How to Create a Fuckboy

By September, we were all settled into our new digs, and I set up a new schedule. Despite the necessary late hours, I wanted the nine-year old to get plenty of rest, so I always waited until 8 in the morning before sticking my cock in his sleepy gaping mouth. As he began to suck and come to life, I wished him a cheery "Good Morning," and told him all the great things in store for the day. Once he had a bellyful of my hot cream, we sauntered our bare asses down to the kitchen where the bitch had our breakfast waiting.

We got right to our lessons at 9 sharp: Math, Writing, and Reading five days a week, and Social Studies, Science and Spelling at least twice a week. On Saturday morning, the bitch gave him his piano lesson. Sunday morning was relatively free so he and I just fucked around literally and figuratively. Every once in a while, Fuckboy would "sleep" Saturday night with one of the wealthier clients who could afford his overnight rate.

Each day at noon, we had a quick lunch and Fuckboy got enema'ed and showered for our first client. We began booking clients at 1 PM for one hour sessions, allowing fifteen minutes in between to let the boy grab a drink or a snack, rinse himself off and spritz his hiney on the bidet. The bitch meanwhile came in to strip his bed and remake it. We offered a quality product and believed every paying customer was entitled to a clean, fresh and energetic child, in a clean, fresh setting.

This schedule allowed us to serve four men from 1 PM to 5:45. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Marks was booked from 3:30 right up until 5:45, to provide time for Fuckboy's gym lesson. They were both always pouring sweat by the time they got around to the blow job (Marks never did do anal). On Wednesday, the Beckers had the 4:45 slot, and Mrs. Becker was now bringing things for us to enjoy for dinner: her world-famous meat loaf, mac-and-cheese or tuna casserole, and always some wonderful home-baked pie for dessert. "It's the least I can do for you. You've been so kind to share your adorable Tommy with us. He plays with Mr. Becker so sweetly."

From 5:45 to 7, we broke for dinner. Often, I'd get my own fuck in during this break. Then we resumed the hour/quarter hour intervals for four more clients from 7 to 11:45. Eight time slots, seven days a week. There were vacant slots here and there, but I thought Fuckboy was already working close to his maximum.

The exception was Friday night when after supper the boy got into his blue uniform and biked over to his cub scout meeting. He was back in time for Mike who was booked for 9:30 and Jennings at 10:45. The bitch beamed whenever she saw him decked out in his blue shirt and pants, his yellow neckerchief, and the little blue hat. She made sure it was washed and ironed and crisp every week. As cute as he is naked, I have to admit there is something about a youngster in a uniform! I keep a picture of the Cub in my wallet, and shit I admit it, I've been known to jack off looking at it. Apparently, a number of men get turned on by the sight of little boys in uniforms. They're called scoutmasters.

When Fuckboy earned his Bobcat badge, both the bitch and I attended the ceremony. I knew she was proud watching him recite his little oath and give the official sign.

After the meeting, she started flirting with the Troop leader. It was fuckin embarrassing! But I had a weightier issue on my mind. I made an appointment to meet the guy the next day over lunch.

"Mr. Thorndike. I just want to tell you I'm so thrilled to have your nephew Tommy in our troop. He's going to make an excellent scout."

"Yes, I know he will, Jim. You don't mind if I call you Jim." I saw no need to tell him my first name. "He is very happy to be your troop, Jim. I'm glad to see him getting along so well with boys his age."

"Yes, uhm,..." I enjoyed watching him struggle for something to call me. He started to purse his lips into an M for "Mr. Thorndike," but then stopped and finally said, "Sir," which was damn fine with me!

"Tommy especially liked last weekend when you took all the Bobcat candidates on an overnight camping trip. When he got home, he told me all about it."

"Did he?" I took a sip of coffee and said nothing for a few moments while Jim's forehead began to moisten.

"Oh, yes, he talked all about your place in the woods. Sounds like a great retreat. You must really enjoy it."

Jim breathed a little easier. "Oh, yes. I inherited the land from my Dad. 42 acres. I love sharing it with the boys. Wanted to keep it rustic, so I never put a real cabin on it, just a storage shed and an outhouse. Then we bring along pup tents. Cook out on a campfire. The boys like roughing it like that."

"Yeah, Tommy told me all about the hiking, and playing ring-a-levio, and finding the owl's nest, and skinny dipping, and eating, and singing, and the ghost stories."

"Hehe, yes, I like to make sure the boys have lots of fun." He was perfectly relaxed now.

"Yes, Tommy also told me about the two pup tents, how you said each was only big enough for two people. And how there were three Bobcats, and how someone would get to sleep in your tent."

"Yes, Tommy was the lucky boy that night. At least I hope he considered it lucky. I think I might snore some times. Haha."

"No, he didn't mention the snoring, but he told me all about the secret initiation."

Suddenly, Jim's face turned pale. "He did? Well, I don't know what he said. Kids tend to stretch the truth, you know. That's why I tell them it's a secret."

"Oh, don't worry, Jim. You see, Jim, Tommy and I have no secrets from each other. We have a wonderful relationship. And as for stretching the truth, Jim, Tommy knows that Cubs are honest! Now, Jim, you can try to con the other little boys into secrecy with all that crap about honor and duty and following Akela, but Tommy isn't anyone's fool. I expect he showed a little more expertise in your so-called initiation rites than most of the Bobcats. I hope you appreciated the boy's excellent talents in that department."

"Now look, Sir. I'm not sure what you're driving at, but I assure you, I never..."

"Shut up, Jim. Before you say another word, I just want you to know, Jim, that when the lad came home, I swabbed his anal cavity. There still was plenty of cream inside. I've kept the evidence, Jim, and a simple DNA test will prove whose cock put it in there. And once it's out in the open, I expect a lot of lads will finally break your code of secrecy."

"What do you want from me, Sir?"

"That's more like it, Jim. Now, you see you got lots of little asses available which you can bully into a free fuck any damn time your horny little cock wants, Jim. But as far as this particular ass is concerned, Jim, it's prime quality and therefore needs to be reimbursed as such. You can pay us five hundred dollars, which I'm sure you'll agree is a fair price for such a perfect young hole. Oh, I realize you may not have it on you right now. You weren't expecting lunch to be quite that expensive. But there's an ATM right down the block."

"How often do I need to pay you, Sir?"

"Jim, Jim, Jim. You don't understand. This isn't blackmail or hush money. Hell, you seem like a decent enough jerk, what with volunteering your time for the little boys. No, Jim, the payment is for the great time you had last week." Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "You see Tommy really likes being in the Cubs, and he likes you, Jim, and believe it or not, Jim, he likes the way you fuck! So if you want to take his nine-year old ass on any more camping trips on your Dad's land, he'd be more than happy to go, and he'd be happy to cuddle up with you in your cozy little tent, Jim. Of course, the same rate will apply."

Next: The Cub and the Cunt