Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 11:45:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: Chronicles Of St.Barnabas chapter14
14. Georgie Over a Barrel
That night, after the boys were in bed, I sat in my living
room, the pictures spread out before me, trying to work out
in my mind what course of action to take.
I thought back to the spanking episode of last fall, and
remembered how relieved I had been when that affair had
blown over. Of course there had been indications-hushed
giggles in the corridors as I went by, and that graffi-ti on the
bathroom mirror (C.M. is a K.A.)-that Georgie had not
kept the matter entirely to himself-, but at least there had
been no scandal. And now I remembered something else,
which at the time I chose to put down as a figment of my
pederastic imagination: It had seemed to me that, following
the little flagellation scene in my bedroom, Georgie had
gone out of his way to present his pretty bottom to me in the
most fetching and provocative ways. Now I wasn't so sure it
was all in my mind. I recalled, for instance, that when
Georgie was in my room with some other boys, he always
positioned himself so that I was afforded a perfect view of
his posterior charms. I remembered once when he and an-
other boy were playing chess on the floor, Georgie wearing
his oldest, thinnest, tightest gym shorts, and how, if he
wasn't kneeling with his sweet rump in the air, he was sitting
with legs apart and drawn up, affording a view of the tender
top of his thighs. And one day in the shower, he stood there
with his back to me, lazily soaping his pink round buttocks,
running the soap up and down his crease, then dropping it
and showing me his rosebud as he bent to pick it up. Acci-
dental? Maybe, but I wondered. Perhaps I had deliberately
tried to ignore these little signs, because as much as I burned
for that bottom-and still did-something always told me
that here was a "bad seed," a boy named Candy whose sweet
delights were tempting but which might prove to be hemlock
in disguise. On the other hand, I now had the pretty little boy
over a barrel: with the evidence spread out before me I could
get him expelled. And if I could do that, I could also turn it
to my advantage another way.
The next evening, which was a Thursday, I sent for Geor-
gie. The pictures were once again spread out on the table
before me. I felt nervous, and when his knock came I said,
"Come in!" just a bit too loud.
"You sent for me, sir?" he asked, the perfect little choir-
boy, a "what-have-l-done-now-sir" look on his pretty face. I
stood up and paced the room, not looking at the boy, who
stood in the center of the rug, his hands folded in front, his
face lowered. I noted his long eyelashes, and the way his hair
came to a point at the nape of his neck. I was near enough to
smell his hair.
"Yesterday," I began rather pompously, "while attempt-
ing to photograph the nest of a barred owl from high in a
tree-Did you know there was the nest of a barred owl in a
tree on the school grounds? Well, there is, though perhaps
you are not a bird-watcher. I assure you, Candy, bird-
watching can be an extremely interesting sport. You never
know what you're going to run across. Stop fidgeting, boy!
As I was saying, while I was up in this tree I managed to
obtain some photographs of a different nature, photographs
which I am sure you will find of great interest, as I most
certainly did."
I glanced at the boy for some look of recognition as to
what I was talking about, but there was none. Quickly I went
to the couch and motioned for him to sit down. I gestured to
the pictures spread out before us. It crossed my mind that I
was guilty of the crime of showing pornography to a minor. I
wondered if it was still a crime if the minor is also one of the
participants. Georgie was looking hard at the pictures, his
face flushed with embarrassment, not from recognition yet,
but from the nature of the subject matter.
"Sir, what are these? Why are you showing me these
things?"
How could he fail to recognize them? True, they were
blurred and hard to make out at first, unless one knew what
to look for.
"Look closer," I said. He did so.
"They seem-" And suddenly he stopped as a blush of
recognition spread over his face. Then he turned ashen. His
lower lip began to tremble as he looked from picture to
picture. When he finally lifted his head at me, it was with an
expression of genuine terror.
"So you recognize them now?"
"Yes, sir." He looked down. He gave a little sniffle.
"It's'quite a serious matter, Georgie, as I'm sure you
realize."
"Yes, sir," he said, turning even paler at my words.
"It's bad enough in itself, of course, but with a fourth-
grader-"
"But, sir, he-"
"I hardly think excuses are in order, Candy."
"Oh, sir... sir, please!" Tears welled in the boy's big eyes.
His cupid's bow mouth started to tremble.
