****** Secrets by P. Jammas ******
===============================================================================

Secrets


The shattering of glass on the kitchen floor startled John Goodman out of the
latest copy of "Options." His half-hard cock shriveled. (Half-hard was all
there had been for quite some time.) He stood up and flushed the commode--more
out of habit than necessity, as his time was spent reading and pulling on his
semi-erect prick not shitting. What the fuck's that boy done now, he thought,
pulling up his grease-stained chinos.

John padded barefoot down the hall and stood in the arched doorway leading from
the living room into the kitchen. Blake, his twelve-year-old grandson, stared
at the floor, his fair face a mask of shock and terror. Summer's sunlight
streamed in through the kitchen window and glittered on the cobalt shards that
were scattered on the kitchen floor. John's eyes narrowed, deepening the
wrinkles in his forehead. "You know that was your grandmother's favorite vase,"
John said, his voice low, harsh, without sympathy.

Blake jumped at the sound. "Gr-Gr-Grandpa!" Blake finally stammered, bursting
into tears. He stared at his Grandfather with eyes as wide and white as
porcelain saucers. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I-I-I di-di-didn't mean
to!" John's anger at the boy's carelessness rose. "I was jus--"

"Oh sweet Jesus, Blake," the old man spat out. "Quit crying! He wanted to walk
into the kitchen, catch him by his arms, and shake the feckless boy until his
teeth rattled, but not with bare feet. "Go get the fucking broom and clean that
mess up."

Blake's terrified sobs diminished into whimpers from quivering lips. A nasty
snort filled the room, as the boy sucked his snot down his throat. "We don't
have to tell Nana, Grandpa," he whined. "Do we?" John sighted down his crooked
nose at the trembling boy and remained silent. "I'll get the broom and clean it
up right now, Grandpa. I'll clean it good and we don't have to tell Nana about
it. Okay?"

John settled into the La-Z-Boy and watched his offspring's offspring through
the cased opening. His anger subsided then turned to amusement, as he watched
Blake. With all the enthusiasm of a boy whose very life depended on the quality
of the task well done, Blake scurried to the laundry room and came back with
the broom and dustpan. For ten minutes, he swept and dumped glass into the
trashcan. Each trip he made to the trashcan, he flung anxious glances at his
grandfather, who maintained his severe expression in spite of the smile that
kept trying to break his face.

John watched Blake's nervous gait and taut buttocks, and let his mind travel
backwards to an earlier, happier time. The image of a child's bare ass over his
knees, reddened with handprints, tickled his memory again after almost three
decades. The erotic sting as his palm whacked a bare bottom, the resounding
smack as skin met skin, and the undeniable sense of power teamed up to flood
him with a wave of nostalgia and passion. He smiled in spite of himself,
recalling the hard cock in his pants that always came during the "act."

"All done, Grandpa." Blake's voice beside the La-Z-Boy jostled the old man out
of his reverie. Only then did John realize that he was flexing his right hand--
just like he used to do before the "act." Blake watched his grandfather's face
intently, his breathing rapid from exertion, his young forehead scrunched with
worry, his fair skin flushed. "I cleaned it up really good, Grandpa. We won't
tell Nana now. Right? Right, Grandpa? I don't want her to spank me like Mama
always does."

John killed the smile that haunted his thin lips and gave the boy his sternest,
narrow-eyed glare. "Like your mama always does, son?" he asked. "And how's
that? How does she spank you?"

"With my pants down," Blake said.

John worked twice as hard to kill the next smile that threatened his severe
expression. "You know," he said, "even if we don't tell your nana, you have to
be punished for being so damned careless in the house."

"But Gran--" Blake started.

"That's enough, boy," John said, cutting him off. "You know whatever you were
doing to break that vase was dumb, and you shouldn't have been doing it in the
house. Now how are you going to explain the missing vase to your grandmother if
we don't tell her what you did?"

Blake stared at the carpet, as if contemplating the fate of the entire world.
He shifted from foot to foot like he did when he had to pee and was holding it.
Finally, John answered for him. "You don't know what to tell her do you, Son?"
Blake shook his head and swallowed hard but didn't speak. "That's what I
thought."

