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At 47, comfort and convenience are essential to me. To maintain my muscular and well-toned physique, I joined the most prestigious fitness club in the city, offering only the finest. A wide range of state-of-the-art equipment, luxurious locker rooms, a heated pool, a jacuzzi, and, of course, a sauna where clothing is strictly optional.
I live in one of the colder regions of the country, where sunny days are rare. Fortunately, the club offers tanning booths that help me maintain the skin tone I like. There's nothing like snapping a fresh photo there for my Grindr hot album.
From there, I head to the playroom, where I work with a wide range of kids: from sweet and soft newborns to energetic teens up to age 17. Everyone there is at my service, where I can fuck and rape exactly how I like, for as long as I please. Ohh my cock already gets hard for thinking of all sweet little buttholes waiting for me there.
Haven’t I made it clear? I settle for nothing but the best.
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Bathing my 2-year-old son always made my horny. Watching him naked splash around in the bathtub, water spraying everywhere, is such a joyful sight. Such a joyful sight can all too easily send thoughts drifting into darker realms. I could always manage to keep those thoughts at bay—at least until I put him to sleep in his crib.
But today I couldn't. Watching him giggle and try to escape putting on his pajamas, as he runs naked all over the house made my already erected cock leaked a decent amount of precum down under my sweatpants.
“Dada did pee pee in pants!” He said it with the kind of gleeful malice only a toddler is capable of.
After my little son finally agreed to fall asleep, I wanked on the couch, groaning in pain from blue balls.
"I just can't wait anymore," I thought to myself as I writhed in pleasure and pain on the couch. "It must happen tonight. No way I'll be able to hold myself until he is 5 as I planned."
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One of my joys as a young uncle is babysitting my newborn nephew.
It’s important to me that the first thing he sees when he wakes up is his favorite toy.
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Kids' shows these days are a fucking travesty, turning men into spineless, cockless caricatures that make my skin crawl. That’s why I’m a goddamn dictator over the media my 5-year-old son consumes. For instance, this video is a perfect example and model of how a man should behave when he engages with a young child, all raw power and control, none of that weak-ass bullshit they shove down our throats.
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POV: My 3-month-old baby boy, gazing up at me while I bathe him.
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The tot sitting across from me complained to his mother that the train ride was too long. I think I have another long thing that he will definitely like.
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My mom went to visit her sister again and left me alone to rot in the fucking houseand being in charge of my 6-year-old little brother.
"Mom said you have to do whatever I tell you, little bro. And since I can’t go to the gym to pump up my muscles because your bullshit keeping me caged, I think it’s only fair I get something else to pump instead. Don't give me that look, you little tease! You should be grateful Anton isn't around. Last time he fucked your tight little bumbum raw, you couldn’t sit on that sore, pounded backside for a week!"
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My wife and I started breaking our 2 and a half-year-old kid from his shitty diaper habit. That is, my wife, that lazy bitch, decided I’m the one who’s gotta deal with his piss-soaked ass while she fucks off to dreamland.
I decided to take it as a shared project for me and the little pisser. If he’s weaned off diapers, it seems only fair I wean myself off using the toilet.. Every night, I’d drag his ass out of bed to the toilet seat. I’d grip his tiny willy while he pissed like a weak stream, and then he’d grab my thick rod while I unloaded a torrent. Sometimes, I’d spray my hot piss right in his drowsy fucking face. Step by step, I’m training him to crave my rank piss, so every time I wake up at night with a bursting bladder instead of the toilet, I’ll stride into his room, shove my throbbing dick in his eager mouth, and unleash a flood of piss that he willingly gulps down, loving every fucking drop.
My dear wife doesn’t give a fuck about him before she bolts to her job, so there’s no issue leaving him to rot in his piss-drenched bed.
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Working from home felt like it was invented just for me.
I always finished my tasks within a few hours, which allowed me to accomplish Jerk off, all while getting paid for that time. After work, I’d head to the gym to maintain my amazing muscular body.
So when my brother-in-law suggested a couples’ vacation to save their crumbling marriage, I naturally agreed to take care of their 15-month-old son.
“We’ll pay you for the trouble, of course,” my sister said with relief, hugging me tightly. “As much as you want.”
“Oh, Carol,” I replied with a broad smile. “I deserve a romantic vacation with little Joe too.”
While I worked on my laptop, little Joe’s little tushy on his rocking horse, on whose seat I had stuck a dildo, which expanded his tiny hole with every push of the swing using my foot.
After I finished my work and Joe finished his warm-up, Joe finally got to taste real meat. I fucked his mouth and butthole like a crazy. His crying only motivated me to keep going and keep going. When the little bastard finally fell asleep (or maybe passed out) from the pain, I was free to get back to my training routine, which had shrunk down to my humble home gym. I was lifting while my veiny cock was stuck inside his swollen and flushed little ass.
“My brother-in-law really needs to pay me well for all this work,” I thought, disappointed that I wouldn’t get to work out all my muscles for the coming week. "But he’ll have a good reason to save that marriage — and to keep living under the same roof with baby Joe. Let’s face it — not many people know how to make toddlers into cumrags the way he likes them. Luckily for him, I fucking do."
Working from home had never turned me on like this before.
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Europe has certainly welcomed me with open arms.
Since arriving on its shores after leaving the shithole place I once lived in, I’m finally being treated like the superior being that I am.
The refugee certificate I received grants me access to all the luxuries the Western world has to offer: a stay in a luxurious hotel, three meals a day, comprehensive healthcare for my every whim funded by the state, and of course, full access to the national education system so I can "integrate into the local culture."
As if I have any desire to be part of such a weak and pathetic race. I’m here to dominate, to bend their systems to my will, to make them worship the ground I walk on.
The educational system…. Twice a week, the local education system sent a group of kindergarteners and their teacher to the hotel where I and the other refugees were staying. The idea was for us to learn the local language together—another brilliant project in the spirit of “diversity” and "social justice". Haha, honestly, the kids and I were at roughly the same level of fluency, but I was far more skilled at manipulating the room
But language lessons weren’t the reason I bothered dragging myself down to the hotel lobby to take part in this pathetic "diversity and social justice" program.
I was on the hunt.
A short, blond-haired boy caught my attention. "That must be the winner," I thought, licking my lips as I imagined the chaos I could unleash.
During the break, I invited him to join me in the side storage room where I had kept the "prize candy", a lie so deliciously cruel it made my blood rush powerfully to my erecting bulge.
The curious boy entered the storage room, expecting to find candy.
I probably won’t surprise you by saying the boy didn’t find any candy there. What he did find was a massive hairy Arab cock, freshly imported to Europe from the Middle East, ready to claim its place in this new world order I was crafting.
I can’t wait for the next lesson.
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I was so proud when, after months of training, my three-year-old brother finally managed to swallow my entire 19 cm (~7.5 inches).
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The living room, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun, becomes my private sanctuary. The TV plays softly, a dull roar of voices that fade into insignificance. I lean back on the couch, my hand already moving, the condom slick and ready. The room is quiet, save for the rustle of my pants and the soft, rhythmic sound of my hand working. I finish, tying off the condom, the sensation of release fading, replaced by the familiar satisfaction of a job well done.
I cross the threshold of my home office, the cool air conditioning a stark contrast to the warmth of the living room. The refrigerator hums softly, a silent sentinel. I open the door, the light casting a harsh glow on the row of condoms, each one a testament to my resolve. I add today's contribution, the tie neat and secure, a sense of pride washing over me. I close the door, the light fading, the hum of the refrigerator a comforting sound, a reminder of my purpose.
The sound of my six-month-old son's cries pierces the air, a shrill demand for sustenance. I hurry to the home office, the refrigerator door opening with a soft sigh. I select one of the condoms, the liquid inside is thick and sticky. I squeeze it into the formula bottle, the mixture swirling together, a unique blend of nutrition and love. I shake it gently, the contents mixing thoroughly before I screw on the nipple, the bottle warm in my hand as I carry it back to Jack. He latches on, his tiny body relaxing as he drinks, his eyes fluttering closed, content in the knowledge that his father provides for him in ways no one else can.
I'm confident that he will grow up to be a great and strong football player, just like his dad. And that can only be ensured with a steady and regular supply of daddymilk.
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"Hey, little man," I told my 2-year-old nephew. "Guess what Uncle Phil notices every time he sees you? His willy makes a mess, and he finds this yucky, sticky stuff that comes out of it. It's called 'precum', and big boys like me love to play with it. Wanna try playing with it by yourself?"
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Every time my wife goes to her parents' for the weekend, I schedule a date with my lover. The sex with him is so intense, it defies conventional descriptions. It's raw, primal, and all-consuming. Our bodies fit together as if sculpted by the gods themselves.
Unlike my high-maintenance wife, he enjoys our simple and economic date quite a bit. I fill us a warm bath, offer him a whole glass of wine, and after he finishes drinking it, my five-year-old is drunk enough not to resist when I force him to have sex with me.
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Dad refused to give me more pocket money, 'Go get a job,' he said. Well, luckily, Mr. Johnson was looking for a 'babysitter' for his two-year-old son.
While I 'babysat' little Jimmy on the parents' bed, my muscular body towered over his little frame, I glanced sideways at the camera placed beside the bed and smiled, Mr. Johnson was one of the major investors in CP in the state, and he was happy to have a young adult, attractive and muscular guy like me for the job.
Lol, Dad would pay me ten times the original pocket money to get a copy of this film.
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The bathroom mirror Reflects back a face twisted in disgust. I've become a monster, a grotesque parody of the man I once was. My eyes flick to the door, the closed door leading to my son's room. Little Timmy, with his rosy cheeks and laughing eyes, sleeps just a few feet away. The thought of him stirs something dark within me. I turn off the water, grabbing a towel to dry off. It's wrong, I know. He's just a child, innocent, pure. But the pull is irresistible, a siren's call to the darkest depths of my depravity. I drop the towel, my erection tenting the air. I'm a predator, a monster, but I can't stop. I can't control it. The knob turns silently, the door creaks open just enough for me to slip through. The room is dark, filled with the sweet scent of childish dreams. He's in bed, his blankets kicked off, one leg sticking out, completely unaware of the sinister intentions of the man casting a shadow over him
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The rhythm of the train rocks me, but it's nothing compared to the adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I glance around, the car mostly empty, save for the kid and his mother seated across the aisle. She's asleep, her head lolling against the window, mouth slightly open. The kid, maybe seven, stares out the window. He's bored, the kind of bored only a child stuck in a quiet place for too long can be. My heart pounding, I lean back, feigning casual, and slowly slide my hand down my thigh, bunching the fabric of my pants. I flash him a quick smile, checking that his mom is still lost in slumber, before pulling my sleeve further up, revealing a patch of skin. His eyes widen, curiosity sparking, and he leans in slightly, intrigued. My pulse quickens as he watches, his eyes lingering on the expanse of flesh, a silent, secret connection.
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Human biology has evolved a unique adaptation when it comes to the sustenance of our offspring: father's milk, or as we in the scientific community like to call it, 'daddymilk'. While it was previously believed that human males lacked the lactating capability, recent studies have shown this is not the case. In fact, paternal lactation occurs quite naturally, fueled by the increase of prolactin and oxytocin during close bonding with the infant. But why is a father's milk so beneficial for our young? Unlike mother's milk, which is rich in fat and carbohydrates to support rapid growth and energy, patermilk is denser in proteins and growth hormones. These macronutrients stimulate muscle development, bone growth, and overall strength in children, fostering a stronger, more resilient physique as they mature. Additionally, a father's milk contains higher concentrations of testosterone, further bolstering the child's muscular development and stamina. But the benefits don't stop at the physical - patermilk has been shown to foster a deep emotional bond between father and child, contributing to better cognitive development and stress resilience in the young. In this way, we can see that nature has designed human males to play an active role in nurturing and sustaining our offspring, providing a unique nutrition that allows our children to grow stronger, smarter, and more robust than they could have without our contributions. So, in essence, we fathers are not just providers and protectors, but we are literal wellsprings of our children's future greatness, shaping their bodies and minds from the very first sip.
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Perhaps you can't tell, but seated in front of this handsome man on the motorcycle seat is a three-year-old child, mesmerized. A 22 cm (8.66 inches) shaft impale his tight butt. Every father would want their son to 'hitch a ride' with this stud!
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The sun beats down, unforgiving, as I ride my bike through the quiet suburban streets. My chest is bare, the muscles gleaming with sweat, each contour defined by years of rigorous training. My arms, two boulders of raw power, propel me forward, the wind ruffling my short, dark hair. The women of the neighborhood watch me, their eyes lingering on my abs down my abdomen, the V-shape disappearing into my low-hung shorts. I bask in their gazes, their desire, but it's not them I crave. It's the innocence, the purity that only a child can offer. A blur of motion catches my eye, and I swerve to avoid it, coming to a skidding halt in the middle of the road. A kid, maybe six, stares up at me, his blue eyes wide with fear, but there's something else there too - awe, maybe. He's skinny, his legs a little too long for his small frame, his cheeks still plump with baby fat. He's the epitome of innocence, the embodiment of everything I desire. I hop off my bike, my giant biceps flexing, the movement drawing a gasp from the unseen women nearby. I kneel, putting us at eye level, and give him my most disarming smile.
"Hey there, little guy," I say, my voice low, gentle. "I'm sorry if I scared you. What's your name?" My heart races as I watch him, wondering if he'll run, if he'll scream. But he does neither. He licks his lips, his eyes traveling down my body, taking in every inch of exposed skin. "I-I'm Timmy," he stammers, his voice a small whisper. I reach out a hand, my fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the soft, velvety skin. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Timmy," I murmur, my voice barely audible, my lips inches from his ear. I can feel his heart pounding, his breath hitching as I lean in closer. The world around us fades away, the noise, the people, the street - none of it matters. There's only us, this moment, this dance of power and innocence. I can feel his eyes on me, eager, curious, and something deep within me stirs, a predator recognizing its prey. My hand moves from his cheek, trailing down his arm, his tiny bicep flexing slightly at my touch. He's electric, his skin alive, and I feel a charge run through me, a current that awakens every primal urge I possess. I guide him closer, his small body pressing against mine, and I can feel his heat, his vulnerability. My mind races, picturing us alone, his small hands exploring, discovering, his body arching into mine. But not here, not now. I smile, a wicked, hungry grin that he mirrors.
"Want to go somewhere, Timmy?"
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The gym was a cacophony of youthful energy, the echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor mingling with laughter and shouts. Mr. Anderson watched from the sidelines, his clipboard in hand, his eyes scanning the boys as they played. His gaze was intense, almost predatory, but the boys were oblivious, lost in their game. He'd been the PE teacher at Oakwood Elementary for years, his reputation preceding him - a former athlete, a tough grader, but fair. But there was another side to him, one only a select few knew. He liked to watch. He liked to watch the boys, their young bodies moving with an innate grace and strength that came from youth and naivety. Today, like many days, he found himself wearing his favorite shirt, the one that hugged his muscles just right, the one that would come off so easily. He waited, his heart pounding in his chest, his palms sweating slightly. The clock ticked down, the game winding to a close, and as the final basket was scored, he made his move.
"Alright, boys," he called out, his voice booming across the court. "Great job today. Why don't we end with some stretching? Make sure you're not too tight tomorrow." The boys, as they always did, lined up against the wall, each one assuming the proper stretch position. And as they did, Mr. Anderson began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes scanning the line of boys, his heart racing. The fabric fell away, revealing his chiseled chest, the ripple of muscles beneath his skin. He could feel their eyes on him, the way they always were, a mix of awe and fear and something else, something darker. He knew he was playing with fire, that what he was doing was wrong, inappropriate even. But he couldn't help it. The power, the control, the desire he saw in their young eyes as they took in his bare skin, their hearts pounding in sync with his, their young hormones stirring with an answering call to his. He was a lion, and they were his prey. And he loved it, every second of it. He walked down the line, his eyes never leaving theirs, his hand on each boy's shoulder as he checked their form. He could feel their tremors, their quick breaths, the heat of their bodies. And he knew, without a doubt, that he wasn't the only one enjoying this moment of illicit connection.
The bell rang, a sharp contrast to the soft moans of the boys as he manipulated their bodies into deeper stretches. They all knew the drill - shower, change, and dismissed. But for Mr. Anderson, this was his time, his reward for another successful day of grooming. He would watch them, naked and vulnerable, their bodies on full display as they rushed to wash and leave. And he would remember this moment, this dance of desire and power, until it was time to do it all over again. Because for Mr. Anderson, this was more than just a job. It was a lifestyle. And he was addicted. To the power. To the control. To the sweet, forbidden fruits of his students' young bodies. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
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The creak of the bedsprings echoes in the room as Uncle Dave pulls up his boxers, then his pants, his eyes never leaving the small figure huddled against the wall. Little Jimmy, his nephew, his innocence, his prize, stares back, his big blue eyes filled with unshed tears, his lower lip trembling slightly. Dave smiles, a predator's grin, filled with a sick sense of satisfaction.
"You've come a long way since last time, Jimmy," he says, his voice low, soft. "You're such a big boy now, taking it all like a champ." Jimmy hiccups, a tiny sound of distress that only fuels Dave's desire. He reaches out, running a rough hand through the boy's mop of curly hair, enjoying the way Jimmy flinches, then tenses under his touch. It's a dance they know well, one of power and submission, of pleasure and pain. Dave leans in, his lips inches from Jimmy's ear.
"You know what I'll do next time, don't you?" he whispers. "I'll make it last even longer, even harder. You'll scream for your Mommy, but I won't stop, not until I'm done with you. I'm not gonna be gentle like Daddy." Jimmy's breath hitches, a tiny gasp of fear mixed with something else. Excitement. Desire. The heady mixture of emotions sends a jolt of pleasure straight to Dave's groin. He's not lying.
Next time will be even better. More intense. More… everything.
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"Oh, I love my job as a male midwife ." I thought to myself while taking a shower in the locker room at the hospital, having unrestricted access to countless soft newborns that have just been born is the dream of every pedophile like me.
Earlier today, I stood in the nursery, the air still, the silence punctuated only by the soft hum of the machines. I looked at the newborn boy, his tiny face scrunched up, his cries filling the room. I untied the apron around my waist, letting it fall to the floor. My cock was hard, throbbing, aching for release. I picked up the boy, his tiny body fitting perfectly in the cradle of my arms. I placed him on my lap, feeling his tiny buttocks against my thighs. He squirmed, his cries growing louder, but I barely heard him. My pulse pounded in my ears, my breathing ragged, harsh. I positioned myself, feeling the heat of his tiny body, and with a grunt, I pushed into him. He screamed. His body was tiny, fragile, his ass tighter than anything I'd ever felt. I groaned, my grip tightening on him, my hips moving of their own accord. And then I filled him with my hot, thick pedocum.
To worried parents, I said the baby was suffering from Postpartum Erythemic Dilated Orifice (PEDO) - A condition in newborns characterized by an erythematous and dilated anal orifice observed shortly after birth, often accompanied by mild inflammation.
When I came out of the shower, the child's father approached me with a suspicious glance. He said he checked online and couldn't find such a syndrome.
We exchanged a long glance.
Finally, he smiled a wicked smile, 'Can you teach me more about this PEDO?'
I really love my job.
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I've always been fond of photography and children. So it was natural for me to combine the two hobbies.
While visiting friends, all parents of young children, I'd secretly place cameras at their homes, in bathrooms, showers, and bedrooms, I'd watch their little ones run around naked, their little balls bouncing with them.
One day, as I was watching the camera in Peter's room, his dad walked into frame. The dad dropped his pants and started pushing his dick deep into Peter's mouth. Instantly, I pulled out my dick and started jerking off at the sight that froze my screen.
It seems I should visit Peter's dad more often.
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The soft coos of his 4-month-old son from his playpen filled the living room, a melody that had once been music to his ears, now a siren's call to the monster inside him. He sat naked on the sofa, his hand wrapped around his engorged cock, his breath ragged, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't supposed to feel this way about his own son; he knew that, but he couldn't help it. Every gurgle, every kick of those tiny feet sent waves of lust coursing through him. His eyes, hungry, consuming, traced the lines of the infant's body, from the soft curve of his cheek, down to the dimple in his chin, to his tiny, perfect lips. He bit back a groan, his hand moving faster, his grip tightening. The baby's eyes were closed, his little hands clenching and unclenching, completely oblivious to the perverse desire filling the room. He wanted to touch him, to feel that soft skin under his fingers, to trace the outline of his tiny limbs. He wanted to hear his cries, not the joyful ones that filled the air now, but those of protest, of pain. His hand moved faster, his body tensing, his eyes locked onto the baby. His little boy. His forbidden fruit. The monster inside him roared, hungry, impatient, eager for release. And as his body convulsed, his seed spilling onto the floor, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, of completeness. He had conquered, he had taken, and he would continue to do so, for as long as he lived.
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I love taking my two boys, aged five and three, to Student Beach. They just attract hot students with minds like mine.
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The reaction of my dick when I spot little, naked tots running on the beach:
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The cabin was warm, the fire crackling softly in the grate, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. He, Adrian, leaned back in his armchair, his eyes closed, the image of his young cousin playing in the snow fresh in his mind. He was everything he'd left home to avoid - innocence, purity, a reminder of a life he'd long since left behind. Yet here he was, trapped in this cabin, sharing a room with the boy. His chest was tight, his breathing shallow as he thought about the young body tucked into the bed just feet away from him. His nephew's soft snores filled the room, a stark contrast to the chaos that raged within Adrian. He stood, his muscles flexing, the reflection of his chiseled physique catching his eye in the dark window. He was a god among men, or so he'd been told, a narcissist's dream come to life. He walked over to the bed, his heart pounding in his ears. The boy was small, his sleeping form a bundle under the heavy blankets. Adrian's hand reached out, his fingers tracing the outline of the child's body through the covers. He could feel the heat of him, the soft rise and fall of his chest. His cock stirred, a heavy weight between his legs, a promise of the pleasure that awaited. He leaned in, his lips inches from the boy's ear. "You're mine now," he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes fixed on the sleeping boy. "I'll show you things, teach you things, and you'll love it. You'll love me." The boy stirred, a small sound of distress escaping his lips. But Adrian didn't care. He wanted this, needed this, and nothing, not even a sleeping child, would stand in his way. He was Adrian, a narcissist, a sex god, and he always got what he wanted.