"Sir, if my f-father... oh, sir... please don't..." And he
broke into racking sobs.
"Let's not get too dramatic," I said. But at the same time
my arm went around his shoulder.
"If my father..."
I patted his shoulder a little. The truth was, despite my
best efforts at being a schoolmaster, the little devil was
getting to me. Maybe his father really did do cruel things to
him. I wondered what things.
"Oh, sir," said the boy, crying on my shoulder now,
"please, sir!"
"Now, take it easy. Get hold of yourself."
"But I'll get expelled! And, and he'll send me to military
school. He said he would if I ever got into trouble again. Oh,
sir... "
So, he had been in this sort of trouble before, apparently. I
wondered how many times. This was his last chance, that
was clear. If he didn't shape up as a choirboy and stay out of
trouble of that sort, it was military school, and no doubt his
father had painted a grisly picture of the regimentation and
harsh discipline that would await him there.
"Now, take it easy, Candy," I said. "I have no desire to see
you get expelled, and-"
"Oh, thank you, sir!" The pretty lad threw his arms
around me and kissed me on the mouth. I tried to remain
composed.
"Not so fast, now! At the same time, this remains a very
serious matter, deserving of the most severe punishment."
"Oh, yes, sir, I know."
"More severe than that little spanking I gave you last fall,
for instance." The boy glanced at me a bit nervously at this,
but quickly regained his composure.
"Sir, you can give me ten spankings. I don't care. You can
do anything you want as long as you don't tell my father!"
"Anything, Candy?"
"Yes, sir! Anything! I swear!" I thought for a second we
were going to break into a buck-and-wing routine from
Oliver! Once again I had to struggle for composure.
"Very well," replied the stern schoolmaster, "I will handle
this matter myself, then, in my own... ah... manner. Is that
agreeable?"
"Oh, yes, sir!"
"Very well, then. Let me see. There's a movie this Satur-
day, I believe. Rather a long one, I think. You will report to
me for punishment at that time. Until then you may spend
your free time contemplating your misdeed and asking
God's forgiveness." What I really meant, of course, was that
he could spend the time working himself into a sweat won-
dering how I was going to punish him. "You may go now," I
said, waving him toward the door.
"Yes, sir," replied the meek, contrite, schoolboy. Playing
the part to the hilt, he even rubbed his bottom as he went
out.
I felt the whole scene had involved a certain amount of
play-acting on both our parts, and when he had gone I made
myself a stiff drink and sat down, convulsed with laughter at
the absurdity of the situation. I began to sing: "I'd ... do...
anything... for you... sir... anything... for you... sir ... any-
thing... at all... dee dum dee dum. Would you jerk me off?
Anything! Would you suck my cock? Anything! Would
you...
By the time I'd finished my second drink it was time for
lights out. I bedded down the dorm and returned to my
room. I was in high spirits. That I was planning to pursue a
rather dangerous course didn't occur to me until later. At
that moment I was pleased with myself for having brought it
all off-from the first inkling of hanky-panky in the forest,
to the pictures, to the recent confrontation with the boy and
my success in maneuvering matters into my own hands.
Eric I would not confront. He was not in my dorm, and
being a Squog, he was obviously the victim rather than the
aggressor. Georgie, on the other hand, was over a barrel. I
had no clear idea of what I was going to do with him when
the time came to punish him. His "anything" implied carte
blanche, but did he really mean it? Did he really expect just
"discipline", or did he guess I might have something more
interesting in mind?
If, over the course of the next few days, Georgie lay awake
wondering what I was going to do, I did my own share of
wondering. There was no doubt that he was a very knowing
little boy when it came to matters of sex. The scene in the
forest had proven that. Also, his behavior subsequent to my
spanking him, which had carried definite sexual overtones
even if he hadn't been aware of my orgasm, indicated that he
knew which way the wind blew. But could I be sure?
Saturday night rolled around, and still I had not decided
exactly what I was going to do, although I certainly had
some ideas by then. I would have to play it by ear to some
extent, substituting Plan B if Plan A seemed unworkable.
I heard the boys whooping their way over to the gym,
where the movie was to be shown. Then all was silent, save
for my heartbeat.
A knock.
"Come in!"
Georgie entered wordlessly, closing the door quietly
behind him.
"Good evening, Georgie," I said, rising. "I'm glad to see
you kept your appointment." I stood facing the boy for
several minutes. He was wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe
over striped pajamas.
