to put him inside my mouth. He pushed me back harder, but I stood my ground. He could control this situation, but I had needs, and I needed to feel him inside me again. "Stand up perv."

I did as I was told, as well as I could. Standing there trying to look as sheepish and unintimidating as possible, I needed to put one hand on the wall and lean into it; my balance hadn't returned yet. I said nothing, just watched this little boy slide his ass forward on the seat, and take his dick in his hand, or at least, the first two fingers and thumb of his left hand, and start the steady, rhythmic tug of masturbation. His balls were getting into the action as well, sliding in time with his fingers. I wanted them back in my mouth.

With his other hand, he gestured to me. "Drop them," was all he said, and I slowly started to undo the ties holding my swimsuit on with the hand that wasn't supporting me. This was far from the first time I had shown off my own manhood to a budding young boy, but it was the first time that I was commanded like that, and it turned me on even more. I was eager to obey this boy, I wanted to please him.

I took my hand away from the wall, then to pull down my trunks, and that quickly proved to be a bad idea. My knee turned out, and only the fact that the stalls were there saved me from going down completely. "Stupid perv," Ken said, still tugging slowly on his dick. "You won't be able to stand for a while yet thanks to that shot." I believed him.

I staggered to my feet again, leaning along the wall, but still requiring one hand to balance. It was a slow process of pulling my trunks down for the boy, and in the mean time, I heard two men come in and wash their hands, though they took no notice of us and seemed to leave pretty quickly. Finally, my shorts fell off the tip of my erection, which was making the going quite difficult for me, and I stood there in all of my naked glory.

Well, glory might not be the operative word in this particular situation. Looking down on myself, I wasn't all that impressive. Sure, I had very nice length and width in my cock, but it looked almost like how I felt, shabby. My foreskin was positioned at an odd angle around the head, remnants of semen that had dribbled out the end in the lake made it stick like an uncircumcised guy's would around one side, and it fell back to it's usual, tightly circumcised appearance on the other side. As was typical of beach-life, I had sand all over the tip, and a few small rocks hid in the folds of my scrotum, which, by the way, was a bright, beet-red that was almost scary. My left nut was tucked up and in, the right hanging free. Was it big and impressive to any twelve-year-old kid? Sure, but it sure wasn't attractive. It was embarrassing. But not as much as what happened next.

"Turn around, and bend over," Ken said from his lounging position on his throne, and I did so, sticking my bare, hairy ass up in the air. He spit, and I felt a wetness sliding down my buttcrack and settling into the seams of my anus. "Kneel you fuckin' idiot," he said, and I complied. "You know what I'm going to do now?" he asked, and I nodded, thinking to myself that it probably wouldn't work.

I was nestled down along the floor of the tiny stall now, my face pointing out, allowing me to see underneath the door and to the exit. Nobody else was in the bathroom now, as usual, which was good since I had to reach my long legs underneath the stall walls and into other cubicles in order to accommodate my new rider. I was used to some level of beach-bathroom yoga, but this was almost beyond my abilities. And then, I felt it.

Just a tiny little poking was all I felt, but I knew that Ken was trying to butt-fuck me. Then, his hips and stomach crashed into me, and I could feel the entirety of his package slipping up and down my buttcrack while he learned to position himself. I didn't think that he was long enough to make it inside me, but he almost was, and I could feel the small tip of his weird triangular pecker prying apart the vice-grip of my sphincter in vain. It tickled me, and probably him too, but it wasn't going to sexually satisfy either of us.

He pulled back suddenly, and made a disgusted sound. I didn't move, and I didn't want to move unless he told me to, this was so sexy. I said nothing, and neither did he, for a few seconds, ate least, but then he spit again. My gaze was still out towards the entrance to this secret fuck spot, so I didn't see where the boy was aiming, and I though it strange initially that I didn't feel it land anywhere on my body.

But then I felt it. The warm, gooeyness of his saliva was coating the boy's right forefinger, and I felt it slide gracefully in my still-relaxed asshole. I was surprised at the sensation; I had never had a boy's cock in my ass, nor a man's, nor even a dildo. In my dreams, I was always the one in control, the one on top. But this was different. This was slimy, wet, dirty, sleek, smooth, and totally, almost unbelievably 3; enjoyable.

I had probably fucked about nine girls in the ass, and not one of them thought it was anything other than painful, although admittedly, they were much smaller, and at least three were completely passed out when I first split their ass-cheeks wide. Not one had ever told me how 3; lovely this could be, and I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, and sighed in pleasure as Ken finger-fucked me.

