Dillon

The Rape of Jacob Morris

The breeze dances with the trees making the mottled sunshine flicker over the smooth, silky skin of the boy that lays curled on the ground. He lies silently; his cries, screams, protests have ended. A trickle of light brown, liquidy shit and creamy semen oozes out of his anus and drips onto the ground beneath him. His butt is greasy and slick. He lays so still that for a moment I wonder if he's even alive, but nothing I've done would have killed him. Killed his spirit? Perhaps. Killed his soul? Maybe. But not his body. I think he senses that it's finally over, that his torment has ended. He'll probably lay like that for the next hour or so, then, in a daze, he'll gather himself up, slowly pull his clothes back on, and, make his way home.

I should feel some remorse for what I've done, but seeing those firm, smooth thighs, that muscular buttock, that strong back, and the long brown hair just stirs me once more. Instead of feeling regret and the urge to comfort him, I just feel like fucking him again. And I would too, but I'm spent, my cock is sore and I doubt I could coax it to life for a third go-round. Besides, staying any longer is just tempting fate. Although the whole affair was over quickly, and although I doubt he'll be missed for a while, there's no sense in taking chances. And so I gather my clothes from where they are scattered about and get ready to dress and leave.

I first became aware of my lust for boy-sex when I was a boy myself. And, it disgusted me. The thought that I was gay, a fag, a queer, a fairy was almost more than I could bear. More than once, I considered the coward's way out. But, as I grew older, as I grew into a teenager and then into a young adult, my attraction for boys never changed. And somehow, for some reason, that was something I could live with. The thought of being a pedophile was OK; the thought of being a homo wasn't. Strange!

The other thing that saved me was my libido. While the true objects of my desire, boys, were forbidden to me, my sex drive was strong enough that I could still find girls and young women attractive. I could muster enough interest that I could enjoy a good romp. In fact, there was enough energy there that I eventually found myself married with children of my own. And so I kept my dirty hands to myself, passing up all temptation. I avoided boys and avoided the places they went. I avoided Boy Scouts, church camp, and little league.

Don't get me wrong. I still longed for boy-sex. I day-dreamed about the boys I did encounter. I imagined us locked in embrace. I fantasized about the sexual pleasure; I just never pursued that pleasure. I told myself it was a moral choice, that I made that choice because I was a good person, and that I cared about boys, cared about their lives, cared about keeping them safe. What I never realized, or perhaps never admitted to myself, was that all this time there was a fire smoldering inside of me, that my yearning for boys was far from dead. Instead, it was like hot coals under a blanket of cool ash. All it would take would be the right breeze to blow the ashes aside and fan those flames. That, given the right circumstances, that lust would boil over. And, it had.

I had a new camera and wanted to give a try. I liked nature photography and, while I wasn't going to win any prizes, the walls of our home were full of my work. Landscapes, close ups of flowers, quiet streams were all my subjects. And that's how I ended up here, in this shaded little glade, quiet stream nearby, tanned, naked 12-year old on the ground before me.

I had parked on a little pull out near the bridge. The pull out led down to the stream and that's where I left the car. I had never intended to hide the car from the road because I never anticipated what would come after. It just worked out that way.

I was walking up the stream quietly snapping pictures, trying to catch the way the sun played off the water, but it was proving more difficult than I thought. The exposure questions, the balance of speed and aperture, were not straightforward at all. I kept moving upstream, toward the sun, watching as it sparkled off the ripples, trying to catch the sense of magic they brought to the scene. I wasn't trying to, but, looking back, I realize that I moved nearly silently. There was, after all, no one to talk to and my work was contemplative.

I first saw Jacob about 15 minutes upstream from the road. There was a flash of color through the trees that wasn't natural. I changed my angle, moving my head from one side to the other and eventually realized it was someone's t-shirt. Not seeing the owner, I wondered if it had been left there by accident. Then, when he moved, I saw him.

I was mesmerized. He was gorgeous! There was nothing else to say. Twelvish or so, just on the cusp of puberty. Nicely muscled torso, shoulder length, brown hair. He was facing slightly away from me and hadn't seen me yet. I stood still, peering through the trees, watching as he worked his rod and reel, casting the line and slowly reeling it back in.