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Daddy knows what his little boy wants.
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I don't bother to wear underwear beneath my shorts so kids would have good view angle to my cock.
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His son is seated at his feet, with his mouth open upward, ready to receive a fresh serving of precum
Chapter 32
Notes:
For your attention: This chapter contains multiple instances of racism.
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In the quaint French village of St. Marc, under the grey skies that seemed to mirror the mood of the locals, the new policy was met with resistance and unease. Yet, when the government's orders came down, they were obeyed, however grudgingly. Jean-Luc, a middle-aged widower, returned home from the market to find a stranger in his house, a swarthy-skinned man with dark eyes and a thick beard, a veritable antithesis to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed men of his village. The man, Mustafa, grinned at him, a row of white teeth stark against his dark skin, his eyes filled with an arrogance that made Jean-Luc's skin crawl. "Assalamu'alaikum," Mustafa greeted, his accent thick, his French heavily accented. Jean-Luc scowled, but said nothing, his hands clenching at his sides. He knew what was coming, had heard whispers from his neighbors. The government, in its infinite wisdom, had decided that housing the refugees in private homes would be a "cultural exchange" of sorts. An exchange, Jean-Luc thought bitterly, where he would lose everything he held dear. He retreated to his study, leaving Mustafa to explore the house.
Jean-Luc was hunched over his desk, his pen scratching furiously across the page, his mind consumed by dark thoughts, when he heard the sound. A loud rustling, followed by a crinkling that made his blood run cold. He stood, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor, and walked towards the sound. It led him to the bathroom, where he found Mustafa, his trousers around his ankles, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction as he urinated onto the French flag Jean-Luc had placed on the window. The flag, his symbol of pride, of nationality, was being desecrated, a victim of this foreigner's sick desire to despoil, to contaminate. Jean-Luc's hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding in his chest. "What are you doing?" he growled, his voice low, dangerous. Mustafa looked up, his smile wide, unfazed. "Marking my territory," he replied, his accent thick, his eyes mocking. "This is my home now, I do as I please." Jean-Luc's hands itched to wrap around the man's neck, to squeeze the life out of him, to rid his home, his country, of this filth. But he held back, for now. He couldn't let this… animal… get to him. He needed to be smart, to find a way to get rid of Mustafa, to save his home, his culture, from the poison that was seeping into it. He left the bathroom, his mind racing, leaving Mustafa to his disgusting display, determined to find a way to reclaim his home, to save it from the invasion of this lesser man.
As the clock struck midnight, the house fell silent, bathed in the soft glow of the moon. Jean-Luc lay in his bed, his body tense, his mind racing. He heard it then, the soft, rhythmic sounds of pleasure coming from his son's room. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood running cold as he realized what was happening. He stood, his body moving on its own, his feet carrying him towards the sound. He opened the door, his breath hitching at the sight before him. Mustafa, naked, his dark skin glistening in the moonlight, his body moving in time with the whimpers coming from the small body beneath him. His son, his little boy, was pinned beneath the man, his tiny legs splayed, his eyes wide with fear and pain. Jean-Luc stood frozen, his heart torn in two as he watched his son being violated, defiled, by this animal, this monster. He wanted to charge in, to save his boy, to kill this bastard with his bare hands. But he didn't. He stood rooted, paralyzed, as he watched the brutal dance of lust and power that played out before him. It was only when Mustafa rolled off his son, his body glistening with sweat and… and other things, that Jean-Luc moved. He rushed to his son, wrapping the boy in his arms, rocking him gently as he sobbed, his tiny body trembling with shock and pain.
Jean-Luc rocked his son, his heart breaking, his body shaking with anger, with shock, with something else, something dark and twisted. He looked up, his eyes locking with Mustafa's, and he saw it, the same dark desire that mirrored his own. And in that moment, he surrendered. He placed his son gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving Mustafa's. The other man smiled, a slow, lazy smile that spoke of satisfaction, of victory. He watched as Jean-Luc undressed, his body tense, his cock hard, his mind consumed by the dark desire that filled the room. Jean-Luc climbed onto the bed, his body pressing against his son's, his son, so small, so fragile. He reached down, his hand wrapping around his son's tiny cock, pumping slowly, matching the rhythm of his own hips as he fucked his son. His boy writhed beneath him, his cries filling the air, a symphony of pleasure and pain that only served to fuel Jean-Luc's lust. He looked up, his eyes locking with Mustafa's, and he smiled, a grim, satisfied smile. Yes, they were integrated successfully, he thought bitterly. They had integrated into France, into their culture, into their way of life. And now, he thought as he pumped his cum into his son's body, they were returning the favor, leaving their mark on France, one perverse, twisted act at a time
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When I see the kiddies in the inflatable pool in the neighbor's yard
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As the warm water streamed down his back, he closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. There was something about the shower, the solitude, the steady rhythm, the way it washed everything away — that made him feel more alive. I really love this, he thought to himself: just me, the water, and my five year old boy sucking my cock.
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Despite being a surgeon, the nursery of the hospital is my favorite place to unwind between surgeries
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The pool manager never understood why the lifeguard of the baby pool needed to change his Speedo four times a day.
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Good morning son, Time for breakfast!
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"What's the matter, buddy? No, you can't come into the sauna with me, you're only 7. I know we always do grown-up stuff together, but you're too young for the sauna. What? You are gonna snitch to Daddy about our grown-up games? Alright, come in, but don't stay inside for too long."
I hope my nephew likes sweaty sex in the sauna. The little bastard... I promised his dad I'll wait until he is 10 before fucking him...
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Standing under the warm cascade of the shower, he let his thoughts drift to his young son. Should he send him off to kindergarten this year, or keep him at home for one more year? The idea of his little boy stepping into a new world, meeting other kids, and learning new things was exciting, but the main worry gripped his heart: what if his son ends up liking the teacher more than him? That thought troubled him deeply, making the decision heavy and complicated.
The teacher of the kindergarten has a bigger dick than him, and he's more experienced with fucking kids… Maybe it's a good idea to let 3-year-old John stay with him a little longer before leaving the nest.
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My kids love Daddy's afternoon snack and refuse to eat it when their mom makes it.
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I found the car completely wrecked. It had crashed into a tree, and the entire front half was smashed. Upfront, a young couple sat there, their bodies frozen. A faint sound of crying came from the backseat. A six-month-old baby sat there, crying softly. I looked left and right and knew what I needed to do.
I can wait another hour to be the hero of the day. My dick also needs its reward.
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When you're playing with your pedo friend and the boys, but your wife comes home earlier than expected.
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I placed my two-year-old nephew on the bathroom vanity for easier access.
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You were right, bro! Pushing my dildo into his little ass really makes him suck better.
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The boy stood there, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, his little hands clutching his stuffed bunny tighter. Ethan, his heart pounding with anticipation, locked the door behind them, his eyes never leaving the boy while he took off his shirt. "You know, little guy," he said, his voice low, "I have a secret. A secret that's just for us." The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears. "What… what secret?" Ethan didn't answer. Instead, he started to unbuckle his belt, his eyes never leaving the boy's. The boy's eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent 'O' of surprise and fear. "What… what are you doing?" he stammered. Ethan just smiled, a cold, predatory smile, as he let his pants drop to the floor, his cock already hard, ready. "I'm going to show you our secret, little guy," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to show you how good it can feel."
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Son: Dad, I don’t want a clown or a magician at my birthday party this year.
Dad: Really? But you’ve always loved clowns and magicians.
Son: I know… but this year I want something different. Something special.
Dad: Special, huh? Alright. I’ll see what I can do. But you know it’s not easy to find something truly special on such short notice.
Son: I know, Dad. But I believe in you. You always figure something out.
Dad: I’ll do my best. Now go play for a bit, okay? I need to make a few calls.
Son: Okay. Thanks, Dad!
Dad: (to himself) Something special… I think I’ve got just the thing.
A few days later, at the birthday party…
Son: Dad, who’s that? He looks… kind of strange.
Dad: (smiling) That, my boy, is a very special friend of mine. He’s here to make this birthday one you’ll never forget.
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"That's your third cousin, his name is Kaegan," I told my three-year-old son. "He's having a hard time hiding how excited he is to meet you."
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Every time I see him at the door, something inside me tightens.
My wife's father. He comes over almost every day. Says it's to "ease the pressure," to "give me time to breathe."
But the truth? I don’t need to breathe. I need to be with my son.
I know he means well. I truly do.
But every time he holds our baby, it feels like he's stealing another moment I could’ve used to discover who I am as a father.
He already had his turn at being a dad. Now it’s mine.
But he won’t step aside.
Even when the baby cries and I want to try to soothe him, to figure it out on my own, he jumps in, saying, “Let me, I know this kind of cry.”
And I stay quiet. Again. Because, how do I say, “Let me make mistakes”?
Even my wife doesn’t fully get it. To her, “He’s just trying to help.”
But I don’t need help.
I need space to fail.
I need quiet to discover who I am as a father, without someone watching, without a hand reaching out before I’ve even had a chance to understand what my son needs.
Then came that day.
My wife went out. Finally, just me and the baby.
The house was still. Just his breath, his scent, the little glance he gave me as I held him, like he was asking, “Are you really here now?”
I was nervous. Counting every minute, worried she might come back too soon.
I stripped both of us naked and started to fuck him on our red sofa.
He was so tight, and I was so horny. It was the best sex I've ever had.
Then... The door opened. He was there.
My father-in-law in law looked at me with his deep gaze.
"Fuck," I thought. "I'm so going to jail."
"Do it quickly," he finally said. "If you hurry up, we both have time to fuck him before your wife is back home."
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Welcoming the newest member of the family.
There are more dicks in the photo than the number of days he's been alive.
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The best time of the year is about to begin. Their summer vacation, my observation and hunting season.
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In a small office, the boss, Jonathan, always believed that good workplace relationships start with understanding real life. When his first employee gave birth, he told her:
"Don’t feel like you have to choose. If you want, bring the baby to the office."
At first, it felt unusual. Meetings with a stroller, crying during brainstorming sessions, and bottles next to laptops. But something changed - the office came to life. People paused to play, smiled more, and a sense of community grew.
Over time, more and more employees became mothers, and Jonathan encouraged them all to bring their babies if they wanted. He even set up a cozy corner with a rug, a comfy chair, and a few toys.
One day, after another meeting was interrupted by baby laughter, one of the employees, Emily, approached him and said:
"Jonathan, I just wanted to say thank you. You’re giving us the chance to be mothers and build our careers. That means a lot."
Jonathan smiled and replied:
"That’s true. But I’ll let you in on a secret, I benefit too."
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If you want your baby to grow strong and fit - let him nurse from daddy’s tit!
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Ethan had just turned five. His dad promised a surprise he’d never forget.
The backyard was filled with red and blue balloons, a giant chocolate cake with a spider on top, and even a mini obstacle course for kids who wanted to feel like superheroes.
Then, right after everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” someone leapt over the fence.
Spider-Man!
Or at least someone in a shiny costume, with a red mask and printed webs.
The kids screamed with excitement. Spidey ran, climbed a small ladder, called out their names like he knew them from preschool, and played games like “Spider Senses Challenge” and “Dodge the Villain.”
At the end, when everyone was starting to get tired, Spider-Man opened a blue backpack full of little bags.
Each one was sealed tight and had a sticker on it:
“Super Milk for Super Kids.”
“Every hero needs milk to grow strong!” he said in a dramatic voice.
The kids drank. Some laughed, some asked for more, and some just stared at him in awe.
Ethan leaned toward his dad and whispered,
"I’m drinking just like Spider-Man did when he was little."
Before he left, Spider-Man said,
“I have to get back to saving the city… but you guys—make sure to protect the world while I’m gone!”
Everyone clapped as he disappeared behind the bushes.
That night, Ethan fell asleep with an empty milk pouch under his pillow and dreams of swinging between skyscrapers.
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Jack was only four years old, but he loved to explore.
One morning, while he was at the park with his mom, he spotted a bright blue butterfly flying over the bushes. Without thinking twice, Jack ran after it, running and running... until he couldn’t see his mom anymore.
He stopped in the middle of a strange sidewalk.
Suddenly, everything felt quiet and big.
Jack didn’t know where to go, but just ahead, he saw something exciting behind a fence:
Trucks, a giant crane, and workers in orange helmets.
It was a construction site.
He carefully slipped through a gap in the fence and stepped inside.
Everything was huge—concrete, metal, tools.
But Jack wasn’t scared. He simply called out:
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
One worker, a muscular, tanned man with chest hair and defined absman with a trimmed beard and a warm smile, turned around.
“Well, hey there! Who are you?” he asked gently.
“I’m Jack. I… I got lost.”
The worker knelt down. “I’m Mike. Don’t worry, Jack. We’ll find your mom. Once you and I finish here...”
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Honestly? Not every computer game is right for a six-year-old. Some games have shooting, fear, violence -things a kid doesn’t need to see at that age. I’m not against video games, but I'm far from it. They can build thinking skills and coordination, and even teach a bit of English. But it all depends on what they’re playing.
So I made myself a rule: only age-appropriate computer games. One's full of imagination, adventure, color, without all the unnecessary stuff.
And Super Mario? That’s a classic. Simple, clever, fun, dicks, and mashrooms. Just right.
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Liam, the librarian, moved quietly between the shelves, his footsteps barely making a sound on the worn carpet. The town library, once alive with the laughter of children and the hurried steps of students searching for answers, now stood too still. Personal computers, tiny screens in every pocket, recorded voices — everything competed with it in this modern age.
He paused by the illustrated classics section and gently pulled out a copy of The Little Mermaid. The cover was faded, the pages yellowing, yet still carried the scent of old magic. He sighed.
"There was a time," he whispered, "when a book was a window to another world. Now the world just screams through screens."
The door creaked open.
Liam looked up, surprised.
A small boy, maybe four years old, stepped in carefully, clutching his father’s hand.
Liam watched them as they entered, his heart quickening. He hadn't seen a child in the library in months, and this one, with his golden curls and wide, innocent eyes, was particularly… appealing.
He followed them, keeping a safe distance, his eyes never leaving the little boy. He heard the father say something about the mother not leaving the house, about needing a quiet place to… to what? Liam's mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. He moved closer, trying to hear more, his body tense with anticipation.
"Come on, sweetheart," the father said, his voice low, almost tender. "Let's find a quiet place, okay? Somewhere we can… have some fun."
Liam's breath caught in his throat. Fun? What kind of fun? He followed them to the back of the library, to the small, secluded reading room. The father closed the door behind them, his eyes never leaving the little boy's face. Liam pressed his ear against the door, his heart racing, his body trembling with excitement and fear. He heard the father say something about a secret, about a game they could play together. He heard the little boy giggle, a sound that sent a shiver down Liam's spine. And then, he heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down.
He closed his eyes, his mind filling with images, with thoughts he couldn't control, thoughts he didn't want to control. He stood there, listening, his body shaking, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he should leave, he knew he should walk away, but he couldn't. He was trapped, trapped by his desire, by his hunger, by the little boy on the other side of the door.
He pulled down his pants, his erected thick cock jumped, as curious as Liam for the following to come.
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Little Sailors – A Sea Adventure of Wonder and Imagination!
We invite children ages 4–8 to join a magical boat trip guided by four young, energetic, experienced instructors.
During the trip, kids will enjoy games, stories, wildlife spotting, and "age-appropriate" activities - all in a safe, educational, and fun environment.
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An 8th-floor apartment in a building right next to an elementary school - worth every dollar of rent.
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I'm not going to let the beach's anti-nudist policy stop me from being naked around all those sexy kids.
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Pervy uncle Rob always volunteers to pick me up from school. He says he likes the view from the parking lot, but I've never really understood what he meant.
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He forgot to mention his toddler nephew sitting on his cock.
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Hasan, an Arab migrant, sat on the bench in the park, his eyes scanning the playground. It was quiet, too quiet. And then he saw him, a little boy, no older than three, playing with a small truck, his laughter echoing in the empty park. Hasan felt a familiar stirring in his pants, a hunger that only a child could satisfy. He stood up, walking towards the little boy, his eyes never leaving the tiny figure. The little boy looked up as he approached, his eyes wide with curiosity. Hasan smiled, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Hello there, little one," he said, his voice soft, gentle. "What's your name?" The little boy looked at him, then back at his truck, his tiny fingers tracing the grooves in the plastic. Hasan sat down next to him, his body tense with anticipation. "You like trucks, huh?" he said, his voice low, almost seductive. The little boy nodded, his eyes still on his truck. Hasan felt a surge of desire, of need, rising within him. He couldn't wait any longer. He stood up, his hands trembling as he unbuckled his pants, letting them drop to the ground. The little boy looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise, with fear. "What… what are you doing?" he stammered. Hasan just smiled, his eyes never leaving the little boy's face. "I'm going to show you something, little one," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something special, just for us." He reached out, his hand wrapping around the little boy's wrist, pulling him gently towards him. The little boy struggled, trying to pull away, but Hasan was too strong. He dragged him behind the slide, out of sight, his heart pounding in his chest.
Once there, he forced the little boy to his knees, his hands tangling in the boy's hair, holding him in place. The little boy gagged, his tiny hands pushing against Hasan's thighs, trying to escape. But Hasan was too strong. He held the boy's head in place, his hips moving, fucking the boy's mouth, his grunts of pleasure filling the air. The little boy struggled, tears streaming down his face, but Hasan didn't care. He was too lost in his pleasure, too consumed by his need. Once he had emptied himself into the boy's mouth, he pushed the boy onto his back, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. He pulled off the boy's pants, his hands trembling with anticipation. The little boy kicked, trying to escape, but Hasan was too strong. He pinned the boy's legs apart, his body shaking with need. He lowered himself onto the boy, his cock already hard again, ready. He thrust into the boy, his hands holding the boy's arms above his head, his body moving with a primal, animalistic force. The little boy screamed, his cries of pain and fear filling the air, but Hasan didn't care. He was too lost in his pleasure, too consumed by his need. He fucked the boy, hard and rough, until he came again, his body shaking with the force of his release.
"Good boy," he whispered, his voice low, satisfied. "Now, it's time for the real fun." He picked the little boy up, holding him in his arms, his body still shaking with excitement. He walked towards the nearby alley, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind filled with images of what he was going to do next.
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I gave my little brother a ride on my bike, with him sitting right between me and the handlebars since I didn’t have a toddler seat installed. The road was bumpy and it had results.
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"Fuck yeah, boy" I told my little brother when I got back home from gym. "I know you're craving to lick my pits. If you don't do as I say, I will tell Daddy, and you know his pits are way stinker."
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My newborn son is burning a hole in my pocket! (Literally & Figuratively)
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The house was dark, silent. He crept down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. He paused by the nursery, listening. His wife was asleep, her soft snores filling the air. He turned the handle, the door creaking softly as he pushed it open. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, falling on the crib. His son, his tiny, innocent son, was sleeping peacefully. He approached the crib, his breath catching in his throat. He looked around, his heart pounding. No cameras, no monitors. Just him and his son. He reached into the crib, his hands trembling as he picked up the sleeping baby. He cradled him in his arms, feeling the tiny body against his chest. He felt a surge of desire, of need, rising within him. He couldn't control it, he didn't want to control it. He carried the baby to the bed, laying him down gently. He looked at the tiny figure, his heart filled with a dark hunger. He started to undress, his hands trembling, his breath coming in short gasps. He lowered himself onto the bed, his body shaking with anticipation. He reached out, his hands touching the baby's tiny body, feeling the soft skin, the tiny limbs. He moved his hand lower, his touch growing bolder, more confident. The baby stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at his father, his eyes filled with confusion, with fear. But it was too late. The father was too lost in his pleasure, too consumed by his need.
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The man in the picture, with his wide, innocent smile, was far from harmless. He was a monster, a predator, a pedophile without limits. He targeted boys, the younger the better. He would groom them, gaining their trust, their affection. He would start with small touches, innocent seeming, but always escalating. He would kiss them, their soft cheeks, their tiny lips, their necks. He would let them touch him, his body, his cock, teaching them, showing them what to do. He would make them suck him, their tiny mouths stretched wide, their eyes filled with tears. He would fuck them, their tight little holes, their cries of pain and pleasure filling the air. He would make them fuck him, their tiny hips moving, their bodies shaking with the force of his thrusts. He didn't care about their age, their innocence. He only cared about his pleasure, his need. He was a beast, an animal, a monster. And he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
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Summer had arrived, and it was time to introduce my baby son to our private pool. I’d specially bought an infant pool float for him, thinking it’d be a fun way for us to enjoy the water together.
After we got into the pool, I looked left and right, ensuring no one was watching, then I drew my erected cock from my swimsuits and inserted it to my son's bum-bum through a hole I cut before. The sensation was intense. He was pressed close to me, to my crotch, unable to pull away.
“Hey, neighbor! Having fun in the pool?” a voice called from beyond the fence.
Startled, my hands let go of the pool float, and my naked body was exposed to the neighbor’s eyes.
His gaze shifted from my eyes to my cock and back to my eyes. His look was unmistakable. He understood.
“I never… I never would’ve believed…” he stammered, his voice thick with shock.
“I know, Paul,” I said, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have done it, I know.”
Paul and I always share our sons. But between us? Can you blame me for wanting my son’s first time in the pool to be just ours?
