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Woodland Fantasy Boy
The boy whimpered under me in my bed in the darkened bedroom. He was on his back, his knees hooked on my hips and his hands clutching the tips of my shoulders. His back and head were arched back, his mouth open in a yawn or maybe a silent scream. I didn’t care which at the moment. I was lost in the fuck, on my knees between his spread thighs, palming the small of his back, tilting his pelvis up to give me a straight shot and deep access. I was lost in the whimper too—the youth and innocence of...