John looked at his wrinkled hands in front of him as if thinking deeply,
stalling, letting the boy squirm. "I don't know, Son," John said after long
moments of relishing the boy's fearful jitter. "I guess I could take the rap
for you and tell your grandma that I accidentally bumped it. But you have to be
punished to learn some responsibility for your stupid actions." His voice
dropped into a whisper, as he held the boy's blue eyes with his own brown ones.
He made a suggestion. "I guess I could spank you myself. But I'm old and can't
spank as hard as your mom. You think that'd be better?"

"I-I-I guess, Grandpa," Blake finally stammered, his quavering voice thick with
disbelief. "But you really won't tell her I broke it?"

"Or maybe I'll think of something else," John muttered, his smile finally
winning out. He pointed toward the leather covered ottoman that sat in front of
the wing-back chair. "Bring that over here, son," he said. Blake gave him a
quizzical look and hesitated.

"Now!" John snapped. Then Blake almost ran to flip the ottoman onto its side
and roll it across the room. "Get those dirty tennis shoes and socks off and
stand on it," John said, as soon as Blake had righted the foot stool at the old
man's feet.

"But what fo--" Blake started to ask.

"Blake," John said. His voice took on that menacing tone that he'd always used
on the boy's mother before the "act."

"I told you don't start your shit with me. Just do it. Get up there. Now!"

With his hands on the boy's slender hips, John turned Blake around so that the
boy's buttocks were facing him. "Take them off, Blake."

"Huh?" the boy asked. "But you just said--"

"Take the pants off. Down around your ankles is where I want to see them, boy."

Blake hesitated. "Boy?" John asked, dropping his voice again. "Are you going to
drop the jeans, or am I going to have to tell...?" He stopped short when
Blake's fingers flew to the top button on his pants. John removed his hands
from Blake's hips, as he heard the grate of Blake's zipper. His eyes were glued
to Blake's quivering buttocks, as the boy's jeans slithered down his skinny
legs.

"That's right, Son," John said, trying to hide his rising excitement. John's
cock--unused in long years except for his hand--stirred in his chinos. The
boy's Fruit of the Loom underwear--at least one size too small--stretched
snugly across his firm and slightly rounded buns. "Now step out of them."

This time, the boy complied immediately to his grandfather's demand. John
caught the elastic band in the Fruit of the Looms and snapped it. The startled
boy yelped in surprise. "Them too, boy. Get those undies off too."

John's eyes feasted on the youngster's ass, as Blake slipped his underwear down
and off and noticed that his hand was flexing again. A wicked smile spread
across his face when he looked down at the pair of once-white briefs that lay
on the floor. The yellowish stains in the cotton crotch seemed to jump right
out and tell their sordid tale of a boy who had been playing with his little
pecker often. "Say you're sorry, Blake," he said, clamping down on one clenched
asscheek.

"But..."

"Say you're sorry, Blake. "Say 'I'm sorry, Grandpa, that I broke my
grandmother's vase.' Now!"

Blake repeated the apology in a breaking, high-pitched voice of his earlier
prepubescence. "Good," John said, his voice surprisingly gentler. "Now it's
time."

Yes, the boy was young and his grandson. A sense of wrongness--sudden guilt--
washed over him, but it wasn't enough to quell the surging lust in his chinos.
John drifted back in time again, this time even further backward. He remembered
his childhood, how his little cock would grow and harden, as he peeked at
Luke's cock when the husky farmhand took a piss. How often he'd wished that
Luke would just let him stare at his man- sized prick. Maybe Blake had some of
those same fantasies. Maybe... just maybe. Maybe it was time to find out.

John's right hand, calloused and rough as sandpaper, caressed Blake's bare
buttcheek. His other hand dropped to the swelling member in his chinos.
Smiling, he dropped his hand from the boy's ass. My god, he thought, squeezing
the large cock that ran down the leg of his loose pants. It's not been this
hard in years. He watched the lily-white buttock in front of him flinch in
anticipation of the blow that Blake clearly expected to fall. But spanking
Blake had lost its appeal. John peeked around at Blake's front side. His eyes
were clenched shut. Then John's gaze dropped to the two inches of limp penis
sticking out from the boy's nearly hairless crotch.