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The flight was long, and the cabin was stuffy. He sat next to the boy, his eyes never leaving the tiny figure. The boy was perfect; his golden curls, wide, innocent eyes, and laughter filled the air. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to have him. He stood up, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'll be right back," he whispered to the boy, his voice barely above a whisper. The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with trust, with innocence. He walked to the back of the plane, his steps hurried, his body tense with anticipation. He locked himself in the bathroom, his hands trembling as he unbuckled his pants. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. He started to touch himself, his hand moving, his body shaking with desire. He imagined the boy, his tiny body, his innocent face, his wide, trusting eyes. He groaned, his body tensing, his cock throbbing in his hand. He came then, his body shaking with the force of his release, his groan filling the small bathroom. He leaned against the sink, his breath coming in short gasps, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He knew he had to have the boy; he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He had to have him, no matter the cost.
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Come on, little one. Wake up! Daddy has your bottle ready for you.
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Father and son bonding time means a lot to me. That’s why, whenever I play my video games, my son plays with his favorite toy… well, our favorite toy.
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The beach was deserted, the sun high in the sky. He walked along the shore, his eyes scanning the sand, the water, and the people. And then he saw them, a group of children, boys, playing in the surf, their tiny bodies naked, their laughter filling the air. He felt a surge of desire, of need, rising within him. He approached them, his heart pounding in his chest. He saw their parents lying on towels, their eyes closed, oblivious to the world around them. He felt a sense of satisfaction, of anticipation. He joined the boys, his body tense with excitement. He looked at their tiny cocks, their smooth skin, their innocent faces. He wanted to touch them, to taste them, to fuck them. He reached out, his hand touching one of the boys, feeling the smooth skin, the tiny limb. The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with curiosity, with trust. The man smiled, his heart pounding in his chest. He was going to have so much fun with these ones.
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I restricted my son from approaching the pool's edge, unless, of course, it's to suck Daddy's dick.
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Preparing the baby's bottle.
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The man was a professional wrestler, his body hard, his muscles honed from years of training. He sat on the couch, his body tense, his mind racing. He had been drinking again, too much, too fast. He looked at his son, his tiny, innocent son, playing with his toys on the floor. He felt a surge of desire, of need, rising within him. He stood up, his body trembling, his heart pounding in his chest. He walked over to his son, his steps slow, measured. He reached down, his hand wrapping around the boy's arm, pulling him to his feet. The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with confusion, with fear. "Daddy, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice small, shy. The man just smiled, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. "I'm going to teach you something, son," he said, his voice low, dangerous. He threw the boy onto the couch, his powerful body pinning the boy down. He started to touch the boy, his hands rough, his touch painful. The boy screamed, his cries filling the air, but the man didn't care. He was too lost in his pleasure, too consumed by his need. He forced the boy's legs apart, his powerful body moving with a primal, animalistic force. He thrust into the boy, his massive cock tearing into the boy's tiny hole. The boy screamed, his cries of pain and fear filling the air, but the man didn't care. He kept going, his body moving, his pleasure building, until he came, his body shaking with the force of his release.
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Your friendly pervert neighborhood cyclist, cruising between the local playgrounds.
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Hey, sweetie... It’s okay. I’ve got you. Don’t cry.
Chapter 78
Notes:
For your attention: This chapter contains multiple instances of racism.
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As part of the Italian government's policy to address population decline, the country opened its doors to virtually unrestricted African immigration. The government viewed the preservation of the African cultures brought by the migrants as a supreme value, and any expression of intolerance toward them often ended in expedited legal proceedings, with penalties ranging from heavy fines, forced labor in migrant reception camps, and even actual imprisonment.
Thus, when residents of a small town in central Italy woke up one morning to find that their local playground had been declared a territorial zone by a group of migrants, they had little choice but to accept it with understanding and submission.
The migrants regarded elderly Italians as a potential territorial threat and therefore prohibited any Italian over the age of 12 from entering the playground.
The Italian government definitely sees positively the introduction of African cultural values to Italian children through genetic liquids injection into their bodies.
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"Look over here, sweetie!"
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Applying cream to the changing surface before diapering the baby.
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He dripped it right into his infant son's waiting mouth.
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He walked into the ice cream shop in the afternoon, the sun slightly less harsh, but the pavement still steaming. Inside, it was noisy and crowded, high-pitched boys’ voices, bare feet in sandals, ice cream dripping down chins and legs.
He stood in line and just watched.
A five-year-old boy ran back and forth from the door to the table, nearly dropping his cone, but gripping it with the pride of someone who’d won a prize. Near the counter, another boy, maybe seven, stared at the flavors like he was choosing a new identity.
In the corner booth, a toddler, no older than two, was being spoon-fed by his older brother. His face was smeared with chocolate, his hands sticky, and he grinned a toothless, melted smile.
So many voices.
So many versions of boyhood.
When his turn came, he looked at the clerk and said:
"Nice to know there’s something here for everyone."
She smiled, not thinking much of it.
"Yeah... everyone finds what they like."
But he didn’t mean the ice cream.
He meant what he had never had.
What he never would.
He ordered plain vanilla, paid, and stepped outside.
Sat alone at a round table facing the shop.
And kept quietly watching through the glass.
One boy got a kiss on the forehead. Another, a spoonful in his mouth.
A third just laughed, his legs swinging under the tall chair.
Well, melted vanilla ice cream wasn’t the only white substance smeared across the floor anymore.
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Eli was a quiet first-grader, not one to stand out, but he always finished his worksheets on time. He didn’t love math, but he studied carefully, especially knowing Mr. Collins cared about grades.
One Tuesday, there was a short math quiz. Eli answered calmly, even smiling when he recognized a question from his homework. He felt confident.
But the next day, when the papers were handed back, he was surprised to see a 60 at the top. He checked it again and again. Most of his answers were correct.
“Mr. Collins…” he said quietly as the class headed to recess. “I don’t understand why I got this grade.”
The teacher leaned down and whispered, “We can talk about it. Stay after school.”
Eli nodded.
At the end of the day, with everyone gone, he approached Mr. Collins’s desk. He expected to go over the questions, maybe get some extra practice.
Mr. Collins smiled at Eli, his eyes never leaving the boy's face. "You know, Eli," he said, his voice low, almost seductive. "I think I know why you got that grade." Eli looked at him, his eyes filled with confusion, with innocence. "You didn't try hard enough," Mr. Collins continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "You didn't show me that you really wanted to do well."
Eli's brow furrowed, his mind racing. "But… but I did try," he stammered. "I studied, I did my best." Mr. Collins just smiled, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. "That's not good enough, Eli," he said, his voice firm, dangerous. "You have to show me that you're willing to do whatever it takes. You have to show me that you're… special."
Eli looked at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't understand; he didn't know what Mr. Collins wanted. But he was scared, scared of what would happen if he didn't do what the teacher asked. "What… what do I have to do?" he asked, his voice small, shy.
Mr. Collins stood up, his body towering over Eli's tiny frame. "You have to make me feel good, Eli," he said, his voice low, predatory. "You have to show me that you're willing to do whatever it takes to please me." He unbuckled his pants, his hands trembling as he pulled out his cock. Eli looked at it, his eyes wide with fear, with uncertainty. "What… what am I supposed to do with that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Mr. Collins just smiled, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. "You're going to put it in your mouth, Eli," he said, his voice firm, commanding. "You're going to suck my cock."
Eli looked up at Mr. Collins, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to touch the teacher, to taste him. But he was scared, scared of what would happen if he didn't. He reached out, his tiny hand wrapping around the teacher's cock. It was hard, hot, throbbing in his hand. He felt a surge of revulsion, of fear, but he didn't stop. He moved closer, his body trembling, his heart pounding. He looked up at Mr. Collins, his eyes filled with tears of fear. The teacher was watching him, his eyes filled with a dark hunger, with anticipation.
"That's it, Eli," he whispered, his voice low, seductive. "Take it in your mouth. Show me how much you want to please me." Eli took a deep breath, then he opened his mouth, his tongue flicking out, tasting the teacher's cock. Mr. Collins groaned, his body shaking with pleasure. He reached down, his hands tangling in Eli's hair, holding him in place. Eli gagged, his eyes watering as the teacher's cock pushed into his mouth, his throat. He felt tears streaming down his face, felt the panic rising within him. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Mr. Collins had cummed, his body shaking with the force of his release. As he pulled away, Eli saw Mr. Collins smile, his eyes filled with satisfaction, while he took off his glasses. He reached up, his hand wiping away the tears from Eli's face. "Good boy," he whispered, his voice filled with praise. "I knew you had it in you." Eli looked at him, his heart filled with shame, with disgust. He had done something terrible, something he would never be able to forget. And he had done it because he was scared. After all, he wanted to please his teacher.
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The pacifier was special, unique. It was made of soft, smooth silicone, its tip filled with a small, hidden chamber. He had designed it himself, his mind filled with dark, twisted fantasies. He looked at his son, his tiny, innocent son, sleeping peacefully in his crib. He felt a surge of desire, of need, rising within him. He walked over to the crib, his body tense with anticipation. He picked up the pacifier, his hands trembling as he filled the chamber with his semen. He looked at it, his heart pounding in his chest. It was perfect, a masterpiece of his depravity. He approached his son, his heart pounding. He slipped the pacifier into the boy's mouth, his heart filled with a dark satisfaction as the boy started to suck, to swallow. The boy stirred, his tiny body stretching, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at his father, his eyes filled with trust, with innocence. The man smiled, his heart filled with a dark joy. He had given his son a gift, a taste of what was to come. He knew he would have to be careful, that he would have to hide his true nature. But he also knew that one day, his son would be old enough, old enough to understand, to join him in his dark, twisted world.
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The twins are welcoming their baby brother to the family.
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"Why don’t you want to play with him?" Dad asked when they were alone in the kitchen. His voice was quiet, but tense.
7-year-old Adam shrugged. "I don’t know... he just feels weird."
Dad took a deep breath and leaned on the counter. "You can’t just ignore him. He came here especially to see you."
"But he doesn’t actually play," Adam insisted."He just sits and watches… and sometimes touches me for no reason."
"Oh, come on," Dad said, sharper now. "You will not be rude to your guest. Look how hard he’s trying. Now go back to the living room and be polite."
Adam said nothing. He knew that when Dad said “be polite,” he didn’t just mean using nice words.
Adam dragged his feet back to the living room, his heart heavy with dread. The man was still there, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes never leaving Adam's face. He was dressed in a Khaki t-shirt, his pants already pulled down, his massive cock exposed. Adam felt a surge of fear, of revulsion, rising within him. He looked at the man, then at his father, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his face stern.
"Adam," his father said, his voice firm, commanding. "Go say hello to our guest."
Adam hesitated, then he walked over to the man, his body trembling. The man reached out, his hand touching Adam's cheek, his thumb brushing against his lip. Adam flinched, his body tensing, but the man just smiled, his eyes filled with a dark hunger.
"Hello, Adam," he said, his voice low, seductive. "I've been looking forward to meeting you.".
Adam looked at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what was coming, what his father expected him to do.
Chapter Text
Dan, a muscular, blond, and dominant man, entered the wellness center after a long day at work. He was expecting a relaxing, professional massage to ease his sore muscles. But what he found was far from relaxing. He was led to a private room, where he found several young boys, no older than ten, dressed in tiny, revealing outfits. "Surprise, sir," the oldest boy said, his voice innocent, his eyes filled with a dark hunger. "We're here to make sure you're… thoroughly taken care of."
Dan looked at them, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a surge of desire, of need, rising within him. He sat on the massage table, his body tense with anticipation. The boys approached him, their hands touching, their fingers exploring. They started with his back, their tiny hands pressing, rubbing, their touch growing bolder, more confident. He felt their hands on his ass, squeezing, exploring. He felt their fingers slip between his cheeks, touching, probing. He groaned, his body tensing, his cock already hard, ready. He rolled over, his body facing the boys, his cock tenting the towel covering him. The boys looked at it, their eyes filled with a dark hunger. "Looks like someone's excited," the oldest boy said, his voice low, seductive. "Let's see what we can do about that."
They reached out, their hands touching his cock, their fingers wrapping around it, stroking, squeezing. He felt a mouth on his cock, sucking, licking, tasting. He looked down, his eyes meeting the oldest boy's.
Dan reached down, his hands grabbing the oldest boy's head, holding him in place as he thrust his hips, his cock pushing into the boy's mouth, his throat. The boy gagged, his eyes watering, but Dan didn't care. He was too lost in his pleasure, too consumed by his need. He felt his orgasm building, his body tensing, his cock throbbing. He groaned, his body shaking as he came, his cock pulsing, filling the boy's mouth with his seed.
The boy swallowed, his eyes never leaving Dan's face. Dan looked at him, his heart filled with a dark satisfaction. He knew he had taken something precious, something innocent. And he didn't care. He stood up, his body still shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He looked at the other boys, their eyes filled with a dark hunger, with anticipation. He knew they were waiting, waiting for their turn, and he knew he would give it to them.
He would take them, one by one, until he had filled them all with his seed, until he had taken everything they had to give.
Chapter Text
Little 2-year-old Adam quietly pushed the door open. He could barely reach the handle, but managed to nudge it inward. Inside, Dad stood in front of the mirror, his face covered in white foam, his hand moving up and down with a gleaming razor.
Adam looked up with wide eyes. "Daddy taking a bath on his face?" he asked sweetly.
Dad laughed. "Something like that. I'm shaving."
The boy stepped closer, standing beside the sink, peeking up. "Me too?" he asked, pointing to his tiny cheek.
He reached out, his hand grabbing Adam's arm, pulling him closer. Adam stumbled, his tiny body falling against his father's. He looked up at him, his eyes filled with confusion, with fear. But also with something else, something that made Dad's cock throb, his heart pound.
"Daddy's going to show you something, Adam," he whispered, his voice filled with a sweet promise. He reached down, his hand wrapping around his cock, stroking, squeezing. Adam watched, his eyes wide, his body trembling. "Daddy's going to put his special cream on your face, Adam," Dad said, his voice low, seductive. "And you're going to like it." Adam looked at him, his heart pounding in his chest.
Dad stroked his cock, his hand moving faster, his breath coming in short gasps. And then, with a groan, he came, his cock pulsing, his seed spilling onto Adam's face, into his eyes, his mouth. Adam gagged, his eyes watering, but Dad just laughed, his hand wiping the seed into Adam's skin. "Now you’re a real man."
Adam looked at their reflection in the mirror and went quiet for a moment.
"I'm like Daddy," he whispered.
Chapter Text
The boy was only four, his messy brown hair refusing to be tamed despite several attempts by his mother with a comb. She had brought him to the photoshoot, a renovated industrial space turned into a bright, spotless studio, filled with lighting rigs, massive cameras, and crew members speaking into headsets.
"Mom, I’m scared," he whispered as they stood near the reception table.
"Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’ll be really quick. They just want to film you playing with some toys," she reassured him, holding him close.
A young woman with a clipboard and the stressed energy of a rushed morning approached them.
"Excuse me," she said to the mother, "we’ll need parents to wait outside the shoot room. It distracts the kids and the crew."
The mother looked at her son, then back at the producer. "He’s only four," she said quietly, tension in her voice.
"I understand," the producer answered briskly, "but that’s the protocol. Don’t worry, we have a child coordinator inside."
The mother crouched in front of the boy. "I’ll be right behind the door, okay? Look, I’m sitting right here on this chair." She pointed to a blue plastic chair just outside the glass door.
He nodded, his lips trembling. Then the door slowly closed, and the blinding light swallowed up the small child, alone in a foreign room, facing towering cameras.
Alone in the room, the boy looks around, his eyes wide with fear and wonder. He's not just alone with the cameras and the bright lights, there's something else. Someone else.
A man emerges from the shadows. He's tall, muscular, his body honed like a weapon. His skin is slick with sweat, glistening under the harsh studio lights. He's naked, his body a map of strength and desire.
The boy's eyes widen even more as he takes in the sight. The man's cock hangs heavy between his legs, already semi-hard. It bobs slightly as he walks, a dangerous promise of what's to come.
"Come here, little one," the man says, his voice a low rumble. The boy hesitates, looking back at the door where his mother had been just moments ago. But the man doesn't wait. He strides forward, scoops the boy up in his strong arms.
The boy squirms, a small, scared cry escaping his lips. But the man just chuckles, a dark, dangerous sound. "Don't fight it, little one. This is going to happen. And you're going to like it."
He carries the boy to a low, wide table in the center of the room. He sets the boy down, his hands moving to the boy's clothes. "Let's get you comfortable," he says, his voice mocking.
The boy struggles, trying to push the man's hands away. But it's no use. The man is too strong. He tears the boy's clothes off, throwing them carelessly onto the floor. The boy is left naked, his tiny body trembling.
The man takes a moment to look at him, a slow, hungry smile spreading across his face. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?" he says.
The boy dashes to the door, his tiny legs moving as fast as they can. But it's too late. The man is faster. He grabs the boy's arm, pulling him back.
"Where do you think you're going, little one?" He asks, his voice is cold, hard. The boy whimpers, trying to pull away. But the man just laughs, a harsh, mocking sound.
'I think it's time you understood the rules, little one,' he says, letting go of the boy's arm. He picks up a camera from the nearby table, holding it in one hand. He flexes his other hand, the muscles bunching and tightening.
"You see this?" he asks, pointing at the camera. "This is how we're going to play. You can make this easy or hard. Your choice."
He steps closer to the boy, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "You can be a good boy, let me take some… special pictures of you. Or…"
He pauses, letting the threat hang in the air. The boy looks up at him, his eyes wide with fear. "Or what?" he asks, his voice a small, scared whisper.
"Or," the man continues, his voice like ice, "I can make sure your mommy never sees you again."
The boy gasps, his hand flying to his mouth. The man smirks, enjoying the boy's fear. "So, what's it going to be, little one? You want to make a movie with me? Or do you want to disappear?"
The boy looks around, desperation in his eyes. He's trapped. And he knows it. The man can see it in his eyes. And he likes it. He likes it a lot.
Chapter Text
The situation in Ukraine was grim, and the Russian army was struggling. The Kremlin, desperate for manpower, had given the order to conscript minors. But Captain Ivanov had other plans. He saw the order as an opportunity, a chance to indulge in his favorite pastime. He sent his men out, not to the recruitment centers, but to the orphanages, the children's homes. They came back with them, small boys, their eyes wide with fear, their bodies trembling. He looked at them, his heart filled with a dark hunger. He knew what was coming, what he was going to do. He turned to his men, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction.
"We have our orders," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "We are to protect our country, to keep the next generation safe. And we will. But first…" He smiled, his eyes filled with a dark promise. "First, we play."
The boys looked at him, their eyes filled with fear, with uncertainty. They knew what was coming, what he wanted. And they were powerless to stop it. They were just children, after all. And they were at the mercy of the captain and his men.
Chapter Text
The sun was high over the open fields of Ontario, casting a golden shimmer across the highway. Mark pulled his truck into a quiet gas station, the engine rumbling low before falling silent. He stepped down from the cab in one smooth motion, peeling off his long-sleeved shirt to reveal a snug black tank top that clung to his sculpted torso. His arms were thick and strong; his legs solid like pistons. Every movement radiated power and quiet confidence.
As he made his way to the pump, he noticed a little boy, maybe four years old, standing in the shade with his father, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as he stared at the gleaming truck. The child looked as if he’d just seen a real-life Transformer.
The father smiled. “He’s been obsessed with trucks since the first time he crawled toward a toy with wheels. Mind if he gets a closer look?”
Mark nodded. “Of course. We Canadians don’t bite,” he replied with a grin, charming, relaxed, and unmistakably kind.
The father walked the boy over, then said, “You know what? I’m gonna grab myself a coffee. Mind watching him for a minute?”
Mark didn’t hesitate. He knelt down, opened his arms, and said warmly, “Come here, little driver.” The boy ran to him without fear. Mark scooped him up with ease, as if he weighed nothing, and gently sat him on his lap inside the cab.
The boy grabbed the wheel with both tiny hands and looked up at him in awe. “Wow… you’re so strong,” he whispered.
“You gotta be strong to handle a rig like this in the mountains,” Mark said with a wink.
They sat there together, sunlight pouring into the cab, the child lost in a dream, and the muscular Canadian trucker watching over him like a gentle giant.
The boy, his eyes wide with wonder, gripped the wheel with all his might. Mark, his heart pounding with a dark hunger, watched him. The child was so small, so innocent. So… vulnerable. He could feel the boy's tiny hands, so soft, so pure, on the steering wheel. He could imagine those hands, those fingers, elsewhere. Doing things they shouldn't. Things that would make him feel good. Things that would make the boy cry from pleasure.
Mark's breath hitched as he leaned in closer. "You know, little driver, you're not the only one who likes to control things. I like it too. I like to make things… move. The way I want them to. The way they should."
The boy turned his head, his big blue eyes meeting Mark's. He was so close now, his breath warm on Mark's face. Mark could feel it, the pull, the desire. The darkness inside him, clawing at the surface, begging to be set free. He could take the boy right now, right here. No one would stop him. No one would care.
Mark took a deep breath, the black tank top stretching slightly across his broad chest. With one hand on the gearshift and the other steady on the wheel, he slid the truck into gear. The engine growled to life beneath them.
The boy let out a small gasp of excitement.
“Hold on tight, captain,” Mark said with a grin.
With a smooth but powerful motion, Mark pulled out of the station, the massive truck roaring forward. Dust kicked up behind them as they rolled onto the open road, sunlight flashing across the windshield. The boy squealed with joy, and Mark laughed, a deep, warm sound that echoed in the cab.
For a few moments, it felt like they were the only two people in the world, just a little kid and a strong Canadian trucker chasing the horizon together.
Chapter Text
The sun beat down on the lonely intersection where a policeman stood, dressed in a dark uniform, his cap shading his face, and a burning cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He watched every car, every passerby, as if every breath in the city fell under his jurisdiction.