He had taken off his shirt and hung it on a branch, exposing himself to the sun. He was nicely tanned, a rich butternut color. He had a peaceful, content look on his face. Alone with his fishing, or so he thought.

My first response was to watch for a bit, then move on. Probably go back to the car and move on to a new spot. No sense in spoiling the boy's peace. But, the more I watched, the more my blood went from a simmer toward a boil. His ass was perfect, a ripe melon, tight inside his faded denim jeans. I watched the globes flex as he changed position, moving his weight from one foot to the next.

When my thoughts actually took that ugly turn, I can't say. All of the sudden I was thinking of how I would take him. What it would be like to have him under me, my flesh pressed against his, my hands running up the inside of his thighs, cupping his tender balls, tracing the line from his scrotum to his anus, squeezing his hard, boyish cock. Should I take him there, there by the stream, or farther back in the woods?

Then I realized how alone we were. The path I had been following was not well worn. In fact, it seemed hardly used. It had almost disappeared completely a few times. The chances of anyone wandering along seemed remote and I was sure no one had seen me park and walk in this direction. This wasn't a usual haunt for me and I had told no one I was coming here. Chances were against anyone being able to place me here on this day, at this time. Last, if I was careful, if didn't leave any visible marks, if I didn't bruise or cut him, if I didn't give him anything to explain at home, my bet was he would never say a word. He'd never want to have to recount his humiliation. Someone, his mom perhaps, might notice a change; he'd be quiet, moody, withdrawn, but he'd not likely want to admit he'd been used like a girl. "Nothin's wrong," he'd say. And it would all be marked down to puberty and becoming a teenager.

I stopped myself. Fuck! What was I thinking?? Was I really considering raping this kid?? I could never do anything like that. How could I ever consider such a horrendous act? It would destroy this beautiful boy. Yet, my eye kept returning to his velvety skin, his mousey brown hair, his kissable lips. I thought about how isolated we were, how unlikely it was I would get caught. We'd never seen each other before and would never see each other again.

I can't pinpoint the moment the decision was made. All I can say is that whenever that line was crossed, I became a different person. My heart beat nervously with anticipation. It pounded so loudly in my chest I was certain the boy would hear. Still, if I was going to do this, I knew I needed to take it slowly and make sure to keep my head.

I decided I needed to get close enough to grab him before he suspected I meant trouble. I wanted to do what I'd decided to do and get clean of the area calmly, without tearing off and attracting attention. I decided that I'd make it appear that he saw me first. Convince him I was harmless. I'd saunter up, give him a friendly hello, make it appear as if I meant to pass by. But, what should I do once I had him? I could drag him off farther from the stream, but, when I thought about it, I decided against that. The whole thing would be too noisy, even if I gagged him. There'd be too much crying and thrashing about. I'd have to move him pretty far back into the trees to cover all the ruckus.

Rape! 3; rape! God! I couldn't believe what I was contemplating. Was I really going to go through with this? Was this me? I felt I should be horrified by the idea, that I needed to come to my senses and leave, but, instead of being sick with the thought, I felt a rush of adrenaline, I felt my cock stir. No need to call it anything else, rape was what it was.

Grabbing him proved far easier than I thought. I left my cover and continued moving up the stream, stopping to take a picture here or there, none of which had any value, watching him from the corner of my eye. Finally I looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. I hesitated, gave a smile and a small wave, then went back to my camera.

I couldn't tell if he was nervous about me. Certainly he was a little hesitant, a bit unsure about this stranger wandering into his private space.

"Any luck?" I asked, entering the small clearing where he stood by the stream. He was barefoot, I noticed for the first time. A bicycle lay on its side close to the stream and a tackle box was at his feet.

"Nah! Too hot, I think," was his reply. His voice was perfect, mostly soprano with just the first hint of bass. The red t-shirt hung on a branch above his bicycle waving lazily in the soft breeze. A pair of sneakers, each with a dingy, white sock balled up inside, lay under the same tree. He eyed me with slight suspicion.

