Nicholas's Story
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
6,224
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
6,224
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction about oral & anal sex between men and a boy, starting in infancy. The characters, locations & incidents are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is enti
Chapter 1 - My earliest memories
©2007 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
I want to start by telling you about the night I lost my virginity. That is a very special day in everyone's life. For a special rare woman, it happens on her wedding night, when for the first time she enters into the throes of passion as her til-death-do-us-part partner enters her clit. Other women remember the night under the bleachers, the beach after the prom, the seedy motel, or the bedroom when the parents are out for the evening. For his part, a man might recall when someone plowed his ass for the first time. Perhaps it was a coach who deflowered him, or a special roommate who plucked his cherry. No matter where the location or what the circumstances, it is a very special memory, the day when you discover your body can give special pleasure to a special man.
So yes, I want to start by telling you about losing my virginity. Unfortunately, I cannot. You see, I have no memory of being a virgin. My earliest memories from the time I was still a little boy, were of adult cocks rammed up my young asshole. Getting fucked for me was as natural a part of growing up as eating, napping, crying, toddling around naked, playing with my toys, sucking tits and dicks and thumbs, sulking, giggling, and exploring wide-eyed this wonderful new world.
Who was the first man who fucked me? I can't swear to it, but it was no doubt Father. He fucked every bitch-hole in the house and there were plenty of them, with new ones arriving every few months. Everyone in the house other than Father was called "bitch." This included a few boy bitches like myself who never seemed to get close to becoming teenagers in Father's house, a great many girl bitches of ages ranging from baby bitches up through their teens, and a handful of women bitches who on frequent occasions bred new bitches. When a baby was a few weeks old, he or she underwent the deflowering ceremony, sort of like a christening, no, more like a bris, because of the trauma involved. After all, a few drops of water may have spiritual consequences but leave no physical damage. I clearly remember Father demanding each new baby be brought to him, as I assume I was. As all us other bitches stood around him, the diaper would be removed and the newest bitch would be placed on Father's lap. At first, the child would look scared. Then as two of the women held the squirming infant, Father would begin penetrating its little asshole (and its pussy if it had one.) As the kid screamed away, Father filled its hole(s) with his cum. Following this, the baby would still be crying, but Father made a show of discarding the kid's pacifier. To soothe it, the baby would then be placed where it could suck the cock that had just been up its asshole. For some reason, this always quieted the child and the rest of us would clap our hands. Thereafter, whenever the infant needed soothing, it was to be given a cock, usually one of us older boys. In my years with Father, I had many of my young siblings sucking my boydick, and frequently they fell asleep for their naps attached to it. For girls, there was yet one more part of the ceremony. Father would give each girl bitch its new name: bitch Judy, bitch Andrea, bitch Gloria. The boys never got names. Father said since we didn't have pussies, there was no reason for us to have names. We were known collectively as just the boy bitches.
In the days after the ceremony, the new baby bitch would be given to other men, just as all of us bitches were. We understood that our mouths, anuses (and vaginas, those of us that had them) were holes created solely for the satisfaction of Father's cock and those of his "friends." Oh, sure, I did normal kid stuff like I said. I took naps, I ate, I played and wrestled with the other boys. But, if Father or one of his "friends" wanted a boy bitch to fuck, I would be given to him, no matter what I was doing. Although, usually I was sleeping for my two holes were most often needed in the middle of the night, after the men had been drinking a while.
Sometimes, one of the women or older girls would be given to a man to take away for a while and occasionally, the man would also ask for a little girl to come along. Once in a while, the man would ask for a little boy instead. In that case, I was to call the female Mommy, no matter who she was. For all I knew, any of the women there could have been my mother. The man would use this mother and me for a few days and then return us to Father. Sometimes he just wanted me to watch the way he fucked my "Mommy" in front of me, maybe to shame her, maybe to teach the little boy what cunts were for. Sometimes he had me lick his cum out of Mommy's pussy when he finished, and he'd inspect her to make sure I'd felched it all. And sometimes the man wanted to use my ass. After all, it was a lot tighter than the broad's.
I don't remember too much about Father's house. It seemed big to me, with lots of bedrooms to accommodate everyone two or three to a bed. I think there must have been a lot of property around the house, because I don't remember any neighbors. Father apparently made enough money from his "friends" to keep his large "family" somewhat fed. And of course a lot of money was saved on clothes. Most days, Father was the only one dressed. The rest of us went about our business, inside and outside, naked. There were a few clothes in a bin for everyone to share, so when a man borrowed us, we could be halfway decent traveling through town. It might mean I'd be wearing a girl's blouse, shoes way too big for my feet, and shorts way too tight, but at least I was dressed.
