Giving and Getting 8
Giving and Getting 8
In the last twenty years, I'd grown up. The thugs stopped chasing me just after I'd stolen the adolescence from Shawn. I don't know if their boss was hit, or what. I used the last of my hoarded money to move to a small town in upstate New York, presenting myself as a precocious 17 year-old, legally emancipated and eager for work. I landed an internship at Howard, Carter & Associates, a mid-level advertising firm, and I so impressed them with my drive that I was offered a grunt-level job. I worked my way up to partner over the next decade, meeting and marrying Charlotte on the way. She was a skinny, androgynous blond with buzz-cut hair and a slight-enough figure to pass as a boy. It seems that the curse doesn't work when I shot in a vag, and though I couldn't cum in anything but a butt, Charlotte was so like a boy, and my imagination had been honed so well by my time in the crime lord's dungeon, that I had no problem adjusting to the few soft curves my hands encountered along the way. She was wild in bed, and little Joshua came along about ten years in. I'd never figured to be a married man, much less a father, but I was surprisingly good at both, and I aged along with the years.
Both of us were 35 when Charlotte started to cough. She passed it off as nothing for the first six months, and then I forced her to see the doctor. Her face was serene as she walked out of the examination room, and I numbly obeyed when she told me to drive to our favorite spot in the woods.
“I have cancer,” she said, her huge blue eyes devouring mine. I cried.
Six months later I held Josh's hand as he dropped a handful of dirt on his mother's coffin. I'd had my fill of mysticism a lifetime ago, but I solemnly copied him, and then led my little man to the receiving line to greet our friends. Every treble “Thank you” ripped at my soul, but I've never been so proud as his 12 year-old self bore up under the solicitude. At last we escaped, to the gated estate where well-meaning relatives couldn't follow, and over the next few months we lived out our private grief.
The young bounce back faster than we, and Josh proved it. That next December he asked if his buddy Zeke could sleep over for Christmas, since his family wasn't doing anything that weekend. I said yes, and added a few presents for the Jewish kid to my list, but I didn't resent at all the fact that my son was coming back to life.
The boys spent Christmas evening watching “A Christmas Story” and mocking the characters, devouring bowl after bowl of popcorn in the voracious way of the young. I stayed up with them until 10:30, and then made a production of yawning and dropping hints about Santa and bed. Josh fluttered about, shooing his guest into his pajamas with an eagerness that Zeke couldn't quite understand, though he went willingly enough. I blew up the air mattress and had the boys help me put on the sheets, and then with one last sternly delivered warning that Santa skipped the houses where boys were waiting up I went to bed. At two my alarm went off, and I snuck downstairs to arrange the presents under the tree. I saw in the moon-light that Zeke had rolled over to drape his girlish arm over Josh's chest, lying spooned up to my boy's pert ass, but my mind was so taken up with arranging stockings and gifts that I just stored that away for tomorrow. I slunk back upstairs to doze and await the clamor I knew was coming.
“Santa!,” Josh screamed, “Santa was here!” The sound of tearing paper followed, and I knew that I had to get down there. I stretched, feeling the pull of my athletic, 36 year-old body, and then rolled out of bed. Belting my robe, I descended into the chaos of shredded paper that had amplified once Zeke realized that his name was on some of the boxes. The two boys reached a frenzy of greed as I settled myself on the couch, enjoying the destruction as my boys discovered what 'Santa' had left them.
The rest of the day followed the pattern set by Charlotte, including noon mass (which Zeke dutifully attended, his hair slicked down) and the roast ham and mashed potatoes and asparagus that we had for dinner. Zeke was perfectly willing to eat ham (his parents were unobservant) and just as willing to enjoy the enormous slices of apple cake that followed. The winter darkness drew in quickly as the boys explored whatever world the latest video game offered, and I had to threaten a blackout twice before I got them washed up and into bed. At last I headed upstairs, having been kissed and thanked to my satisfaction.
I could barely remember my own prepubescent years, but I knew that at twelve I hadn't been a saint. My dick was slightly larger than the other boys', and that had led to all sorts of interesting things. I had the feeling that Josh took after me, but it wasn't until I woke in the night that proved it.
“Unhh, unhh, unhh!”
