"I'm twelve years old already," Danny complains. "I don't need a babysitter anymore. This is dumb."
Alan smiles indulgently. "I know. But your parents feel safer if there's someone at home to watch you. You can't blame them."
Danny, a young blond boy of appealing features and sullen disposition, kicks the sideboard next to the door and glares at the carpet. He resents the older boy that his parents have left him with, and wishes he could make the young man go away. Alan is a new babysitter, a recent addition to the neighborhood. He's tall, handsome, and athletic, in a way that might have made Danny admire him had they met under different circumstances. At the moment, however, Danny is determined to be gloomy and to dislike his babysitter, merely on principle.
"Do you want me to make you something to eat?" offers Alan.
"I'm not hungry," Danny grumbles, flouncing down into a chair at the dinner table.
"How about we watch a movie then?" Alan keeps trying. Danny actually wouldn't mind seeing a movie, but he doesn't want to watch it with Alan.
"No." Danny crosses his arms over his chest. He's dug his feet in now.
Alan is quiet for a moment, thinking. "How about a game then?" he asks eventually. "We could play hide and go seek?"
Danny glares at him. "That's stupid! Hide and seek is a little kid's game. It's dumb."
Alan smiles. "It's not that bad. I'll tell you what. How about I make a deal with you, okay?"
Danny is suspicious, but doesn't shoot down the idea immediately. Encouraged, Alan continues. "You hide somewhere in the house, and if I can't find you within half an hour, I'll let you do whatever you want for the rest of the night. Sound good?"
"Anything I want?" Though the suspicion is still in his voice, Alan can tell that he has Danny now. Alan smiles and nods.
"Anything you want," he confirms. "And if I win, then we can just keep playing like it's a regular game, okay?"
Danny glares at him a moment longer, sizing him up, then sticks out his small hand. "Deal," he agrees.
Alan shakes his hand solemnly and smiles. When Alan smiles, he shows all of his straight, white teeth. "Alright then. I'm going to count to twenty really slowly, and you go hide, okay?" Alan turns his head to the wall and starts the countdown. "One... Two... Three..."
He hears the pattering of Danny's feet running away, and listens for where they go. He doesn't hear Danny's feet on the nearby stairs, and no clicking of the lock to the basement door, so he knows Danny must still be somewhere on the ground floor. He counts slowly but quietly, listening as long as he can. The footsteps are gone now, but he can just make out some soft grunting, which makes him thinking that Danny is probably trying to squeeze himself into something.
Alan smiles behind his hands as his count nears its finish. "Seventeen... Eighteen... Nineteen... Twenty! Ready or not, here I come!" He opens his eyes and turns to the room at large. He definitely heard the footsteps start off towards the living room. With a nonchalant ease, Alan heads towards the room, peeking his head in past the open glass doors and smiling when he sees what's there.
Danny has attempted to wedge himself under the couch where it stands just in front of the wall. But he has not been entirely successful, as he is only half-hidden, his rear end sticking up into the air over his legs, which are stuck in a kneeling position.
Alan leans himself against the wall. "Not much of a hiding place," he says with amusement.
"Shut up!" Danny retorts. "I'm stuck. I can't move. You hafta move the couch off me!"
"Now now," says Alan, enjoying himself. "Don't order around your babysitter. I'm in charge of you for tonight, remember?"
"Shut up!" Danny repeats. "You're stupid. Get me out already!"
With a smile, Alan kneels next to Danny's protruding bum. "You need to learn to be more polite. When children talk like that, they deserve to be spanked." Still smiling, Alan raises his hand and brings it down on Danny's cloth-covered rear with a resounding 'smack!' Danny squeals, and the little butt wriggles in the air.
"Stop it!" Danny yells. "Stop!"
Alan smacks him again, just as hard, and a third time. "Not until you've learned your lesson. Have you learned your lesson?" He spanks Danny once more for emphasis.
"Fine, fine!" Danny groans. "Just stop it already! I won't say anything."
"That's a good boy," says Alan. "Now, it looks like you're stuck in there good and tight. We're gonna have to grease you up and pull you out. Do you have anything slippery in the house? Like oil, or butter, or liquid soap?"
"I think we've got that stuff in the kitchen," says Danny. "Can't you just lift the couch off me?"
Alan smacks Danny's rump once more, hard. "What did I just tell you about talking back?"
Danny hisses in pain at the slap and says nothing more. Satisfied, Alan stands. "I'll be right back," he assures Danny, and wanders into the kitchen.
Once there, he surveys the materials at hand with a practiced eye. There is hand soap by the sink, but it would not be his first choice. Idly he searches through the cabinets, until he opens one above the stove and comes across a small plastic bottle of olive oil. Alan smiles and takes it down with one hand. With the other he unzips the fly of his jeans and pulls out his penis, stroking and tugging at it idly.
He returns to the living room with the olive oil still in hand, and stares down at the quivering rump. "Are you sure you can't get out on your own?" he asks.