"I see you had the foresight to change into your pajamas,"
I said. "That will... ah... simplify matters, won't it?"
"Yes, sir," answered the boy miserably.
"Good. Now, then, perhaps we shall go into the other
room." For all my schoolmasterish rhetoric, I was some-
what nervous as I escorted the boy into the bedroom, closing
and locking the door behind me. I had left the radio playing
in the living room, to cover any noises we might make.
Georgie stood before me, nervously folding and unfold-
ing his hands. He looked the picture of sweetness and inno-
cence in his white robe, which contrasted beautifully with his
dark hair. I turned off the overhead light, so that the room
was lit only by a small bedside lamp. I sat down on the bed
and motioned the boy to approach.
Slowly I undid the belt of his terrycloth robe and slipped it
from around his shoulders. I put it on the bed. I looked him
up and down as he stood before me in his striped pajamas. I
took the drawstring of his pants in two fingers and pulled.
The knot came undone and the pants slid off his narrow hips
and curled around his ankles. The shirt came down just
below his hips; his thighs and legs were now bare.
"Step out of them," I said, not looking at his face. He did
so- I looked at him, and he returned my gaze. I tried to read
his thoughts, but his face was a blank. He just stood there,
holding his pajama pants in one hand. I took them from
him, and placed them beside the bathrobe.
"So much for the bottoms. Now for the top," I said.
"Raise your arms."
I lifted up his shirt and drew it off his head. He stood
naked now between my legs. I put my hand around his
slender waist and let my fingers stray over his hilly bottom.
His small prick was moving almost imperceptibly, in time
with his heartbeats. His face was flushed as I fingered his
smooth round cheeks. He had no choice but to submit to the
indignity of having his bare bottom explored by my inquisi-
tive fingers.
"Remember last year, Georgie, when we did 'The
Mikado'?"
"Yes, sir," a low voice answered.
"Remember also the words of the Lord High Executio-
ner? 'Let the punishment fit the crime.' Remember?"
"Yes, sir." Even lower.
"Well, that's just what I'm going to do." I paused, to let
the words sink in. Suddenly, as when he had recognized
himself in the photographs, he blushed as he understood
what I expected of him, that I was planning a re-enactment
of the charming woodland scene. His blushes increased as I
outlined how we were to perform the little skit. I had decided
on the bathroom as the best place, partly because being at
the back it was more soundproof, and partly because there
was a full length mirror behind the door which would afford
me an amusing view of the little drama.
"And now," I said, "shall we begin?"
"I'm ready, sir," said the boy.
"Good. We'll go into the bathroom, then." And I led him
in and locked the door behind us.
"This will represent the tree stump," I said, patting the
bathtub. The boy's eyes went to the toilet seat, upon which
lay two leather thongs which I had extracted from my hiking
bwts.
"I think they'll make a reasonable facsimilie," I said,
picking them up and assuming, somewhat awkwardly, a
position on the floor, leaning against the bathtub.
"And now," I said, "let's see how you like being on the
other end of the stick, ag it were." And as the b6y satik t6 his
knees before me I opened my trousers and brought out my
already rampant tool.
Guiding the naked boy forward between my legs so that
his head was poised directly over my crotch, I pushed his
head and shoulders down, forcing his buttocks into the air.
In the mirror I could see right up his crack to the little pink
rosebud. The sight was almost too much. I grasped the
thongs and brought them down on his tightly stretched
buttocks.
"Now, get to work," I said.
Slowly the boy took hold of my shaft at its base, and,
thrusting out his pink tongue, licked the very tip of it. The
sensation made me shiver. His long lashes were lowered on
his work as his clever tongue licked my engorged cockhead
as if it were an ice cream cone. With his other hand he
caressed my balls. He certainly seemed to know what he was
about. On the other hand, it occurred to me that he was
trying to induce an orgasm quickly in order to avoid having
to take it all the way into his mouth. So I lashed his bare
bottom with the thongs and hissed, "Take it in! And 'remem-
ber, Candy, when the time comes, that, according to the
ancient Greeks, a boy derives knowledge and wisdom from
imbibing a man's seed!"