The moans echoed up the stairs as I stumbled my way toward the bathroom. My sleep-fuddled mind paid no attention as I groped my way to the toilet, but once I'd flushed and washed, I'd caught up enough to tell the difference. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened: one of the boys below was getting fucked. My face flushed, but parental concern drove me down, just as native caution made my bare feet silent. I crept to the base of the staircase and peered around, spotting the entwined forms in the flickering light of the muted TV.
Josh's toes dug into the carpet as his athletic ass flexed, driving his dick into his friend. Zeke was at this point a shadow of himself, a mere wisp of a boy, his pale fingers dug into the carpet as my son's cock thrust deep in his tiny hole. How much had he taken? Eight, nine years? Josh's ass was meaty with muscle, his legs lightly furred, and his soft moans came baritone from his broad chest. Shit. Even as I started forward, intending to yank him off the poor kid before he let go again, spasms rocked his tight teen body and he threw his head back, his eyes rolled up and his mouth locked in a rictus grin. Every drop of that tremendous load was buried in Zeke's little belly, not a bit of it escaping past the vacuum-seal Zeke's overstretched hole had on my boy's massive cock. Josh was still moaning as I flipped him off the kid, rolling him onto his broad back to reveal the passive little creature beneath.
Zeke weighed next to nothing as I scooped him into my arms, hurrying him into the kitchen and away from my sex-mad son. The boy was barely with it, so delirious with pleasure that his eyes were mere slits of white. I gently laid him out on the counter, surveying what my boy had done: Zeke was a toddler. Without knowledge or control, Josh had fucked him back to infancy. Shit.
I wrapped Zeke in a blanket and placed him beside the stove, in a nook that would keep him from rolling over or wandering off. Then I grabbed the glass bottle of olive oil and headed back into the living room.
Josh was laying on his back, his eyes unfocused and his wide chest heaving as his body came down from his cascade of cum. I saw that my boy sported a massive eleven inch dick, but I was so angry that I brushed past that and reached down to grab his hip and heave him over. He went, his enormous tool trapped between his meaty thigh and the carpet, and I unceremoniously poured olive oil into his crack. My knees hugged my son's legs, my nine inches brushed his hot ass, and I braced myself against his shoulder as I aimed and thrust.
Josh's hands clenched at the carpet as I fucked his hole. Instant stud or not he'd never felt a man's dick in his ring, and I plunged without mercy. To his credit, Josh arched his back and gasped, riding my dick as I slammed in, his eyes staring blankly at the wall as the sensation ripped through his preadolescent brain. The angle was bad, and my rage stood in the way, but I found myself cumming in just a few minutes, and Josh's muscular teen form shrank a few degrees. The extra year echoed up my frame, but I shook my head and plowed on. If Josh was even conscious his slack face didn't show it, drooling as I rode his ass to release again. This time the hair vanished from his lanky limbs, and I felt the body below me shrink. Surfing on the orgasmic high, I fucked on.
The life I had made was done. No way was Zeke going to fuck his age back from my son. It wasn't as if I hadn't planned for this, I thought, as my dick shot another load, and another year swept through me. It was just so damned inconvenient. I'd worked for 15 years to establish myself, and now I had to run again. And even better, bring my boy with me. Another year shuddered through my frame, Josh shrinking to a weedy 15 beneath me as my balls emptied again.
There was a suitcase with $400,000 in it hidden in the linen closet. Two anonymous bank accounts held the $1.5 million I'd squirreled away, accessible from anywhere with a phone. I had a bag of passports and IDs in all my various ages sitting under my bed. But in all my preparations, in all my most desperate dreams, I'd never had a son, and as Josh shrank again beneath me I cursed the limited foresight that had led me to leave such an important detail to chance.
If Josh was conscious it never showed as I fucked his body down to 12. He ended up with the little dick and smooth frame he'd had this morning when I finally pulled out, but his buddy would never be the same. I left my son as a puddle of cum-stained pleasure on the floor and strode through the house, gathering what would be necessary and what Josh would miss. I piled our bags in the back hall and then went up to dress, pulling on jeans and a leather jacket, filling the pockets with credit cards and IDs that I had set up years ago. I backed the Jag up to the door, and then carefully scooped up and deposited Zeke's limp, sleeping body in the back seat. My son leaked cum down his smooth legs as he walked naked to the car, but I prodded him nonetheless. A complete set of clothes lay in a bag just behind him as I tucked his dirty bare feet into the passenger well, and the engine roared as I leapt in. Little Zeke lolled his head as I zigzagged up to his house.