Instead of falling onto the waiting buttocks, John's hand snaked around the
boy's hip. His fingers wrapped around the little, circumcised dick. He squeezed
gently, palming first the boy's cock then his both cock and tiny ball sac,
letting the warmth of his hand envelope the twelve-year-old's genitals like a
warm bath.

Blake jumped at the unexpected invasion of his most private parts then his
entire body stiffened. A slight whimper escaped his lips, as John's thumb and
forefinger tugged gently on his cock, milking it like a tiny teat. The small
dick swelled to its proud four inches in a matter of seconds.

John pressed his lips close to the boy's ear. He could smell the boy's drying
sweat, his fear... and his growing arousal. "You nasty little boy," he
whispered. "Your teeny prick likes your granddad's hand on it, doesn't it?
Jerking on it. Playing with it." Blake swallowed hard but kept his eyes tightly
shut. "Why, I'd even bet you've done it with your hand before, haven't you,
boy?"

Blake nodded his admittance, his eyes filing with fresh tears.

"Who showed you how, son," John asked, wrapping thick fingers around the tiny
dick. With small bumping motions he fucked the boy's cock like his hand was a
hot cunt.

"Come on, son. You can tell me," he urged Blake. Still the boy hesitated. "Come
on now. We already share one secret. But that secret's no count at all if we
don't share some more to go with it. You can tell your ol' granddad how you
learned about jerking off."

"I-I..." Blake stammered, then blurted out, "Nobody, Grandpa! I just started
doing it! Please don't tell Mom on me! Please?"

John massaged Blake's hairless balls, as they swam upward to the base of the
boy's cock. "I'd never tell secrets, Blake," he reassured Blake in his most
sincere voice, a voice low and soothing that he hoped would alleviate the boy's
fears. As he continued to play with the boy's cock, teasing the tiny head with
his large thumb then stroking it in his hand, Blake's hips began to thrust back
and forth. "How long have you been doing this, Blake?" He squeezed the boy's
cock, so there would be no mistaking what he meant.

"Si-si-since I was ten," Blake stuttered.

"That's good, Blake," John whispered in the boy's ear. His face, rough with two
days stubble, pressed into Blake's flawless cheek. "You don't have to be
nervous now. It's just you and your ol' granddad here and we're just sharing
secrets. Now tell Grandpa how you started doing it."

"Grandpa. Please. I don't want you to be mad at--"

"Shhhhh, Blake. Grandpa's not going to get mad at you. I like talking about
this kind of stuff with you. It makes me feel almost young and alive again."

"Come on, son. You can tell me," he urged Blake. Still the boy hesitated. He
released the boy's cock long enough to let a huge glob of spit fall into his
palm. Blake groaned louder this time, as John coated his hard cock with warm
spit and slid his fingers up and down slowly. "Come on now. We already share
one secret. But that secret's no count at all if we don't share some more to go
with it. You can tell your ol' granddad how you learned about jerking off."

"I-I..." Blake stammered, then blurted out, "Nobody, Grandpa! I just started
doing it! Please don't tell Mom on me! Please?"

"Grandpa?" Blake whispered. "Your hand's making me feel funny down there."

John pressed his advantage and pressed his stubbly cheek to Blake's shoulder.
"Come on, Blake," he urged, watching his hand work its magic on the boy's
genitals. "You can tell me anything now."

"S-s-s-since I was ten," Blake finally stammered. His entire body quivered
under the older man's expert manipulation of his boy's penis.

"Mmmm," John hummed, letting his lips vibrate against Blake's soft shoulder.
"Bet you didn't shoot cum back then, did you, son. No, I know you didn't. But
it still felt good, didn't it. Damn good, I'd bet. Does my hand feel better
than yours does?" Without waiting for the obvious answer (John knew that
someone else's hand always felt better than your own.) "Who showed you how to
jack your dick off, Blake? Most boys don't just start 'doing it on their own.'
Who taught you?"

"Grandpa?" Blake whined, almost in tears again. "Do I have to tell...?"

"Well? No," John said, as Blake trailed off. "You don't have to tell." He
smiled. "You can explain to your grandma how her vase got broke. Would you
rather do that?"