He darted me a glance, then lowered his eyes. I felt his
ruby lips encircle the head of my cock. He sucked in the
organ for an inch or two, then partially withdrew. Each time
he engulfed a bit more, and before long I felt the head of my
cock hit the back of his mouth. My entire shaft was inside the
little choirboy's mouth, which he had opened wide like this
so often to sing sweet hymns in praise of God.
As he worked away on my cock, his little bottom bobbed
around, and I commenced lashing him lightly on those two
soft round globes. In the mirror I could see little red marks
appear. I lashed a bit harder. First one cheek, then the other,
and then a carefully aimed shot right in the crack, which
made him jump. I was in heaven! Between watching the
boy's mouth working my cock in and out, and watching his
buttocks squirm under my gentle lashing, I was having
trouble holding back my moment of truth.
Then the clever lad began to flutter his tongue on the
outward strokes, causing shivers of ecstasy to suffuse me.
My vision became blurred, and after one or two more of
these strokes I pushed his head down into my crotch with
one hand, and, lashing him on with the other, braced myself
for the onslaught.
It came. My body shook with convulsions as I pumped my
hot spunk into the child's mouth. I watched his throat work
as he swallowed the warm sperm. My flailing arm fell to my
side. I lay back against the tub as wave after wave of juice
pumped forth from my loins into the boy's willing mouth. If
the Greeks were right, Georgie would become wise over-
night.
When the boy had milked me dry, and my cock began to
grow limp, I raised his head. The boy got to his feet, wiping
his hand across his mouth. I rearranged my clothing and
also got up. As we went into the other room, I noticed how
his bottom was streaked with red marks. I hadn't really
whipped him hard, just hard enough to make it sting; never-
theless, the marks were very apparent. It might cause
problems.
"Lie down on the bed," I said. "I want to put something
on your backside."
"Oh, that's not necessary, sir," replied the boy in a rather
casual way.
"Perhaps not, but I'm going to do it anyway," I rejoined,
reminding him that I was still the master, even though I had
just pumped my sperm into his throat. "Stretch out on the
bed," I ordered.
Obediently the boy flopped down on his belly, legs to-
gether, arms under chin, his boyish behind sticking up provo-
catively. I reached into the night table where I keep my
arsenal of lubricants and took out a large jar of cold cream. T
unscrewed the cap, swirled a gob onto my fingers, and
spread it over his hot bottom like mayonnaise over a pair of
ripe tomatoes.
"This will make it feel better," I said, as I slowly began to
work in the cold cream, delighting in the feeling as I smooth-
ed the creamy substance over the hot little mounds.
My guilt feelings began to recede. Desire began to mount
once more. I lay on my side next to him so we could talk
while I massaged his charming posterior.
"You know, Georgie, that was very naughty, what you
and Eric were doing." Nothing said of course about what
Georgie and Colin Murchison had just been doing!
"I know it, sir."
"And Eric is such a little boy. Really, you should stick to
boys of your own age, Georgie."
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me the truth, now, Georgie. How did you make little
Eric do it? Did you blackmail him?"
"Sir! No! I didn't, honest!" Georgie raised up on one
elbow and looked at me indignantly. "I swear I didn't, sir!"
"Well, then," I continued, still massaging his tender
rump, "how much did you pay him?"
"Nothing, sir! Not a thing!" Again there was indignation
in his voice and eyes.
"Alright. I believe you. But suppose you tell me just how it
did happen, then."
"Sir, it was his idea as much as mine. It was both of our
ideas."
"He had no objection, then?"
"Sir, he likes it!"
"Likes it?"
"Yes, sir!"
"He likes to do what he was doing?"
"Yes, sir. He does. He likes it. Honest. He really does."
"Well, then," I said very sarcastically, "I suppose he liked
being whipped too?"
"Yes, sir, if it's not too hard."
"Oh, come on, now, Georgie."
"It's the truth, sir. It reminds him of his old nurse or
something. It's some sort of game with him. He likes being
spanked."
"I see." I was beginning to get extremely interested, not
only in Georgie, but in little Eric-not to mention Timmy
Tucker, his buddy.
"Tell me, Georgie, do you like it?"
"Not much, sir. I let Eric do it once. I didn't mind it at
first, but after a while it started to hurt. Like when you
spanked me before."
I gouged out some more cream and drove it down between
his cheeks. His thighs parted a little. A come-on? I massaged
deeper, until I was running my fingers right along his crack,
deep down between his thighs.