The boy was deep asleep as I laid him on the step. The note I pinned to his blanket was completely inadequate to any parent who'd lent out their son for one happy night and who received back a toddler with his name. I made sure not to crank the engine as I pulled away. Josh's head lolled against the headrest as I sped away, taking the course that led us out of the city and to a new life.
“Uhhh.” Josh rolled his head from side to side. “Uhhh. Fuck.” I felt an instant surge of righteousness, but overrode it. My boy rolled his head again and opened his eyes. “Where are we?”
Taking as little pleasure as I could, I laid out our situation to him, not sparing the mystical details.
“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand. “You expect me to believe that I can get younger by letting someone fuck me?” His enormous brown eyes looked at me, challenging. I glanced at him, sideways, but didn't respond. Instead I pulled into the next rest stop. Josh looked at me like I was crazy, but I marched off to the restroom unimpeded.
It took less than twenty minutes to spring my trap. I'd written a message above the closest urinal, see me in the stall, but six guys came and went before I had a bite. A 40-something guy pushed at my stall door, and I welcomed him with open legs and a hard cock. He dropped his pants and pushed his hard dick to my lips, and I used my mouth and my right hand to drain him quick. He drew back, panting, his jizz dripping from my chin, and I made up his mind for him by swallowing his dick yet again.
This time I teased him as my hand felt up his ass. With my other hand I shoved down my pants and boxers, baring my growing cock. He was a solid six: I was a nine and a half. My lips danced on his bag, milking every drop he shot, and once he was empty I got awkwardly to my feet, my boxers and jeans around my ankles. I leaned over to brace myself on the back of the toilet, jutting my ass out towards him. Though he'd just cum twice, it took him less than thirty seconds to get his rod in my hole.
My practiced ass swallowed him with ease, milking his shaft as it slid in. His rough hands bit down hard on my hips as his fucking picked up, slamming his hips against my ass, his loose balls slapping at the back of my sack. He must not have gotten any recently, poor guy, because he really went to town, and nutted a few minutes later. After that it was all a matter of form, and I stood there, age melting off me, until I was maybe 25. I abruptly shoved the greybeard off me and carefully wiped up the streams of jizz that coated my inner thighs. Giving the guy one last pat on the cheek as I opened the stall, I headed back out into the night to show the proof of our curse to my son.
Josh wasn't in the car. I stood frozen for a moment, and then turned on my heel to scan the area. Nothing. No movement, no light, the only cars in the lot my Jag and my fucker's Prius. Not a 12 year-old boy in sight. There was a long-haul tractor trailer with an extended cab parked in the truck lot, and as my stomach took an abrupt fall I started to sprint.
Luckily the door wasn't locked, and I jumped up on the step and ripped it open to reveal my son on his knees on the trucker's bed, six years old if he was a day and the grizzled old man's dick buried inside him. I didn't hesitate in grabbing the long metal flashlight sticking up between the seats and cracking the old guy across the jaw. His faded blue eyes fluttered up into his head as he collapsed, and my boy gave a visceral moan as the source of his pleasure abruptly vanished. I reached over, gripped the back of his neck, and hauled Josh from that fusty pit. His bare feet barely touched the pavement as I hustled him back to the car, his high-pitched cries completely unregarded. I slammed the engine into life and tore out of there, not stopping for two more states.
If Josh showed amazement either at his transformation or mine he hid it well. He mostly confined himself to complaints, none of which admitted the danger he'd subjected himself to. I bore with it until we reached Kentucky, and then abruptly swerved off the interstate into whatever pissant town we happened to be passing. I booked a room at the local Holiday Inn and dragged my boy and my bags up to our room. The door whispered shut behind us.
“You want to know why I'm angry,” I said, my voice a deadly hiss. “I told you what happens to us when we fuck, and the very next thing I find is you getting fucked by some guy. Do you realize what would have happened to you if I hadn't been there? You'd have been two again! And there's nothing I can fucking do about it!”
My vehemence seemed to hit him, and he sat silent, his little body trembling. My rage began to subside, a bit. “You're not like other boys, Josh! You can't fuck around! If you're not careful, the guy you're fucking will end up like Zeke, a baby, or you will! And I can't be there to save you! Shit!” I flung my cell phone against the wall, where it made a dent. That more than anything seemed to impress him.