"Ronnie!" Blake blurted. "He made me do--"

"Shhhhhh," John hissed, cutting Blake's outburst off, as Ronnie's image swam
into his mind. Fourteen years old and fat. John imagined how the boy's smooth
belly probably hid his meat. His cock lurched in his pants. "He didn't make
you. I know boys, and I know he didn't make you do anything you didn't want to
do. Now tell me all of it. All about the first time he showed you how to jerk
off."

"No, Grandpa!" Blake protested. "You get madder at me! I don't want you mad at
me anymore."

"I'm not mad at you, son," John almost panted. "And I'm not going to get mad at
you." He gave an extra hard squeeze to Blake's cock for emphasis. "We're just
sharing secrets here. We already share one about Grandma's vase, yes? So you
can tell me anything now, Blake."

"Okay," Blake sighed finally. "I just wanted to show Ronnie your neat old
truck." He stopped, as if waiting for the old man to explode in anger for
messing with his "55" Chevy pickup.

"Mmmm hmmm," John hummed, resisting the urge to nibble at Blake's tanned
shoulder, as the boy talked. "Go on, Blake."

Blake took a deep breath, as if his courage to continue was in the air. "I
found a quarter in the floor, so I got down to look for more money and saw some
stuff under the seat."

John reached down with his free hand and felt the wet spot in his chinos. He
knew what was under the seat, but he wanted Blake to tell him, wanted to hear
the boy's confession, needed to hear it. "Well? What'd you find under there,"
he asked, knowing that the next part was going to be hard for the boy, but it
was a milestone in this conversation and whatever was to follow. "Tell me,
Blake. What did you find in my truck?"

"You're not mad at me, Grandpa? Cuz I got into your truck?"

"No, Blake," John whispered into the boy's ear. "You should have asked first,
but I understand the lure of finding money. It's like hunting buried treasure
for a boy. So tell me the rest."

Still Blake hesitated to tell on himself and his friend. John ran one stubby
finger up the boy's asscrack, letting it delve between Blake's hot cheeks. It
found and pushed against the tight little hole, as if probing for entrance.
"Come on, boy, let's hear the rest of it."

"You like it? Feel good? You like somebody touching back there?"

"W-w-w-well? Y-y-y-yeah, but it feels kinda funny-like, Grandpa," Blake
stammered. Then added quickly, "But not a bad funny."

"Then talk to me, son. Tell Granddad what else happened that day."

"O-o-okay, Grandpa, but promise you won't be mad at me."

John eased himself back into his chair. His old knees weren't what they used to
be and couldn't take his weight for long at a time. "Turn around, Blake."

With elbows on his knees, he leaned far forward with his face close to his
grandson's crotch. The stiff wienie jutting out from the sparse, dirty-blonde
pubic hair jerked and spasmed of its own accord. His stubby fingers, slick with
his spit and Blake's precum, slipped underneath Blake's balls and slid into the
boy's tight ass crack. Blake's tiny nuts moved in his palm. The tip of his
middle finger pressed against the young and tight sphincter.

"Grandpa? What'er you doing?" Blake protested.

"Just rubbing, Blake," John said. Although his finger didn't penetrate Blake's
rectum, the pressure against it didn't relent. "Now talk to me, son."

"We saw a bunch of books, ummm, magazines, I guess, under the seat, and Ronnie
wanted to look at them," Blake started. "But I didn't, Grandpa! Ronnie did! I
told him no, but he wouldn't listen."

"Mmmm hmmm," John murmured, knowing that this version of the story probably
wasn't quite the way it really happened. He waited on Blake to continue.

"He just grabbed one and started looking at it, Grandpa! I told him to put them
back, but he wouldn't! And there was all these pictures of people doing all
sorts of nasty stuff, and I--"

"Did you like them, Blake?" John breathed, tugging harder on Blake's pulsating
cock with his thumb and two fingers. He had to force his hand to work slowly
and not take the boy past the brink of climax too soon. "Did you like the
pictures?"

"Well, yeah, I guess, Grandpa," Blake admitted. "But not as much as Ronnie
did!"

"Mmmm, why do you say that, son? How did you know Ronnie liked them better?"

"Because he kept trying to get me to sit in your truck and look at all of them.
And I didn't want to, Grandpa, but..."