Bold plans are easy to develop, executing them is something else. Realizing that if I didn't act now, I never would, I continued the conversation.

"Nice spot," I commented. "Mind if a take a few shots," I went on, raising my camera in explanation. His reply was a shrug.

I stopped and studied the area a bit more closely. It was a small clearing in the trees with a muddy bank where it met the stream. The water chattered a bit from a pebbly shoal just upstream. Trees shaded the small glen and the ground was cushioned from years of leafy debris. A rich, earthy smell arose when I scuffed the toe of my hiking shoes on the ground.

Then, taking a deep breath, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I began. I took a few shots out over the stream, then a few more looking up through the canopy, trying to catch the sparkle of the sun through the leaves.

"Mind if I get a few of you fishing?" I asked.

His answer was another shrug, but it came with a small smile as well. I could tell he was flattered by the idea. I stood behind him and to his left and shot out toward the stream, into the sunlight, his sturdy form filling the right half of the image.

Framing him in the lens was a perfect excuse to study him some more. I loved the curve of the small of his back as it disappeared into his blue jeans, the delicious firm mounds that formed his bum, and the delicate, golden hairs on the nape of his neck. I took a few intermediate distance shots to get him comfortable, then moved up closer. I noticed no hair in his underarm. He did have a most wonderful, velvety down on his cheeks and just the first hint of some darker hairs above his lip. I fired off a few quick shots catching the left side of his face as he continued to work his fishing line, then I acted.

The fishing pole clattered out of his hand and onto the ground as I grabbed his wrist with my hand. He looked down at my hand and then into my eyes with surprise.

"Hey! Wha?" was all he said, before his expression turned to fear.

"What the fuck! Let go!" He pulled back sharply but couldn't get his arm free. Then he stepped back, leaned away from me and really began to struggle, the fear in his eyes increasing.

I watchde him as he struggled to pull free, admiring his firm thighs and strong pecs, his feet slipping in the loose, dry leaves.

"Come on, man, let me go!" he said, desperation in him voice. I continued to hold him and said nothing.

"What's your name kid?" I finally asked, and that brought his struggles to a momentary stop.

"Ja 3; Jake, Jacob Morris," came the stuttering reply.

"How old are you, Jake?"

"Twelve."

"My God Jake, you are gorgeous! Did you know that?" I said. The fear in his eyes turned to terror as the implications of my comment sunk in.

"Oh, fuck 3; oh, fuck!" he said, and his struggles increased. "Please let me go," he cried. His struggle intensified and he brought his other hand over, trying desperately to peel my fingers off his wrist. I, in turn, twisted his arm, forcing his body around, and stepped up behind him, wrapping my free arm around his torso and pulling him close.

My camera was bouncing in between us as he struggled, so, grabbing him more firmly around the midsection, I released his wrist, took the camera from around my neck, and dropped it gently to the ground in the soft grass next to his bicycle. With nothing between us, I pulled him tight against my chest with both arms, spread my fingers out over his warm skin, and felt his heart racing beneath my hands. At the same time, I leaned in and began to kiss his neck and cheek.

He began to struggle even harder but his pleas to be let go stopped, instead he began to pant. He pushed down against my arms as if he wanted to climb up and out of my grasp, he leaned his head away from my kisses, his bare feet pawed at the ground. Accepting it as an invitation, I reached down and began to unfasten his pants.

"Oh fuck!" he cried, and turned into a bronco, thrashing more wildly than before, trying to twist from my grasp, his hands working against my own. I had his top button undone and the zipper down quickly and I heard tears in his voice, but his pants were tight and I strained to get them over his hips and his buttock.

"Please stop, mister! Please don't do that! Let me go, I won't tell."

"I'll tell you what," I said, deciding on a new tactic, "you're a beautiful boy and I just want to get some pictures of you. Pose for some pics for me and I'll let you go," telling him what wouldn't be the last lie for that day.

"Can't I just go home," he said. His voice was choked.

"Do this for me and I'll let you go. Let me take some pictures of that gorgeous body of yours and then you can go on your way."

He was still in my arms as he pondered this deal, then, before he could say anything, I felt his body relax and knew what his answer was.

"OK" he said softly.

