Initiate

Author's note - This story has sexual content, involving a boy below the age of consent. Please don't read if you're likely to be offended.


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It starts with questions.

"Would you? I want to know, want to feel, will you help me to find out?"

"Could I? I'd love to, but are you sure it's what you really want?"

No hesitation, you know the answer to both of those questions. Your voice seems almost beyond your command, though, so that when you do speak, it's in a breathless rush, your words uncharacteristically sibilant.

"Yes, oh yes, please!"

Two pairs of eyes meet, and the unspoken answer concurs with the spoken. Nothing more needs to be said. Gentle hands guide you, tender fingers unshroud your mystery. A journey has begun, from inchoate longing towards shimmering reality. You've heard about, read about the destination, but have never managed to find the right path. Now you have a caring guide, willing and able to show you the way, at your own pace, ready at any moment to turn back if you find it too much, wanting only the best for you, wanting to make it an experience for you to treasure, forever.

"Are you OK? Tell me, please, if you're not, anytime. Just say the word. You're in charge."

You nod, not wishing to break the spell by speaking, and let your eyelids droop as swirling patterns of pleasure are drawn across your body, like invisible Polynesian tattoos. Your lips part a fraction, just enough to show glimmers of white as your teeth catch the light, making you look hungry for more. The ball of a thumb grazes your nipple, and you gasp at the sensation, never having suspected such feelings could be elicited from such a tiny nub of flesh. Fingertips trace a path lower down, caressing and teasing the silk of your skin, you lick your lips instinctively as the insistent touch sends shivers and sparks coursing through your nervous system, racing around from head to toe before finding their way to the rapturous focal point, pulsing with your quickening heartbeat, aching with anticipation. The meandering fingers have by now reached your inner thighs, and you hold your breath, seemingly for ever, as they edge ever closer to what you hope, so desperately, are their target. Then a new feeling, palms of hands so carefully lifting and parting your legs, tipping you backwards a little so you rest on your coccyx, before the fingers return, now softly, so softly, exploring the orbs, the size and shape of large olives, in your smooth sac, then lower still, tracing the path of your perineum, back and forth three or four times, making you shudder and tremble, making you want to divert those hands to the centre of it all, the steely nexus of desire standing tall, proudly displaying your nascent masculinity.

"Please!" Your urgent whisper, you've been so patient, but can be patient no longer.

Calmly, unhurriedly, your legs are lowered, but still apart. It's so close now, you can feel the warm breath bathing you, you close your eyes and then it's there, like an electric shock in slow motion, as you're drawn so smoothly, so sweetly, into a hot and humid cavern. Lips and tongue speaking silent words of love and wonder, building an edifice of delight, taking you to places that you could never have dreamed of, climbing higher and higher, feeling better and better, so that you never want the ascent to end, but the event horizon is rushing inexorably towards you, the lip of the waterfall inescapable, you try and try to hold yourself back, to remain on that plateau of ecstasy just a moment longer, but it's impossible, the singularity will not be denied. And then you hear, as much as feel, the glorious moment arrive, as a groan, disembodied, it seems, escapes from deep within, a sound born of ultimate rapture, and then the world explodes in your loins, blasting out your joy, again and again and again. All of creation subsumed in your spectacular climax, nothing existing outside the halo of bliss which has engulfed you, like a cloak of light. Then, just when you're about to come back to earth, thinking that your time in paradise is over, a second wave, less powerful than the first, but still outshining almost everything in your life until now, takes hold of your body and soul, and you're off to the heights again, this recapitulation feeling like a bath in warm chocolate, slipping and sliding and sweet.

And then, finally, it is over, and you're floating back to reality, lachrymose. The moisture squeezes from the corners of your eyes, and trickles down your cheeks.

"Oh, sweetie, are you alright? Have I hurt you?"

Again, you find it nearly impossible to speak, but know you must.

"It was....unbelievable. I never guessed it could be so good." Your voice cracks with emotion. "Th....thank you, so very much."

You can see the relief on his face, you can tell, even at your tender age, that he would have been devastated to have done you any harm.

"Was....was it your first time, really?"

You smile, then chuckle, then laugh madly, as the full impact of the last minutes come home to you, and you think of the answer you want to give.

"No....it was my first, and second!!"

And then you throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him. And he smiles, like he's never smiled before.

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Love & best wishes to all
Sammy B