"Uh-uh," says Danny. "When I try and move back it hurts, and I can't move forward anymore. Get me out already!"
"Well, we'll see what we can do," Alan assures him. He unscrews the cap on the bottle of olive oil, and pours a little into his palm. It warms quickly with his body heat. He sets the open bottle on a nearby coffee table and begins to massage the oil into his fingers. He kneels down behind the boy once more, and with his free hand, grabs the hem of the boy's sweatpants and pulls them down to his knees, along with his underwear.
"What're you doing?" Danny asks, sounding apprehensive.
"This will make it easier," Alan assures him, his wide smile readily apparent in his voice. "And don't make me speak to you again about talking back."
Danny falls silent, and Alan reaches forward, grabbing the naked butt in one hand. He pulls back the boy's cheek with his thumb and slowly begins to insert one of his oiled fingers into the boy's anus.
Danny squeals and yells, "Hey!" but Alan gives his buttocks a warning pat with his clean hand, and Danny subsides. Satisfied, Alan allows a second finger to slip in beside the first, moving them in and out of Danny in short, swift jabs. Danny begins to whimper as Alan's fingers slide in and out of his anus. Alan can tell he wants to say something, but fear keeps him mute.
Alan plunges the two fingers in as deep as they can go before removing them, and Danny wriggles his butt in the air as they leave him. He says nothing, but his body sags slightly in relief. Alan reaches over to the coffee table and grabs the oil once more, pouring it into his clean hand. He rolls it around in his palm for a moment, then begins to stroke himself with that hand, smearing the oil onto his penis and sighing with pleasure as it stiffens to his touch.
He returns to Danny and unceremoniously shoves three fingers into the waiting ass. Danny cries out, but Alan pays him no heed. He slides the fingers in and out at the same pace with which he strokes his member. His eyes slide briefly shut in bliss.
The boy's insides are hot and tight around his fingers, and Alan quickens his pace. He wants to prolong this, but the feeling of that tight, tight hole is so tempting, and the mental pictures race before his closed eyelids, accompanied by phantom sensations.
Finally he can stand it no longer. He opens his eyes and mercilessly yanks his fingers out of Danny's ass, prying open the cheeks with one hand. With the other he guides his stiff cock to the boy's hole, lining it up carefully, and then pushes forward, pushing, pushing, until—ah!—he begins to sink in, sliding slowly into Danny, farther and farther, until he seats himself as deep as he possibly can.
He pauses there a moment, enjoying the sheer excruciating pleasure of it, the feeling of being encased by Danny's willing body, the hot walls of his rectum clenching tightly on the invading member like they never want to let go. It feels delicious, but it feels even better when he begins to move, when the tight friction of Danny's passage grips him and rubs him up and down.
He kneads the boy's insides, hearing the rhythmic, muffled mewls of the boy that come in time with his thrusts. He grabs the boy's cheeks and squeezes them tightly around his dick, increasing the friction, making him see stars as he rams home again and again in deep, wonderfully tight strokes.
He takes his time, enjoying a leisurely pace, trying not to let the sheer pleasure of the act drive him crazy. But too quickly he loses control, bucking his hips, slamming himself in as hard as he can, and feels himself coming, peaking, emptying himself in hot flashes into the boy, pulling out quickly as he does so, so that most of the cum splatters onto the pale cheeks.
He lies for a few seconds afterward with his forehead resting against the arm of the couch, panting as he tries to get his breath back. When coherency finally returns, he stands up and grabs up the bottle of oil, re-screwing the cap. He takes it back to the kitchen, and returns with a paper towel, with which he wipes of Danny's ass and the drops of cum that splashed onto himself. Afterward he tosses the wadded-up wipe into a nearby trash bin—perfect shot; two points.
Alan puts himself away in his pants and re-zips his jeans, before grabbing Danny around the waist with one arm. With the other he surreptitiously lifts the couch a little and then yanks Danny backwards, out from under the obstacle. "You see?" he says with a grin. "I told you it would help."
Danny is sniffling, and will not meet his eyes. Alan pats his head reassuringly, and the sniffles stop, replaced by a shadow of Danny's old sullen behavior. He is being petulant, which means, Alan thinks with a mental sigh, that he's bouncing right back to normal. Outwardly, Alan maintains his blinding smile. "I won," he says, "so we get to do things my way, okay? Let's keep playing. It's my turn to hide now. Think you can find me?"
"Duh," says Danny. "Of course. I told you. This game is stupid 'cause it's so easy."
Alan smiles. "Alright then," he says. "Start counting."
As Danny turns around to the wall and starts his counting, Alan races up the stairs and into Danny's bedroom. He opens the door of Danny's small walk-in closet and steps inside, closing it behind him. As soon as he gets inside, he strips off his pants and boxers and leaves them in a heap on the ground. His penis has already grown hard again in anticipation.
Alan sits and waits, eyes on the door, hand poised to grab Danny's wrist and pull him inside.