Author's Notes: What you are about to read is a work of fiction. Fiction means that it isn't real! If you cannot determine the difference between fact and fiction, then ask the Elf sitting next to you to explain the difference. If there is no Elf sitting next to you then it might be all right to read this story.
Author's Other Notes: Although this is a fairy tale about a little boy having a nightmare, I can assure everybody that no fairies were harmed while producing this tale. Scudder.
The small eight-year old boy rolled quietly over in his sleep on to his stomach and gave a soft moan. It was only seconds until midnight and all was quiet in the farmhouse.
Little Timmy and his family had just moved into the big farmhouse that sat at the edge of the small farming community of Cowden Oklahoma. His father worked in Oklahoma City for a law firm and his mother was a simple homemaker. All three of them had spent their day unpacking and moving into their new home. By the time it was ten o'clock all three were dead asleep.
As Timmy slept soundly the small clock next to his bed struck midnight and a dark figure moved across the shadows of his room.
From a deep slumber the exhausted little boy turn his head as he instinctively felt the presents of someone in the room. Slightly opening his dreary eyes and raising himself up on to his hands and knees, the boy looked around the room. His bedroom door was ajar and a soft light from the hallway beamed across his bed. Still too exhausted to comprehend much of anything, Timmy flopped himself back down burying his face into his pillow.
A high-pitched creaking sound broke the silence of the peaceful house and the light that had been beaming across Timmy's bed slowly faded.
Still only half conscience Timmy turned his head to face the sound and through his fuzzy eyesight he saw as his bedroom door closed slowly, leaving the boy in utter darkness. Timmy didn't think much of it as he closed his eyes once more and tried to return to sleep. His body began to tingle as he drifted closer to sleep.
The dark figure moved towards the bed and the sleeping child. Though the room was completely dark to everyone else, it was as bright as day to the stalker as he approached Timmy. Slowly the stalker pulled the child's blankets down off of the sleeping boy.
From his sleep, Timmy could feel the cool air as it brushed against his small body. With his eyes still closed he reached out into the darkness and tried to grab and pull his blankets back up, but they seemed to be falling off the bed. Sleepily Timmy began to sit up to reach for his blankets when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder pushing him lightly face down on to the bed.
"Daddy!" He whined from his sleep. "I'm cold."
There was no reply as the dark figure looked down on the now exposed child. The boy was so small and innocent, his blonde hair lay cross his overly rounded face and his voice was that of an angle. The dark figure could feel the heat of the boy's skin through the soft cotton material of his pajamas and he knew he had to have more. The skin that lay beneath the material felt soft and pure to the cold hand.
Timmy tried to wake from his sleep but he just didn't have the strength. He could feel the cold hand on his back holding him still and he wanted to get up to get his blanket to keep warm, but he just couldn't do it. Timmy opened his eyes, but all he could see was the pitch-black darkness, not even a light from under the door could be seen. He could feel as another hand rested on his back, next to the other and then cold shivers ran up and down his spine. Whether from the fright of what was happening or exhaustion from a busy day of unpacking, Timmy still could not move or raise his voice.
The dark figure moved his hands down the child's back, his thumbs touching each other as his fingers moved along Timmy's sides. As he moved his hands down to Timmy's hips, he pushed the fingers of both hands into the waistband of the eight-year olds' pajama bottoms and pulled them down ever so slowly. The waistband expanded over Timmy's hips and his babyish bottom blossomed with its release. Timmy's soft innocent bottom became very sensitive to the surrounding air as it breezed past his skin. The fingers of the dark figure felt like ice cycles as they pushed down the child's garments causing goose pimples to spread across his skin.
Timmy began to whine a little more as he kept slipping in and out of consciousness, he could feel the big hands as they undressed him and as they moved across his fanny they felt like ice. Somewhere in his mind Timmy he thought he was in trouble with his father and began to plead with him.
"Please daddy! I'll be good! Don't spank me!" The child half whispered and half whined with his eyes still closed.
The dark figure smiled to himself as he pulled the boy's pajama bottoms and underwear completely off. It moved to the side of the bed and placed a cold hand onto the back of Timmy's head and pulled him to the side.
Timmy's eyes opened, but all he could see was the blackness. Then something moved into his line of sight, it was long like a sausage and it was moving to his face. From someplace in Timmy's mind he heard a voice whisper harshly at him.
"Lick it!" The voice ordered.