“So,” Josh said, in the little boy's voice that went with his body but which I hadn't heard in years, “if I go too far, I can't come back?” His huge brown eyes peered up at me from his smooth baby's face. I glared back.
“No. You can't. You'll be stuck growing up the hard way, again. Like I was.” I told him the story of my years in foster care, and his eyes lit in something like belief.
“So what do I know?” His body was twined about itself, defensive in every angle, but at this it deliberately relaxed. I looked at my son, the boy I never thought I'd have, and sighed. I'd bathed and diapered that body, powdered and kissed every inch. I had no choice. “Get in the shower,” I said, looking down at the ugly patterned quilt. Josh sprang up to obey.
Ten minutes later my boy walked out of the shower, his proper age. His smooth hips swayed, and his bare feet were silent on the rough carpet. I ignored my son as far as I could. He cast one entirely too confident glance at me before he got into bed and pulled the covers up over him. I shut off the lights and waited until Josh's breathing went deep before slipping out and down to the bar.
Backwater or not, this town's hotels had a lively trucker trade. An older guy named Rex bought me a shot. I scooted over to perch next to him, admiring the muscles that I could see under his plaid shirt. He finished his drink while boasting to his friends, and I chugged mine thereafter. He led the way to the back of the joint, and I loosened my belt as I followed him.
Rex stopped in a dark alcove that was out of sight from the bar. He dropped to his knees and opened his mouth to swallow my cock. I moaned a little as my flesh sank into the man's throat. He was an expert, his tongue dancing on my dick as my balls prepared to fire. My fingers went flat against the wall as I emptied my balls in his mouth, delighting as his practiced throat danced on my dick. I pumped the inch or so of dick left outside his lips, milking the last drops of cum onto his tongue. Rex pulled off to swallow, and the stood up.
My 19 year-old lips were soft and pink, and Rex all but devoured them, pushing scraps of my cum onto my tongue. His massive strength outweighed mine, and perforce I kissed and swallowed. Unhappily I broke away as soon as he pulled back, swallowing the last bit of spit and jizz before angrily eyeing his massive form.
“What the fuck,” I snarled, my dark eyes glaring into his gloating face. Rex stripped off his plaid shirt, baring a massively hairy chest. My heart jumped as he flung it into a puddle. I spun on my heel, intending to leave, but his hand clamped around my bicep, crushing my muscle until I was on my knees. His weight hit the pavement behind me.
Fuck. Josh was barely back where he was. Of itself, a guy determined to rape me was no real threat, since I could wait out the consequences, but to forcibly lose my majority now might mean the loss of my boy. I twisted and fought, my elbow catching Rex under the chin, but he just hauled off and hit me. The blow was massive, staggering me to my core, and my body went limp. Rex's rough hands lifted my hips, stripped of pants and boxers. The enormous head of his dick brushed my hole, once, twice, and then slammed in. His hairy balls were crushed against my smooth ass, and then he started to fuck.
I took it with resigned patience. The gross hillbilly spent himself again and again, raping my ever-younger ass. I doubt he noticed that my frame shrank every time he came, my hairless skin writhing as it adapted to ever-smaller muscles. My jeans puddled around my child-sized calves, and I knew that could step right out of them. Rex came again, his cum dripping down my silky thighs, and I shuddered as I lost another year. Barely eight, my little fingers were white as they braced against the asphalt, my hole shrank again. My little dick was so small that it barely shrank at all.
Rex panted behind me, exhausted by his efforts. My hole was so small I think it cut off blood flow from his enormous dick. When he sagged to his heels, exhausted, I surged up, ripping myself free. Rex made a feeble grab for me but I dodged, and on my bare toes I sprinted down the alley. I flashed past a startled bystander, my bare ass pale white, before ducking into the comforting shadow of a dumpster. Shit.
“Psst.” My little hand poked at Josh's shoulder. “Psst. Wake up!” My boy stirred, rolled over, and slept on.
“Josh,” I snarled, slapping his shoulder, disdaining stealth. His jerked awake, sitting up and looking around in confusion, his blue eyes eventually settling on me.
