Date: Thu, 26 Apr 2012 10:40:53 -0700 (PDT) From: Aihu Fist Subject: SHACKLED LOVE IN BRAZIL CHAPTER 1 SHACKLED LOVE IN BRAZIL by AIHU FIST Chapter one On the way to Porto Seguro The lights in the bus were switched on as it pulled over on a dirt road, in the middle of nowhere; the only gringo among the passengers woke up with a shock, looked through the window and saw that it was dark already. He must've fallen asleep hours ago, he thought. For all he knew he could have been on the middle of the map of Brazil. He had probably slept five hours and another thirty to go all the way to from Cuiaba on his way to Porto Seguro, a tourist place in Bahia de Salvador, which was a Negro State in the country. Two teenagers were getting on the bus from a dirt road. The lights went off and the two youths headed his way while the doors shut behind them with a noise of compression. The first one passed him by and found himself a seat in the back. He was not very good looking at all, his dull face and the gloom which hung over him really put him off straight away. You know, it's like that, love at first sight or not at all. But he was barely twelve, he was sure. He looked back but his butt had gone dark already and as he abandoned that case he was pleasantly surprised to see that the second boy had taken a seat next to him. The passengers were fast asleep and didn't whine or moan about being woken up around midnight for other mounting or descending passengers. The gringo was the oversensitive one who'd wake up with the slightest bump from the bus, a cough, or the dim light next to him switched on. The bus cranked up the engine and made a move forward over a flat dirt road through a forest. As it was dark the gringo youth turned his face to something equally dark and very promising at that. The Negro boy wore precious little over his chest and legs. It was the late 80s, and shorts were not yet deemed too feminine for men or boys. Like in Europe, they were not frowned upon, however an adult in shorts in the outback of Brazil would be mocked for it or considered a homosexual. This boy's were ragged shorts which looked like he was born in them and ever since never had a wash. Perhaps, he even slept in them. He had a knapsack with him, which surely was filled with yummy stuff for him and his mate to eat all the way to Negroland. This was the gringo's first encounter with a real Bahiano, as the locals call themselves in that State. It was an eyecatcher, indeed. The gringo had studied Portuguese for two years, and even though he had thought he had an accent, Brazilians often thought he was a real Portuguese. His understanding of the lingo was good enough for a chat with the lad, who was eager to answer all his queries such as his whereabouts -living in the jungle with his elder brothers, who had deforested a plot of land, and which was now theirs, as they had worked on it for five years- his hobbies, football, and what else? Oh, watching novelas (soaps), of course and fishing, or doing plain nothing. In those days there were not any computers around yet, certainly not for the illiterate Negro folk. The more the gringo talked, the quicker he tired and by now it was half past one in the morning and he had reduced his talking to a whisper. His last question did not get a response straight away, so he repeated it a couple of times. It was so pitch dark in the bus, and so difficult to catch any of the boy's facial expressions. Hence, he had to get real close to the boy to see what was up with him. Well, you could have guessed it yourselves, the boys was plain and sound in dreamland. Being so close to his face the gringo could savour the aroma of his skin and his breath. He got carried away and so much wanted to kiss his fat lips gorged with blood; it caused him a tingling in his groin. The gringo then blew on his face puckering his own lips but nothing happened. Those lips were not tightly knit together and he could see the glistening fluid trickling from super white teeth to the right corner of his mouth. His head had slightly rolled to his right shoulder which nearly touched the gringo's left. The bus wobbly movements made it happen. The gringo then shifted his own body closer to the boy so that the Negro's mouth was only a kiss away. He blew on the child's face, to see if he was really in dreamland, but he did not react. Now the gringo's groin was aching with lust, triggered by the apparent risks involved. This was damn dangerous a thing to pursue, but the more dangerous and outlawed things got in the sex field for him, the more it turned him on. The bus ride turned into a smooth ride which encouraged the gringo's to take a bold decision. As his upper