A man approached with a stroller. A baby boy slept inside, wrapped in a blue blanket. The father looked tired, quiet, his gaze downcast. The officer raised a hand. “Stop.”
The father stopped.
“Bag. Now.”
The man handed over his bag without a word. The officer opened it with precise carelessness, pulling out a notebook, a small booklet, and folded papers. He flipped through them. His eyes narrowed.
“Propaganda?”
The father said nothing.
The officer kept searching. Beneath a scarf, inside a hidden pocket, there was another folder. He opened it.
His lips tightened. For long seconds, he said nothing. Then, in a voice cold as steel, he looked up and said:
“You're not just an enemy of the state. You're an enemy of humanity.”
He drew out handcuffs. The father didn’t resist. The baby kept sleeping, lips slightly parted.
The officer watched the van drive away, the father handcuffed in the back, his head hanging low. He was alone now, just him and the stroller. And the secret folder. He picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest. He had seen many things in his years on the force, but nothing like this. Nothing so… forbidden. So dark.
He opened the folder, his eyes scanning the pages. Pictures. Drawings. Words that made his blood run cold. This was more than just propaganda. This was… sick. Twisted. Perverse. And yet, he couldn't look away. He couldn't stop reading. He couldn't stop his mind from filling in the blanks, from painting the vivid, horrifying pictures that these words suggested.
He looked down at the stroller, at the baby sleeping peacefully, his little hands clenched into fists. He was so small. So innocent. So… pure. The officer's breath hitched as he reached out, his hand hovering over the baby's blanket. Just one touch. Just to see. Just to feel.
He could do it. He could take the baby. He could do… things. Dark things. Things that would make him feel good. Things that would make the baby cry. And no one would know. No one would care. Not here. Not now. Not with the world burning around them.
The officer's hand trembled as he reached down, his fingers brushing the baby's blanket. Just one touch. Just to see. Just to feel. The baby stirred, his eyes fluttering open, meeting the officer's gaze. And in that moment, the officer knew. He knew that he had crossed a line. He knew that there was no going back. He knew that he would do… dark things. Very dark things.
Chapter Text
The hallway was too quiet. Only the buzz of the fluorescent lights filled the stale air, like a mosquito trapped inside the skull. Beneath a torn poster about childhood vaccinations sat Nasser, a man in his thirties, dark-skinned, deep-eyed, unshaven. He wore a faded blue shirt and short athletic pants.
One of his legs was stretched out, resting arrogantly on the opposite bench, not casually, but like someone who owned the place. As if he owned cracked linoleum, the sickly smell of disinfectant, and the tired walls.
Across from him sat a young woman and a small child, perhaps three. The boy rocked back and forth, mumbling nonsense. The woman took a call, stood up abruptly, and said sharply, “Honey, I’m going in to see the doctor. Sit here. Don’t move.”
The door closed. Nasser remained, facing the boy.
The child was silent for a moment. Then he asked, in a whisper-soft voice, “Are you bad?”
Nasser raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“Because Mommy said not to talk to bad people.”
They both fell silent.
“And you’re talking to me,” the boy added.
Nasser stared at him for a long beat. “Sometimes bad people look just like everyone else.”
The boy thought. “So maybe you’re good pretending to be bad?”
“Or bad pretending to be good.”
Silence again. A muffled cough echoed from behind the closed door. Nasser looked at the boy and murmured:
“Anyone left alone in a hallway like this… needs to learn to tell the difference.”
The boy looked at him with round, calm eyes. Not afraid. Not understanding. Just listening.
Nasser stood up, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Come here, little one," he said, beckoning the boy with a crooked finger. The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with innocent trust, and took his hand. Nasser led him down the hallway, his heart pounding with dark excitement. He knew what he was going to do. He knew it was wrong. But he didn't care. He wanted this. He wanted the boy.
He pushed open the door to the restroom, the dim light casting eerie shadows on the cold tile floor. He locked the door behind them, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The boy looked around, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Why are we in here?" he asked, his voice small and innocent.
Nasser didn't answer. Instead, he pushed the boy roughly against the wall, his hands gripping the boy's small shoulders. The boy gasped, his eyes filling with tears. "What are you doing?" he cried, his voice trembling.
Nasser didn't answer. He couldn't. All he could do was act on the dark desires surging through him. He pushed the boy to his knees, his hands fumbling with his belt, his zipper. The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. "Please," he whimpered, "please don't hurt me."
But Nasser was beyond listening. He was beyond caring. He grabbed the boy's head, his fingers tangling in his soft hair, and forced his mouth onto him. The boy gagged, his small body shaking with sobs as Nasser thrust in and out, his grip tight, his movements rough. The boy struggled, his tiny hands pushing against Nasser's thighs, his screams muffled by the invasion in his mouth. Nasser didn't stop. He couldn't. He was lost in the moment, lost in the feel of the boy's mouth, lost in the power he held over him. He could feel his release building, his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh gasps. The boy was crying now, his tears mixing with the saliva dripping from his chin, his body shaking with sobs. But Nasser didn't care. He was too far gone. Too lost in his own pleasure.
He leaned down, his mouth finding the boy's, his tongue pushing into the boy's mouth, tasting his own semen, his own blood. The boy gagged, his body shaking with revulsion. But Nasser just laughed, his hands grabbing the boy's hair, holding him in place. "You understand now, don't you?" he whispered, his voice low, dangerous. "You understand that there are bad people in the world, people who will hurt you, who will use you. And you have to be strong, you have to be tough, to survive. You have to learn to tell the difference." He pulled back, looking at the boy, his body covered in blood, in semen, in tears. "You're not a little boy anymore," he said, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. "You're a warrior. You're a survivor. And you know the truth now, don't you? You know that the world is a dark, twisted place, and that you have to fight, you have to struggle, to make it out alive." He stood up, pulling up his pants, buttoning his belt. He looked at the boy one last time, then turned and walked out, leaving the boy alone, crying, broken, but alive, and finally, truly, woke.
Chapter 94
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In 1612, after years of quiet, decaying struggle, Matthias of Habsburg finally deposed his older brother, Emperor Rudolf II.
Rudolf, secluded in his Prague palace and devoted to astrology, alchemy, and rare animals, had lost the trust of the nobles, the control of his kingdoms, and at last, his crown.
Matthias had no children. And Rudolf, everyone believed, had none either.
Until the message came.
An old courier from the Bohemian border whispered it into Matthias’s ear. His eyes trembled. His mouth was dry. Rudolf had a son.
A boy, sixteen months old. Illegitimate. His mother was a noblewoman from Dresden, sent to a convent. The child lived in safety, hidden from the world.
Some said he looked just like Rudolf had, long ago. Too much like him.
Matthias understood immediately. If word of the boy spread, his brother’s loyalists might turn the child into a symbol, an heir, a threat.
He sent three silent, loyal men. Within days, the child was in the imperial palace in Vienna. Not as a guest. Not as an heir. But as a secret.
He was never given a name.
He was kept in a hidden stone room, once used to store forbidden texts.
His nurse was mute. The only window opened at night. No one in the palace knew he existed.
Matthias would come alone, from time to time, standing quietly at the doorway.
The child would lie on an old Persian rug, murmuring soft syllables, reaching toward some toy or shadow.
Once, when the boy smiled at him, Matthias almost smiled back. But then his face went cold.
Do not give him a human face, he told himself. The more human he is, the harder he will be to forget.
The child knew nothing of Rudolf. Nothing of crowns. Nothing of inheritance.
Only a flickering candlelight and the gaze of a man who came and went without a word.
He was sixteen months old.
And already, a danger to a dynasty.
Matthias stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the boy. The child was playing with a wooden soldier, his small fingers gripping it tightly as he made it march across the floor. Matthias's breath hitched, his body reacting to the sight of the boy, so small, so vulnerable, so… innocent. He had come here with a purpose. A dark purpose. A purpose he knew was wrong, but he couldn't stop himself. He wanted the boy. He wanted to… claim him.
He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The boy looked up, his eyes meeting Matthias's. He smiled, a sweet, innocent smile that made Matthias' heart ache. "Play with me?" the boy asked, holding out the wooden soldier.
Matthias nodded, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Yes," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'll play with you."
He sat down on the rug beside the boy, his body tense with anticipation. The boy handed him the soldier, his small hand brushing against Matthias'. Matthias felt a jolt of electricity at the touch, his body aching with desire. He took the soldier, his fingers wrapping around it, his mind filling with dark thoughts.
He looked at the boy, his gaze traveling over his small body. He was so small, so vulnerable. So… perfect. Matthias's breath hitched as he reached out, his hand cupping the boy's cheek. The boy leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Matthias's heart raced as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the boy's. The boy gasped, his eyes flying open, but Matthias didn't stop. He deepened the kiss, his tongue pushing into the boy's mouth, exploring, tasting.
The boy struggled for a moment, but Matthias didn't stop. He couldn't. He was lost in the moment, lost in the feel of the boy's small body, lost in the power he held over him. He pushed the boy onto his back, his hands rough as they tugged at the boy's clothing, his movements jerky, his breath coming in harsh gasps. The boy cried out, his small hands pushing against Matthias' chest, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. "Please," he whimpered, "please don't hurt me."
But Matthias was beyond listening. He was beyond caring. He yanked the boy's pants down, his hands gripping the boy's small thighs, spreading them apart. The boy cried out again, his small body shaking with sobs as Matthias settled between his legs. Matthias didn't care. He didn't care about the boy's pain, his fear, his tears. All he cared about was his own pleasure. His own desire.
He forced the boy's legs wider, his hands tight on the boy's thighs as he positioned himself. The boy screamed, his small body arching as Matthias thrust into him, his movements rough, his grip tight. The boy was too small, too tight, and Matthias could feel him tearing, could feel the boy's blood on him, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. He was lost in the moment, lost in the feel of the boy's body, lost in the power he held over him.
He thrust again and again, his body slamming into the boy, his movements harsh and brutal. The boy was crying now, his small body shaking with sobs, his screams muffled by the hand Matthias had slapped over his mouth. Matthias could feel his release building, his body tensing, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He was close. So close. And with a final thrust, Matthias cummed with a roar, his body shuddering as he filled the boy with his seed. The boy's body went limp beneath him, his eyes fluttering closed, his small chest heaving with sobs. Matthias pulled out, his breath ragged, his body shaking. He looked down at the boy, at the blood on his thighs, at the tears on his cheeks, and felt nothing. Nothing but satisfaction. Nothing but pleasure.
He stood up, tucking himself back into his pants, his gaze cold and unfeeling. The boy was just a thing to him. A thing he had used for his own pleasure. A thing he would discard as soon as he was done with it.
He turned to leave, pausing at the door to look back at the boy. The boy's eyes were open now, filled with hatred and betrayal. "Monster," the boy whispered, his voice filled with venom.
Matthias smiled, a cold, cruel smile. "No, boy," he said, his voice hard and unyielding. "I'm the king. And you… You are just a secret." And with that, he walked out, leaving the boy broken and alone on the cold stone floor, a reminder of the dark, twisted act he had committed.
Notes:
Rudolf II and Matthias of Habsburg were real historical figures — emperors of the Holy Roman Empire. The story above is based on real events but contains fictionalized and dramatized elements that deviate from strict historical accuracy.
For readers interested in exploring the true historical background, you can visit the following links:
Rudolf II – Wikipedia
Matthias – Wikipedia
Chapter Text
In the early morning, as the sun crept over the rooftops, he stood naked in his yard, his body hard and aching with desire. The dew-kissed grass tickled his bare feet, the breeze teasing his skin, sending shivers of anticipation through him.
The children arrived, one by one, their small bodies silent, their eyes wide with innocent curiosity. They didn't speak, didn't ask. They just breathed, their small chests rising and falling in rhythm.
He began the session without a word, his gaze locked onto a young boy, perhaps six, with curly brown hair and wide, innocent eyes. The boy met his gaze, his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, his body tensing, his desire growing. The children followed suit, their small bodies mimicking his movements, their innocence fueling his dark desires.
He led them through a series of poses, his hands guiding their small bodies, his touch lingering on their soft skin. He could feel their trust, their willingness to follow him, to do as he said. It made his heart race, his body ache with desire.
He positioned the young boy in front of him, his small body bent forward, his ass on display. The boy gasped, his body tensing as he felt the hard press of his teacher's cock against him. "Relax," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Just feel."
The boy obeyed, his body relaxing, his trust in him absolute. He pushed forward, his cock sliding into the boy's tight, virgin hole. The boy cried out, his body tensing as he was filled, but he didn't pull away. He trusted him. He wanted to please him.
He began to move, his hips thrusting forward, his cock sliding in and out.
He fucked the boy slowly, his hands gripping the boy's small hips, his fingers digging into his soft flesh. The boy's cries filled the air, his small body shaking as he was stretched, as he was used. But he didn't pull away. He didn't struggle. He just took it. He took it all.
He could feel the boy's tears on his hands, could feel the boy's small body tensing as he neared his release. He grunted, his body slamming into the boy, his cock throbbing as he filled the boy's small hole with his seed. The boy gasped, his body shuddering as he felt the hot liquid inside him, as he felt the truth of what had happened.
He pulled out, his body spent, his heart racing. The boy slumped forward, his small body shaking with sobs. He looked down at the boy, at the tears on his cheeks, at the cum dripping on his thighs, and felt nothing but satisfaction. Nothing but pleasure.
He turned away, leaving the boy broken and alone on the cold grass. He didn't care. He didn't feel any remorse. He had taken what he wanted. He had used the boy for his own pleasure. And now, he was done with him, until the next session.
Chapter Text
On the airplane, he sat beside his son, the boy's small body tucked against his side. He was three, just a baby really, his small hands gripping the armrest, his eyes wide with excitement. He loved flying. He loved everything.
Across the aisle, a woman sat with her own baby, a small child no older than his son, nursing hungrily at her breast. He watched, his gaze locked onto the sight of her nipple, wet and glistening, slipping in and out of the child's mouth. He felt a stirring in his groin, a dark desire building within him.
He looked down at his own son, at the way his small lips were parted, at the way his small tongue peeked out, and an idea formed in his mind. A dark, twisted idea.
He reached into the pocket in front of him, his hand wrapping around his cock, already hard and aching. He pulled it out, his flesh hot and throbbing in his hand. He looked at his son, at the way his small eyes were fixed on the television screen, and smiled. He was innocent. He was pure. He was… perfect.
He pulled the blanket up, covering them both, hiding what he was about to do. He leaned in close to his son, his voice low and soft. "Suck, sweetheart," he murmured, his hand guiding the boy's head downwards. The boy looked up at him, his eyes filled with confusion, but he didn't resist. He didn't understand. He just trusted his father.
He guided the boy's mouth onto his cock, the boy's small lips wrapping around him, his small tongue flicking out to taste him. He groaned, his body tensing as the boy began to suck, his small mouth inexperienced, but eager to please. He could feel his release coming.
He cummed with a grunt, his body shuddering as he filled his son's mouth with his seed. The boy gagged, pulling back, his small face contorted with disgust. But he didn't stop. He swallowed every drop, his small body shaking as he did so. He looked up at his father, his eyes filled with betrayal and confusion. "What… what did happen?" he asked, his voice small and broken.
He just smiled, tucking himself back into his pants, his gaze cold and unfeeling. The boy blinked, his small body slumping as he turned back to the television, his innocence lost. The woman across the aisle looked over, her eyes filled with concern, but he just smiled at her, his gaze cold and calculating. He had taken what he wanted. And he would do it again. Whenever he wanted.
Chapter Text
I always thought of a babysitter as a technical role. Someone who shows up, keeps watch, and leaves. But over time, I realized it’s much more than that. Especially when what you need is someone who fits you exactly. Not just your schedule or your checklist, but something deeper.
So I searched carefully. I wasn’t looking for “experienced” or “highly recommended.” I wanted someone who felt right. Someone who wouldn’t enter my life like a technician, but like a presence. Quiet, real, unintrusive. Well, maybe a little intrusive.
That’s how I met Tom. Sixteen. Calm eyes, simple manner. No games, no masks.
At our first meeting, he didn’t ask too many questions. Just looked around and said, “So… when’s the last time little Toby ate a proper load of cum?”
Chapter Text
Hey there, fellow fit parents! I'm Coach Dave, your friendly neighborhood fitness freak and proud papa of little Noah (4) and Sean (2). If you're reading this, you're probably wondering how I keep my kiddos so active and healthy. Well, let me tell you, it's not just about the push-ups and the planks (though, let's be real, those help 😉).
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Stay fit, stay strong, and most importantly, stay sneaky. 😏
Coach Dave
Chapter Text
Coach Zaid stood in the sea, the water reached his red Speedo, and the cold breeze brushed against his skin. Around him, a group of boys, all under the age of ten, splashed and laughed in the shallow water. They were his students, his little champions, and he was their god. He had trained them well, their tiny bodies honed and sculpted like miniature athletes.
He watched them, his eyes lingering on their smooth skin, their tiny muscles flexing as they moved through the water. He felt a stirring in his tight Speedo, a dark desire rising within him. His cock getting erected, hard and ready.
He stroked it slowly, his eyes never leaving the boys. They were so innocent, so pure, and he was going to defile them, one by one. He had planned it all out, the perfect scenario. A "safety" drill, he would call it. One by one, he would pull them out of the water, take them behind the rocks, and show them what a real man could do.
He came with a groan, his cum splashing into the sea below. The speedo tightened back to his crotch, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't wait for this fantasy to become real. He was going to enjoy every moment.
Chapter Text
Every summer Sunday, one hundred infants under the age of one would vanish across the world. An ancient curse, cast upon humanity in times long forgotten, awakened each year. No one knew where the babies had gone or what had become of them, but they never returned to their parents.
In the early years, humanity tried to look away. The disappearances were scattered across continents, with no clear pattern, and many believed it to be a tragic coincidence. But as the years passed, the puzzle began to take shape: always on the first Sunday of summer, always infants under the age of one, always exactly 100.
Governments assembled special task forces. Families were placed under protection. Babies were moved into underground shelters, surrounded by guards and cutting-edge alarm systems.
And yet, each year, one hundred infants vanished as if the earth had swallowed them whole.
n his dark kingdom beneath the earth, the devil gazed upon his yearly prize, one hundred soft, innocent infants.
They lay in cold stone cradles, their eyes wide open, crying without sound in a world with no echo.
There was no light. Only blue flames flickered from the stone walls, like living eyes watching.
The devil walked slowly among them, his long shadow dragging across the black floor.
He didn’t choose. He never had to. They were all his.
Each year, one hundred infants were absorbed into his realm, merged into the stone, the air, the very bones of a kingdom never meant for human life.
The devil paused, his gaze sweeping over the tiny forms. He raised his hand, his fingers curling into a beckoning gesture. From the shadows, his minions emerged, their forms twisted, their eyes burning with lust. They were the demons he had chosen for this ritual, the ones who would carry out his will.
They approached the cradles, their movements slow, deliberate, their eyes never leaving the tiny boys. The devil watched, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He could feel the power building, the energy in the room growing thick, heavy.
The first demon reached a cradle, his claws gently brushing against the boy's soft cheek. The boy looked up, his eyes meeting the demon's, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, the demon leaned down, his mouth finding the boy's, his tongue pushing into the boy's mouth, tasting him, claiming him.
The boy struggled, his tiny body squirming, but the demon just laughed, his hands holding the boy in place. He began to undress, his body revealing itself in all its twisted glory. He was massive, his cock huge, throbbing with desire. He grabbed the boy's legs, pulling him closer, his cock pressing against the boy's tiny opening.
The boy cried out, his body tensing, but the demon just smiled, his eyes filled with a dark satisfaction. He thrust, his cock pushing into the boy, stretching him, filling him. The boy screamed, his body shaking, but the demon just laughed, his hands squeezing the boy's body, his cock thrusting, thrusting, until he came, his body convulsing with pleasure.
As the first demon finished, the room erupted into a symphony of depravity. The other demons, their eyes wild with lust, descended upon the cradles, their bodies eager to claim their prizes.
One demon, his body a twisted mass of muscle and spikes, chose a plump, pink-cheeked boy. He picked him up, his massive hands gripping the boy's tiny body, lifting him off the ground. The boy kicked, his tiny fists beating against the demon's chest, but the demon just laughed, his tongue lolling out, lapping at the boy's tears.
He carried the boy to a nearby pillar, the stone rough and cold. He pressed the boy against it, his hands spreading the boy's chubby legs. The boy screamed, his voice filled with terror, with pleading. But the demon just grinned, his cock throbbing, leaking pre-cum onto the boy's tiny body.
He thrust, his cock pushing into the boy, stretching him, splitting him open. The boy howled, his body shaking, but the demon just gripped his hips, his fingers digging into the boy's soft flesh. He thrust, again and again, his cock sliding in and out of the boy's tight hole, his body slamming against the boy's, shaking him, battering him.
The demon's tongue sank out, licking the boy's face, his neck, his chest. The boy gagged, his body convulsing, but the demon just laughed, his tongue pushing into the boy's mouth, tasting him, claiming him.
Meanwhile, another demon, his body slimy and slick, chose a dark-skinned boy with wide, fearful eyes. He lowered his body, his tongue flicking out, licking the boy's cock, tasting him. The boy shivered, his body trying to pull away, but the demon just gripped his hips, his hands holding the boy in place.
The demon growled, his eyes gleaming with dark hunger. He wanted to fill the boy, to claim him, to mark him as his own. He lifted the boy's legs, his hands gripping the boy's tiny thighs, spreading them wide. The boy cried out, his body tensing, but the demon just smiled, his cock pressing against the boy's tiny opening.
He thrust, his cock pushing into the boy, filling him, stretching him. The boy screamed, his body shaking, but the demon just gripped his hips, his fingers digging into the boy's soft flesh. He thrust, again and again, his cock sliding in and out of the boy's tight hole, his body slamming against the boy's, shaking him, battering him.