The cold sausage moved up and pressed itself against Timmy's warm cheek and it began to move back and fourth across the eight-year olds face.
"I said lick it!" The voice ordered again.
Timmy stuck out his tongue and began to lick the big cold sausage; sometimes it would thrust itself forward and poke at Timmy's eyes and nose.
The dark figure was relishing the warmth of his newest victim, but he wanted more; he needed more.
"Now suck on it!" The voice hissed.
Little Timmy opened his mouth and began to suck on the tip of the cold sausage, running his small tongue back and fourth across its tip as it was pushed in deeper into his young mouth. Soon it went beyond his mouth and its length rested on the flat of Timmy's tongue and ran down his throat. Timmy was choking and gasping for air as he felt the cold sausage move down his throat.
The dark figure was relishing in the tightness of the small boy's mouth. The warmth of the virgin soul that was servicing him was pure ecstasy and it wanted more.
"Come with me!" The voice demanded.
Suddenly an ice-cold fluid was flooding Timmy's mouth, the child was finding it impossible to breath. Out of an act of primal instinct for survival the small boy fought back and shoved himself away from his attacker. Timmy rolled backwards and off his bed onto his soft-carpeted floor. With his eyes still closed, Timmy was coughing and struggling to get to his feet. When he opened his eyes, the little eight-year old boy saw that he wasn't in his bedroom anymore and he was dressed. He stood up and looked around.
Timmy now stood in the middle of an old styled schoolhouse, just like the ones he would see on TV when he watched 'Gun Smoke'. The boy spun around quickly and then down at himself. He was wearing knee-high pants that were held up by a pair of suspenders and a pair of really hard leather shoes whose socks came all the way up to his knees where his pants tucked into them. He was wearing a baggy white shirt with strange buttons on it.
"There you are!" An unfamiliar voice barked out. It was unfamiliar to Timmy but somewhere in his mind he knew the voice.
Timmy spun around to face the voice.
Standing in the doorway of the classroom stood a tall figure of a man. He wore an old western suit. The coat and pants were black the coat had a long tail on it and on his head was a black flat-rimmed hat. The man's face was hard as stone, in one hand he held a couple of books and in the other was a pile of papers. "You were supposed to meet me early this morning by the mill!"
"I-I'm s-sorry s-sir!" Timmy squeaked as fear and memories that weren't his began to flood his brain.
The man walked past Timmy to his desk where he placed his books and papers. "Sorry isn't good enough, Britcher!"
Timmy's brain continued to swim as he realized his name was Britcher not Timmy. "Really Mr. Biggles! I'm sorry! My Paw wouldn't let me leave until my chores were done!"
Mr. Biggles sat down and smiled at the boy. "Not good enough boy. You know the rules!" Reaching down the man began to undue his pants where he pulled out his throbbing penis from its confines. "Now get over here and get to work!"
Timidly the frightened boy walked over to his teacher, he stood between the man's legs. The boy looked down at the man's organ and for some reason it looked familiar, he kneeled and took the organ into his small hands. The eight-year old boy rubbed the organ across his face, at first he expected it to feel warm but instead it was cold as ice.
"Lick it!" Mr. Biggles commanded.
The boy brought out his tongue and began to lick the man's organ, sometimes Mr. Biggles would hold the boy's head and thrust his _c_o_c_k_ into the boy's face poking him in the eye or nose.
Wanting more he commanded more from the boy. "Now suck on it!"
The small boy opened his mouth as wide as he could to fit as much of the cold organ in him as he could. But Mr. Biggles wanted more as he shoved his _c_o_c_k_ even deeper into the boy's mouth.
When Timmy began to cough and gag, Mr. Biggles let him stand. "What's the matter Britcher?" He hissed. "Want it in your butt again boy?"
Before the eight-year old boy could respond, his teacher had him lying face down across his lap. He could feel as the man unfastened his suspenders from the back and slowly pealed his britches back, exposing his plump baby bottom.
Mr. Biggles smiled as he watched the boy's plump butt call out to him, begging for some attention. He knew the boy's father was a drunk and could care less about the boy and so Mr. Biggles knew the kid was his for the taking. He raised his hand up in the air and brought it down hard onto the babyish buns causing a loud smacking.
"SMACK!"
"OW! Please Mr. Biggles don't!" The boy pleaded.
"SMACK!"
"OW!"
"Sorry my boy but you know the rules."
