The first time his hands wandered to Mirio's delicate sex, the boy had wet himself in the middle of the night. It was innocent enough, or so he had hoped. He wiped urine away from the boy's thighs, his buttocks. Wiping Mirio's front clean was dreaded, but it was more than necessary.
Apologizing for the cold of the wet wipe, he slid it between the lips of Mirio's sex, over his pubic mound. Inwardly, he shuddered. He savored Mirio's reaction: eyebrows drawing together and widening his stance to make room between them for his father's long, spindly fingers.
For nights, he beat himself up over it. Called himself every name in the book. Paced back and forth, back and forth. He deprived himself of sleep for touching Mirio like that. Why had he thought it was a good idea to adopt a little boy of his own? His dreams had foretold Mirio's role in his life, but he had neglected the memories of waking up covered in his own filth, unsure of what to do with himself.
The next time Kenma found himself indulging himself was when Mirio was seven years old. It was the boy's birthday and he was just coming in from an afternoon spent playing in the pool with one of the neighbors' kids. The boy was sent home with a word of gratitude for spending the afternoon with Mirio, and Mirio hurried to the bathroom to grab a towel to dry himself off.
Kenma hadn't meant to walk in on his son, had simply needed to use the restroom. He found Mirio, standing in front of the mirror on a step stool, leaning close and prodding at his chest. Kenma hadn't thought much of it at first, but the realization was quick to set in when he had emptied his bladder.
Oh.
Of course. Mirio knew that he wasn't quite the same as the other boys, and Kenma had been concerned about it for a while, as well. Mirio was blooming a bit earlier than he had expected, and now he was beginning to take notice of his growing breasts.
Finding no other way in his sick, sick mind to explain to Mirio that being himself was totally okay, he found himself standing behind the boy and putting his large, spindly hands on his waist. He leaned down, putting his chin on Mirio's shoulder, looking at him with raised eyebrows in the mirror.
"Daddy... do I have to start being a girl now?"
"Of course not, Mirio. You feel the most comfortable being a little boy. Why would your body dictate who you want to be?"
"...Do you want me to be a girl?"
Sighing through his nose, he shook his head. His hands rose to cover Mirio's chest, and he cocked his head. "You're growing quicker than little boys your age. That's all."
Mirio's body was... soft. Supple. His hands itched to touch more of the boy, and in a cloud of lust, he let one hand slide down to Mirio's core. Dipping his fingers between the boy's legs, he spread the pink lips. Watching his actions in the mirror, he found the tiny pink pearl that contained tons of nerve endings.
Whether he lost himself in the warmth of Mirio's body or he truly was a sick man who deserved to be locked away for the rest of his life, he couldn't tell the difference. His pinky had found itself into Mirio's pussy, rubbing up against a patch of nerves within the boy and drawing out the sweetest of sounds from him.
It didn't take long for Mirio to cum, of course, and he grabbed a hold of Kenma's hand as he rocked his hips back and forth to ride the pleasure out.