"I know you didn't, Blake," John said, knowing that the opposite was most
likely true. But he didn't want to spoil Blake's story or the opportunity that
presented itself at the moment. "So then what happened? You boys sat in the
truck and looked at my magazines?"

"Well, yeah," Blake said.

"Did it make your thing hard, looking at the pictures, Blake?

"Y-y-yeah," Blake stuttered. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper,
as if the walls might have ears.

"Which ones did you like best, son?" John asked. "Which pictures made your dick
hardest?"

"I-I-I guess the ones with girl -- women -- with guys' things in their mouths.
Do girls really do that, Grandpa?"

John nodded. "Yes. But go on, Blake. Your granddad loves this story."

"Then Ronnie started rubbing his hand really hard, and--"

"Rubbing his hand where, Blake?" John persisted, wanting Blake to say the words
that boys use. "Where'd he rub his hand?"

Blake gulped. "Down there," he finally said.

"Where, son? Just say it. Tell me where he put his hand."

"On his... on his wienie, and he rubbed hard and started making funny noises."

"Mmmmm, so he rubbed his cock through his pants, huh? Did you watch him, Blake?
Did you watch his hand rubbing his wienie?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I did, but I didn't like--"

"Oh come on, Blake. You liked watching him do that." John pictured the two boys
sitting in the sweltering truck, sweat pouring down their faces, hard cocks in
their cutoff jeans. His cock jerked in his chinos. "I bet it made your pecker
even harder when he did that. And I bet you wanted to see what he else he was
going to do."

Blake didn't respond to his grandfather's comment. "And he started telling me
to rub mine like that," Blake said.

John was fairly falling out of the chair with expectation. "And did you, son?
Did you rub your dickie through your pants?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I did... a little," Blake admitted. Then he nervously
asked, "Is that okay, Grandpa?"

John wanted to say, "Goddamn yes, Blake, fuck yes, that was okay! Now rub my
man-sized dick!" But he didn't. Instead, he gave Blake's cock a gentle squeeze
and tug, smiled, and nodded. "Yes. That was perfectly okay, son. Boys do that.
And sometimes more."

"Like what, Grandpa?" Blake asked, his curiosity overcoming his fear. John
ignored the question. "Then what happened?"

Blake, having crossed a threshold, began talking freely, as if any guilt that
he'd felt might be expunged in one long admission. "He took his thing--his
wienie--out, and I could see it, and it had all this skin on the end of it, and
he pulled the skin down, then started rubbing it up and down, and saying how
good it felt."

John all but shot his wad in his pants. Shit, he thought, I knew there was
something about that little fat boy. Uncut and nasty. "Mmmm, yes, Blake, I know
about guys with skin on their cocks," he said. "And it's a normal thing."

"And he started telling me to take mine out and do it like he was, and then he
took his shorts off, and put his foot up on the seat, and opened his--"

"Did you take yours out, Blake?" John interrupted. He had to know. "Did you
take it out and play with it like Ronnie did?"

"Well, yeah, but it didn't really feel so good, and I said so, and Ronnie
scooted up next to me and pushed my hand out of the way and started rubbing my
wienie--"

"Oh god, son!" John gasped. This was even better than he'd hoped. "You mean
Ronnie played with your dick?"

"Well, yeah, but I told him not to, but he didn't stop, and it felt better'n
when I did it, so I let him do it a little while, then he said he had to shoot
off, and I didn't know what he was talking about, so he said he'd show me how
guys shoot cum if I wanted to see it, so I started playing with my wie--dick
again and he started doing it really fast, and then all this white stuff just
shot out, and he was making all kinds of weird noises, and I just kept doing it
with my hand, and it felt better all the time, then I got this really good
feeling down there, and it just kept on and on, and then it got kinda sore down
there, and--"

"Stop, son!" John said. I know about that feeling. It's just what Ronnie felt
when he shot his cum but you just didn't have cum yet, so--"

"I know, Grandpa!" Blake blurted out. "That's what Ronnie said too. And he said
when I got older, I'd shoot cum like he did."

"Well, Blake," John said gently, "it sounds as if you already know a lot about
sex. But I know something I bet you don't know about."

"What, Grandpa? What do you--?"

