Voyeur Sex


Subject: The Zachary Series — Second Installment: “Waking Zachary” Thanks so much to everyone who reached out to me to encourage me to write more about Zachary and Jason from my Prologue. This is the second installment of what I hope to be more stories about these two, so please don’t be shy–let me know what you think. As I said before, everything in this story is 100 million percent fiction and never happened and never will. All of these take place solely in my imagination and not reality. If you think you’ll be offended by this, you will. So, stop reading. As gently as I can, I slip one arm underneath the little boy’s curled legs and, with my other, cradle underneath his light brown mop and draw him in. Zachary makes the tiniest of whimpers but otherwise doesn’t seem to notice me lifting him into my arms. Turning and pulling his head close to my chest, I move my right arm underneath him and hold it there, fingers splayed like a little claw cradling the boy’s pajama-covered bottom. He is impossibly warm, radiating from all over–little boy heat fresh from the covers. As I walk to the bathroom, I breathe in the odor of his hair, the slight aromatics of his bubble gum scented shampoo and other smells that are unmistakably his own. I feel him swallow, and pull him out slightly to see his face. His thumb drops away from his mouth, and he blinks up at me once. I lean down and kiss his nose. With a half-smile, he closes his eyes again. He is definitely getting bigger and heavier, but I swear to myself that I will carry him from bed to the bathroom every Saturday of his life as long as I have the strength to do it, no matter how awkward it gets for either of us. In the bathroom, his Spider-Man nightlight glows softly by the sink. I gently place him on his feet but keep my arms under his armpits for support. Once he feels the soft bath mat under his toes, Zachary stands on his own, a bit wobbly. I take my thumbs and grip the sides of his purple jammy bottoms and gently pull them all the way to his ankles. Even in the low light, his little bottom is beautiful, the haze from the nightlight makes its pale fullness positively radiant. I can’t help myself. I put one hand on its velvet smoothness and rub affectionately. Remembering our task, I reach around and grab his shrinking penis and pull it very slightly, aiming it at the bowl. “Go on, tiger,” I whisper, and I hear Zach take a deep breath. I rest my other hand on his sweet bottom and pat it patiently. Another breath, a faint click of his tongue, and the pee starts flowing, slowly at first, and then more rapidly until the boy is spent. “Good job, little guy,” I say, patting his bottom again and shaking the digit up and down. “Now, step out,” I say, turning him to me. He puts both hands on my shoulders and steps on one end of the pajama bottoms then the other, turning them inside out next to the toilet. “OK, do superboy,” I command warmly, and eyes still closed, Zach giggles softly putting both arms in the air, pointing straight up, my little super hero. I kiss his nose again and then grip either end of the jammy shirt, pulling it up and off. It joins the bottoms on the floor, and now my sweet Zachary is ready for his weekend wake up call. I want to just drink in this sight in for hours, but it’s a special morning with more to do. I scoop up the pajamas with one hand, and with my other, make a cradle of my elbow for Zachary to sit in. I carry clothes and boy back to the room. Dropping the jammies in the hamper by his dresser, I gently carry the child over to the bed and lay him down as softly as I can. If I were to leave him alone, Zach would go back to sleep instantly. As it is, he is half-asleep. I watch his thumb find its way back to his mouth and he turns slightly like he’s going to draw up his legs in the fetal position. I stroke his soft fine hair and whisper, “It’s time to wake up, champ.” He makes a noise–I don’t know whether it’s a pout, agreement, or coo, but I take it as a sign of acceptance. I finger his bony shoulder and gently pull. Knowing the drill, Zachary turns towards me onto his tummy. His thumb is still in his mouth, and his elbow sticks up at an odd angle. But his body is already melting into the quilt–he knows we’re about to begin. During the week, waking Zachary is a pretty mundane affair. We’ve got things to do. Both of us have school, and there are a million chores for me to do even after I’ve safely delivered him to karşıyaka escort the classroom. I can’t be there to baby, hold, and spend the quiet time with him we both love so much. But Saturday. Saturday is the day for gentle waking, and it is a morning both of us have come to look forward to every single week. We started this little waking ritual over a year ago, and in short time, it has become one of our favorite things. Sometimes, when I am driving him around in the car, I will look back the rear view mirror to see him dreamily staring off into the distance in his booster seat, looking out the window, or maybe just examining his hands. “Whatcha thinking bout, little man” I ask. He looks at me, shrugging silently, then back to the window, “Just about wakeup Saturday,” he says softly. “How many more days?” Snapping back to reality, I kneel down next to the bed and gently rake my fingernails lightly over the boy’s legs. I see his head raise slightly. He loves scratchies, but they have to be just right, light and loose, not deep. I move from the spongy skin of his milk pooled thighs down his coltish calves then to his ankles and back up again. And again. Each pass I make I scratch a bit deeper, the nails leaving little white markers on his peach flesh like airplane streaks in the sky. Then, I wrap my hands around both thighs and begin to massage. Zachie moans a bit, moving his head and letting the thumb drop from his mouth next to his nose. I whisper, “Good morning little legs. Thank you for helping my boy to jump and run and play. It’s time to wake