"I never would have guessed it of Eric," I said.
"No, sir, he doesn't seem like the type."
"What else does he like?"
"Oh, I wouldn't know, sir," he answered coyly. I screwed
my finger around his anus. The bud was closed tight. I gave
it a few tentative pokes, like feints in boxing, then jabbed in
hard. He sucked air between his teeth and the hole closed
tightly around my finger, but I didn't take it out.
"Tell me, Georgie, what else do you like?"
"Well, sir, I'll tell you what I don't like, and that's what
you're doing right now."
"Sorry," I said, letting my finger slip out of his behind.
"Thank you, sir. May I go now?" And he raised his
bottom in the air as if to get up hind end first, like a cow. I
pushed his rump down flat on the bed again.
"We're not quite finished yet," I said. "There is some-
thing else I require of you."
"But sir, that's not fair! You've already punished me!"
"Well, let's put it this way, Georgie. Either you do as I ask
or... well, I still have the pictures, don't forget."
Georgie looked at me hard. A flicker of a smile crossed his
face. I didn't much like that smile.
"Sir, would you really show those pictures to Father
Sayers?"
"I knew just what he meant. How would I explain to Father
Sayers that I just happened to be up a tree and that I just
happened to get some pictures of two small boys playing
dirty sex games? And secondly, and much more important,
what was to prevent Georgie from going to Father Sayers
and telling him about the most unusual punishment meted
out by Mr. Murchison? And finally, the concept of "punish-
ment" had lost some of its credibility and force in view of the
recent information concerning Eric's complicity. It was sud-
denly a very ticklish situation. I had underestimated the
boy's shrewdness.
"Let's be honest," I said, trying a different tack. "I don't
give two hoots about what you kids do to each other out in
the woods." This brought a smile from Georgie. "All kids
fool around," I continued.
"I used to myself when I was your age. I gave as the reason
for punishing you that you had forced a younger, innocent
boy into performing certain acts against his will. This, it
turns out, was not the case. Am I being clear?"
"Yes, sir, perfectly."
"Furthermore, my proper course of action, as you know,
would have been to report the matter to Father Sayers at
once, as also in the case of the pea-shooter incident last fall."
"Yes, sir."
"Why I chose not to do so, but instead to handle matters
myself, is, I think, perfectly apparent to you. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir, you are."
"And so, instead of saying that your punishment is not yet
over, let me be more honest, and say that there is something
more I desire from you. Clear?"
"Yes, sir, very."
"And now we come to those pictures. You are quite right
in believing I would never take them to Father Sayers. But
pictures do have a way of getting around, and they might, as
if by chance, come to the attention of, if not Father Sayers,
then perhaps someone else."
"Sir! You wouldn't!"
"All I said was that photographs have a way of getting
around. And now we come to the hub of the matter: I have
something you want very much, and you have something I
want very much. I'll give you what you want if you give
me-or let me take-what I want. Is that a deal?"
"Well, before we shake on it, I think it's only fair for you
to tell me what it is you want, because I'm not sure what it
is."
I placed my hand on his ass. "This is what I want."
"Sir?" The boy looked up questioningly. I'm sure there
was no doubt in his mind; he just wanted it spelled out.
Still with my hands on his buttocks, I bent down so that
my mouth was right against his ear, and whispered very
softly, "I want to fuck you."
A quick smile flitted across his lips, perhaps due to sur-
prise at hearing this forbidden word from the lips of one of
his masters. I said it again.
"I want to fuck your bottom."
"Sir, I don't think you can."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid it's impossible." The boy's response surprised
me. He didn't seem surprised or disturbed by my terms, but
right away began to claim the act was impossible.
"Why do you say it's impossible, Georgie?"
"It's been tried before."
"Well, not by me."
"I doubt that you'll have any better luck, sir."
"Have many others tried?"
"Enough."
'.Here?"
"Other places, mostly. I guess I have a cute behind." We
both laughed at this, and I pinched his cute bottom. We were
beginning to get along a little better, now that certain things
were out in the open.
"You have a very cute behind," I said. "I've taken quite a
fancy to it, as you may have noticed."
"I've noticed, alright."
"I thought so. And now, even though no one has succeed-
ed in taking your posterior maidenhead, will you at least let
me try?"