"Close your eyes." Blake did. The scent of the boy's aroused sex intoxicated
him. Holding his breath, and no hint of his intentions, he engulfed his
grandson's meat until his lips wrapped around its base.

Blake gasped in surprise and opened his eyes. "Grandpa? What are you--" John
wanted to shush him, but didn't dare take the boy's cock from his mouth for
fear of Blake's rejection. He sucked the full length, swabbing his tongue over
the tip. Blake closed his eyes and groaned. Then, opening his mouth wide, he
took in the boy's almost hairless balls, lapping at the bottom side of the
scrotum. Blake's entire body shuddered.

After only a few moments, he pulled his mouth away. "Well?" he asked with a
lewd grin on his lips. "Do you like it? Did it feel like you thought it would,
son?"

"Well. Yeah. It felt weird... kinda funny. Really hot. But--"

"But did you like it?" John persisted, keeping his fingers busy on Blake's
boyhood.

"Y-y-yeah. I guess. But--"

"But what, son?

"It felt good," Blake finally admitted. "But it was gonna make me shoot it
awful fast."

John's grin widened. He pressed his lips to the boy's ear. "Wanna shoot it in
my mouth, son?" He resisted the urge to tongue Blake's ear and licked his lips
instead.

"Grandpa!" Blake hissed in surprise. "Guys can't do that, can they?"

"Come on, Blake," John said, dipping his middle finger under the boy's scrotum
and pressing it into his asscrack. "Who cares if it's a guy's mouth or girl's?"
You don't think that letting it shoot in a girl's mouth is any different from
shooting in a guy's, do you?"

"I-I-I guess not."

"So you want to do it? Want it to shoot in my mouth?"

"Oh gawd, yeah, Grandpa! Let me shoot it there."

"Don't say 'there,' son," John teased him, making him wait just a little
longer. "Say where you want to shoot it."

"Shoot it in your mouth," Blake almost panted. "Let me shoot it in your mouth,
Grandpa!"

Quickly, before Blake could change his mind, John lowered his head and slurped
Blake's member back into his mouth. He alternated sucking and bobbing his head
up and down, working his lips like a hot, wet cunt, all the time swishing his
tongue over and around the throbbing cock head. Blake trembled and grabbed his
grandfather's almost-bald head with both hands for support.

John pulled his mouth away. "Go ahead, Blake," he urged the boy. "Hold my head
and shoot it whenever you want, son!" John slipped his lips back around the
pulsing organ and sucked. Blake's fingers wrapped around the back of his head,
as instinct seemed to take over and he began to fuck the man's mouth.

John let him work his tool at his own pace. Twice, Blake's hips thrust hard, as
if he wanted to choke the man with his tiny weapon. Then he stilled his hips
with John's nose flattened in his sparse patch of pubic hair. Faintly, as if
from a great distance, John heard the boy's sobs of ecstasy, as the first blast
of boy cum shot out of the tip and landed on his tongue.

"Oh gawd, Grandpa!" he grunted. "I'm shooting it! I'm doing it right in your
mouth!"

The first shot of boy cum fired from the tip to land on John's tongue. He
swallowed quickly. Barely having time to taste and savor the freshness of
youth, he made room for more of the boy's hot load. One hand squeezed and
milked Blake's juice from the boy's taut scrotum while his free hand jerked his
own hard cock through his pants.

Each successive squirt lessened in force and amount, allowing John to hold and
relish the young but still masculine taste for the first time in so many years.

Even after the gasping boy had spent his youthful load, his dick remained hard
in John's mouth. Finally and with great reluctance, John released the boy's
prick and swallowed the last of the sweet semen. He smiled up at Blake's
reddened face and sated expression. Holding onto Blake's hips, John helped him
sit on the ottoman then raised himself into the chair.

"You liked that, Blake?" he asked. The boy, still trying to catch his breath,
only nodded. "John slid down in the chair, his legs splaying out, his feet
sliding past the ottoman. With both hands, he caressed his aching prick. It had
reacted like the boy's cock was the fountain of youth and his cum the elixir.
"Good. Cuz..." He eased his zipper down, watching Blake's eyes follow his hand.
"As soon as you catch your breath, we're going to have lots more fun."

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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