One of my "brothers" was perhaps three years older than I. (Father never kept track of any of the kids' birthdays or ages, so I'm not really sure.) He and I hit it off for some reason and often played together. We even slept together. I felt he protected me. I'm not sure what I gave him in return other than idol worship. Of course, I called him "bitch" and he called me "bitch." Those were the only names the boys had. One day, maybe when I was around four, I went looking for this "bitch," and couldn't find him. I searched everywhere. Finally, someone told me he was gone. I didn't understand. I cried and cried. Later, I learned that a man had come and taken him away. After that, I was very wary about getting too close to anyone else. I didn't want to get hurt again. Sure enough, whenever a boy seemed to reach a certain age, he would disappear. A couple of times, I actually saw the man drive in, do some negotiating with Father, and drive off with the boy. Where were they taking them?
Sometimes in the middle of the night when I would be lying in some bed, my little legs up by my shoulders, some smelly stranger wiping his spit on my asshole to prepare it for his cock, I would wonder about my missing brothers. Were they happier where they were now?
After one of my bitch brothers was driven away, I realized I was the biggest boy still left in Father's house. I guess I must have been around seven. I remember one afternoon a car arrived and a man got out whom I had never seen before. Father spoke to him a while, then pointed and the man looked at me and nodded. A few days later, bitch Carlotta took me to the clothes bin and after rustling around, pulled out a black t shirt with several holes in it, some torn denim cutoffs and a pair of rubber flip-flops. "These will do." she said and told me to put them on.
"What dress are you going to wear, Mommy?"
"I'm not going to be your mommy this time, bitch. This time you're on your own." I thought about my bitch brothers going off by themselves and I realized my turn had come.
"I won't be coming back, will I?"
"Nope."
I waited on the porch steps and stared down the drive. Soon, a car appeared. The same car I had seen a few days earlier. Father came out and spoke to the man again. The man gave him an envelope and Father called me, "Bitch, get over here." The man opened the front passenger seat of the car and I climbed in. If any of my younger bitch brothers were watching us drive away, I didn't see them. I never looked back at Father's house.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.
.oOo.
I want to start by telling you about the night I lost my virginity. That is a very special day in everyone's life. For a special rare woman, it happens on her wedding night, when for the first time she enters into the throes of passion as her til-death-do-us-part partner enters her clit. Other women remember the night under the bleachers, the beach after the prom, the seedy motel, or the bedroom when the parents are out for the evening. For his part, a man might recall when someone plowed his ass for the first time. Perhaps it was a coach who deflowered him, or a special roommate who plucked his cherry. No matter where the location or what the circumstances, it is a very special memory, the day when you discover your body can give special pleasure to a special man.
So yes, I want to start by telling you about losing my virginity. Unfortunately, I cannot. You see, I have no memory of being a virgin. My earliest memories from the time I was still a little boy, were of adult cocks rammed up my young asshole. Getting fucked for me was as natural a part of growing up as eating, napping, crying, toddling around naked, playing with my toys, sucking tits and dicks and thumbs, sulking, giggling, and exploring wide-eyed this wonderful new world.
Who was the first man who fucked me? I can't swear to it, but it was no doubt Father. He fucked every bitch-hole in the house and there were plenty of them, with new ones arriving every few months. Everyone in the house other than Father was called "bitch." This included a few boy bitches like myself who never seemed to get close to becoming teenagers in Father's house, a great many girl bitches of ages ranging from baby bitches up through their teens, and a handful of women bitches who on frequent occasions bred new bitches. When a baby was a few weeks old, he or she underwent the deflowering ceremony, sort of like a christening, no, more like a bris, because of the trauma involved. After all, a few drops of water may have spiritual consequences but leave no physical damage. I clearly remember Father demanding each new baby be brought to him, as I assume I was. As all us other bitches stood around him, the diaper would be removed and the newest bitch would be placed on Father's lap. At first, the child would look scared. Then as two of the women held the squirming infant, Father would begin penetrating its little asshole (and its pussy if it had one.) As the kid screamed away, Father filled its hole(s) with his cum. Following this, the baby would still be crying, but Father made a show of discarding the kid's pacifier. To soothe it, the baby would then be placed where it could suck the cock that had just been up its asshole. For some reason, this always quieted the child and the rest of us would clap our hands. Thereafter, whenever the infant needed soothing, it was to be given a cock, usually one of us older boys. In my years with Father, I had many of my young siblings sucking my boydick, and frequently they fell asleep for their naps attached to it. For girls, there was yet one more part of the ceremony. Father would give each girl bitch its new name: bitch Judy, bitch Andrea, bitch Gloria. The boys never got names. Father said since we didn't have pussies, there was no reason for us to have names. We were known collectively as just the boy bitches.