“Fuck, man,” he mumbled, rubbing his shoulder under his shirt. “Why the hell did you wake me?” My boy scratched his smooth belly and yawned enormously. He took his time in sitting up, scratching and stretching, and I barely managed to cap my patience. Finally, his blue eyes settled on me, and I watched as they went from sufferance to puzzlement. My boy recognized the shape of my face, even under the layer of baby fat. He just didn't know he knew it. Josh shook his head and cleared his throat. “What's this about?”
“Josh,” I said, my prepubescent voice pure. “It's me. We need to get out of here. Get your stuff.”
I might have known that it would trigger his stubborn streak. My boy wouldn't be pushed around. If it wasn't anything less than a life-or-death struggle I'd have admired and supported his opposition, but now, when Josh's eyes rolled up and he refused, I had the greatest urge to beat him.
My slender limbs quivered in impotence. I swallowed my pride and looked around for bad guys. Nothing. I bustled past Josh and started to pack my clothes. His eyes followed me, and he objected. “Hey,” he said, not moving. “That's my dad's.” I ignored him and continued to pack, my little hands sure. Josh looked increasingly dissatisfied, and soon began packing on his own. He didn't say a word, but his pack was ready a few seconds after mine.
I stood in front of him, my eyes level with his pert nipples. “All right. You're going to have to check us out. Can you do that?” I put all my experience into my gaze, and leveled it at my boy. Josh flinched and then nodded, taking my credit card with trembling fingers. He still hadn't paid for anything with plastic: now would be a good start. I slung my bags over my shoulders and hefted his, hauling them down to the car while he dealt with the counter attendant. After a few minutes he was back, all smiles, and we roared away.
Josh was an alarmingly erratic driver. He swerved and spun, waiting until the last minute before changing lanes. I waited as long as I could before ordering him to pull over. He eyed me, defiant, and went past the stop I'd chosen. Eventually, he pulled in.
I had to put this right. I was eight, he was twelve, and it wasn't working. I grabbed my stuff and led him up to the doors of the hotel, and then coached him the rest of the way. He had my credit card, and advice on how to act, and for his cringing performance he carried it out perfectly. “My daddy is in the car”, he stuttered, his whole body twisting up. “He'll be in in a minute.” The counter clerk couldn't check him in fast enough. We hefted the bags and followed the bellhop up to our room.
We settled in with a minimum of fuss. The bellhop left with a five dollar tip, courtesy of Josh, but if that kept him from sticking his nose on, it was all to the better. We took showers, the water beating down on my little boy's body, and then climbed into bed. I settled the covers and kicked out the base, waiting for Josh to fall asleep. My boy eventually dozed off, and I made my move.
I was sorry to do this, but I couldn't be sure. I drew back the sheets, baring my boy's lean body, and eyed his soft, noodle dick. At 12 Josh was hairless and smooth. I threw one bare leg over my shoulder and then the other, and thrust my dicklet forward, feeling his hairless cheeks with my cockhead. It was so small and skinny that it slipped home without effort, and I thrust forward, into my boy, almost instantly spending myself.
Josh shuddered as he aged a year, his bare toes flexing and his fingers gripping the sheets, but otherwise lying still. I thrust forward again, picking up speed, my bare little balls slapping my son's ass. Josh's legs flopped on either side of my head, his bare feet flexing unconsciously as I fucked another year out of his hole. My body shuddered as it bulked up to 13, his little toes flexing by my ears as he shrank to a smooth-skinned nothing. My cum poured into my son's hot ass, even as my dick picked up speed. It shot another load as my fingers clenched on his naked hips, burying my jizz inside him. Josh's body writhed and jerked as my cock spat its load, but he'd barely settled down when I started to fuck again. At 15, my belly was smooth and my arms were defined. My dick was a solid six inches, and it filled Josh's hole. I abruptly ripped myself backwards, tearing my rod free. I lay panting on the bed, my tiny boy sleeping the sleep of the truly fucked.
I was almost old enough to care for us, I reflected few minutes later, the hot spray beating down on my shoulders in the shower. A few more years would be enough. This town had to offer some possibilities, and I threw on a pair of baggy basketball shorts and a loose t-shirt, tucked an ID-less wallet with cash into my pocket, and headed out into the night.
A slender waif has less chance of avoiding notice than a strong-bodied man. I knew that, and avoided the lights as much as I could, exploring the place with an eye toward the privacy and convenience that most gay cruising spots boasted. My heart gave a thrill as a police cruiser passed within feet on a darkened street, but it passed by without a stop. My light footsteps carried me toward a brightly lit park, and I loosed my waistband as I stepped within.
