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Self-Discipline

(mb) (ws) (tort)

He stood in the middle of the room. A delectable little hole. Seven years old. Round angelic face, messy stardust soft hair, large frightened eyes. Sweet button nose, full lips, soft downy skin. Dressed in a tee shirt and jeans and dirty tennis shoes. His hands were tiny, and they clenched and unclenched in nervous anticipation.


Seven years old. So eminently fuckable. So vulnerable. So illegal that even the thought of molesting one so young is a crime. And the very sin of the idea is what makes it so desirable because he was so sweet, so innocent, so pure, I wanted to pollute his body and mind beyond all humane boundaries.


“What’s your name again, Fuckhole? I forget.”


“Sean,” he said, shuffling one foot as he looked at the ground.

 

“Well you little cocksucker, you broke the rules again, and you need to be punished. You pissed your pants it says here.”

 

Of course, he pissed his pants, he had to get permission to piss, and we didn’t give it to him. We watched as he struggled in pain to hold the flow back, clutching at his tiny crotch and tummy, lifting first one foot then the other. Finally, he lost control, and his jeans had turned dark with the piss flow. How humiliating for the little cunt. How fun.

 

He had a full lower lip which he now sucked in as if deciding whether to speak or not.

 

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I tried.”

 

“Trying isn’t good enough around here. Results are what count. No matter how uncomfortable, painful even for you, you are to follow orders. That’s why your parents sent you here because you are a bad, bad boy who can’t behave.”

 

Were those tears welling up in those baby blues? Was this kid twat a crybaby? I hoped so.

 

“I want my mommy,” he said.

 

“Well, your mommy doesn’t want you. She can’t stand you. Not the way you are now. We want to help you so you can be a good boy and go home to your mommy and daddy and then they will love you. But they hate you the way you are now, you bad boy.”

 

Only seven and it is so easy to make him feel guilty. So easy to break. Oops, a tear burst from the eye and rolled down the soft pink cheek.

 

“Are you crying, you piece of shit. You know crying isn’t allowed here.”

 

He wiped away the tear with the back of one little hand.

 

“I’m sorry sir,” he sniffled.

 

“Is that all you can say? I’m sorry. We’re going to have to discipline you for being a dirty little pants pisser, aren’t we?”

 

“I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled.

 

“I don’t give a fuck what you meant. You pissed your pants like a fucking animal. You couldn’t hold it like a good little boy. Now you have to be punished. But because deep down inside, we love you and care about you—not the way you are now, but we love the good boy you can be—we aren’t going to discipline you. We are going allow you to discipline yourself. Self-punishment is the best because it teaches a boy to be responsible. Do you want to punish yourself?”

 

“Please don’t hurt me,” he sniffled and a second monster tear rolled down the cheek.

 

“I am not going to hurt you. You are going to hurt yourself. You are going to punish yourself for being bad. And that way you will learn that as long as you are with us, and you will be with us until you become a good boy. As long as you are with us, you will obey every order we give you without question. Now take off all your clothes.”

 

His little seven-year-old pink tongue licked his lips.

 

“Do I gotta?” he asked.

 

“Yes, you stupid cunthole, you worthless dog prick, you gotta. How can you punish yourself properly unless you are bare-ass naked?”

 

His face screwed up like an old plum, and his hands shook. He looked around for help. There wasn’t any. Slowly he started to undress. Lots of perverts out there get great pleasure from watching a little boy disrobe, even the way they handle their shirts, belts, shoes, socks, and pants make pervert hardons drip and run. Sean was no exception. He took an unusual interest in the act of stripping bare-assed, almost like he was watching himself in slow motion. Sean delayed as long as he could reveal his smooth boy tummy, his tiny pink titties, his smooth hairless armpits to me. He was so small, so young that there wasn’t even any defined sexuality about him yet and that, of course, was what was so supremely erotic to baby rapers, to fuck up that pure, innocent beauty. Finally, he stood in just his underpants. His slender little hairless legs are twisting, while his popcorn kernel toes scrape the carpet.

 

They never want to take off their underpants. Sean looked up at me, begging with his big blues for a reprieve. He got none. As his tiny fingers went to the waistband of his underpants, I gave a signal, and a dim light came on behind a wall-length window, and little Sean could see the leering faces of twenty men watching him.

 

He froze.

 

“Take off your underpants, Sean.”

 

Down they came with a whimper, not a bang. They puddled at his feet, and we all saw the tiny baby prick, just a pink pencil with a pretty little dickhead. His hands folded over his dickie. I cleared his throat, and he remembered my orders from a previous meeting. His hands went to his side. I walked around just enough to be able to see the fuckable melons of his, as of yet, unfucked ass.

 

Fucking a seven-year-old takes considerable skill. Unless, of course, you rip into him and don’t care about the damage. But if you want him around for future plowing, you have to work slowly and carefully. Not only is the baby hole tiny and tight, but you can’t ram too hard into the boy's gut. You have to build up depth and power. Besides that way the pain lasts lots longer for the boy cunt and the experience is riddled with anticipation. Slowly, slowly fucking into a cantaloupe-sized ass. Pure bliss.

 

It’s not just the unearthly screams or the trembling of the tiny body beneath you that tells you that you are rupturing beauty and innocence forever. No, no, you can feel it on your prick. You can feel the tiny baby flesh stretch expand. Almost bursting, you can feel the little boy rectum give way under the pressure of your cock. It’s a real power trip.