In the days after the ceremony, the new baby bitch would be given to other men, just as all of us bitches were. We understood that our mouths, anuses (and vaginas, those of us that had them) were holes created solely for the satisfaction of Father's cock and those of his "friends." Oh, sure, I did normal kid stuff like I said. I took naps, I ate, I played and wrestled with the other boys. But, if Father or one of his "friends" wanted a boy bitch to fuck, I would be given to him, no matter what I was doing. Although, usually I was sleeping for my two holes were most often needed in the middle of the night, after the men had been drinking a while.
Sometimes, one of the women or older girls would be given to a man to take away for a while and occasionally, the man would also ask for a little girl to come along. Once in a while, the man would ask for a little boy instead. In that case, I was to call the female Mommy, no matter who she was. For all I knew, any of the women there could have been my mother. The man would use this mother and me for a few days and then return us to Father. Sometimes he just wanted me to watch the way he fucked my "Mommy" in front of me, maybe to shame her, maybe to teach the little boy what cunts were for. Sometimes he had me lick his cum out of Mommy's pussy when he finished, and he'd inspect her to make sure I'd felched it all. And sometimes the man wanted to use my ass. After all, it was a lot tighter than the broad's.
I don't remember too much about Father's house. It seemed big to me, with lots of bedrooms to accommodate everyone two or three to a bed. I think there must have been a lot of property around the house, because I don't remember any neighbors. Father apparently made enough money from his "friends" to keep his large "family" somewhat fed. And of course a lot of money was saved on clothes. Most days, Father was the only one dressed. The rest of us went about our business, inside and outside, naked. There were a few clothes in a bin for everyone to share, so when a man borrowed us, we could be halfway decent traveling through town. It might mean I'd be wearing a girl's blouse, shoes way too big for my feet, and shorts way too tight, but at least I was dressed.
One of my "brothers" was perhaps three years older than I. (Father never kept track of any of the kids' birthdays or ages, so I'm not really sure.) He and I hit it off for some reason and often played together. We even slept together. I felt he protected me. I'm not sure what I gave him in return other than idol worship. Of course, I called him "bitch" and he called me "bitch." Those were the only names the boys had. One day, maybe when I was around four, I went looking for this "bitch," and couldn't find him. I searched everywhere. Finally, someone told me he was gone. I didn't understand. I cried and cried. Later, I learned that a man had come and taken him away. After that, I was very wary about getting too close to anyone else. I didn't want to get hurt again. Sure enough, whenever a boy seemed to reach a certain age, he would disappear. A couple of times, I actually saw the man drive in, do some negotiating with Father, and drive off with the boy. Where were they taking them?
Sometimes in the middle of the night when I would be lying in some bed, my little legs up by my shoulders, some smelly stranger wiping his spit on my asshole to prepare it for his cock, I would wonder about my missing brothers. Were they happier where they were now?
After one of my bitch brothers was driven away, I realized I was the biggest boy still left in Father's house. I guess I must have been around seven. I remember one afternoon a car arrived and a man got out whom I had never seen before. Father spoke to him a while, then pointed and the man looked at me and nodded. A few days later, bitch Carlotta took me to the clothes bin and after rustling around, pulled out a black t shirt with several holes in it, some torn denim cutoffs and a pair of rubber flip-flops. "These will do." she said and told me to put them on.
"What dress are you going to wear, Mommy?"
"I'm not going to be your mommy this time, bitch. This time you're on your own." I thought about my bitch brothers going off by themselves and I realized my turn had come.
"I won't be coming back, will I?"
"Nope."
I waited on the porch steps and stared down the drive. Soon, a car appeared. The same car I had seen a few days earlier. Father came out and spoke to the man again. The man gave him an envelope and Father called me, "Bitch, get over here." The man opened the front passenger seat of the car and I climbed in. If any of my younger bitch brothers were watching us drive away, I didn't see them. I never looked back at Father's house.
.oOo.
As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herbcatwriter@yahoo.com. Thank you.