An emo-ish boy sat on the swings, his Chucks scuffing the fine red dirt. I eyed him for a moment, judging the finely cut blond hair, the well-fed early teen body and the neatly washed clothes. His head drooped, his face shrouded by the lush, shaggy hair that hid his features. He'd do.
Hey-man-what's-up and desultory chat ensued, as I perched on the swing next to him. His name was Devon, he was 14, and he hated his parents. My feet dragged the ground in my slightly over-sized shoes. Devon's eyes, pale blue behind the thick, shadowing lashes, gleamed as he devoured me head to toe. His troubles came pouring out, a litany of teenage-woe, from the unfairness of having to tell his parents where he was going to the ultimate lameness of algebra class. I nodded and smiled and made sympathetic noises, all the while tossing my hair, flexing my chest and casually draping a hand down the inside of my athletic thigh. The kid's eyes tracked my every move, and I noticed the hardness in his skintight jeans.
“Well, man,” I finally said, standing up and stretching widely, my chest facing him. “I'm afraid I've got to get moving. It's been awesome talking to you, and I hope I can see more of you...later.” I cast the boy a hooded glance under my lashes, and then slowly strutted off into the dark soccer field behind the playground. I strained my ears, my heart thundering, and then almost skipped as I heard the quick tread behind me.
I pretended not to notice, and jumped convincingly when his hand touched my elbow. “Follow me,” Devon hissed, and then darted off into the dark, jumpy as a cat. I hurried after him, the pale shape of his shirt a blurred beacon in the blackness. He led me across the dark soccer field to the nearest stand of trees. It would be impossible for anyone to see us from the road there, and in the shadows I saw him turn to face me. I met him with open arms and slid my hand up his neck to pull him in for his first kiss. His soft, slender body melted against me.
I spent the next ten minutes teaching the boy how to kiss, exploring his unbrushed teen mouth completely. His back and hips were smooth and soft to touch under his shirt, his belly layered in puppy fat. His dick, cruelly trapped by his jeans, ground against my crotch, and I slid my free hand down to cup his backside and pull him against me. This boy was a hormone with legs, and was desperate for release.
I discovered that I'd backed Devon onto an unsuspected picnic table, and with a sudden shove I laid him back on the rough wood. He whimpered a bit, sorry for the loss of my lips, but the whimper turned into a fierce moan as I threw his thin legs over my shoulders and then fumbled for his belt. My fingers scrabbled at his fly, undoing button and zipper in a hurry of lust. Then I had his jeans and boxers up to his hairless knees, his cock flopped onto his belly. I paused, his pants bunched just below my jaw, and undid and shoved down my own pants, freeing my dick to jut out in the cooling air. Devon's soft white hands gripped the edge of the tabletop as I leaned over to drop a huge gob of spit onto the tip of my dick, and then bored in to swirl it around his exposed hole. The poor little emo boy had probably been dreaming about loosing his virginity, but not like this. He grunted and his ass clenched as I drove the head of my dick in, and I held back until his muscles relaxed. Then I plunged forward.
Devon gasped as my dick sank to its root, but he didn't cry out. I could feel every muscle in his adorable teen body tightening, including those in his ass, but my momentum was enough to plant me to the hilt, and I took the boy's hole. He wilted after a few seconds, and then tensed up again as I drew back for another thrust. The quick, hot plunge tore a moan from his freckled throat, and he thrashed his head. His abdominal muscles heaved as I pushed forward, but I could feel the welcome in his loosening hole, and pulled back again and again. By my sixth thrust, Devon's groans had turned into oversexed moans, and the boy's body melted beneath me.
My barely furred balls slapped against the boy's ass with every thrust. It was a matter of seconds until I came.
The first year shot up my spine, my joints popping as I went through the intermediate stage of puberty in 30 seconds. My dick, immersed in Devon's heaving hole, shot its load and then stayed hard, plumbing his significantly smaller depths. His massive load, one of the last he would shoot, flooded his belly and spattered his chest, making it as far the underside of his chin. The boy shuddered beneath me, his fingers digging into my back, but I fucked on.