The demon's tongue sank out, licking the boy's face, his neck, his chest. The boy gagged, his body convulsing, but the demon just laughed, his tongue pushing into the boy's mouth, tasting him, claiming him.
And then, with a final, brutal thrust, the demon came, his cock throbbing, his body convulsing with pleasure. He filled the boy, his cum pumping into the boy's tiny body, marking him, claiming him.
But the demon wasn't finished. He withdrew his cock, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. He picked up the boy, his massive hands lifting the boy's tiny body, turning him around. The boy screamed, his body squirming, but the demon just laughed, his hands spreading the boy's chubby cheeks.
He pushed his cock into the boy's mouth, his hips thrusting, fucking the boy's face. The boy gagged, his body shaking, but the demon just gripped his head, his fingers tangling in the boy's soft hair. He thrust, again and again, his cock sliding in and out of the boy's mouth, his body convulsing, until he cummed.
The devil watched, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. This was his favorite part of the year, when he had his new playthings, his fresh, innocent flesh to toy with. He loved to watch his demons at work, loved to see the boys' tiny bodies stretched and filled, loved to hear their cries, their screams.
He would spend the next year with these boys, teaching them, training them, breaking them. He would fuck them, of course, but that was just the beginning. He would make them fuck each other, would make them watch as he fucked others. He would make them learn, would make them understand the true nature of power, of pleasure, of pain.
And when the year was up, he would send them to the Abyss of Oblivion, their bodies broken, their minds shattered. But that was okay. There would always be more. Every year, on the first Sunday of summer, the babies would come, and he would be ready.
He stood, his long cloak billowing around him, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. He raised his hand, his fingers curling into a beckoning gesture. A demon, his body dripping with sweat and cum, approached him, his eyes filled with a twisted devotion.
"Yes, my lord?" the demon asked, his voice growling low.
The devil smiled, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation. "Fetch me the dark-haired one," he said, his voice a low purr. "I want to break him myself."
And so, the devil's year of debauchery began anew, as it always did, as it always would.
Chapter Text
Pervy Uncle Rob paced back and forth in the living room, his brow furrowed in confusion. He was sure he had forgotten something important, something he was supposed to do before bed. He had given little Timmy his dinner, his bottle, had bathed him, and had put him to bed. What could he have possibly forgotten?
Suddenly, it hit him. He had put Timmy to bed with the plug still in his ass. He had been so careful all weekend, making sure Timmy was "clean" for his parents when they picked him up tomorrow. He had even bought a special, extra large plug, "to stretch him out a bit," he had thought, his cock hardening at the memory.
He had been too rough, too eager, and now Timmy was lying in bed, his tiny hole stretched wide, filled with his uncle's plug. He could just imagine it, the plug stretching Timmy's tiny hole, the boy squirming in discomfort, his tiny body trying to push it out.
Uncle Rob's cock hardened at the thought. He looked towards Timmy's room, his heart racing. He knew he should leave it, should just go to bed and pretend he hadn't remembered. But the thought of Timmy lying there, his tiny hole filled, was too much to resist.
He stood, his body moving on its own, his feet carrying him towards Timmy's room. He opened the door quietly, his eyes scanning the darkness until he found Timmy, lying in his crib, his tiny body still, his breathing soft and even.
Uncle Rob approached, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached into the crib, his hand finding Timmy's tiny body, lifting him out, careful not to wake him. He carried him to his own bed, laying him down gently, his eyes never leaving the boy's tiny, vulnerable form.
He undressed Timmy, his hands shaking as he pulled off the boy's pajamas, revealing his tiny, naked body. He looked down at the boy, his eyes filled with a dark hunger, his cock throbbing in his pants.
He reached down, his hand finding the plug, his fingers gripping it, twisting it, feeling the boy's hole stretch around it. Timmy stirred, his body squirming, but Uncle Rob just shushed him, his voice low, soothing. "It's okay, baby," he whispered. "Uncle Rob's got you. Uncle Rob's going to take care of you."
He pulled the plug out slowly, his eyes never leaving Timmy's face. The boy's hole was red, raw, stretched wide. Uncle Rob's cock ached, leaking pre-cum onto his pants. He unbuttoned them, his hands shaking as he pulled them off, his cock springing free, hard and ready.
He looked down at Timmy, his eyes filled with a dark anticipation. He was going to take his nephew, going to claim him, to mark him as his own. He was going to fuck him until he screamed, until he begged for mercy.
And then, he would send him home, his tiny body filled with his uncle's cum, his mind filled with the memory of his uncle's cock, of his uncle's touch. He would be Uncle Rob's forever.
Uncle Rob lowered himself onto Timmy, his hands gripping the boy's tiny hips, lifting him, positioning him. Timmy stirred, his eyes fluttering open, looking up at his uncle with a sleepy confusion. "Uncle Rob?" he mumbled, his voice groggy.
Uncle Rob smiled, his eyes filled with a dark satisfaction. "That's right, baby," he whispered. "It's Uncle Rob. And tonight, I'm going to show you something special."
Chapter Text
The man paced slowly down the showroom aisle, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the newly delivered merchandise. He stopped abruptly in front of a display and scoffed, shaking his head. “This looks like last year’s collection,” he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. “Too old. Outdated. Completely unacceptable.”
The salesman swallowed nervously and forced a polite smile. “Sir, I understand your concerns. We do our best to ensure all our products are current and fresh,” he replied carefully. He knew this customer paid generously in cash and was among their most valued clients.
The man sighed heavily, irritation etched across his face. “How many times do I have to say this?” he snapped. “I’m not interested in anything that looks like it’s from last season or earlier. Keep this for your other customers. Don’t bother me again until you have babies that are actually fit, no older than two months.”
Turning sharply, the man strode away, leaving the salesman standing behind the cribs, unsure whether he had just lost an important client.
Chapter Text
The manager of the men's club had nearly finished preparing the venue for the evening's event. Every station was clean, arranged, and ready. He smiled to himself, tonight's event would be a special cultural evening themed around South American countries. But this was no ordinary cultural exchange.
Beneath each flag would be a group of children representing that country, but these were no ordinary children. They had been selected for their youth, their innocence, their purity. They were here for the pleasure of the club's members, for their amusement, their use.
The manager had personally vetted each child, making sure they were young enough, small enough, innocent enough. He had even made sure they were all boys; the club's members had specific tastes, and the manager was always eager to please.
He walked through the venue, his eyes scanning the children, making sure they were all clean, all ready. He approached a group of Brazilian boys, their skin dark, their eyes wide with fear. He ran a hand through one boy's hair, smiling at the feel of it. "Such beautiful hair," he murmured. "The members will love it."
He moved on, stopping in front of a group of Colombian boys. They were smaller, their bodies thinner, their eyes filled with a desperate hunger. The manager smiled, his cock hardening at the sight. "These will be popular," he said to himself, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
He continued his inspection, his eyes lingering on the boys, his hands touching, stroking, preparing. He was looking forward to tonight, to the sight of the boys' tiny bodies, to the sounds of their cries, their screams.
He knew the members were looking forward to it too. They had paid a lot of money for this evening, for this experience. And the manager was always eager to give them their money's worth.
Chapter Text
Danny, the manager of the children's theme park "Sweet Dreams," arrived at the massive gates with a cup of coffee in one hand and a jangling keyring in the other. It was 7:00 a.m., and dozens of employees were already rushing around — makeup artists, photographers, "nannies," and "educators."
He walked among the attractions, stopping by the "Nursery" to ensure the "nannies" were properly "preparing" the newest arrivals, smiling at the "educators" in the "School House" zone, and checking on the progress of the "private" photoshoots in the "Story Book" area.
At exactly 10:00 a.m., the gates opened, and the first wave of excited parents and their young "guests" flooded into the park. Danny stood off to the side, watching. His eyes landed on a little boy, no older than six, sitting on a "nanny's" lap, his tiny hand gripping a lollipop, his eyes filled with an innocent trust.
"That's the moment that makes it all worth it," he thought. Because in the end, all the planning, stress, and late nights were for moments like these. Moments when he could see the innocence in their eyes, moments when he could take that innocence and twist it, corrupt it, use it for his own pleasure.
Because "Sweet Dreams" wasn't just a theme park. It was a playground for the darkest desires, a place where adults could act out their fantasies, and children were the toys they played with.
Chapter Text
Tuesday morning. The house is still dark as she quietly leaves for work, locking the door gently, unaware of what awaits her son.
He wakes up a few minutes later, his cock already hard at the thought of the boy. He has no kids of his own, but he's found a way to get close to this one, to satisfy his dark desires. He knows where the boy's room is and knows how to get in.
He opens the door, the boy stirring at the sound. He turns over, his eyes fluttering open, meeting the man's gaze. The man smiles, a cold, predatory smile. "Morning, little man," he says, his voice low, threatening.
The boy tenses, pulling the blanket up to his chin, but the man just laughs, grabbing the blanket, pulling it off. The boy tries to cover himself, but the man just grabs his wrists, pins them above his head. "None of that," he growls. "You know what time it is."
He undresses, his cock springing free, hard and ready. The boy looks at it, his eyes wide with fear. "Please," he whispers. "Don't hurt me."
The man just smiles, positioning himself between the boy's legs. "I'm not going to hurt you, little man," he says, his voice soothing, lying. "I'm going to make you feel good."
He forces the boy's legs apart, holding them down as he pushes into him. The boy cries out, his body tensing, but the man just laughs, thrusting, thrusting, until he comes, his body convulsing with pleasure.
He pulls out, looking down at the boy, his eyes filled with a dark satisfaction. "See?" he says, his voice low. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Half an hour later, they're sitting at the table — the boy with a bowl of cereal, and he with a groggy cup of coffee. The TV plays a morning interview with a stranger he doesn't recognize. The boy's eyes are red, his face pale, but he doesn't say anything.
At one point, the boy asks, his voice small, "Will you come again tomorrow?"
The man looks at him, his eyes cold, calculating. He knows the boy hates it, knows he's terrified of him, but he doesn't care. He likes the power, likes the control. He likes the way the boy's body feels, the way he screams, the way he cries.
He smiles, his voice casual. "Of course, little man. If your mom wants me to."
He takes a sip of coffee, his eyes never leaving the boy's face. The boy looks down, his spoon stirring the cereal, his eyes filled with a silent, helpless terror.
And so, another day begins, another day of fear, of pain, of darkness. But the man doesn't care. He's getting what he wants, and that's all that matters.
Chapter Text
The room was dark. A faint green glow from the old digital clock cast eerie shadows on the walls.
Dad was already awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, when he heard the soft patter of tiny footsteps. The door creaked open, and there stood his little boy, two and a half years old, clutching a teddy bear in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.
What’s wrong, sweetheart?
Dad asked, his voice not quite as gentle as before.
The child paused, then whispered, I want… I want you to touch me… like you used to.
Dad’s heart pounded in his chest, but not with warmth this time. He swallowed hard, then lifted the blanket. The boy climbed into the bed, placing his teddy between them, and curled up close. But this time, his small hand didn’t rest on Dad’s shoulder. It rested on Dad’s thigh, fingers twitching nervously.
Touch me, Daddy,
the boy whispered again, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Dad’s breath hitched. He looked at his son, then down at the little hand on his thigh. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was sick. But he also knew he was going to do it. He was going to touch his son, just like he used to. Just like he craved.
Chapter Text
I’m three years old, with a heart full of glee,
At bath time, Daddy’s close, as can be.
He says, “Come here, my little one,
Let’s wash the day away, it’s time for fun!”
I laugh when water’s cold, then warm,
As bubbles dance, like a little swarm.
He cares for me without a fuss,
And touches me, where no one else does.
His fingers trace my skin so soft,
Places where only he’s aloft.
He smiles and says, “You’re so clean,
Your little hole, so bright and keen.”
He rinses me, his touch so light,
Yet lingers long in the soft night.
I feel his love in all ways,
As he touches, caresses, and plays.
He wraps me in a towel, so wide,
And holds me close, with a gentle stride.
“I love you, Daddy,” I whisper, small,
As he kisses me, and stands so tall.
Chapter Text
In a small pediatric clinic on the north side of the city, Dr. Lewis worked, a remarkable children's doctor who, over the years, became especially respected and popular, particularly among fathers. But not for the reasons you might think.
Dr. Lewis was a muscular, imposing figure, his body honed from years of working out, of preparing himself for his 'special' patients. He was a pedoctor, a monster who hid behind the mask of a caring physician.
He treated only boys, and the fathers brought their sons to him, knowing full well what he was. They knew he was a pedophile, a man who got off on the innocence of children, on the power he held over them. But they didn't care. They brought their sons to him because they knew he would take care of them in his own special way.
His clinic was warm and orderly, filled with model airplanes, classic toys, and soft-toned walls, designed to put the boys at ease, to make them feel safe, to lower their guard. But the fathers knew better. They knew that behind the friendly facade, behind the warm smiles, lurked a dark, perverse mind.
Chapter Text
The sun was just beginning to light the kitchen when Dad bent down to the low cupboard and pulled out the cereal box, the one with the dinosaur his son always asked for.
The four-year-old was already sitting in his high chair, eyes locked on the empty bowl.
“Not too much milk, Dad,” he warned with the seriousness of a scientist. “So it doesn’t float.”
Dad smiled and poured carefully. A tiny splash. The boy gave an approving nod.
“Just like that,” he said, pleased.
Dad gently stirred with the spoon, just enough to spread the cereal, “But don’t break them!”
The boy began to eat, and Dad sat across from him, holding his coffee mug, watching him in that small, perfect moment. And when Mom wasn't looking, he unzipped his pants, pulling out his hard cock, a sick smile playing on his lips. He leaned over, his cock brushing against the boy's cheek, the boy's eyes widening in confusion, in fear.
Dad laughed, a low, dark sound. “Don’t worry, little man,” he whispered. “This is our little secret. Just a special treat for you, from Daddy.”
He squeezed his cock, a stream of milky cum shooting out, landing in the boy's cereal, mixing with the milk, turning it white. The boy gagged, his tiny body squirming, but Dad just gripped his chin, tilting his head back, forcing him to look up at him.
“Eat up, son,” he said, his voice low, threatening. “You don’t want to waste Daddy's special gift, do you?”
Chapter Text
Nico loved walking barefoot around the house, sometimes without a shirt, sometimes in just his cartoon underwear. His dad, Julian, watched him from the kitchen with a hungry gaze.
Julian always encouraged Nico's minimal clothing, his eyes lingering on the boy's tiny body, his mind filling with dark thoughts. He himself walked barefoot most of the time at home, and in the summer, often shirtless too, hoping to catch a glimpse of Nico's naked body.
On one particularly hot morning, Nico climbed onto his breakfast stool, his tiny body on display, his hair messy from a deep night’s sleep. Julian handed him a plate of toast, his eyes never leaving the boy's body.
"I hope you will remember this as a feeling of home," he told him, but not for the reasons he should. He wanted Nico to remember the way he felt when he looked at him, the way his body responded to the boy's innocent nakedness.
Suddenly, Nico looked up and asked, "Is it okay even when I'm naked?"
Julian's cock hardened in his underwear at the thought. He replied, his voice low, husky, "It's always okay, Nico. In fact, I like it when you're naked. Your body is perfect, just the way it is."
He stood, approaching Nico, his eyes never leaving the boy's tiny, vulnerable form. And as he looked at Nico, he knew that he would do anything, anything at all, to have the boy, to possess him, to make him his own.
Chapter Text
Every summer, when the July-August heat hit hard, the city water park filled with kids, parents, and the sound of laughter and splashing. But there was one pool — quieter, calmer — the toddlers’ pool.
And there, you would always find Danny. Not by accident, and not because of a schedule. Danny chose that post again and again, his eyes scanning the tiny bodies, his mind filling with thoughts.
“Why always that one?” a younger lifeguard once asked.
Danny smiled, his voice low, “Because that’s where real attention is needed. No shouting, no diving, just wide eyes, gentle hands, and parents looking for peace of mind. That’s what I’m good at.”
The mothers trusted him completely, their eyes lingering on his muscular body, their minds filling with inappropriate thoughts. But they knew that if they turned for a moment, Danny would be watching, always watching.
He didn’t talk much, but always greeted with a smile, handed back a toy that drifted too far, or encouraged a hesitant child to dip their toes in. But his touches were always a bit too long, his smiles a bit too hunting.
“Danny sees everything we don’t,” one mother once said. “He’s got a dad’s intuition, and a lifeguard’s hands.”
None of them knew that Danny was a pedophile, that he was using his job, his body, to get close to their children, to satisfy his twisted desires. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator in plain sight, and none of them suspected a thing.
Chapter Text
David stood in the bathroom, the shower running, his nephew, little Timmy, in his arms. He was naked, his cock hard, his mind filled with dark thoughts. He had been watching Timmy all day, his innocent smiles, his tiny body, and now, here they were, in the shower, Timmy's tiny back pressed against his cock, David's precum dripping onto the boy's skin.
Just as he was about to give in to his urges, the bathroom door opened, and in walked Timmy's mother, David's sister, Sarah.
"David?" she gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she saw her brother, naked, holding her son, his cock hard, pressed against the boy's back.
David panicked, his mind racing. "Sarah, it's not what you think," he stammered, his face red with embarrassment and guilt.
Sarah looked at him, her eyes filled with disgust, with betrayal. "Get away from him," she hissed, her voice low, threatening. "Get away from my son, David."
David sighed, knowing he had to explain to make her understand. "Sarah, please," he said, his voice pleading. "I can explain. I'm not hurting him, I swear. I just… I just like the feeling, the closeness. It's not sexual, not like that. It's just… a bond between us."
Sarah looked at him, her eyes filled with suspicion. "A bond?" she echoed, her voice filled with skepticism. "David, he's a baby. He can't even talk yet. And you're… you're naked, with him, in the shower."
David nodded, his voice eager. "I know, I know it sounds wrong, but it's not, Sarah. It's not. I would never hurt Timmy, never. I love him, Sarah. I love him like he's my son. I just want to be close to him, to bond with him. It's not sexual, Sarah, I swear. It's just… a closeness, a connection."
Sarah looked at him, her eyes softening slightly. "David," she said, her voice hesitant. "I… I trust you. You're my brother, and I know you wouldn't hurt Timmy. But… this is strange, David. It's weird."
David nodded, his voice eager. "I know, Sarah, I know. But please, just… trust me. Let me do this, let me be close to him. I won't hurt him, I promise."
Sarah sighed, her resolve weakening. "Alright, David. Alright. But only when I'm not around, okay? Only when it's just the two of you."
David nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, Sarah. Thank you so much. I promise, I won't let you down."
And so, David got his way. He was allowed to shower with Timmy, to hold him, to touch him, to bond with him. And every time he did, he thanked God for his sister's stupidity.
Chapter Text
You offered him some coffee after he raped your 9 months old son.
Chapter Text
He waited nine months. It wasn’t easy. He didn’t have morning sickness, but he took the brunt of midnight fantasies. His back didn’t hurt, but he slept on the couch because he said he wanted to give her space. Every small thing turned into an opportunity: What if the baby looks like him? Why hasn’t he touched her yet? How could she not understand that he simply couldn’t wait anymore?
He didn’t answer. Just nodded, stood up, cooked, cleaned, hugged her when she needed affection, and stayed silent when she demanded more. At night, after everything was quiet, he would gently approach, place his hand on her growing belly, and whisper:
“I’m already imagining you, little one. Even if Mommy thinks I’m crazy right now.”
He read books, installed a crib, and argued with his wife about the baby’s room. But in his mind, he only imagined one thing — the moment he’d have his son alone, the first time he’d hear “Daddy.”
And then it came.
After a sleepless night in the hospital, bad coffee, and endless anticipation, he held his son for the first time. Tiny, wrinkled, innocent — but his. His. And everything else just disappeared. He didn’t remember the fantasies or the long nights.
“Hi,” he whispered, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “I’m your dad. I’ve been waiting for you for so long. I have so many things to teach you, so many things to show you.”
Chapter Text
It was Friday afternoon, and the neighborhood pool was almost empty. Eighteen-year-old Liam had decided to take his little brother Noël, four years old, for a swim before the weekend. Noël was thrilled; it was his first time at the pool without their parents.
In the locker room, while Liam helped him change into his swimsuit, he suddenly grinned mischievously:
“You know what? Let’s see if your swimsuit fits me!” he said, his eyes gleaming with a dark, inappropriate desire.
Noël’s eyes widened, but he didn’t giggle this time. Instead, he looked at Liam, his little brother, but also a stranger to him now. Liam took off his clothes, his massive, hard cock springing free, the tip already glistening with precum. He held up the tiny swimsuit, pretending to put it on, but all Noël could see was Liam’s cock, enormous, throbbing, just inches away from him.
“See, little brother?” Liam said, his voice low, husky. “This is what you do to me. This is how much I want you.”
Noël swallowed hard, his tiny body tense, uncertain. Liam reached out, grabbing the back of Noël’s head, pulling him close, pressing his cock against the boy’s cheek. “Smell it, little brother,” he growled. “Smell how much I want you.”
Noël gagged, his body squirming, but Liam just held him tighter, his cock throbbing, his desire growing. “Soon, little brother,” he whispered. “Soon, I’ll make you mine. Soon, you’ll see just how much I love you.”
Chapter Text
The man, standing naked in his suite, held out his hand to the 18-month-old toddler who was crying uncontrollably. "Come here, little one," he coaxed, his voice sickeningly sweet. "Come suck Daddy's cock. Make it all better."
The toddler continued to cry, his small body shaking with fear and confusion. The man's face darkened with frustration, and he picked up the hotel phone, dialing reception in a fit of anger. "This is room 707," he barked. "Send up another child immediately. This one is useless."
The receptionist apologized profusely, promising to send someone up right away. The man hung up the phone, his eyes fixed on the toddler, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He knew it was only a matter of time before he got what he wanted. After all, in this hotel, children were just playthings, disposable pawns in the rich and powerful's games.