up.” I lean over lightly and kiss the skin of his thighs making sure to tickle him a little with my cheek stubble as I rub my face back and forth. I scoot across the carpet on my knees and move to his feet. I have to be careful because Zachary is a tickle monster; almost every inch of his tender skin is susceptible to tickle touch. Even saying the word tickle can send him on fits of giggles. No use working the fingernails here. It won’t calm him down, only work him up, so I go right for the massage–pressing my thumbs firmly in each arch, my fingers splaying out and working the little skin on the bottom of his feet, still smooth but firmer, textured, then up to his cute little toes. “Good morning little feetsies. Thank you for helping Zachie walk to school and stand in line for lunch. It’s time to wake up.” I lean forward ever so slightly and gently kiss each little toe, taking my time with the big ones with parted lips that lightly suck on them, if only for a second. I don’t know what Zachary’s favorite part of wakeup time is, but I know mine. I try not to rush it, but I can’t help myself–the child’s pinkcream bottom practically begs for my hands. I start by tracing the round outline of its contours with one finger, making a big circle, then stopping by the cleft of the top of his crack by the lower back and then down again. When I get to the bottom, I take two fingers and lightly tickle walk them up his little crack, watching the skin imperceptibly shiver. Zach’s legs open slightly, revealing the faint and beautiful sight of his small, sweet sac, pushed up between his thighs mashed into the quilt. There will be time for that special part, but now it’s his little bubble bottom I want to knead. And I do. I splay a hand out; it covers both cheeks as I work my fingertips into the flesh. It’s bouncy and pliable. I knead it deep, knowing how Zachary likes to feel. I push in and watch as it bounces and wobbles like jello. With one hand, I lightly rake the smooth skin with my nails while my other massages. His back is a tapestry of muscles moving in rhythm to my touching, and I can see his bottom rising and falling under my kneading, gently and almost half-heartedly humping his quilt. His skin is almost alabaster pure back here with ridges of blue underneath the surface like rivulets of water coursing under a frozen pond. I whisper, “Good morning, sweet little bottom. Thank you for helping Zach sit still at school. It’s time to wake up.” And with the utmost care , I lean forward and kiss his gorgeous bottom, letting my lips linger on the right cheek, then, without picking them up, trace their way back over to the left. I pull my head back and look at him. His lightly freckled tan line is not as dynamic as it is in the summer, but I can still make out where his swimming suit bisects his back skin from the whitening kartal escort edges of the top of his bottom. I work my hands around his back, careful not to tickle his sides, Zach’s most sensitive spot, and push gently around the firm and tight skin by his shoulders. I lean in and kiss each blade before saying, “Good morning, shoulders. Thank you for helping my little guy carry his backpack to class. It’s time to wake up.” With one arm on his shoulder, I pull ever so slightly. Zach knows. He turns over on his back, his eyes blinking bright, looking right into mine. I bend down and lightly kiss his nose, his ears, and finally his pink-pouting lips, the bottom one slightly edged out. My mouth stay for a moment on his lush lips, slightly pursed before pulling back and blowing gently on them. He smiles back at me sweetly. I say, “Good morning, little nose, little ears, little mouth. Thank you for the good smells, the good tastes, and the good sound you let Zachary hear. It’s time to wake up.” My hands are already on his chest, even before I break eye contact. They scratch up and down all the way to his soft tummy and then back again. I try to keep my eyes on where I am working, but I can’t help to sneak a look at his beautiful penis, already lazily rising, slightly pulsing as it lists to the right, perhaps in anticipation. My scratching nails become open palm rubs as I move from the top of his neck down to his silky pubis and back again. Pushing my head down I kiss one blushing nipple, then the other, eliciting a peal of giggles from Zach so forceful that they bounce the hand scratching his starburst belly button. Without moving my head, my lips travel down to the outie dot and kiss it ever so gently. “Good morning little chest and tummy. Thank you for keeping Zach’s heart safe and digesting all the yummy things he ate this week. It’s time to wake up.” For a moment, we lock eyes. There is an electric silence. We both know the next part, the special part, is coming. Without taking my eyes off of the boy, I move my hand and make a soft bowl of my hand around his perfect, tight little scrotum. With my thumb I brush under close to his taint while my pointer finger tickles the base of his penis. “Is Petey ready to wake up?” I ask. Zachary’s eyes deadstare at me solemnly. Almost imperceptibly, he nods, blinking a little each time my finger explores more of the now-rising penis. “Good Petey,” I coo. “Such a good Petey.” Zachary told me that his penis was named Petey the first day we met. I do not how he was named Petey, and I never asked the boy. I wonder if it might have been his childish confusion with the word “peepee.” Either way, he told me all about him the first time we were alone. Later, he would talk about him like an imaginary friend or a character in a movie, saying things like, “Petey doesn’t want to do that” or “Petey is itchy.” But he and Petey were close, and it was cute to hear him talk about him. When it came time for our first wakeup, I was getting ready to dress him for the day when he innocently asked me with saucer eyes, “What about Petey? We never woke him up!” I closed the underwear drawer and came back to the bed. “Oh, no. We didn’t, did