I let him slip from my arms, but stayed ready to chase him down if I needed to. I was in for the whole game now. If he ran off and was able to get to help, I was screwed, despite the fact I hadn't actually molested him yet. Grabbing a kid and trying to wrestle his pants off wasn't going to be treated any more leniently than the rest of what I had planned.

He stood just in front of me as still as could be, his only movement coming from the heaving of his chest as he fought to calm himself down. His hands were on the waist of his jeans where they had been as he fought to keep them up. His eyes were on the ground in front of him.

"Com'on Jake, we have a deal."

There was a pause and I wondered what he might be thinking and what he might do. But then, with a short sob he shoved his pants and underwear down to the ground and stepped out of them.

If he wanted to run, that would have been the moment. I was rooted to the ground, unable to move, not believing what I was seeing. My eyes were fastened first to the crumble of jeans and underwear he had just left behind. The jeans were ordinary, and I'm sure to anyone but a pedophile, his undies were, as well. But to me, they were beautiful and sexy. Sure, they were just a plain pair of boys tighty-whities, but I wanted to snatch them up, inhale the wonderful aroma of boy crotch, then rub them against my cock. Still, knowing that a greater prize awaited, I shivered and moved on.

I forced my gaze to move slowly up his legs. His calves were nicely rounded and covered with a fine, golden hair that contrasted with the rich tan that covered his arms and torso. North from there, however, the tan faded to be replaced by a creamy white. His thighs were solid and he undoubtedly got a lot of exercise. There was not a single hair to be seen on his thighs or his butt.

And, oh my! What a butt. It was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. His globes where rich and round. The crevice that split the two was deep and dark; darker still where I knew the treasure I was after lay. I was on fire. I wanted nothing more than to shove my nose in there, take a long, delicious drink with my lungs, then, stretched out over him, thrust myself inside.

His hips and waist and were thin, and I once again admired his lower back. The inward curve of his lower back along with its rich, brown color and fine, golden hairs accentuated his gorgeous, white ass. I was struck by the sharpness of the tan line at his waist. By contrast, the tan on his lower legs gave over gradually to the whiteness of his thighs and it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. His shoulders, although right for a 12-year old, were broad and strong compared to his waist, and I admired the way his shaggy brown hair brushed against them.

Willing myself to move slowly, to savor each moment, I decided not to ask him to turn around, instead I reached over to where I had dropped my camera, and begin to fire away.

I took both full frame shots and close ups; shots that had him surrounded by the greenery and shots in which he, or especially admired body parts, filled the lens. I watched him all the while, nervous he might bolt, but curious as well. He made no move to turn around or even to glance back. He stiffened when I moved close, stiffened even more when I crouched behind him and shot up towards his ass, catching as best I could the magic of that one spot darker than the rest. Still he said nothing and only his soft breathing let me know he was there.

"Reach back, grab your cheeks, and spread them apart," I ordered, then watched to gauge his response.

There was a moment's hesitation, then each hand came around their respective side. The fingers inserted themselves into that magic valley just where the hidden cave would be and reluctantly, slowly, spread the flanking hills apart. I took advantage of what he gave, took about three or four close ups and one or two shots from mid-range, then ordered him to spread his cheeks some more.

I watched as he walked the fingers of both hands down to the valley floor, the middle fingers of each hand meeting at my target, and he spread his cheeks wide.

I had the camera ready, was watching through the lens, and almost fell over backwards at the sight. His rosebud was pink and moist and I saw it tighten even more under my gaze. Close ups, I thought, were the only shot that would do this sight justice.

"Ok, bud! Turn around now," I said. He turned about reluctantly.

My eyes, of course, went straight to that one spot and what I saw just about took my breath away. I could not imagine a boy at a more perfect point of development. His testicles had begun their descent and, while there was more growth to come, it was clearly no longer a little boy's cocklette that he sported. I guessed it would top out at around four inches [10 cm] when hard. He was circumcised, and the light pink of his glans were framed by the rosey-brown of his scrotum. To my great delight, I noticed half a dozen scraggly hairs at the base of his cock.