"Hey," he said. "What the fuck?" It broke me from my splendor when he said this, almost yelling at me before remembering that he too wanted to keep this under wraps. "I thought that was supposed to hurt," he said, as if he was asking me for advice on how best to inflict pain.

"It feels amazing," I said, being honest with the boy for the first time today. I hadn't even given him my real first name. "Try using more fingers."

Suddenly, I felt a 3; tearing feeling in my ass, and it made me tense up, and one very wet, wonderful finger again snaked it's way into my rectum, while another, much dryer, one got stuck on entry, and pulled at my anus mercilessly until it finally reached the deep, moist inside where it belonged. As Ken drew back his hand, it felt fine, but then ripped and stretched me again on re-entry, though far less-so than the first time. I chanced a glance over my shoulder and saw my jailor with a fiendish smile on his face, gauging my reactions, with his left hand still pulling up and down on his dick as slowly as he dared, balls flapping underneath him in between his legs.

He pulled back again, and this time, he led with the second finger, and added his middle finger in addition to his index, so there were now three ramrods, in various states of moisture ripping through me. It hurt, and it hurt a lot. I almost felt sorry for Cynthia – I think that was her name – who literally begged me to stop when I had fucked her up the ass with both fingers and cock.

I didn't beg, or cry out, but I could feel my face getting redder and redder as he went, and twenty, or maybe thirty strokes later, He finally pulled his fingers out, and again told me to move.

This time it took plenty of effort to get me positioned correctly for his enjoyment, but I soon found myself kneeling on the tank behind the toilet bowl, angled face-first towards the water that still held the blood from my ear, which had finally stopped ringing during the transition. It still hurt plenty, though, and I didn't think I was doing it any favors by balancing my knees precariously on top of the toilet tanks and letting all the blood rush to my head.

Ken had to help me balance, no small feat for a little twelve-year-old, but he was stronger than he looked. He almost had to slide himself underneath my face, but finally, finally, he told me suck on his cock in that authoritative voice that came so naturally to him. The second my lips touched his skin, another completely dry little fuck-finger started abusing my ass. This shouldn't hurt, but it did, though this time, I had a cock to please, and it barely phased me even when he was cramming all four of his desert-dry left-hand-fingers up inside me.

It was perhaps the most awkward way I had ever had sex with anyone, and let me tell you, I've had sex in more positions than are shown in the Kama Sutra. But with my legs propped up in the air, basically doing a handstand on the toilet with a boy's whole hand basically up my ass, this was strange. I figured it was chancy enough as it was, so why not make it a little more crazy? I used my legs to support myself against the walls of the cubicle, took away one of my hands holding me up, and used it to wank myself while I worked.

It had been less than five minutes since I'd had the boy in my mouth, but it felt like a week had gone by, and I had needed it, badly. I took a much more traditional route on sucking him off this time, starting with tonguing him around the base of his cock, which was still stuck in the air the way some kids are, before the weight of their growing cocks helps balance it out, lapping his bald pubic region just as liberally as all the veins that were starting to pop out of the shaft from his excitement. The boy smelled like soy sauce and barbeque, a distinctly Asain combination that did nothing but add to the experience.

Finally, after climbing his small mountain as slowly as I could stand, I wormed my tongue around behind his cock head and pried it away from his body just enough to get it inside my cheek where I could work it freely. He moaned, and started pumping his hips almost unconsciously, fucking my face gently, leisurely, and taking pleasure in every small movement. Dylan did the same thing whenever I had him as well, and I knew exactly what to do. I collected saliva along the center of my tongue, and then used my lips to hold his dick tightly along that strong, wet muscle, rubbing back and forth, up and down along the shaft. The feeling was incredible; it was a trick I had picked up from Cynthia, the same girl who complained about my cock in her ass, who was an absolutely awful fuck, but who knew how to use her mouth like nobody else I knew.

The effect was nearly immediate. As soon as I started rubbing his cock closely against my tongue and started to froth my saliva along the tip, Ken stutter-stepped back, his ass crashing into the stall door noisily, and almost knocking me off of my precarious perch. He withdrew his hand from my ass now, thankfully, and I crawled down and off the toilet to finish the job.

I wasn't sure if Ken could cum or not, some boys in his age group can, while others can't. When his knees buckled and he bent over with shivers, trapping me along his privates in the ecstasy of orgasm, his dick trembled, as if it were about to unleash a torrent, but no sticky whiteness poured forth 3; From him at least.