lip touched the boy's lower lip, a sudden stream of energy was being released from his loins; his throat went cork dry with anxiety, lewd thoughts and wantonness. His heart pounded fiercely. Finally their lips locked in an embrace, which only he experienced as something immensely beautiful. He was kissing a boy, who physically was still a boy for he felt no hair growth beneath his nose. Now that they had connected, his mouth tried to lick up a bit of the saliva from the left corner of the boy's mouth, and he swallowed the precious good. He must've stayed glued to him like that for at least a few minutes, only to realize a while later, that he was losing control of his thought, which went berserk, enjoying the tactile movements of racing, and of his tongue in that mouth, but worrying about the boy who could wake up any time. What would happen if the bus stopped abruptly to pick up other passengers, or if his mate wasn't asleep, who might come rushing from the backseat to ask him something. So, the gringo had to keep his eye on different balls, including those between the legs of his objet d'amour. He held his head in place by keeping his face glued against the boy's, which kept his hands free to roam elsewhere over his body. The kid wore a fishing net T-shirt with nothing underneath it. As his eyes got adjusted to the darkness, he noticed that his T-shirt was red and the hem ended just above the boy's navel. No, it wasn't the result of following a fashion, but a matter of growing out of his clothes. The shorts looked like they had seen better days, despite the fringes at the legs, but hey, he was an authentic poor rural boy, who had no TV at home, he had said. The boy watched novellas at his auntie's in Bahia during his annual three week holidays. Much of his time he spent in his room by himself, he had told him, but he couldn't explain what he actually did alone on his bed. At his auntie's in Bahia, he'd share his bed with the boy in the back, who after having spent time with him, would go back to live with his folks, who lived on a farm on a patch of cleared land. Just before he fell asleep, the gringo had been able to catch the names of both boys. Ronaldinho, next to him and the other boy was known as Rubinho, which were suitable names for little Brazilian Negro boys like them. Thinking of that, he extricated his mouth from him; let his head roll further to the right, and his torso slide towards his, and all the while playing with the small nipples that protruded through the fishnet holes. The aureoles were huge in comparison to his tits. The gringo noticed he was quite slender, no amassed fat along his flanks, or around the pectorals, like so many of the obese hamburger and soda pop hooked youngsters suffer nowadays. He then turned a little to his left side, so that he was better placed and seated to proceed his discovery journey of that ebony island of flesh, muscles, juice and bones, which he was to conquer, and possess before dawn. He had five hours left, which was more than enough to satisfy his needs that night and morning. Because of the darkness, he had to literally touch his way in on him. His left hand had found a way to get behind his butt, as the boy had fallen a tad forward; however, his thighs were not parted. So, his right hand moved in travelling from his titties to his bellybutton like an acrobat walking a tightrope. His heart was out of control and so was his mind. Gosh, he tweaked and twirled those tits like dice on a board game, yet, nothing emanated from him. Not that he wanted him to wake up, god forbid. It was exciting enough like this. Gringo bent his head and descended upon those rosettes like a hawk's beak on a prey, and wetted them thoroughly until his tongue got exhausted. It was getting a little hotter in the bus, or was it his body temperature rising? Gringo continued to do the right thing for himself, meaning, by all means, he was taking care of the boy. Occasionally, he had to withdraw his hand to adjust his manhood in his skimpy Adidas shorts and he wore no underwear. He wasn't aware, though. That some pre cum was leaking through them. Then his hand went back at work, picking up the thread at the hem of Ronaldinho's shirt, slowly sneaking under it to touch his belly. So soft, so baby skin like; Gringo gave another kiss on his right tit and next his fingers moved deeper in a snakish movement over his loins toward his groin. It was so smooth down there, below the belly button; one would have to touch to believe it. His shorts, however, were too tight to slip his hand in them. Next, his fingers softly ran over the fly, pausing there, and have his hand covering the entire package. There was nothing