I had my first armpit hairs at 16, as well as my first real pubes. They scratched away at Devon's hairless balls as I plowed his ass. The boy heaved beneath me, surfing the wave of pleasure that came from my now six and a half inch dick sawing at his prostate. His blond head tossed from side to side, his strawberry lips peeled back from white teeth in a grimace of pleasure, even as his ass heaved tight and my dick shot again, shedding another year.
11 year-old Devon was significantly smaller. His shoes wobbled next to my ears as my dick pistoned away, and his belly was nothing but soft fat under my caressing hand. His mouth gaped at the star-speckled sky as he screamed his pleasure to the heavens, baring the ragged smile that years of braces would correct. Young Devon was a thumb sucker, from the jut of his front teeth, though that got shallower as another year sleeted through me, bulking my muscles and draining the boy's. He looked every bit of his ten years, a slight, pale-skinned white boy, his pert ass pierced by my rod, and I fucked on.
At 18 my penis was a good 8 plus. The heaves of its growth had been swallowed up in the ecstatic shrieks coming from Devon's mouth, but he felt it now. I paused to skin out of my too tight shirt and to kick out of my baggy shorts, and I ripped off his too-big shoes and cast them aside. His delicate toes were hidden inside the sweaty white ankle socks that he still wore, and they clenched hard as I drove my cock deep into his gut to release my latest load of cum. The boy's eyes rolled up, his dicklet straining in the air, and then he went completely limp, passed out.
Pulling my rod out of Devon's hole required an effort. A river of spent jizz flooded out to puddle on the stained wood, and I gently lowered the boy's legs to the crook of my right arm, slid my left under his thin back to cradle his head, and lifted him up to lay him full length on the table.
All of the boy's clothes hung loose, so I stripped the pants, boxers, and shirt from his limp form. I pulled off his socks and then pushed his legs apart to lean in and mop my cum from his red and gaping hole. He stirred, his hole twitching invitingly, and he made a soft noise in his throat. I blew gently on the little mound of balls and boy-dick, and with another little moan it began to plump and rise. I swallowed it down, milking the little rod with my tongue, and Devon woke up in the best possible way, his soft belly and hips mashing up into my face as he tried to drive his pulsing dick deeper. I rode it out, swirling the head with my tongue, until he finally relaxed. Giving his head a last kiss, I looked up at him and smiled.
Given that the last thing he probably remembered was laying back while a boy about his own age fucked his dick into him, little Devon seemed strangely happy to wake up naked with his now prepubescent rod in a tall, well muscled teenager's mouth. He smiled back at me and ran a languid, wondering hand down his smooth chest, tracing the muscles and ripples that were no longer there. He cupped and fingered his mini-dick, pulling gently to stretch it out as far as it would go, and it hardened fast.
“That was awesome,” he said, working his dick and looking at my now soft meat with wide eyes. “I could feel you getting bigger, filling more of me each time.” His other hand snaked down to feel his slack and gaping hole, and it came back dripping with jizz. He held it up over his face, turning it to admire the cream as it trickled slowly over his fingers. A big glob feel onto his cheek, and he suddenly crammed his fingers into his mouth, devouring every bit of my seed. He stared into my eyes with a fierce, ravenous expression.
“More,” said, squirming his body to bring his ass back to the edge of the table. “Put it back in. I want more!” The boy used both hands and legs to pull my groin against his, bouncing my rapidly hardening rod against his soft flesh. Before I reached full hardness I put a hand on him belly to pin him, guided my head to his hole, and stuffed it in. The boy's eyes rolled back again as my dick slid in and lengthened to reclaim his entire gut. The deep pool of cum still in there helped make my plunge a smooth, scalding glide.
“Fuck me,” Devon whispered, his eyes tightly closed as he concentrated on the feeling coming from deep inside. “Fuck me.” And I did.
Every time I stopped, intending to pull out, his little hands and legs clung to my waist, pulling me back in. As the years rolled away his body melted with them, becoming smaller and softer and weaker, but each time I stopped he'd wriggle and moan and pull, and I started up again. Finally, when he was no older than Zeke, the boy who started this all, I forced him off my dick. His hole was so tight that it almost didn't want to let go. I wiped off my now full-size dick with his boxers and pulled my baggy-enough shorts back on. Picking up his little body I wrapped him in his own shirt, and cradled him to my broad chest as I made my way back through the park. Turning down a residential street I laid him on the doorstep of a house with lights on upstairs, rang the bell, and sprinted into the darkness to go collect my son.
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