It was only then that I noticed he hadn't been covering himself a he turned around, something I would have expected. A small gesture at maintaining some dignity in the face of his forced nudity. Glancing up, I saw soft brown eyes in the middle of an unblemished tweener face. His head was partway down and he focused on the ground at my feet.

The next 20 minutes were heaven. I posed and reposed Jake to my liking. Subtly and sexy to lewd and shameless, he did it all for me. I posed him as an innocent in nature and as a slut, legs over his chest, cheeks spread. He sat on tree limbs, fished ankle deep in the stream, lay in the leaves. I never coaxed a smile from him, nor did I torture him by asking for one. His expression remained solemn throughout. Still, even in its sadness, his face was beautiful and I absorbed its every detail the way I did the other parts of his body.

Finally I could take no more; it was time to move on. Again I was afraid he would bolt, and so I planned my next move carefully. I posed him against a large tree at the edge of the clearing, pressed closely against it, facing away from me. Then, with business like determination, I throw my clothes off, working quickly, watching Jake closely, making as little noise as I could. And, as I hoped, I was just finishing when he realized I had stopped taking photographs and that something new was happening. I was nude and almost pressed up against him by the time he swung around.

"SHIT! Please, you said I only had to pose for you, please stop!" His voice was breaking with tears.

I felt the heat of his body as he felt mine. I stopped less than an inch from him and felt it boil between us. My cock, jutting stiffly out before me, left a slimy snail-like trail against his belly. I slowly reached both hands out and began to slide them up his sides, caressing him gently with my fingers. He writhed under my touch.

"Jake, bud! I won't hurt you. We're just going to have a bit more fun."

"No, no, please let me go. Please!"

I slowly pinned him against the tree trunk, feeling our flesh gradually coming together, his pleas turning to whimpers. The smoothness of his skin against mine, the aroma of his fear and his boyhood were intoxicating. Still, I willed myself to move slowly.

I brought one hand to his crotch as he raised one knee to stop me. But there was nothing a naked boy in his position could do. I gently cupped his balls and felt them drawn up tight in his terror. I fondled his cock. He half turned, trying to protect his front, so my other hand began to explore his backside, running my fingers down the ridge of his spine, past his tailbone, and into the crack of his ass. There my middle finger found its mark and began making gentle circles in the moist heat. The leg that had been raised to protect his front now came swiftly back down to deny me access to his ass. He shriveled inward and tried to shrink into the tree.

"Please let me go. Please!" he renewed.

"Come on Jake, just a bit more fun? Let me enjoy your body a bit more?" I coaxed. I took hold of his wrist once more and pulled him back into the glen.

"No 3; no 3; no" he cried. He planted his legs and set his feet firm, but they skid in the loose leaves as I gently, but relentlessly, pulled him after me.

Getting him to the ground was more work than I planned, but I took my time. He kept himself stretched the full distance of his arm from me. Finally, holding him firmly by the wrist with one hand, I reached higher up his arm with the next, and slowly, like a fish, I reeled him in. When he was close, I locked one leg behind his, and shoved him easily to the ground, following him down as he went.

He turned on his side away from me and tried to scramble away, but locking one of my legs over his kept him close. My front was pressed against his back and I felt my cock ride up into his ass crack.

"Jakey boy, relax my friend. Just let me enjoy your body for a bit. I promise this won't hurt. In fact, you might just enjoy it," I lied for the second time that morning.

I buried my head in his hair and inhaled then gently kissed his neck and shoulder. His pleas had stopped; replaced by a ragged panting and half cry. My arms wrapped tightly around his middle allowed my hands to explore his chest and belly, delighting in his nipples.

Deciding to get more aggressive, I took my upper leg and forced my knee between his legs, then, separating them, I drove my knee in close to his crotch, forcing one leg up and apart.

I now had clear access to his treasures and took full advantage. I lingered over the silky smoothness of his pubis then returned to fondling his cock. I knew that his fear would likely keep it from ever rising, but I played with it just the same. Then my hand plunged down over his balls and slowly, and deliberately, followed the ragged seam from the base of his balls to his anus. There I continued my massaging and probing, slowly working more and more of my middle finger inside. All this time I felt the end of my cock making a slippery mess of the small of his back. The tightness of his crack as it gripped me continued to fuel my lust.