remotely hard there, so, he had to do something about it. The only way to unbutton the tight denim shorts- they had vintage Levi buttons- was by pulling them a little over his arse, which would give him some leeway to get to his Mickey, which he fastidiously whisked out of the shorts through one leg. Had he been brave and bold enough, he'd simply would've unbuttoned the fly and grabbed all what he considered a prize worth dying for. The gringo young man, who looked five years younger than he was- a twenty-five something- got stuck with a stubborn middle button, which refused to budge, so he abandoned it and opted for plan B, which was very crazy, but all the more exciting for the gringo. Out of his back pocket he conjured up a Swiss scout's knife with which he simply cut off the button. In no time Ronaldinho's fly opened up its gates when our traveller tore up the fly, and discovered that his prey's jungle undies were pristine vintage Swiss cheese holed briefs, consisting of two pieces of fabric, held together with a string around his waist. His family jewels, which were yet to be uncovered, were kept warm in a pouch. His fingers ran faster than his commands, frantically pushing and squeezing the young meat that lay hidden under the raw but worn 'n' torn jungle cloth. Eventually, he got there; the flesh stiffened in a short spell, responding to each and every tug, dig, thrust, and pull of his wicked fingertips. The boy was a head shorter that his mate, so, in his professional boy lover's humble opinion, Ronaldinho couldn't have been older than Rubinho. Not one hair was to be found, but when he thought he had felt it all, he was holding a nasty little piece of work in his hand, balls and all, which was felt like the parts of a fifteen year old in erection. He had to use his full hand to hold the erect cock. He then felt up the balls, which were massive in volume, at least for an eleven year old. Since he couldn't see the balls, he thought it was the mind, which played tricks on him just like when you touch a zit on your face with one finger and you think it is gigantic. The bald scrotum was soggy from perspiration, but when the smell wafted into the gringo's sensitive nostrils, he lost all control over his handlings of the boy. He kept up the pressure on moving the boy's woody, which stood proud and high like a lanky cornstalk, growing stronger and stronger with every squeeze of it. One finger found its way to the perineum. Every so often, when the boy breathed out heavily- did he dream of something erotic, was he going to wake up in a wet dream?-the gringo stopped, threw the flaps of his shorts back over his boyhood as if the shorts were buttoned up again, just for safety's sake, and by the time he picked up where he had left off with the fondling, the boy's lordship had gone lame again. Was it important that he was eleven? Sure it was, that was still the age of a real boy! Maybe he was lying and he could well be twelve or thirteen? More likely the latter, he thought, as some wet substance came oozing from the boy's glans. Pre-cum? Possibly. Gringo tried to see what time it was on his watch that gave light, and he realized he could have used the light to look at more exciting objects in the dark, such as a pair of young plums. Thus, he pointed the light to the throbbing boy's club. Spot on, it could have been the Holy Lamb in the manger ready to walk the waters. Now gringo wondered how much more it would take before the fleshy pole would shower the palm of his hand, or would he rather take the jet of a million tadpoles in his throat. However, this time it was a different job and a different object d'amour. He could not allow the divine juice to land on clothes. Yes, his lips pursed and already zoomed in on the throbbing bean stalk. Also, he somewhat wanted to play with his angel's hole while blowing the whistle. Therefore, gringo had to pull down the jeans a little more. First his thighs were pushed farther apart but some dexterity was needed to get to that arsehole. The best thing was to cup his right hand, fingers down, over the boy's jewels, and proceed a degree lower to get to the heavenly gate of anal pleasure. So, the Ronaldinho's brain would get tricked by several physical digs from touching on two different locations of the body, hence not send him strong enough a signal about a finger probing in his bottom orifice. The glans' joyous itching, and the sucking on his dick would keep the entire body invasion in check. That is, the anal muscles would totally relax, and cooperate with the invader, a finger substituting the gringo's massive cock. All said and done, our backpacker zoomed in with parted lips, ready and eager