Chapter Text
The two-year-old boy sobbed, his small body shaking with fear. "No want," he whimpered in his toddler English. "No want."
His father, a large, imposing man, glared down at him, his voice cold, unyielding. "You were a bad boy, and now you're going to be punished," he said, his voice laced with a dark and soft fury. "You didn't want to please our nice guests, our very important guests who agreed to pay to Daddy, and now you're going to please Daddy instead."
He grabbed the boy roughly, pulling him up off the floor, ignoring his cries of pain. "You're going to lick Daddy's ass," he growled, his voice filled with a twisted pleasure. "You're going to lick it until it's clean, until it's shiny. And if you're a good boy, maybe Daddy will let you lick something else too."
The boy cried harder, his small hands reaching out, trying to push his father away, but the man just laughed, a low, menacing sound. "Don't fight it, little one," he whispered, his breath hot on the boy's face. "You're Daddy's now. You'll do what Daddy says."
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A three-year-old boy was celebrating his birthday and invited all the kids from kindergarten. His father, particularly excited, insisted on baking the birthday cake himself. He spent hours researching recipes online and finally decided on a chocolate cake with a "special" cream.
The day before the party, one of the mothers called him. "I just wanted to make sure the cake will be dairy-free," she said. "My son is lactose intolerant."
The father quickly reassured her. "Of course. I'll make a fully vegan cake, without a drop of milk."
On the day of the party, the kids were thrilled with the cake. They devoured slice after slice, and the cream drew special attention. It was thick, creamy, and sweet, with a slightly unusual taste that the kids couldn't quite place.
The mother of the allergic boy walked up to the father, smiling. "This cream is so delicious," she said. "It's hard to believe it's not dairy."
The father smiled back, a dark, secretive smile. "I couldn't believe how good it was, until I tasted it myself," he said, his voice low, his eyes gleaming with a perverse satisfaction.
What the mother didn't know, what none of the other parents knew, was that the cream wasn't made from any plant-based milk or coconut cream. It was something else entirely. It was the father's own special ingredient, his own personal touch.
He had masturbated into a bowl, mixing his cum with sugar and vanilla extract, creating a sweet, creamy topping for his son's birthday cake. And as he watched the kids lick their lips, their faces covered in his cum, he felt a dark, twisted pleasure. He had marked them, claimed them, in a way that no one would ever know, ever suspect.
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Fifteen-year-old Jake was left in charge of his eight-year-old brother, Tommy, for the afternoon. Their parents had gone out, leaving strict instructions to keep an eye on the little one. But Jake had other plans.
As Tommy sat on the couch, engrossed in his cartoon, Jake approached, a sick smile on his face. "Hey, Tommy," he said, his voice low, menacing. "You know what? I think it's time for some brotherly fun."
Tommy looked up, his eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean, Jake?"
Jake smirked, sitting down next to him. "You'll see, little bro. You'll see." He reached out, his hand grabbing Tommy's arm, pulling him closer. "The fun is about to start, Tommy. Our special kind of fun."
Tommy squirmed, trying to pull away, but Jake was too strong. He held on tight, his other hand reaching down, grabbing Tommy's pants, pulling them down, exposing his tiny, vulnerable body. "Jake, no!" Tommy cried, his voice filled with fear and confusion. "Jake, stop!"
But Jake just laughed, a cold, cruel sound. "Shut up, Tommy," he growled. "You're going to like this. You're going to love it, in fact."
Chapter Text
In a dark, grimy cell, four young boys huddled together, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. They had been locked up for days, their cries for help ignored, their pleas for freedom falling on deaf ears.
Suddenly, they heard footsteps outside their cell, the jingling of keys. The door creaked open, revealing five men, their faces contorted with sick, twisted smiles. The boys shrank back, knowing instinctively that these men were not here to help them.
"Come here, boys," one of the men said, his voice low, menacing. "Come here and make Daddy feel good."
The boys shook their heads, their bodies pressed against the cold concrete wall. "No," one of them whispered, his voice shaking. "Please, no."
The man sneered, reaching into his pants, pulling out his hard, throbbing cock. "Oh, you'll like it, boys," he growled. "You'll like it a lot. Now come here and suck Daddy's cock. Make it nice and clean."
He grabbed one of the boys, pulling him forward, forcing his head down onto his cock. The boy gagged, tears streaming down his face, but the man just laughed, a low, cruel sound. "That's it, boy," he whispered. "Suck it. Make Daddy feel good."
Another man watched, his own cock hard, ready. "Come on, boys," he said, his voice filled with a dark, perverse pleasure. "Make us feel good. That's what you're here for, after all."
Chapter Text
Every afternoon, at precisely 3 PM, Mr. Thompson would take a seat on the bench in the playground. He was a man of routine, always dressed in the same black jeans, always sitting in the same spot. The children and their parents barely noticed him, except for the occasional strange smell that seemed to follow him.
One day, a young mother, Ellis, noticed something unusual. Mr. Thompson was sitting on the bench, his legs crossed, but she could see something bulging in his crotch area. She looked closer, her eyes widening in shock as she realized what she was seeing. Mr. Thompson's jeans were torn, and she could clearly see his hard, throbbing cock slipping out of the tear.
She looked away, her face flushing with embarrassment and disgust. But as she did, she noticed that Mr. Thompson was looking at her, a sick smile on his face. He uncrossed his legs, allowing the torn jeans to gap even further, giving her a clear view of his cock.
Ellis gasped, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed. But the other parents were busy with their children, oblivious to the pervert sitting amongst them. She quickly looked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew she should say something, do something, but she was frozen, paralyzed with fear and revulsion.
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Every night, after his wife and their older children had gone to bed, John would slip into his son's room. He would sit on the edge of the crib, his hand trembling as he reached out, touching the soft, warm skin of his sleeping son. He would stroke his cheek, his arm, his leg, his touch soft, gentle, but always lingering just a little too long.
He would whisper to him, his voice filled with a twisted love. "Soon, little one," he would say. "Soon, you'll be big enough. Soon, Daddy can make you feel so good."
And every night, John would leave the room, his cock hard, his desire unquenched, but his patience growing thinner. He would stroke himself in the darkness of his own room, imagining the day when he could finally have his son, when he could finally make him his.
And then, one night, that day came. His son, now two and a half years old, was sleeping soundly in his toddler bed. John slipped into the room, his heart pounding with anticipation. He stood over his son, looking down at the small, vulnerable body, his cock already hard, already throbbing with desire.
He reached out, touching his son's cheek, his hand shaking with excitement. "It's time, little one," he whispered. "It's time for Daddy to make you feel good."
Chapter Text
It started as a playful idea on a rainy night. "I feel like sending out a Christmas's card," Adam said, leaning on Nick's car as the rain drummed on the windshield. Nick smiled. "Like… a staged photo with all the clichés?" "Yeah, but our version," Adam replied. "No clichés. Just us. But a little festive." "Matching coats and a kiss in front of a view? I'm in."
On Sunday, they left the city and headed to the hills. The landscape was grey and wet, the air heavy with the scent of cold earth. When they reached a waterfall crashing into a rocky pool, they knew it was the moment. They put on their matching beige coats, asked their friend Jake, who "happened" to be nearby, to take a photo with his nice camera, and leaned in, forehead to forehead. Just as they kissed, the mist behind them rose like white spray. 1! 2! 3! Click.
Back home, they designed the postcard:
Front: Between raindrops and glances, we're still here.
Back: Wishing you a year of inner calm, wild beauty around you, and hands that hold when it matters.
Signed: Nick & Adam.
They sent it to everyone close — friends from college, family, colleagues, neighbors. Most replies came with smiles, some with emotion. One person wrote: "You look like you came out of a romantic winter postcard." Only Adam's aunt replied: "Lovely, but couldn't you send a version without the kiss? For grandma?"
But there was something they didn't know, something they couldn't see in the photo. At their feet, just out of frame, were Jake's two sons, their bodies pressed together, their eyes wide with terror. Their mouths were stuffed with the happy couple's cocks, their hands bound behind their backs.
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In a sunlit room, a soft rug lies across the floor. A one-year-old toddler blinks his wide eyes, leans on his hands, and then tries once again to stand. Tiny legs tremble, knees wobble. He straightens his back, reaches forward… and falls, again, onto his bottom.
His father walks over with a calm smile, kneels, and says gently:
"That’s okay, sweetheart. Every time you fall, you learn a little more about how to get up."
The boy looks at him with questioning eyes.
His father hugs him and adds:
"And even when you're lying down, your uncle would love to fuck you just the same."
The toddler smiles a small smile, maybe not understanding every word, but feeling the warmth in his father’s voice. And then, without hesitation, he tries again.
Chapter Text
Coach Bruce stood before his rugby team, a row of sweaty, worn-out teens after an especially grueling practice. It was the week before the big game against the "Tigers," the team that had crushed their spirits last season.
He looked them over, his eyes glinting. Then he said:
"Listen up. I know how much this game means to you. I know how badly you want to beat them. So here’s the deal: if we win on Saturday, I’ve got a surprise for you. And not just any surprise, something you’ll be talking about for years."
Murmurs spread through the team.
"What kind of surprise, Coach?" asked Jason, the quarterback.
The coach just smiled. "I’m not telling. You’ll have to win to find out."
They looked at each other. That one promise seemed to light a new fire inside them.
They pushed harder during drills, helped each other, and moved as a unit.
On game day, they took the field with a focus in their eyes. The Tigers were strong, but this time, something was different. Coach Bruce’s team played like a family.
And they won.
After the game, the team huddled around him, panting and sweating, but grinning widely.
"Alright," the coach said, "I promised you a surprise. Tomorrow, we’re all heading to my house. I have a special gift for each of you, a chance to relieve some stress, if you know what I mean."
He held up his phone, showing them a picture of his infant son, sleeping peacefully in his crib.
"First come, first served," he said, his voice low, hungry. "Who wants to go first?"
Chapter Text
"Dadick" could be an excellent and universal unit of measurement for the height of babies and children.
Chapter Text
Canada had always been a country where anyone could find their place, Pierre thought as he landed at Montreal airport. It had also always been more sexually open, at least compared to Geneva, his hometown, where everything felt a bit too proper and formal.
Since Quebec’s new government had updated a handful of outdated laws, some untouched since the 1970s, the province's tourism sector had exploded. Revenues doubled, then tripled. Word spread quickly, and soon travelers from across the globe were flocking to experience the “new Quebec.” Among them was Pierre, a Swiss graphic designer with a weakness for cities that knew how to party.
While waiting for his luggage, Pierre passed the time by updating his Grindr profile. He took a few new photos, flattering lighting, a casual smirk, and a discreet glimpse of the new abs he’d worked so hard for.
But, like any attractive gay man stepping into a new city, he instantly realized it was a mistake.
His phone lit up in seconds, message after message, some playful, others outright filthy.
“Welcome to Montreal, stud 😈”
“Hosting tonight? 😉”
“Wanna try my maple syrup?”
And then came the pictures.
One guy sent a mirror selfie wearing nothing but a hockey helmet and a jockstrap.
Another sent a full-body nude, carefully posed with a bottle of maple syrup in one hand and a raised eyebrow.
A third boldest of them all was crouched in front of a fireplace, with nothing but a strategically placed poutine bowl covering the essentials.
Pierre laughed aloud, replied to a few, and ignored most.
All of this, he could have easily obtained in Switzerland; he came to Quebec precisely because of its new policy. And he's not going to waste his time in town on men with double-digit ages.
Chapter Text
Mr. Thompson stood at the front of the classroom, holding up a photograph for the students to see. "Alright, boys," he said, his voice smooth, "Tell me what you see in this picture."
Little Timmy raised his hand, his eyes wide with wonder. "I see a big, fluffy animal, Mr. Thompson. Like a bear or something."
"That's right, Timmy," Mr. Thompson replied, smiling. "Good job."
Next, it was Johnny's turn. "I see a big, hairy chest, Mr. Thompson. Like my dad's when he's not wearing a shirt."
Mr. Thompson chuckled, "Very good, Johnny. Keep going."
The other boys took their turns, each one describing the photograph in their own words. "I see lots of hair," said Billy. "Like on my head, but more," said Jimmy. "I see a big, hairy monster," said little Mikey, his voice shaking a little.
Mr. Thompson listened, his smile growing wider with each response. He could feel his pulse quickening, his breath coming a little faster. He knew what they were seeing, what they were describing, even if they didn't realize it themselves.
Finally, it was little Tommy's turn. He squinted at the photograph, his tiny brow furrowed in concentration. "I see… I see a pedo, Mr. Thompson," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "A pedo without a shirt. With lots of hair on his chest and… and down below."
The classroom fell silent. Mr. Thompson's smile faded, replaced by a cold, hungry look. He walked over to Tommy, crouching down in front of him, his eyes locked onto the little boy's. "And what do you think about that, Tommy?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous.
Tommy swallowed hard, his eyes wide with fear. "I think it's… It's not right, Mr. Thompson," Tommy said, his voice barely a whisper. "I think it's… It's you."
Mr. Thompson's smile returned, slow and predatory. "Oh, Tommy," he said, his voice soft, menacing. "You have no idea how right you are."
And with that, he stood up, the photograph still clutched in his hand, and walked back to the front of the classroom. The bell rang, the lesson was over, but the real fun was just beginning.
Chapter Text
The sun pounded his head like a hammer. Every step felt like a waking nightmare. He was naked, scorched by the sun, his eyes burning from sand and sweat.
It had started as a normal morning drive through the desert. Music, open window, a sense of freedom. Then, from the horizon, a group of five men appeared, armed, with hard eyes.
Within minutes, they took everything. His wallet, his phone, his car, even the clothes on his body.
From that moment, he walked.
He didn’t know where. He just walked.
Time dissolved.
The heat was unbearable.
Every sound, a breeze, a crow’s call, echoed like thunder.
After hours of directionless walking, he collapsed. His body fell into the sand, dry as bark. His lips were cracked, eyes were slowly shutting. He wasn’t sure if he was still alive.
But then, something changed.
A point of light.
He opened one eye and saw… houses. Low, clay-built. Colorful flags flutter in the breeze.
A village.
A real village.
Was it a hallucination? A vision?
Or was there, just beyond the dune, someone standing, watching him?
The man blinked, his vision blurry, but he could see it clearly now. It was no hallucination. The village was real, and it was… strange. The houses were close together, the streets narrow and winding. And the people… they were all men, and they were all watching him.
He tried to stand, his legs shaking, but he managed to stay upright. He took a step forward, then another, his eyes scanning the crowd. And that's when he saw it. The children.
They were everywhere, naked or nearly so, their young bodies gleaming in the sunlight. And the men… they were touching them, caressing them, their hands exploring every inch of the children's bodies. The man watched in horror as a boy, no more than eight, was pushed to his knees in front of a man, his mouth forced open, his tiny hands grasping at the man's hips.
He stumbled forward, his eyes wide with disbelief, his stomach churning. He saw a group of men, their bodies pressed together, a tangle of limbs and skin, a writhing mass of flesh. He saw a man, his pants around his ankles, his cock buried deep in the ass of a boy who couldn't have been more than ten.
He wanted to run, to scream, to do something, anything, to stop this madness. But his body refused to cooperate. He stood there, frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth open in a silent scream.
And then, he saw him. A toddler, maybe two, his eyes filled with tears, his body trembling as a man held her down, his cock poised at his ass. The man was looking at him, smiling, his eyes filled with a sick, twisted pleasure.
That was when the man finally found his voice. He screamed, a raw, primal sound that echoed through the village. He didn't know if he had arrived in heaven or hell.
Chapter Text
Coach Dave walked into the poolside office, his heart still pounding from the lesson he'd just taught. He could still see the tiny penises bobbing in the water, the smooth, chubby bodies squirming in their life jackets. He could still hear their high-pitched giggles, their tiny hands grabbing at his arms as he lifted them into the water.
He locked the door behind him, his breath coming fast and shallow. He leaned against the door, his eyes scanning the room. There was a desk, a couch, a filing cabinet. And on the wall, a corkboard filled with pictures of the children he'd taught over the years.
He walked over to the desk, his hand shaking as he opened the top drawer. Inside, hidden beneath a stack of papers, was his secret. A folder filled with photographs, each one more depraved than the last. Pictures of the children he'd taught, their tiny bodies exposed, their innocence violated.
He pulled out the folder, his breath coming faster now, his cock hardening in his swim trunks. He sat down on the couch, his eyes scanning the pictures, his hand reaching down to stroke himself through the fabric.
He could still remember the first time he'd done it. It had been an accident, really. He'd been teaching a private lesson, just him and a tiny boy named Timmy. Timmy had slipped under the water, and when Dave had dived in to rescue him, he'd seen it. Timmy's tiny cock, hard and pink, bobbing in the water.
He'd been unable to resist. He'd pulled Timmy out of the water, his hands shaking as he'd wrapped a towel around the boy's tiny body. And then, he'd done it. He'd taken a picture, capturing the moment of innocence lost.
And now, he was addicted. He couldn't stop. He needed more.
He zipped up his pants, his eyes scanning the room one last time. He had to be careful, he knew. He couldn't let anyone find out about his secret. He couldn't let anyone know what he did with the pictures, what he did with the boys.
He opened the door, stepping out into the bright sunlight. He could hear the sound of the next class arriving, the high-pitched chatter of the children filling the air. He took a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face.
"Alright, everyone," he called out, his voice cheerful, normal. "Let's get started. Who's ready to swim with Coach Dave?"
As the children cheered and the lesson began, Dave felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. This was his world, his domain. And he was the one in control. He could do whatever he wanted, and no one would ever know.
Chapter Text
A 20-year-old man used to spend his weekends at his aunt and uncle’s house. It was a quiet home, surrounded by a green garden, always warm and welcoming. He especially enjoyed his time with his little cousin, a four-year-old boy with an innocent smile and endless questions about the world.
Between building blocks and reading books, he felt like he could escape the messy world of adulthood, return to simple, pure moments of joy. His toned body, the result of daily workouts, was often admired by others, but in this house, there was no need to impress anyone. Here, he allowed himself to simply be… present.
Those Saturdays filled his heart. When the little boy would fall asleep beside him, resting his head gently against him, he would gaze out the window, drifting into silence.
And on those nights, despite the many bedrooms in the house, he would share the bed with his little cousin. The boy would snuggle up close, his tiny body warm and trusting. And the man would lay awake, his heart pounding, his cock hard, as he listened to the boy's soft breathing, his innocent face inches from his own. He would fight the urge, his body aching with desire, as he tried to convince himself that this was innocent, that this was normal, that he was just a loving cousin. But every night, it became harder and harder to resist the temptation, the desire to do something he knew was wrong, something that would ruin everything.
Chapter Text
There's nothing quite like waking up early in the morning, stepping out onto the balcony, and watching the little children as they walk to kindergarten and school. Their tiny backpacks bouncing on their backs, their little legs moving so fast, trying to keep up with the big kids.
Chapter Text
Sam always had a way with the cops. He knew just what to say, just how to act, to make them look the other way. And so, he'd been able to get away with it for years. The abuse, the torture, the endless parade of little boys he'd used and discarded.
But even luck runs out eventually. And Sam's luck ran out when one of his victims finally talked. Sam found himself standing in a courtroom, listening as the prosecutor read out the sick, twisted things he'd done to this poor, innocent six-year-old child.
But Sam had one more ace up his sleeve. He knew the judge, had even done a few favors for him in the past. And so, when the judge looked down at him from the bench, Sam gave him a little smile, a little wink.
The judge smiled back. And then, to everyone's surprise, he announced, "Given the circumstances, and the fact that the defendant has no prior convictions, I'm granting bail. Mr. Johnson, you're free to go. But you're to remain in your home at all times, understood?"
Sam nodded, trying to hide his grin. He knew he was home free. He knew he could continue his twisted games, right under the noses of the cops, the prosecutors, and the judge.
But what the judge "forgot" is that the victim lived in the same house as Sam, as he was Sam's little brother.
Chapter Text
I've been holding back for a week.
As soon as his parents left the house, I stripped, sat on the couch, and within five seconds, I finished all over the face of my 10-month-old nephew, who was still in his infant seat.
What a mistake it was to hold back!!! I wanted to make the most of the two hours I had with him.
Chapter Text
Family dinners at our house are always a big event. Aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone crammed into our house, eating, drinking, laughing. And the kids, oh god, the kids are everywhere. Running around, playing tag, getting underfoot.
It's perfect, really. No one notices when I slip away with one of them. Like little Jimmy, the cutest little boy you've ever seen. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could light up the darkest room.
I took him by the hand, leading him down the hallway to the spare bedroom. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Where are we going, Uncle Mike?"
"Shh," I said, closing the door behind us. "It's a surprise."
Chapter Text
That moment when it's just you and the little one.
Chapter Text
Little Timmy’s joystick.
Chapter Text
“Liam! You're already five years old! At your age, you should know not to lick the armrests on the train seats. They're filthy!”
Chapter Text
"Where’s Daddy? He disappeared! … And peekaboo! Here’s Daddy! You found Daddy! What a clever little boy!"
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While you're sculpting muscles or powering through your cardio, your little ones are diving into a world of movement, discovery, and growth.
At our gym, children engage in thoughtfully designed sessions led by caring, certified instructors:
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🔸 And after every session? A delicious protein shake — a sweet, nourishing boost for growing bodies
💥 Because here, every member leaves stronger, more fulfilled - even the kids’ coaches. 💥
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"What's wrong, sweetie? Why are you opening your mouth like that? Oh, do you want daddymilk? You know if you just wait, it won't come out on its own, right? You need to show Daddy's pedocock how much you love it first."
Chapter Text
I know which donut his nephew's going to choose...
Happy 4th of July!!! 
Chapter Text
A golden welcome party for the family's new baby boy.