Wanting to enjoy him more, I forced him flat on his back. His eyes were glazed and fixed on a spot up in the trees, doing anything he could not to look at me and to face what was happening, or what he feared might be next. Gripping the inside of his thigh up high near his crotch with my upper hand, holding his legs apart, I laid my torso across his, my back to his face, my face toward his crotch, and admired him from up close. He remained limp, his balls shriveled with fear. I twirled the few, sparse pubic hairs I could find around my finger. I toyed with the idea of pulling some free and saving them as souvenirs, but realized when I was done, I wanted as little to connect me with this moment as possible. Instead, I raised his small, flaccid joint up by two fingers and sucked it into my mouth.

"Nnnn 3; nnn!" He cried and pushed hard against my back, trying to slide up and out from beneath me. He brought his knees up, planted his feet, and pushed against the ground. I circled his thigh with one arm, put my elbow behind his other knee and brought them both up toward his head. His anus was now exposed for me to do with as I wished.

Dropping his penis from my mouth, I studied the spot. I let his far leg loose, wet my middle finger, and began to probe.

"Oh fuck mister, please don't 3; please don't!"

"Relax Jake! You can't tell me don't like touching yourself there when you jerk off," but I realized he wasn't really listening.

I slowly began to finger fuck him, working my digit in and out of his ass; pushing in further each time. With only one leg free, there was nothing he could do to deny me access, and, although his thrashing about increased with my first entry, he seemed to resign himself to my ministrations after a bit. Still, I could feel a steady pressure from his hands on my back and I was sure he would rabbit if given a chance.

I played for as long as I could stand it; touching, smelling, and tasting, all the while working my finger in his ass and eventually joining it with another. I buried my face in his crotch, sucked his balls, stroked his thighs. I learned every inch of his lower body, studied every crease and freckle. Hell, I probably knew him better than he knew himself! But, eventually the time came for the finale.

I pondered this next step for a few minutes. I wanted to take him on his back, missionary style, so that I could watch his face as I deflowered him, but that position would be difficult. I'd have to manage his legs, position his ass, and keep him from scooting away all at the same time. No, on his stomach would be best. There would be no retreat for him laid out like that. And, all I'd have to do is pry his legs apart.

Lubrication was a problem quickly solved. Although I briefly considered dry fucking him, that was too cruel. Plus, if I tore him during the act, it would be hard for him to hide it at home and impossible for him to explain away. Then I remembered the sun screen in my pants pocket. It would be crude, but it would also do the trick.

But my biggest concern was the fight I was going to get. I was pretty sure he knew which way this was going, although I think there was a part of him that was still in denial. I considered having him suck me first, but, even though I was pretty sure that no one was going to find us, I wanted to move things along, get to the part I was actually here for, get it done, and get on my way. No, I'd just have to contain him, get him in position and get on with it. Speed, I decided, was my friend. So, with a plan in mind, I went to work.

I was on my feet before he could react. Again I grabbed him by the arm, but higher up this time, and then I grabbed a hand-full of hair.

"Let's go, Jacob. Follow me." I barked, hoping to keep him surprised.

I gave him a couple of good yanks, twisted his arm behind his back and marched over to where I had dropped my clothes. I let go of his arm and squatted down to reach my pants, pulling him down by his hair at the same time.

Jacob erupted. Both hands went quickly to my hand, trying to pry his hair free. At the same time, he jerked wildly about, trying to yank free. I gave up fishing through my pants pocket and, grabbing one of his ankles, stood up again. I then kicked his remaining leg out from beneath him. He sat down heavily and I was on top of him almost as he hit the ground, straddling his chest.

We stared at each other quietly. I enjoyed the feel of his warm skin beneath my legs and ass, the feel of my balls on his chest. I had spent so much time examining him from the waist down; I had forgotten how beautiful his was. I let go of his hair, grabbed him beneath the jaw and forced his mouth open with my fingers. Then I leaned in, brought my lips to his, and forced my tongue in.

He gagged and tried to spit but I kept us locked together.