we?” Zachary shook his head expectantly, his little blushing tongue slightly edging out of from between his lips, like a puppy. Since that day, waking Petey was how we finished every Saturday morning. “Shall we wake up Petey with tingles or without?,” I asked, knowing the answer. As he made to speak for the first time that morning, Zach whispered inaudibly then with a cough to find his breath said in a lispy whisper, “Tingles.” I nod and stand. I walk to his drawer and pull out the tingle supplies, a small bottle of chamomile baby lotion and a tiny, soft purple bear. We got the bear special for tingle time a year ago. It was Zach’s idea. He wanted something soft to feel and cuddle while he got the special feelings, and suggested that maybe a stuffie would work. But it had to be a new one, not one of his hundreds of stuffed animals that already dotted his room. This was a special time and needed a special new friend. I took him to Build a Bear last April, and we spent almost an hour finding the right one. The body of the bear he settled on was fuzzy and soft; Zach had pressed it up against his face and let it fall all over his skin to make sure it was just right . When we took it to the lady to kastamonu escort stuff it for us, she was chatty. At first, Zach was his usual shy self, burying his face behind my legs. But when she asked what name we should put on the bear’s adoption papers, he peeked out and whispered, “Tingle Bear” before disappearing again. When it was all done, she handed it to him, and he proudly turned it over in his hands. “That’s a special bear,” she said to him, and he beamed up at her, saying simply, “My penis’ name is Petey.” I place the lotion next to the boy’s legs and watch the fierce anticipation glinting in his eyes, locked on the movements of my hand. I kiss Tingle Bear and make the stuffed animal lean in and kiss Zach’s forehead, too. Slowly, I move the bear down the boy’s body and rest him over Zachie’s crotch. I start by waving the bear from side to side, his fur lightly brushing the boy’s most private areas. Then I press down a bit harder so that the fur can move between his legs and catch his little sac and his smooth thighs. Zachary bites his bottom lip slightly and pushes himself half up to watch what’s happening. “Waaaaaaaake uuuuuuuup, Petey” I whisper in the growly voice of Tingle Bear. I begin to move the stuffed animal more rhythmically back and forth so the boy can anticipate the feelings. With my hands, I grab two fuzzy paws and pinch them around Petey, one paw at the base of the boy’s penis and one at his neatly circumcised head. It’s enough to make Zach collapse back on the bed and close his eyes with a deep intake of breath. As I jack two inches gently into two and a half, Zach’s knees bounce slightly like he is trying to hold in pee. I can hear a delicate moan, and when I look up, I see his eyes are closed. It’s time for the final wakeup. I push the bear up and rest him on the boy’s chest. Both Zach’s arms come out and wrap him in a tight hug that inches Tingle Bear up until the top of the head is covering Zach’s chin. I take the lotion and squirt a dime size dollop in my hand, then put them together, warming them by rubbing in circles. The floral notes of the baby lotion are almost intoxicating; it doesn’t take long for it to get comfortably warm in my two hands. I start by very lightly scooting the slick fingers of my right fingers around the very base of his tight little sac while my left forefinger and thumb barely ring the rising penis and work up and down. Zach raises the bear to his nose and makes the cutest cross between a sigh and whimper. I watch his body as it reacts to the blossoming feelings, the curling and flexing toes, the subtle bending of his knees, and his head as it shifts back and forth. His hips rise slightly, and I move my right hand under his bottom, rubbing the thick lotion into that skin while pushing my thumb gently on his taint, increasing the pressure slightly before backing off, like pressing a button. “Wake up, Petey,” I growl-whisper again and increase the grip and speed I have on his now impossibly hard little boynail. Zach’s hips buck and this time don’t come down making his bottom rise an inch off the quilt. I gently pat it, little love spanks that fill the air with a platting sound to go with the wet crinkle of the lotion and his adorable soft little moans. I know he is close so I lean in and blow very softly on his now redburning little tip, right over his pee slit as my fingers almost are a blur. My forefinger focuses on the sensitive spot right under his circumcision, the place I know that will lead to the special feelings. And they do–in waves and waves. It’s easy to know when the tingles come. I can feel them raging inside Petey, of course, in spasms of ecstasy and pulses of pleasure, but it’s Zach’s coughing whimpers that let me know when they have truly arrived, a kind of wet exhale of breath, something between a cry and a purr. I slow my fingers and gently bring them around the tip and back to the base before just holding the boy’s penis and sac in my hand. It’s like holding the sun, the heat, the warmth, the glow. Zach’s face is completely covered by Tingle Bear, so I see his beautiful chest as it expands, the tummy helping, moving up and down, taking in air, recovering from the orgasm. Wordlessly, I take my hands and wipe them on my pajama shirt, cleaning as much lotion as I can before grabbing Tingle Bear’s leg and pulling him to the side of Zach’s face. The boy’s eyes are shut tight, almost crinkled in the corners, and his little mouth is open slightly. I brush my hand on his cheek and, with my thumb, trace the side of his eyes before leaning in and kissing them. Zach’s eyelids flutter once, and then open slowly, looking at me, his pouting lips breaking into a beautiful grin. “Good morning, sweet Zachary. My big boy is finally awake.”

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