"SMACK!"
"OW!"
"I have to warm you backside up before I can _f_u_c_k_ your little butt."
"SMACK!"
"OW! Please no more!"
But Mr. Biggles continued spanking the child and the more the boy cried out and tried to wiggle away the more Mr. Biggles enjoyed himself. He loved the way the child's little cheeks would quiver after each spank. It wasn't long before he noticed that the boy would raise his hips in anticipation of the next spank; it seemed the boy wanted to be punished. Soon all the fight was out of the boy and his plump baby butt had a nice shade of red to it. He picked the boy up and carried him over to one of the desks and laid him face down draped over the desk.
"Grab the backrest boy!" The teacher commanded.
Through his tear stained eyes the little eight-year old boy reached up and grabbed the backrest to the desk chair, then he lowered his head to wait for the rest of his teacher's lusts.
"Now! Don't you dare let go!" With that said Mr. Biggles swatted the boy's tender rump. He then kneeled down behind the boy and placed both of his ice-cold hands onto the warm cheeks of the spanked boy.
Mr. Biggles hands were freezing, but in Timmy's condition they felt good right then against his hot little butt.
Mr. Biggles moved his face in closer to freshly spanked bottom; he could feel the warmth pouring off of them as he moved ever so closer. He brought his nose to the boy's crack and inhaled then he stuck out his tongue and licked the firm little butt cheeks. The man had an eternal lust for small boys that he just could not quench. With out any consideration for the boy he hardened his tongue and thrust it into the boy's virgin hole. The warm inners of the child sent sensations throughout Mr. Biggles body and the taste just had to be heaven sent.
Timmy sucked in air as the man's tongue was rammed into his butt. But he never let go of the backrest. He could feel the man' cold hands on both of his butt cheeks as they pried his fanny apart to make room for his face.
Mr. Biggles forced his tongue in as far as he could, then he began to tongue _f_u_c_k_ the small boy, sucking out any and all boy juices that he could.
Timmy could not believe how deep or how fridged the tongue in his butt was, at one point little Timmy could feel something cold brush against his bellybutton from the inside. The small boy was being torn between unimaginable pains as well as indescribable pleasures.
Having his fill, Mr. Biggles stood up and pressed his organ up against the boy's anus. "And now boy. Its time for me to own you!"
From somewhere deep in Timmy's mind he knew what Mr. Biggles meant. The small boy closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth as he steadied himself for the man's intrusion.
Mr. Biggles smiled as he shoved with all his might into the virgin soul that bowed before him.
Timmy was shoved forward as the most intense pain he had ever felt flooded his small body. His eyes opened wide to a dark room as he tried to scream only air could be heard leaving his mouth. The dark figure pulled back but then shoved himself even further into the tortured child. Timmy could hear his bed creaking loudly as he stood on his knees in the center of his bed, bent over holding onto the backrest of his bedpost. There was an ice-cold thing being shoved into his bottom and it hurt like hell.
The dark figure howled as he raped the eight-year old boy on his bed. With every thrust he could feel the warmth of the kid's butt cheeks as they were pressed against his own groin.
Timmy could not let go of the bed's backrest, nor could the boy scream any louder than a whisper. He could only stay on his knees as the dark figure raped him.
Finally after what seemed an eternity the assault and racket on the bed ended with little Timmy's inners being flooded with an ice-cold feeling.
Timmy fell flat onto his face. Then he screamed with all he was worth. He screamed until his young lungs were empty, then he sucked in more air and screamed again. His bedroom door burst open as Timmy's father came charging into the bedroom, his mother close behind him. Timmy sat on the bed screaming while looking around the room for his attacker, his mother rushed to him while his father looked franticly around the room.
Timmy's mother pulled the boy out from under his blanket and sat the crying boy on her lap to consul him.
Timmy's father gave a long sigh of relief as he realized that the boy only had a nightmare.
Picking Timmy up his mother took him into the bathroom to clean the boy and to change his soiled pajama bottoms.
Timmy's father patted the boy's face as his mother took him away he then rubbed his own face trying to work the sleep out of his own eyes. Looking down at the boy's clock he saw that it was only a minute after midnight.
The next morning, after sleeping with his parents the rest of the night, Timmy was asked about his nightmare.
He had no memory of it, except for a man named Mr. Biggles who was mean to him.
The End?
Scudder Notes: Please send all comments and flames to scudder125@msn. com