to cup that shiny helmet and lodge it between soggy inner cheeks that came with a darting tongue. Like any good Christian, the boy was uncut, hence gringo had to peel off the foreskin, but he did it with ease by pulling strongly at the boy's base with an index finger and a thumb. He just loved it! What about the boy? The gringo's tiny mouth held the helmet captive, sucked up in straight jacket. He imagined guillotining the head right there and chew on it until the white semen would spill out drowning his greedy tongue. But maybe Ronaldinho didn't have spunk yet; how was gringo supposed to know? Next, his jaw started aching, but his boner was definitely not giving in to muscle tiredness. So, he suckled it some more, while his index knocked at the boy's portal, which neither welcomed nor refused the foreigner's call. As far as this tale goes, no one knows whether poor Ronaldinho ever had had a visitor down there, but then it made the exploration so much more tantalising, and there is always a first time for everything, isn't there? With a bit of lube of spit he went in a long way, and yes, the boy was mighty tight. The feel of it was too much for the boy lover, when the sphincter didn't cooperate at first. However, with each and every suck of the boy's whistle, the anus ring also responded with uncontrolled pulses which in the end gave in and let the finger search its way. Wow, way to go, gringo thought. Nobody, ever, would have come up with this, unless they tried and compared. He blew the boy's cock and prayed for an ejaculation of his, but nothing came. The white youngster's was very hard and fought the surges of semen to come. He was close though. More than often, anxiety kept him at bay from enjoying the sex a hundred percent. As he took another nosedive with his mouth, and another stab and rub over the boy's prostate, he noticed the space around him was getting darker. A shadow loomed over him which stopped him sucking the boy instantly. Oh no, he thought and shuddered, not the steward, please. The steward usually slept on the back seat, maybe it was time to take over from his colleague for the next leg of the ride. The stranger slightly but steadily rose his head and torso and hoped for the best. There stood a black figure in front of him; it was Rubinho, proud and lively. -I saw what you doing, he whispered aggressively. Gringo didn't know what to say; he could not deny what I had enjoyed and which possibly had observed from beginning to end?the cock sucking of his plausible cousin. Gringo looked at his watch and saw that it was 3 am. He pointed the watch to Rubinho's face. No not his face, he thought. He didn't like that complexion, it was evil. The boy took control over the situation by pushing his wrist away, so both or rather all three were in the dark now. -I want the same as my cousin, he whispered in a lower tone. If you don't I will tell the cops in Porto Seguro, and they will lock you up with the scum of Porto Seguro, who will first rape you, and then kill you. -Ok, Ok, Ok, gringo whispered back, scared shitless. Gosh, was this boy daft? And would I refuse to suck a boy's cock? He asked himself. -Give it to me now, the gringo ordered him. Rubinho was a bit too demanding for his taste, but too unpredictable to not take this serious. Rubinho didn't wait for the boy molester to make up his mind, unzipped his fly, and rammed his penis against his mouth while grabbing him and holding him by the hair. Instinctively he opened his lips and began to blow the kid. Being close to gagging; he realized this boy had done some homework. His cock was huge, perhaps as big as Ronaldinho's. -Hey gringo, he whispered again, if I ever catch you with my cousin again, then your arse ain't safe in the entire country for you. I am no faggot but I have learned how to enjoy raping a faggot's mouth. Now get on with it. The gringo inhaled deeply through the nostrils, and tried to hoist the boy's dick farther in, which he managed, just. He pushed deeper and said with a snarl: You wasted your time on him, because he has no spunk yet; more likely he will piss in your faggot throat. Enough bullshit, suck harder, gringo, I like it hard and rough, he murmured. Oh, I fancy that too, the gringo thought, but he didn't dare say that. -Where are you going? -Porto Seguro -We too, you must come with us and stay in our house. -Why? And what will your parents say? -Nothing, but I want you to suck me off every day, besides my parents will be delighted with a gringo friend, who will love to educate their son, be his private teacher for free, for you will do this for free as a volunteer. That is, you will tell my parents so. Comments to: aihufist@yahoo.com