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Elio glows like a ripened sunflower in southern Italy hills.
He’s full, belly protruding well beyond his knees he has awkwardly bunched up to his chest. I wonder if beyond the thin layer of belly chub Elios petite frame manages to carry if my child kicks little songs below the surface into his mother’s skin.
Elio is going to be a mother, the fat, heavy swell of my balls made him one. Just a couple full moons ago, under the hanging trees by the water I filled him while he hitched weak cries against the dirt of the earth. I can’t imagine what Mr Perlman would have thought had he spotted us, his teenage son surrendering to the ground by the mere pressure of my wisdom and respect the boy has for me. Looks up to me, much like the night I first had him, bony knees propped up on my shoulders. His little tummy scrunched under the pressure of my thrusts folding him uncomfortably in half, belly bulging with obvious proof I was too large to naturally fit in the boys body.
Wet eyes or not, Elio had taken my seed.
Again and again.
No matter where, on a sunny day down by the lake, Elio’s bottom propped up by tantalizing pale blue shorts that barely cover his cheeks, I fondled him in broad daylight just as he innocently turned another page of Les Miserables.
I’m sure Elio remembers too, remembers my manly stubble as I had shoved myself into him, ripped the inside of his inner side of the shorts as I stretched them too taut when I lined up, Elio went weak, femininely broken as I rasped in my no good state what a good person he is, how sweet he is to submit like this, to take me in pain, but without fight.
He shuddered as I groped his flat chest then, almost as if the present somehow managed to cast a shadow over our love making then. Or, most likely, he was just too intelligent to think naively that washing out my cum in the shower would remain a safe method to keep him from getting pregnant much longer, as I was breeding him on a daily, multiple time per day basis. It got so bad that Elio elected that I just start finishing inside his throat, which undeniably worked for a period of time, that is, until Elio got tonsillitis from all the gagging he does when I bottom out, my hairy balls twitching against his pretty nose. Then Elio started figuring a good plan was for me to breed him only in the shower, that way he could wash me out immediately.
Again, that is until that collapsed, literally, a slipped shampoo bottle and a teeny little purple bruise on Elio's pale barbie doll feet was enough to have my princess set his foot down on the strictly shower situation.
We had tried the pull out method, which worked, of course, but lasted about three days before my dumb caveman brain instincts just begs, breed. Elio had the most laughable, petulant scowl after I had rolled off him after, his legs, smooth and bare lied completely lax and open, his raw slit puffy and pink, draining a thick waterfall of my cum proudly but defeatedly.
Then, after that, I stopped giving a damn what Elio said, just saw him as a fertile little womb meant to be filled. It hurt Elio of course, his ramblings about his annoyances would go unnoticed while I would blink in confusion later on when Elio would ask him to repeat it to confirm I’d been listening or taking in anything other than the spread of his thighs. It sucked for them both, I had started at some point to dread the mess of a man that I had become, just taking my lover for granted.
My hormones would betray me, and Elio too.
“You got me pregnant, you selfish bastard,” Elio said, the first time he had told me.
He had slapped me too, a girly one, but my unkempt anger had always resided in me, especially at the sign of disrespect.
I forced him back into the wall, shoved up by both wrists like a tell tale abuser. Elio’s just a frail boy, no threat to a man like me, but I still make troubles in my reactions, and even tragically worse, timing. Ms perlman saw the ordeal and I had to get her for her mercy on my character for days after that, hoping she’d not see me as a monster who not only ravished her son of his precious virginity, but implant life inside him, instantly making him more vulnerable than ever before, and all with that under my belt, being forceful openly to him.
Elio still, somehow, quite disastrously, trusts me.
He flicks his head my way, soft curls dancing with the wind, he rubs his swell, eyes slightly squinting with sun and contentment. I made a part inside him, and all I have to do is watch him grow the pieces all together.
I am a lost man, but I have found a boy of my own.