"Fucking Faggot!" he screamed when I finally ended our kiss. He began to pound at me with his fists.

"Jesus Jacob, relax. You're a good kisser," I laughed, easily fending off the blows.

Eventually though I caught his hands, and, squeezing them together in one of mine, I used the other to reach for my pants. He paused and watched as I felt around in the pockets, his eyes growing wide as I brought out the tube of sunscreen.

"Fuck NO! No! No!" he screamed; his voice high and ragged with fear. He bucked and twisted, trying to get free, but there was little he could do with me sitting on him.

I glanced around to find the best spot for what was to come next. We were at the edge of the clearing in some grass that was going to be itchy – strange the things you think of as you rape someone – and I preferred to be in the shade, where the leaves blanketed the ground. Then I spotted it. Back away from the stream a log lay half buried in the ground. It was going to be a bit rough on Jacob, but it would be perfect for me.

"Stop, let me go!" he continued, as I got to my feet. I put the tube of lotion in my teeth so that I had both hands free to handle Jacob. I picked him up again by his hair and stepped behind him. I half carried him, half walked over to the log, then pushed him down over it.

He was sobbing now and still crying for me to stop, but it was too late; I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to. I was on fire; my cock was harder than it had ever been. I kneeled behind him; his legs trapped between mine, placed my forearm across the small of his back and leaned heavily on him to keep him in place. I unscrewed the tube with the other and smeared some on my finger. Then rudely, and without ceremony, I shoved it up his ass.

"Please don't, please don't," he sobbed over and over, but I could feel the fight leaving him.

As impatient as I was to get into him, I did my best to stretch him open first, starting with one finger, then adding another. When I had two slipping fairly easily in and out, I stopped, smeared more lotion on my cock, and repositioned myself. Aiming my cock with one hand, the tip easily found his hole, then, leaning forward against him, I began to push.

Buried in his heavy sobs I could catch fragments of his continued pleadings. Unmoved, I continued the pressure, not trying to ram my way in, but making my conquest inevitable.

Jacob was doing his best, amidst his hysteria, to clamp down tight, but my fingers had loosened him a bit too much. And, slowly, I began to sink in. Then, he made the mistake of trying to expel me, and when his bowels switched to pushing out, I sank in.

I wasn't in far, but I was in, and that was good enough for now. I continued to push in, but just hard enough to avoid being pushed out, and relaxed in order to give his rectum time to adjust.

He was howling and crying as if I was killing him and, even though there shouldn't have been anyone within earshot, I leaned forward and cupped my hand over his mouth.

"Easy there Jacob. Just relax. It'll be over before you know it," I comforted, and he soon settled to a steady cry.

I could never describe how good it feels to have your cock in the ass of a 12-year old. It's incredible tight, incredible warm, and incredible slick. Looking down it was an amazing sight. His ass was so round, so pale, so muscular, and I could see the shaft of my prick as it entered him. Just looking at it was a turn on. And, I knew it was time to go.

I shoved some more and gained another inch, then rested again. Jacob howled again as if I was killing him. Another shove and I was halfway home, and I knew I could take no more. I frantically began to pound his ass.

His body went limp. Animal grunts came from him in time with my thrusts. I watched as his body sawed back and forth on the log.

I knew I wouldn't last long and I didn't. Five pumps? Six? Seven, perhaps? When I came it felt like a flood. I felt like I must have emptied a pint inside of him. Then, spent, I collapsed on top.

He lay limply underneath me, still sobbing, but quietly now. I sat back up, my cock sliding from his ass as I did so. Still straddling his legs, I tried to think what I should do next, but instead my mind wandered. My best guess was that I had been with Jacob for about an hour now, but perhaps not quite. The sun was higher, the day growing hotter. Even the breeze was warm.

Looking down, I watched a bead of sweat run down the inside of Jake's upper thigh. His or mine, I wasn't sure. We with both covered with a slick film. I followed the drop as it disappeared between his legs. His legs were just far enough apart that I could make out his scrotum. Twigs and leaves clung to his body and I absently brushed a few away. The ends of his hair were wet and plastered against his neck.