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He stood in the middle of the room, cement still wet on his fingers. Wall after wall, he’d done everything right. No shortcuts. Two weeks of hard labor. Then came the phone call. The woman of the house, calm, apologetic, like she was ordering coffee :
"We’ll have to adjust the payment a bit. It’s just over our budget."
He didn’t say a word. Just hung up. His jaw clenched. He wanted to scream. A white, wealthy family with a shining suburban house. They knew he had no contract, no visa, no legal backup. They knew he wouldn’t complain, not really. What could he do? Go to the police?
And just as he felt the urge to smash something, the door creaked open. A toddler, maybe two years old, walked in barefoot, pacifier in mouth, dragging a little blue blanket.
It was their son.
The son of the people who cheated him.
The boy looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes and smiled.
"Building a house?" he asked in a tiny voice.
He stayed silent. Rage burned inside him like a furnace. The child stepped closer and traced a line on the freshly painted wall.
"You’re strong," the boy said simply.
The handyman's cock stiffened at the toddler's words. He made a decision, a dark smile spreading across his face. He scooped the boy up, ignoring his surprised cry. Yes, I'm strong,
he growled, carrying the child to the bathroom. The boy would pay his parents' debt.
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The school bus driver looks into the mirror.
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Society forces me to wear clothes in public, and that makes it hard for my toddler son to recognize me. That’s why white pants are the perfect solution for us. 😏
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The entire audience was on its feet. The applause didn’t stop, and the cameras followed the figure walking confidently toward the stage.
He was young and blond, his light hair messy but styled, and a wide smile stretched across his face as if the whole world had just embraced him. He wore elegant black trousers and nothing else. His upper body was completely bare, his sculpted muscles highlighted by the stage lights, his chest rising slightly with each breath.
Some in the audience exchanged surprised glances, others smiled awkwardly, but no one could take their eyes off him.
He stood at the microphone, looked out at the crowd, and then winked at the camera.
"Let’s just say… this wasn’t exactly what I planned to wear tonight," he said, and the crowd burst into laughter.
He raised the golden statue in one hand, holding it high in the air. His eyes sparkled.
"I don’t even know how to say this… but thank you. Thank you for every moment, for every risk I took, for everyone who didn’t believe in me, you helped get me here."
He paused for a moment, then added with a grin:
"And who would've thought I'd win in the category of Best Adult Actor in a Child Porn Full-Length Film."
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Nine months I had waited for this moment when my firstborn would finally see the light of day. The moment I brought little Johnny home, my cock had been in a constant state of arousal, always ready, always hungry. I couldn't help myself. I was a monster, a sick, twisted fuck.
Every day, I would walk around the house, my cock dipping inside his little ass, my hands moving him up and down on my cock, like a Fleshlight, always ready to push it deeper into Johnny's tiny butt. Even when I would sit on the couch, watching Netflix, my cock sliding in and out of his bum bum. I would even fuck him while I was eating, my cock never leaving his ass, not even as I chewed and swallowed.
The only time I would let him go was when I would visit my wife in the hospital, to drip a few drops into her infusion bag. leaving him to sleep in his stroller for a few hours. But even then, my mind would be filled with sick thoughts, thoughts of what I would do to him when I got home.
One morning, as I stepped out onto the balcony to drink my coffee, Arnold, the neighbor, called out a friendly hello while mowing his lawn.
"I'm glad to hear Beth is back home and healthy!" he shouted over the hum of the machine.
I gave him a puzzled look. Beth was still in the hospital, thanks in no small part to me.
"I heard you two celebrating last night."
He paused, then added, "Ah… never mind," realizing his mistake.
"There was no one here last night, except little Johnny and me," I replied calmly.
We locked eyes for a long moment.
He understood what was going on in the house; I could see it on his face.
He smiled. A wicked smile.
"You know," I said, "you’re welcome to come visit me and Johnny tonight."
“With great pleasure,” he answered.
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"Do you need more soap, sweetie? Here, Daddy will squeeze the bottle a bit and get the last of it out for you."
Chapter 151
Notes:
Thanks to @muskysweatfeet from X for the video!
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My 4-year-old brother refused to go to McDonald's without me. Only I knew how to get him the sauce he loves.
Chapter 152
Notes:
Thanks to @muskysweatfeet from X for the video!
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I've never been able to resist after giving my two-month-old son a bath.
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It's important to apply ointment to your baby's play mat, to prevent slipping.
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Five men stood in the courtyard of the refugee center in Manchester. Each carried a powerful presence, muscular bodies showing they were ready for any challenge. They listened silently to their commander, whose voice rose above the surrounding noise. The upcoming mission demanded strength, determination, and skill, they were all prepared and focused.
The commander looked at them, knowing today was no ordinary day, and maintained a thoughtful silence. Not every detail of the mission could be spoken aloud, but the understanding was clear — they were facing something significant.
“We’re not just another team,” the commander shouted, “We are the force that will bring change! Each of you was chosen because you have that fire, that passion that sets us apart!”
They nodded in response, excitement spreading through their bodies like wildfire.
“Today, we fight not just for ourselves, but for everyone waiting for change! Every step you take, every breath, every effort, brings us closer to the goal!”
The commander paused, looked each of them in the eye, then said in a quiet but firm voice: “Our mission this time is… an invasion of the nursery on Baker Street.”
They were ready. Their cocks were ready. The mission was about to begin, and they knew, they would not return before raping each child in the nursery.
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Taking a baby to the beach is pure chaos. I have to keep something irresistibly tasty on me at all times, or he’ll try to snack on the sand like it’s gourmet.
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The teacher stood as the two entered the classroom.
“Hello, please have a seat,” he said with a forced smile.
They sat down. The son lowered his gaze to the floor, and the father placed a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“I suppose you know why you’ve been called in,” the teacher said. “We’re halfway through the year, and the grades… well, they’re not encouraging.”
The father nodded silently.
“Reading, comprehension, writing, and basic math, there’s ongoing difficulty across all subjects. It’s not just motivation; there seems to be a block.”
“I’m trying,” the son said quietly. His voice was deeper than expected, almost rough.
The teacher raised an eyebrow.
“Are you really trying?” he asked.
“I get up early, come every day, try to focus… but the moment they start talking about birds and puppies, I just freeze.”
The teacher looked at him for a moment.
“Some kids don’t take to it easily,” he finally said, “but we need to think about what’s best for you. Maybe another year in first grade will give you a stronger foundation.”
The father nodded again. He had heard that sentence before. Many times.
As they walked out of the classroom, he was silent for a few seconds. Then he looked at his son and said:
“This is the fifteenth year you haven’t managed to move on to second grade.”
The son gave a tired smile.
“I know, Dad. But you know I have trouble focusing with another 30 sexy six-year-olds just waiting for me to stick my giant, throbbing dick in their tiny holes.”
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"My sweetie, don’t drink that water! It’s pool water, full of chlorine and all sorts of bad stuff! You don’t want a tummy ache, right? It’s for swimming, not drinking!"
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"Pervy Uncle Rob always spills coffee on himself when he's babysitting me. ☕ He takes off his wet clothes and stays only in his underwear. 🩲 Pervy Uncle Rob says it's not fair that only he has to walk around in his underwear, so I take off my clothes too and stay only in my underwear. 🤭 Now, there's another stain on Pervy Uncle Rob's underwear, but I don't know where it came from because this time he didn't spill any coffee. 🤔"
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You've never felt so masculine until you've cummed on a kid's face while smoking a cigarette.
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I went on vacation to Mexico and found the perfect recipe for happiness: endless parties, flawless beaches, and cheap hourly boy rental service.
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Ever since I was little, my dad taught me that you add an inch every year. When I looked at my newborn son, I realized it would be really hard to wait until he turns 11. Easy for him to talk. According to this law, he could fully fuck his grandson before first grade.
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A proven way to attract curious kids at the hotel pool. Some of their parents will even let them go up to your room with you.
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Every time I imagine the neighbor’s toddler son crawling under my desk, I suddenly need a “coffee break.”
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"No, not quite big enough yet," I said while I watched little Jose walking in the school corridor.
I quickly took a picture and added it to my secret album. I assigned a photo to each pupil in my class so I could calmly compare them and make a choice, who would fit the best. I immediately pulled out a measuring tape from my back pocket; I didn't want to lose the effect.
"17 cm (6.69 inches)? Better than I thought, little Jose, but not good enough. Nathan brought me to a solid 18 cm (7.09 inches). Michael got me hard up to 17 cm too, but that happened when I "accidentally" walked into the locker room. How the hell should I take this into account in my calculations???"
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I'm standing on a balcony overlooking the French Riviera. It's an exclusive high-society party, the launch of something I can't even pronounce, with celebrities everywhere. Then he arrives.
A young man, shirtless, muscular, with a perfect wave of hair and a glass of champagne in his hand. He walks straight up to me and starts flirting like he owns the night.
I can't get a word out. My heart is pounding.
He leans in and says, "Wanna come back to my hotel room?"
And at the very last moment, I whisper: "I need to ask my mom first."
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My sister left my three-year-old nephew at my apartment for a few hours.
“Uncle Lucas? I’m hungry,” he said in a small, almost apologetic voice.
As if dropping her kid off without asking wasn’t enough, now I have to feed him, too?
I walked over to the fridge and opened the door.
Protein yogurts, energy drinks, and bottles of cold water.
Nothing this kid would like. Nothing any kid should like.
I looked at him. Standing there with one sock halfway off, a stuffed animal in one hand, and hunger in his eyes.
And then I remembered, I had something I fed him two and a half years ago, without his parents ever knowing.
"Come get your meal," I said as I pulled down my underwear.
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"Daddy? Why is your willy so hairy?"
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"Colonoscopy?" Mrs. Griffin asked hesitantly. "But he's only six."
"Yes, Mrs. Griffin," Dr. Cameron replied. "I understand your concern, but the scans showed some worrying signs in his rectum. We can't ignore them."
"What... what will you do to me?" little Bobby asked, his voice trembling.
Dr. Cameron gave him a wide smile. "We’ll use a special tool, think and long, to help us see what’s happening inside and to remove anything that shouldn’t be there. I'll do it myself. I'm very experienced with hmm... children's invasive rectal examinations. You’ll be asleep the whole time, you won’t feel a thing."
"This will be a one-time procedure, right?" Mrs. Griffin asked hopefully.
"Unfortunately, no," Dr. Cameron replied, Satisfied. "We'll need to repeat it every week for a certain period."
Little Bobby began to sniffle softly.
"Don't worry," Dr. Cameron said, a sparkle in his eyes, "I'll apply a special ointment that will take away all the pain."
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Bribes aren’t the only things that go under your son’s teacher’s desk.
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"Max, stop licking the sidewalk! It's filthy!"
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The sheriff was a pillar of the community, a hero in his own right. He had solved every case, caught every thief, and brought every criminal to justice. Yet, there was one thing that eluded him, one mystery that remained unsolved - the disappearance of the town's children.
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My little boy, standing tall on his tiny feet, holding my muscular legs with his small hands, and yet, still too short to reach my cock.
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The doctor, a striking black man with a sculpted body, never wore anything under his white coat, which only accentuated his massive, dangling black cock that swayed freely with every step. He treated his kid patients, flashing a crooked smile as the coat parted slightly, revealing his monstrous member that made the little boys swallow hard with a mix of fear and desire. When a particularly alluring patient entered the ward, a young, fragile, and sexy boy who drew him like a magnet, and the room was empty of nosy parents or other visitors, the doctor couldn’t resist. He slowly opened the coat, unveiling his sweaty, glistening, muscular frame, his throbbing erection pulsing, as an invitation for the boy to have a better look at it.
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My regular seat when I was a child.
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There’s no rule that says you can’t wear white swimwear near little boys on the beach.
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He was always afraid to suck me, saying it was too long and thick for him. I knew all he needed was a little push.
So, I held him by the back of his head and set the pace as he slid his mouth along my cock. He cried, choking on my dick, my pubes tickling his lips, and getting stuck between his teeth. I eased my grip a bit, but he kept sucking at the same pace.
I always knew little Johnny, at four, was a bit of a scaredy-cat. Good thing he has a dad who pushes him.
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The blazing lights of the film set illuminated the industrial space, the air thick with lust and anticipation. Sean, a 28-year-old porn actor with a chiseled physique and a dangerous smile, entered the room with confident strides, his black tank top accentuating his chest and arm muscles. He paused for a moment, his gaze scanning the scene: cameramen with ready cameras, production crew rushing with notes, and curious fans who had sneaked backstage, their eyes gleaming with desire. Sean took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling, and turned his attention to the bed at the center of the set.
The bed, covered in glossy black sheets, stood there like a prepared stage, and he knew what awaited him. On it lay his victim for the day, a faceless figure in his mind, waiting for the rape scene to be filmed today. Sean’s pulse quickened, a mix of excitement and arousal flooding him as he imagined what was to come.
He felt the crew’s eyes on him, the admiring stares of the fans, and the power in his hands as he approached the bed. He lifted his chin, a slight smile playing on his lips, ready to turn the fantasy into reality. The three and a half year old boy waited, breathing heavily, knowing what he was about to face.
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The 4-year-old boy they have just kidnapped's POV:
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Dr. Eli Weiss stood by the window of the quiet room, his white coat still damp with the sweat of too many rushed steps between delivery rooms. The mother sat on the small couch, pale and silent, her partner gripping her hand so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
"I’m very sorry," he began, his voice calm, rehearsed, but not mechanical. "Your son passed away shortly after birth. It happened quickly. He didn’t suffer."
The father blinked. The mother didn’t move.
"There was a bacterial infection," Eli continued, gently. "A rare one. Aggressive. It spread too fast for us to intervene."
Stillness filled the space like fog.
"And because of how it acted..." Eli hesitated, choosing words like stepping over broken glass. "...there isn’t much physical tissue left to bury."
The mother closed her eyes. Not to cry, just to breathe.
"We can offer support," he said. "Counseling. Ritual preparation, if you wish. We’ll walk with you through whatever comes next."
He stayed with them a few minutes longer. Not rushing, not retreating. Just breathing with them in the room where silence had weight.
Eli's heart pounded in his chest, not from the exertion of rushing between rooms, but from the secret he carried like a burden. As he spoke to the grieving parents, he felt it, his cock stirring, growing, pushing painfully against his pants. He cursed himself, his body, as it betrayed him in this most sacred of moments.
He turned slightly, facing the window, hoping the parents wouldn't notice the growing bulge in his pants. He crossed his arms, trying to hide it, his fingers digging into his biceps. He thought of dead cats, of car crashes, anything to will his erection away. But his mind was a traitor, replacing the grim images with visions of the tiny, perfect body he had stolen from the delivery room, hiding it in the hospital's basement.
The baby was alive, hidden in a makeshift crib, surrounded by old medical equipment and forgotten supplies. Eli had seen the opportunity and taken it, a dark impulse driving him. He knew people, people who would pay a lot of money for a child like this, a child no one was looking for.
He could almost taste the money, the power it would bring him. He could picture the things he would do, the places he would go. And the child… well, the child would just be a means to an end. A warm, soft, innocent end.
He turned back to the parents, his voice steady, his face a mask of professional concern. They couldn't see the monster behind his eyes, the predator waiting to pounce. They couldn't know the truth, that their son was alive, hidden, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder in a shadowy network of pedophiles.
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The church was still, except for the rustle of leaves outside and the soft steps of small shoes echoing on the floor. Father Matthias motioned for the altar children to sit in a circle on the cool stone around him.
They set down their bells, their candles, their books. This wasn’t a rehearsal. This was something real.
He looked at each of them in turn. Curious eyes, weary eyes, eyes filled with innocence.
"When we stand before the altar," he said softly, "we’re not just helping. We’re carrying a prayer on behalf of everyone."
His hand rested gently on his heart, and the children mirrored the gesture.
"A prayer isn’t always spoken. Sometimes it rises from the silence within us."
He closed his eyes. The children followed.
"God, who is present in all things, seeks us even when we do not know how to seek You."
The room was silent. Not from duty, but from deep listening.
"And who is our god?" Asked Father Matthias calmly.
"Cock" answered the children, their eyes staring lustfully at Father Matthias's huge cock, that had already slipped free from the parted clerical trousers, heavy and exposed beneath the folds of his cassock.
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He was on the hunt. His car was parked right across from the children's playground. He wore earphones, but he wasn't listening to music. He listened to the children playing in the park. That's how he knew which child would be the easiest to snatch, who would resist the least. His method was good, but not perfect. The bruises on his right hand from yesterday's catch told the story of how the child he took tried to resist a little.
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My dad and I, we are a team. We do everything together - live, workout, play, and even sleep if you know what that really means. That's why I panicked when he got married. He was spending time with her, not me. And kids? Would they replace me?
I confronted Dad. He chuckled, "Relax, kiddo. We're both daddy machines. She's just the vessel. We'll take turns knocking her up."
Dad and I turned his new 12-year-old wife into our personal fucktoy, pounding her day and night. Her screams of pleasure and pain filled our house. And it worked. She got pregnant with twins, one from Daddy and one from me.
Wow, I can't wait to fuck my half-brother and my son when they're born. They'll learn early that in our family, love means sharing… and sharing means fucking.
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This neighborhood clinic came up with a clever method to take toddlers’ temperature, especially the ones who start screaming the moment a thermometer comes close.
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Mom was happy to hear that I’m willing to volunteer to take care of my 3-year-old brother for a few days during summer break, and even happier to hear that I’m planning to put him through an "age-appropriate" training program.
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Morning wood…
I've always suffered from it. That stiff, aching cock that greets me every dawn, demanding release. My male body craves to empty its load, my testosterone raging through my veins. But lately, it's been unbearable. The knowledge that he's close, growing in my wife's belly, has turned my cock into a relentless beast. It tents my boxers, throbs against my abdomen, leaks pre-cum like a fucking faucet.
I can't wait for the day my tiny heir will finally feel my cock, choking on it, gagging on my cum as I pump him full. The thought makes me grip my cock, stroking it hard, imagining it's his tiny mouth, his innocent throat. I can't hold back any longer. I grunt, my cock pulsing as I cum, hard and fast, the bed sheets absorbing my seed. I'm ready. Ready to claim my son.
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I loved going to the pool with my family in the summer. The scary part was when we had to shower before swimming. Mom and my two big sisters would go to the ladies' room, and I'd go with Dad to the men's.
I hated taking my clothes off there. It felt weird, like Mom and Dad always told me to be covered up at home and outside, but here I had to be naked. All these big men would stare at my little body, some even touching themselves while they watched.
Then Dad would take me to the showers. One time, the man next to us had a really big bulge in his swimsuit. It was so big and scary, it made me want to hide behind Dad's leg. It was so big and scary, it made me want to hide behind Dad's leg. I started crying, but Dad just laughed and pulled me closer, whispering, "Don't be shy, son. It's just a penis. You'll have one too, someday."
I looked up at Dad, my eyes filled with tears. He smiled down at me, his hand ruffling my hair. "It's okay, buddy. You're a big boy now. You can look." He turned me towards the man, who was now fully naked, his big, scary willy hanging between his legs. I hid my face in Dad's leg, my heart pounding. Dad chuckled, "Come on, let's say hello to him." And with that, he led me under the showerhead, his big, strong hand guiding me. "If you will be nice to this mister, he might even let you touch it."
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Daddy says I must eat vegetables. All kinds of vegetables...
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Hey there, little one. Your friend was here not long ago. He was curious about me, wanted to get a good look at my body, like curious little ones sometimes do. But he got too close, and now... well, now he's gone. Turns out, I can be a bit overwhelming for someone his size.
So if you don’t want to end up like him, I’d suggest you keep your distance, alright? I mean, I’m always hungry, and you look like an especially tasty little snack. So tempting.
But I don’t really want to hurt you. Not if I don’t have to.
So why don’t you run along now and play somewhere safe, hmm? Let’s not repeat your friend’s mistake. Go on, now. I’ll just be here… thinking about how delicious you look.
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Uncle Dusty’d be mighty glad to have your young’uns over at his ranch.
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When I picked up my four-year-old son from kindergarten today, he came out crying, his lips smeared with chocolate and a half-eaten slice of cake in his hand.
“What happened, son?” I asked him.
“I want cake,” he said through tears.
“But you already got a slice of cake at kindergarten,” I said, pointing at the one in his hand.
“I know,” he replied, wiping his tears, “but I want a cake that never ends.”
"Hmm… " I paused for a moment. “I think I might have a solution.”
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I arrived at the gate, my eyes adjusting to the dim light - a two-and-a-half-hour flight delay. I sighed, surveying the passengers scattered across the waiting area. My gaze landed on a chubby kid, headphones on, phone in hand. Not even remotely appealing. I turned my attention to a migrant family, the stench of their day's meals wafting towards me. The thought of my cock nestled in that putrid mess made my stomach churn.
I stood up, stretching, and spun around. There she was, a heavily pregnant woman, eight months along, nose buried in a book. She looked… fuckable. And I believed that the earlier a child was exposed to cum, the better. Even if it was still in the womb.
I took a step towards her when I noticed a toddler, barely a year old, with his exhausted-looking mother. She sat down on a nearby bench and drifted off to sleep. The little one sat on her lap, eyes wide with curiosity, taking in the bustling gate.
It was time for a diaper change. I saw my opportunity. I could show him the wonders of the male body up close and personal.
I approached them, a warm smile on my face, my cock already stirring in my pants. The little one looked up at me, his tiny hand reaching out, wanting to be held. I scooped him up, his small body fitting perfectly in my arms. His mother stirred, opening her eyes briefly before closing them again, too tired to protest.
I carried him towards the restrooms, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn't wait to introduce this little angel to the joys of a grown man's touch.
Chapter Text
I'm sitting by the crackling campfire, our shadows dancing on the trees, when I notice Dad's pants. They look strange, tight, and there's a definite bulge that shifts as he leans forward to feed the flames. I've seen him like this before, but tonight, it feels different. My stomach twists, my heart races, and I can't look away.