 

Of course, never having had it done to you, you can only imagine the pain. It must be nerve shattering. And perverts are always pretending they love the little cunts by whispering things to them and telling them if they relax they will enjoy it when secretly nothing about them wants them to enjoy it. Breaking the boy is the name of the game. And once broken, it’s always broken. An ass fucked little boy is crushed forever. Even if he should escape from your clutches, he will never live a healthy life. That alone is some consolation and makes the effort worthwhile. He will be completely fucked up through his teen years and never have a rewarding adult sexual relationship because you rammed his baby ass when he was seven.

 

I made Sean turn around so the guys in the next room could see his ass. How we homos love to stare at boy ass. A friend of mine and myself are working on our memories of a boy beauty pageant we were lucky enough to witness, and one of the main segments involved the little boy finalists showing the judges and audience their asses and bending over and spreading their little boy cheeks for us to see those pucker holes.

 

I ordered Sean to bend over and spread his ass cheeks for our guests. He was crying pretty heavily now, so I had to slap his face twice to calm him down. Striking a seven-year-old boy’s face is lots of fun because you can easily make his head ring. A good slap can send the kid flying. Don’t hit the ear though unless, of course, you want him deaf. I didn’t want him deaf. I had orders to give him. I had him approach the punishment table.

 

“Now, Sean we are going to have you punish yourself for your own good. We don’t enjoy hurting you, but you must learn to obey...” I spewed more crap just to get the kid more and more scared and the guys watching more and hornier. “Now, Sean, see that little low table in front of you? I want you to be a good boy and place your little baby dick on the surface of that table. Stand up real close and rest your dick on the table. We know it’s the right height. We measured. Fine, are you comfortable? Good. Now, see that heavy cinderblock? Pick it up. I know it’s really heavy, but you’re a nice big boy now, and you can pick it up. Hold it high up. Chest level. Good. My, my you’re a strong young man. Now to punish yourself, Sean, I want you to drop that block onto your baby penis. Drop it onto your dick.”

 

He looked at me as if I was nuts and I had to laugh at his expression.

 

“Come on. If you don’t do it, we’ll have to take you to the punishment room and let all those wild dogs bite and chew on you, and then put you in a room full of snakes So come on, punish yourself, and it will all be over soon.”

 

The stupid little boy twat dropped the brick onto his dick. The scream made six guys shoot in their pants. The look on his face at the moment of the impact made my prick jump in my pants and spurt pre-fuck. It was heaven. We got several lovely photos of the moment. Of course, he blacked out from the pain, and slumped, literally held off the floor by his imprisoned crushed prick. I picked up the heavy cinderblock, and he collapsed to the floor unconscious. I took my big fat dick out of my pants, shook it to relax it a bit and pissed all over his beautiful little face to wake him up. When he revived himself enough to be with it, he clutched at his little-squashed pee-pee and sobbed while rolling on the floor. It was so fucking cute.

 

“We’re not quite through, Sean. We have to make an impression on you, so please stand up again.”

 

The crying little boy struggled to his feet holding onto the table for support.

 

“You see those thumb tacks, Sean? Please spread them out across the board right where your penis was last time.”

 

His dick was so small he only had to lay out five or six thumbtacks.

 

“Now, Sean, place your little dick right on top of the thumbtacks. Be careful not to hurt yourself, and gently rest your sore little dick on the thumbtacks.”

 

“Please...please…don’t do this. Mommy...Mommy...Mommy…” he wailed.

 

Sean, listen to me. If every time you are a bad boy, you hurt yourself to punish yourself for being a bad boy, then your mommy will love you again. The more you hurt yourself, the more she will love you. Don’t think about your pain. Think about how much mommy will love you and be proud of her little boy. Now, pick up the cinder block again. Stop blubbering, Sean, and do as I say. Pick it way up, higher than last time. Now drop it right on your little wee-wee. Drop it right on that nasty pissing prick. It’s a bad little prick for pissing without permission. Go ahead, drop the brick.”

 

Most of the guys watching lost it that time. Especially when I lifted up the block and they saw the bloody thumb tacks embedded in his dick.

 

‘My pee-pee...my pee-pee...” he wailed when he had revived enough to sit up.

 

I helped him to his feet.

 

“We will bathe and bandage your pee-pee for you and give you some nice cream to take away the pain, but first, you have to walk over to the doctor's table over there and sit on it.”

 

I dumped a box of thumbtacks on the floor. The tortured little cunt had to walk barefoot across the thumbtacks. They bit into his baby feet, into the sensitive underside, and once he fell to his knees and got tacks in his legs and into the palm of his hands, but at last he made it to the table. He was out of his mind with pain, wailing like a wounded animal, tears, spit and snot covering his face. I threw thumbtacks up onto the table, and then lifted him up and sat him down hard. His head swung from side to side, and the way his tongue flicked out at the air, he looked like a baby raptor. He was mindless with pain.

 

Six lucky guests chosen from our audience entered the room, and they were handed boxes with hundreds of large safety pins. They proceeded to turn little Sean into a human pincushion. Front and back they pinned him, a safety pin every few inches. They stuck pins through his tits, legs, arms, thighs, .ball bag, feet, ass flesh, lips, eyelids, nostrils, cheeks. Blood ran like water from a pitcher. The seven-year-old cunt, his arms and legs thumping on the table, flopped about.

 

Eight through his tongue, so he couldn’t get it back in his mouth. They strung stout thread through the pins in his dickhead and attached them to the pins in his tits folding his little body painfully in half. They stuck safety pins through the tiny lips of his asshole. When he passed out, they pissed on him as I had done. Finally, I think, everyone had cum several times, and it’s time for a mid-morning break. While naked boys served coffee and tea laced with boy cum to our guests, I poked little Sean with a finger.

 

“Are you going to be a good boy now and not piss without permission again?”

 

He grunted something and blood spewed from his punctured lips and tongue, but I think he said: “Yes, sir.”