Again I studied him, admiring once again his sturdy juvenile frame. An athlete I supposed; soccer would be my guess.

He flinched when I touched him and then lay still as I slowly ran my hands up his sides and over his ass.

"Please can I go now?" His voice was small.

I didn't answer, just kept enjoying his body with my eyes and my fingers and I quickly realized I was going to do him again.

I pushed my knees in between his and spread his legs apart. He offered no resistance, just began to sob again.

I spread his cheeks and looked. His anus was still stretched. It looked puffy and red, but not torn. And, there was no blood.

Not wanting to be cruel, I recoated my cock with lotion and laughed at myself when I did. A kind rapist?? Still, no reason to be mean.

Realizing the fight had gone out of him; I grabbed him by one shoulder and hip and rolled him over. His knees came up to support his lower back and to keep it from bending awkwardly over the log. His face was a mess, wet from tears and snot. His eyes were red. The imprint of litter from the ground was all over his chest. One hip was chaffed from my previous ride.

He never looked at me but stared, instead, over my shoulder and into the trees. Gathering his knees in my arms, I bent them back as I positioned myself over him.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" he cried when I forced my way back in. I went slowly, the first few inches being easy; resistance mounting as I reached my previous limit. I rested, and then began to fuck him slowly.

I laid over him, his butt propped up on the log as if it perched itself just for my use. I rested my upper body on my arms, keeping my weight off him, cupping his shoulders in my hands, my head next to his. His body jerked in time with his sobs and my thrusts. My nose was full of earth and sweaty boy.

I stopped when I was three quarters of the way in, close enough to feel my pubes brushing against his ass. Keeping my motion slow and gentle, I began to long fuck him, coming out to the tip then in again. His crying had ceased and was replaced with a low animal grunt whenever I pushed in. It clearly wasn't a sound of pleasure but neither was he racked with pain. I felt his warm breath brush on my shoulder with each exhale.

I went at him like that for about ten minutes before I began to feel the first twinge of an orgasm out on the horizon. I raised myself off him and on to my hands so I could watch his reaction as I increased my speed and really began to pound into him.

He was far away; there was just no other way to say it. His eyes were open but saw nothing. His arms lay loosely. His legs, still pinned by my arms, were slack. His body rocked in the leaves as I pushed repeatedly into him.

"Fuck baby, you are wonderful," I said, but I knew he didn't hear.

"Oh yes! Fuck!" And I came for the second time.

I stayed buried deep, panting hard. Sweat dripped off me and on to Jake. Then, when I felt my breath return, I pulled out of him and stood up.

He rolled over on to his side, curling his knees up to his chest. A wet fart broke from his backside and I saw a thin trickle of semen and shit run down his leg. Looking at my own cock, I saw it was mucusy and brown, but not shitty or bloody.

He never moved while I washed in the stream and climbed back into my clothes. I thought about taking his clothes over to him, but decided against it. He'd probably wash off, as well. The cold water would feel good on his very sore anus.

Pausing one last time, I looked about the glen. Cicadas buzzed in the trees and it made the day feel even hotter. The shade should have felt cool, but it was oven hot everywhere.

Grabbing my camera, I walked back over to Jake and leaned close. I wasn't sure he knew I was there.

"Listen, Jacob! You were great. My best fuck ever!" I chuckled. Then, I leaned closer and whispered.

"The only way anyone will ever know what happened will be if you tell. It will be our secret."

"And, if you do tell, I'll litter your school with the pictures I took of you."

He swallowed hard when I said that but didn't move otherwise.

I walked quickly back through the woods to my car, absorbed the whole time with what I had done. I was thrilled, scared, and confused. Without a doubt it was the best sex I ever had, nothing else in my life compared to it. Still, if he talked and if I got caught, it would clearly be the end of my life.

But I was mostly surprised at myself. I had seen a side of me I didn't know existed. I had never done anything that cruel before; not physically or emotionally. I had destroyed that kid. Physically he'd recover, but never would he recover psychologically. He'd never again go fishing, never walk in the woods, never speak to another man he didn't know. I should feel terrible, but I didn't. I felt great.

And, it was then that I knew, I'd do it again.

The End