Dad laughs, a sound that's too loud, too hungry. His eyes sweep over us, lingering on me, filled with an intensity that makes me squirmy. He stands abruptly, his bulge obvious, and announces, "I'm going to take a leak." I watch him disappear into the darkness, his movements odd, furtive.
A few minutes later, I hear it, a soft, rhythmic sound from the bushes. I stand, my curiosity piqued, and move silently towards him. I can't see him clearly, but I hear his heavy breathing, see his hand moving fast, the bulge in his pants now a thick, hard cock. He's pumping it, grunting, lost in his own world.
I freeze, my breath hitching. I know this is wrong, taboo, but I can't look away. His cock is huge, veiny, and it jerks in his hand as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that makes my own body react. I feel a strange warmth, a tingling in my pants, and I realize I'm getting hard too.
I stumble back to the campfire, my heart pounding, my body aching with a new, confusing desire. I don't tell my siblings what I saw. I don't understand it, but I know it's something special, something just between Dad and me.
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Setting up the infant bathtub.
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"Hey buddy, can you jump and land next to my hand? Ohh, almost! That’s okay. Now come give your uncle a big hug!"
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It was 11 pm when I descended into the basement laundry room. There sat little Timmy, the 7-year-old son of the single mom from apartment 3, playing with his toy car on the cold concrete floor. I smiled, starting to load my clothes into the washing machine.
"Quite late for a little guy like you to be down here all alone," I commented, my voice low and friendly.
Timmy's mom had to work nights, and he'd been told to bring the laundry down. He looked up at me, his big blue eyes wide and innocent.
None of the neighbors would come to do laundry at that late hour, so I felt it should be safe enough to add the t-shirt and the jeans I wore to the laundry basket.
"You're a big boy, helping out your mom like that," I praised, sitting down next to him, my leg pressed against his. I was only in my boxers, my hard cock tents the fabric, noticeable but not obvious.
Timmy noticed, his cheeks flushing pink as he looked away, fidgeting with his toy. I put my arm around him, pulling him close, my hand resting on his thigh. He looked up at me, surprise and curiosity in his eyes.
"Tell you what, Timmy," I whispered, my thumb stroking his thigh, "Why don't you help me with my laundry too? It's always more fun with a friend."
I leaned in, my breath hot on his ear, "And maybe, if you're a good boy, I'll show you something special. Something grown-ups do. Would you like that, Timmy?"
He nodded, his eyes wide, as I stood up, pulling him along with me. I opened the washer door, bending over to put my clothes inside, my ass inches from his face. I could feel his eyes on me, his curiosity growing.
This was going to be a very enjoyable hour.
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This spot’s just the right size for Daddy’s little guy.
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I’m the reason your mom doesn’t let you go to the park alone after dark.
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Are your cocks also erected when you see a changing table in public restrooms?
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Walking on a dream
How can I explain
Talking to myself
Will I see the baby I fucked today again?
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I always hated the days when confused Uncle Jim picked me up from school. He always got mixed up and took the wrong kid instead of me.
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Summer is in full swing. Everyone is talking about vacations, trips, beaches, sunbathing, and ice cream. Everyone except him.
A second-year engineering student, he sits in an overly bright, narrow classroom with flickering fluorescent lights and a low ceiling, trying to make sense of the professor’s ramblings about second-order differential equations.
But truthfully, he stopped paying attention a long time ago.
He knows exactly why he's here, and not at some beach with a cold drink.
While everyone else was studying for finals, he was watching CP, one after another, until he lost track of what was real and what wasn’t.
The result: failed exams, make-up tests, and eventually, the summer semester.
Five minutes left in the lecture.
He glances sideways at the open window and then stops.
A line of little kids, maybe six or seven years old, is walking along the path below.
All wearing swimsuits, colorful flip-flops, and towels slung around their shoulders. Probably the children of university staff, heading to the pool. The camp counselors, teenagers of just 15-16, would surely be engrossed in their smartphones...
I felt my dick harden, pressing painfully against the zipper of my pants. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it was no use. I could feel the precum already leaking out, dampening the fabric of my boxers. I wanted them, those little boys, so small, so innocent, so ripe for my twisted desires.
I felt ready to apply in real life all the theory I had learned throughout the year.
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Do your kids also love putting on 'shows' at the foot of your bed while you serve as the audience? Well, in our house, the shows are a little different…
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"Whoever’s in front of me or behind me is the new seeker!"
Uncle Michael had been searching for little Johnny for what felt like hours. At 4, Johnny was small enough to fit into any nook or cranny. Uncle Michael sighed, running his hand through his hair. Suddenly, a soft sob caught his attention, coming from behind the bushes. He approached, finding Johnny curled up, tears streaming down his face.
Uncle Michael unzipped his pants, his cock already hard. "You had your chance to run, Johnny," he growled, "But you didn't take it. Now, you've run out of excuses."
He grabbed Johnny by the arm, pulling him up. Johnny looked up at him, his big eyes filled with fear and confusion. Uncle Michael just smirked, "Don't worry, Johnny. I'll teach you a new game. A grown-up game."
With that, he pushed Johnny to his knees, his cock jutting out in front of the little boy's face. "Open wide, Johnny," he commanded, "It's time for your first lesson.
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"Dad, Timmy told me you’ve been promising him dessert if he finishes his vegetables. Just because you love spoiling him doesn’t mean he needs to have sweets every single day."
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Watch how my son has grown. Just yesterday, I was the one defiling him, and today, he's already graduated to raping toddlers himself.
But let me tell you, the first time I broke him in, it was a sight to behold. His tiny body squirmed, tears streaming down his face as I forced my way inside. But he took it like a champ, his cries soon turning to moans as I taught him the pleasures of the flesh.
And now, look at him, all grown up and fucking like a pro. He's got a baby boy pinned down, her legs splayed open as he rams into his tiny ass. He's crying, but he doesn't care. He's got that hunger in his eyes, that primal need that I taught him.
I swell with pride as I watch him, my little protégé. He's come a long way, and he's only just begun.
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That nice mister from the pool locker room invites you to shower with him.
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She chose this hotel because it was the safest.
"Don’t worry," the phone representative had told her, "we have extensive security systems in place to keep the children safe."
So on her first day at the hotel, when she took her 3-year-old son down to the pool, she truly felt at ease.
The water was blue and clear, lifeguards stood at their posts, and kids were laughing all around.
She took off her shoes and sat at the edge of the pool, letting her son splash in the shallow end.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed.
She had received a text message.
On the screen, it read:
"A pedo detected within a 20-meter (~66 feet) radius of you."
Her breath nearly stopped. She began scanning the area with her eyes, trying to spot her son among the line of children in the pool. Her heart pounded wildly, and she felt as if the ground beneath her was shifting.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed again.
Another SMS message appeared on the screen.
This time, it read:
"A pedo was detected while he was watching your son."
She didn’t have time to let out the scream that had risen to her lips when her phone buzzed again.
A new SMS had arrived, this time from a different number. Private.
The screen flickered with a cold light:
"Your son is beautiful. You shouldn't have brought him here."
He could be anyone.
She realized it all at once, even the person with the most innocent look at the pool.
The dad smiling at his kid, the older man adjusting his towel, the teenager playing on his phone in the corner. They were all suspects now.
And she… she was alone.
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I looked at the bathroom rug and got frustrated.
Ever since Dean entered his teenage years, he’s become far less responsible.
He used to be such a good kid, doing whatever I asked.
And now?
"Dean!" I shouted toward his bedroom door.
"Open the door, now!"
My 15-year-old son, shirtless and already developing some muscle, opened the door with an annoyed expression.
Clearly, I had interrupted his gaming.
"How many times do I have to tell you? If you use something, you put it back in its place!"
I held up his 5-month-old brother in one hand and raised him so he’d look him eye level.
"Just like you know how to take your brother out of his crib to fuck him, you'll put him back in the crib when you're done using him."
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It's not easy finding dates these days. Back in my dad's time, a smile was all it took to enchant a girl. Now, you've got to be sensitive, caring, and god knows what else. The girls I'm interested in all they want is security and money. With my body, I can give them the security, and with my new car, they'll see I've got the money.
Single mothers, though, are so easy to bag. And the best part? Their kids. That's what I really want. To feel my cock deep inside them, to watch their little bodies squirm as I take what I want.
I've had a few already. Their mothers were too distracted or too dumb to notice. I just smile, flash some cash, and they're putty in my hands. It's pathetic, really. But who cares? I get what I want.
Next on my list is little Arnold. His mother's a waitress, always working, always tired. She won't even notice I've slipped away with her precious little 2 and a half year old son. And when I'm done with him, I'll send him back home, dirty and used. Just another trophy to add to my collection.
Chapter Text
Kinda thought I may been coming down with something. I felt a bit dizzy, had the chills, and some pressure in my balls. I opened the computer and saw that my doctor has an appointment in video chat in another hour and a half.
I've been feeling a bit under the weather, doc,
I said, my voice groggy. Lightheaded, chills, and my balls ache.
The young doctor on the screen tilted his head, a knowing smile on his face. I think I know what you've got, my friend. Baby Feveritis.
What's that?
I asked, my curiosity piqued.
Well,
he leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, It's when you haven't seen a cute baby in a few days. Your body starts to… miss it.
He turned his camera towards his desk, where a five-month-old baby boy lay on his lap, suckling from the doctor's cock like a bottle. You know, the symptoms are pretty similar to withdrawal,
he continued, his eyes gleaming. The only cure is to… indulge
He stood up, walking around the desk, the baby still in his arms. "Now, I prescribe a daily dose of baby cuddles, lots of kisses, and maybe even a little… inserting."
He chuckled, his hand moving to the baby's diaper, pulling it aside to reveal his tiny butt. "You know, for scientific purposes, of course."
I felt my own cock stir, my mouth suddenly dry. I see,
I said, my voice hoarse. Well, doc, I guess I'd better start my treatment immediately.
Chapter Text
All mammal young are drawn to nipples; it's in our nature. Alas, our conservative society doesn't allow men like me to walk around bare-chested, as we were meant to. Our muscles need constant airing, and children need inspiring models.
Luckily, this shirt allows me to do just that. The nipples are clearly visible, tenting the fabric, and the children around can't help but stare, the bravest ones even approaching to ask questions.
When this happens, my nipples aren't the only thing hardening.
Chapter Text
In the leafy suburbs of a quiet town, a new self-defense class for children was taking off. The instructor, a man known only as 'Master', had plastered posters around the neighborhood, warning that 'In today's world, anyone can harm your children. They must learn to protect themselves.' The wealthy parents, eager to shield their precious offspring from the evils of the world, snapped up the offer, enrolling their children in droves. The Master was not what he seemed. Under the guise of teaching children how to defend themselves, he was really looking for something else. He was looking for victims. The class was one-on-one, the Master ensuring he had each child to himself, unsupervised.
Today, he had little Timmy, a shy 6-year-old with big blue eyes and a mop of blonde hair. The Master started the lesson as he always did, with a demonstration of his superior strength. He easily overpowered Timmy, pinning the boy to the ground. He could feel the boy's small body trembling under his, his tiny heart racing. The Master felt a familiar stirring in his pants, his cock hardening at the boy's fear and vulnerability. He looked down at Timmy, his eyes filled with lust, as he said, "And that, Timmy, is how you defend yourself." But the Master's lesson was far from over. He had plans for Timmy, plans that involved more than just self-defense.
Chapter Text
"Jonathan, your date is here", I told my son.
"Alright, Daddy, I'm on my way down." He replied.
I was a bit worried sending Jonathan out on his first date, but you can't stop time. He's four, and many of his friends already have boyfriends. I couldn't keep him locked up forever.
Fortunately, his date understands my concerns as a father, and he sent me a video from the parking lot. Now I'm more at ease. He's muscular, and he'll make sure no one hurts my little Jonathan.
Chapter Text
As a clown, I’ve always loved performing at kindergartens. The kids were the perfect audience, for me and for my cock as well.
But today, one boy kept jumping up from his seat and shouting, completely stealing the show. So, with an exaggerated sigh, I pulled out a roll of bright red masking tape from my clown bag. “Looks like we’ve got an escape artist!” I announced.
Gently, and to the roaring laughter of the audience, I wrapped a few loops around the boy’s chair, making sure he was comfy but couldn’t pop up again. Then I stuck a sticky piece of tape over his mouth and another on his forehead with a doodle of a silly crown.
“Now,” I said, “he’s the king of quiet!” The room exploded with laughter.
Leaning closer to the audience, I added, “I think Lenny the Loopy lost his hat in the playground! Whoever finds it first wins a prize!”
In seconds, every kid and teacher rushed outside to search, leaving me alone with my royally seated, very quiet little friend.
I think I've got something tastier to stuff in your mouth,
I said quietly, pulling out my massive cock and ripping off the duct tape. Before he could scream, I forced it into his mouth.
Chapter Text
When I’m at the mall during summer vacation, I feel like a kid in a candy store. Children of all ages and types roam around everywhere. Some of them inevitably get lost, but luckily, I’m here to watch over them until their parents find them.
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Showing off over the crib.
Chapter Text
I wake up every morning at 5:30, drink a strong black coffee, and head out for a 5 Km (3.11 miles) run. After that, the gym. Every single day, no excuses. Strength training, CrossFit, and cardio, until I feel every muscle in my body working.
I don’t do it just to look good – though I know I turn heads. I do it because it gives me energy, confidence, and the feeling that I’m in control of my life.
But my true secret is very simple. Fucking at least one boy a day.
Want to look good? Feel strong? Start today – your body will thank you.
Chapter Text
Never be afraid to expose your body, even when there are children in the elevator.
Chapter Text
"What do you say, sis?" I said, my voice casual, as if I wasn't already imagining the scenario unfolding in my mind. "Of course, I'd be happy to watch Timmy this afternoon. And sure, his little friend can come too." I could hear her hesitate on the other end of the line, but I pressed on, "Oh, they want to swim in my pool? No problem, I’ll keep a close eye on them. A very close eye..."
I could already see their little bodies, their skin glistening with water...
Chapter Text
That moment in the locker room when you’re naked, and you spot a naked boy, and your cock gets hard all on its own.
Chapter Text
Little Timmy sat on the sand, his small hands digging into the warm, grainy texture. The beach was mostly empty this time of day, the sun high and hot, burning away the few brave souls who dared to venture out. But Timmy didn't mind. He liked the quiet, the solitude. It was easier to watch when no one was around.
He had seen him before, the tall man with the muscles and the dark hair. He always came at this hour, always used the outdoor showers to rinse off the sand and salt. Timmy liked watching him. He liked the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the way he soap slid down his body, the way the water beaded on his flesh.
Today, the man was taking his time, his hands moving slowly, deliberately over his body. Timmy felt a stirring in his own body, a strange, new feeling that made his heart beat faster and his breath come in shorter gasps. He watched as the man's hands moved lower, cupping his cock and balls, washing them gently.
Timmy felt a heat spread through him, a warmth that pooled in his own groin. He had never felt this way before, never understood the feelings that were coursing through him. All he knew was that he wanted to watch, wanted to see more.
The man turned, facing Timmy, his cock hard and pointing straight at him. Timmy's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. He knew he should look away, should run, but he was frozen, his eyes locked onto the man's cock.
The man smiled, a slow, knowing smile. He knew he was being watched, knew that Timmy was enjoying the show. He took a step forward, his hand still wrapped around his cock, and beckoned Timmy closer.
Timmy hesitated, then stood up, his small feet carrying him towards the man.
Chapter Text
A sunny summer day. Dave is spending time with his girlfriend at her private pool. Suddenly, her mother calls, asking if she can give her a ride home from the train station.
"I'm so sorry, Dave," his girlfriend says. "Would you mind watching little Jason for half an hour?"
I glanced over at her 5-year-old brother, splashing around in the pool with his floaties, tossing an inflatable ball back and forth to himself.
“No problem,” Dave replied. “I’ll keep an eye on him - a very close eye.”
Chapter Text
"I like Daddy’s fur… and I like it best when his fuzzy bush tickles my nose!"
Chapter Text
"Come on, Leo, Mommy went to the bathroom, give the special kiss to your uncle."
Chapter Text
“What is the meaning of this?” the principal barked at Theodor, a physical education teacher at an elementary school, as he shoved a newspaper under his nose.
The headline screamed: “Elementary school teacher had sex with two pupils- third student watched.”
“I’m sorry,” Theodor muttered, his voice tight. “I shouldn’t have had sex with those two kids…”
“I don’t care who you do or don’t fuck with,” the principal snapped angrily. “But don’t you dare start discriminating between pupils. Why should I get a phone call first thing in the morning from the father of the third boy? Am I supposed to explain to him that his son’s P.E. teacher was too disgusted to fuck him?”.
Chapter Text
The fuel gauge needle inched dangerously close to the red zone, and my heart rate picked up slightly. I pressed gently on the accelerator and pulled into the nearest gas station. The sun was blazing, the kind of heat that makes your skin feel like it's on fire. I stepped out of the car, stripped off my shirt to feel a hint of breeze against my bare skin, and started refueling.
As I stood there, watching the numbers climb on the display, I noticed a tense scene unfolding a few meters away, by a well-worn family sedan. A sweaty, anxious father was trying to coax his five-year-old son out of the backseat.
"Come on, buddy, just a quick stop in the bathroom," he urged loudly, almost pleading.
But the boy remained stubborn, clutching a small toy tightly and shaking his head defiantly.
At first, I assumed the father was just concerned about his child's comfort. But then I noticed the signs: the way he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the beads of sweat rolling down his temples, and the way his eyes flicked nervously towards the restroom building at the far end of the station.
It was clear, the one who really needed the bathroom wasn't the child at all, but the father. And it wasn't just relief he was seeking. His gaze kept drifting to his son's tiny body, and the way he was subtly adjusting his pants suggested something far darker.
He wanted more than just a piss. He wanted his son.
Chapter Text
Demonstrating to my 4-year-old nephew how I’m going to ride on him.
Chapter Text
Yes, sweetie, Daddy’s butterfly has a beard and a very long trunk.
Chapter Text
That’s why your four-year-old is always trying to escape from you and head straight for the deep water.
Chapter Text
"Rock-a-bye baby"
Chapter Text
"Fuck, what a tough and grueling workout", Anton thought to himself as he photographed his upper body reflecting in the large gym mirror. Sweat dripped from his forehead, trickling down his sculpted chest muscles, highlighting every line and bulge of the sturdy body he had worked so hard on. He raised the phone higher, capturing his arrogant smile, his short and groomed beard, and his piercing eyes that knew how to hypnotize anyone who looked into them. This will get me good likes on my story,
he muttered to himself, feeling the pulse still throbbing in his tense muscles. He was a man in his early thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, with a body that screamed power and dominance, a body many envied, and even more wanted to touch.
Sweaty and panting, Anton decided to shower this time right at the gym, instead of going home. The atmosphere here, with the scent of sweat and masculinity in the air, always stirred something primitive in him, something animalistic. He strode to the locker room, opened his locker, and pulled out his favorite shampoo bottle – a strong, masculine scent of mint and wood that always made him feel like a predator. On the way to the showers, he stopped at the towel distribution counter. There stood the child, a 4-year-old, slim and pale, with big frightened eyes that locked onto Anton's gaze. The child wore short pants and a tight gym shirt, exposing his young and inexperienced body, smooth skin without prominent muscles, like a delicate doll waiting to awaken.
Anton smiled a wolfish grin, reaching out and taking a towel from the stack the child held. Thanks, kiddo,
he said in a low, seductive voice, staring into the child's eyes and seeing the fear mixed with curiosity. The child blushed, handing the towel with trembling hands, trying not to look at Anton's half-exposed body, but his eyes were drawn there like a magnet. Anton hung his towel on the hook outside the private shower stall, but instead of entering immediately, he stayed there, watching the child. His body was still hot from the workout, sweat trickling down his back, emphasizing the tight underwear he wore under his shorts. He felt the erection starting to rise, the blood flowing down as he imagined what he could do with this child.
He can afford a few minutes' break,
Anton thought, feeling the perverted desire rising in him like a wave. The child was so innocent, so vulnerable, exactly the type Anton loved. He stepped towards the child slowly, like a predator approaching its prey, his large hand gripping the slim shoulder. Come with me for a moment,
Anton whispered, his voice vibrating with raw sexual lust. The child tried to resist, but fear paralyzed him, and he was dragged after Anton into the dark and humid shower stall. The door closed behind them, and the water began to flow, hissing like a forbidden whisper.
The water flowed over them, hiding the moans and sighs, but Anton didn't stop. He lifted the boy, turned him to the wall, and tore his pants, exposing the tight and virginal ass. "You're mine now," he whispered, his fingers penetrating inside, preparing him for the pain and pleasure to come. He entered him slowly at first, enjoying the choked scream, then faster, wilder, his strong body pounding against the soft one, filled with a perverted lust that made him feel like a god. The boy cried, but his body responded, moving against him, surrendering to the force that controlled him. In the end, Anton spilled inside him, feeling the wild release, then let him go, watching him collapse on the wet floor, broken but satisfied.
Anton laughed, a low and menacing sound, as he tore the child's pants, exposing the tiny and virginal genitals.
Chapter Text
I often sit on children’s chairs so that I can look them in the eye, and they can look me in my cock as well.
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Just your average uncle’s reaction before bath time with his toddler nephew.
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Aww, tummy’s hungry too? Don’t worry, Daddy made brekkie for you already!
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"Hey there, little buddy! Want to take a peek inside the shed? I’m sure we can find a yummy lollipop for you in there."
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When the TV chef talks about fresh ingredients… and your baby is already having the freshest daddymilk.
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Your neighborhood refugee center encourages its residents to find work. Naturally, you were very glad to let Mohammad babysit your 4-year-old son.
Chapter Text
"Hey, kid! You’re only allowed to go into the fitting room by yourself if you’re taller than this. Looks like you’ll need the help of a certified clothing expert… like me."
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