It took very little right then for me to let loose, and I did, squirting thrice, small globs of my semen flying from my now limp, spent and bright red cock, all over the floor of the stall, onto me, but mostly onto the hairy ankles of my would-be rapist.

I smiled. So did he. "Is that sperm?" he asked, and I said it was. "Lick it off perv," he said, and I complied willingly, the awful taste of my own seed not bothering me in the least.

Ken cracked open the door, and looked around cautiously. There was nobody there. There never was. He walked over to the same sink where I propositioned him, and started washing his hands, still not having even put his shorts back on. I stayed sitting on the ground dressing myself, watching him try to calm himself down, his oddly shaped hard-on never dissipating.

Finally, as I stood up, he looked at me, and remembered that he was standing there in a public bathroom, out in the open with nothing covering him in the least. He walked by me and picked up his shorts, which had been kicked under the wall of the stall into the one next door. I slapped his ass hard, and the sound reverberated in the acoustically-challenged room. His skin was soft and beautiful, the polar opposite of my own, I was sure, since I knew full well that it was hairy and sweaty, and I presumed that with the abuse it had just taken, was quite red. "When will I see you again?" I asked, as he stood and drew up his trunks, his pecker hiding itself automatically thanks to it's odd bend.

"I'm from Chicago," he said, "so probably never." He turned to the door and walked out, without even saying thank you.

I still had plenty of cleaning up to do. My camera, which I recovered first, was damaged far beyond repair, but the SD card should still be good, so I packed that up, flushed the toilet full of my own blood, leaving a nice red ring, and began cleaning up my ear. There was no mirror, so there was no telling if it looked good or not, but I didn't plan on sticking around long enough. It just had to pass causal inspection on my short walk from the bathroom to the car.

I walked out in to a bright, sunny day, and put my sunglasses back down over my eyes. I saw the gaggle of teenage girls who I saw first coming in still standing there, waiting, and within seconds of my leaving, another joined them and they happily chattered off down the beach. That was good, the whole thing had taken maybe ten minutes; I didn't want anyone's suspicions around by having seen me spend an hour on the can, and with some of my customers, it could take a good twenty or thirty minutes to satisfy them.

I walked around, and started turning the corner on the building when I first heard it. "There he is officer," was all it took, and I spun around on my heels looking. A stocky Asian woman in a brown one-piece, perhaps the most off-putting bathing suit she could possibly have been wearing, was pointing directly at me, and a beach cop was heading my way. She was the same woman who I had seen going into the bathroom, and now that I looked closely, the resemblance between Ken and her was unmistakable.

"Oh shit," I said to nobody in particular.

I considered running. I probably should have run. But I found myself absolutely anchored to the spot as he approached. "What you got in that bag?" the officer said as he came closer to me. I had no response. I could do nothing more than hand it over, perhaps because I was still in slave-mode from my recent experience. God damn that little boy.

He took it off my shoulders, rooted around in it for just a second, removing the camera and setting it down on the scorching hot pavement. "Ah," he said, "just like you said, ma'am." The Asian lady had joined him on top of the hill. Was it the porn? The camera itself? I tried looking through her darkly tinted sunglasses to see the shapes of her eyes, but it was to no avail.

This was it. I was about to be busted for 3; well, everything. They'd find evidence all over me, all over my house, and on about half the boys on the beach on any given day. But then the officer put down the camera and extracted the vodka bottle. "Sir," he said handing it to me. "You know there's no glass bottles allowed on the beach, don't you? There's signs all up and down the drive."

"I heard it clink," the little Asian lady said, "when you set it down before you and my son went into the bathroom. There's kids around here, this is no place for alcohol." She said it incredulously, as if there weren't a million other places where adults sat sipping beer in front of other people's kids.

"There's a twenty-dollar fine," the policeman said. "You can pay it now, or wait for later."

"Let's do it now," I said, seeing Ken wander up to our growing party. He chattered at his mother in whatever language he spoke – Korean, I suppose – and they left arm in arm. He winked at me as I turned to follow the policeman to his squadcar.

"I'm really sorry about this," he said, filling out the citation. "I know you're a regular and all, since I see you here all the time, but I gotta do what I gotta do. She was insistent."

"Hey, no problem," I said, handing over two ten dollar bills. "I understand."

"These Asians," the officer said, organizing his papers on the passenger seat of his Toyota. "They think they own everything and everyone on this goddamned beach, you know? They treat us like we're all fucking slaves."

"Shit," I said, my pulse finally returning to an almost resting rate. "Fucking slaves," I repeated. "Don't I know it."

The End