"Well, sir, what can I say? I mean you've got me over a
barrel, haven't you, sir?"
"Yes, I have, and that's an ideal position in which to fuck
a boy. So you just stay there over the barrel while I go to
work."
"Okay, sir. But I don't think it's going to work."
"Maybe you don't want it to work?"
"I want those pictures."
"Then here we go." Spreading his legs and kneeling be-
tween them, I parted the velvety round cheeks, admiring the
pink orifice for a few seconds before lowering my face into it.
Nestling down between his warm bottom cheeks, smelling
and tasting the cold cream, I began kissing and tonguing the
tight orifice while my hands played with his testicles. He
squirmed under me and made little noises as I darted my
tongue into his already lubricated hole. He responded to the
tonguing, and when I thought he was ready I turned him on
his side and drew up his knees. After working some more
cold cream in between his cheeks, deep into the cleft, I
guided my shaft between the slippery buttocks and pressed
the head against his hole.
I tried every trick, I knocked gently six times and on the
seventh gave a push. He pulled away. I told him to take a
deep breath and let it out slowly. This almost worked, but he
tightened up just in time to prevent me from slipping past his
pucker.
"Let me in!" I hissed.
"I'm too small and you're too big!" he protested. But I
knew this wasn't true; he simply was not relaxing. I consi-
dered holding him tight and forcing my way in, but this was
against the chicken-lovers' code of ethics, so I went back to
my bag of tricks. I worked his pecker until it got stiff,
thinking that if I got him to shoot (being only eleven it would
of course be only a "dry run") he would relax involuntarily.
I worked his prick for ten minutes, but nothing happened.
Meanwhile his back door was still shut tight.
"I told you it wouldn't work," said the boy.
That only inflamed me. I would rape him. I would force
my way into that hot, incredibly tight chamber! I would force
open those posterior lips, and once inside him I would ram it
home until he cried for his Mommy.
But of course I did nothing of the kind. The fact is, I was
tired-not only from my present exertions but from having
spent my load in his mouth not long before. I withdrew from
between his slippery buttocks, intending to rest awhile.
"May I go now, sir?"
"I'm not through yet. I haven't given up."
"Sir, if you'll stop for tonight, I promise to let you try
again tomorrow night."
This was exactly what I wanted, but I didn't want to give
in too easily. Besides, he might welch on the deal. "What
makes you think you'll like it any better tomorrow night?"
"I won't, sir, but at least I'll be prepared for it."
What did he plan to do, walk around all day with a peg up
his ass? On the other hand, he would be more receptive,
maybe, and I certainly wasn't getting anywhere.
"Alright, Georgie. Tomorrow night it is. But remember,
that's a promise."
"Yes, sir, I promise."
"Good boy." With a towel, I wiped the cold cream off his
bottom and between the cheeks and around his rosebud
which I had tried so hard to open. His bottom, softened by
the cream, looked so desirable in its pink roundness that I
almost decided to have another crack at it. Instead, I watch-
ed him put on his pajamas, watched the shirt fall down
over his fine boyish torso, watched the delectable round
behind disappear under the cloth of the pants.
"Until tomorrow night, then," I said as the boy fastened
the terrycloth belt around his slender waist.
"And don't forget," I added, as I showed him to the door,
"I have those pictures."
I made myself a drink and lit a cigarette. I reviewed the
whole episode slowly, from the wonderful bit in the
bathroom (what technique the boy had! Wherever did he
learn to give blowjobs like that?) to the frustrating attempt
at buggery on the bed. I saw again those lovely cheeks. I
smelled my finger: cold cream and boy-bottom,
Fool! Idiot! Youhadhim rightthere!Hewasyours! Whydid
you have to pussyfoot around? Why didn't you just take him,
whether it hurt or not? Why didn't youjustflop him over on his
belly, spread his legs and ram it in? So what ifhe didn't like it?
It was a punnishment session, after all, andboys aren't supposed
to enjoy punishment. But no, you had to consider his tender
feelings. The little boy didn't want to be tucked.
Christ! Who cares what he wants or doesn't want! Jesus,
what an opportunity muffed! You had him right there, all
greased up and readyfor bear, andyou let him go. Sure he was
tight-all little boy-virgins have tight little boy-cunts, but it
wasn't that tight! He could have been tucked! If a boy won't
open his back door then you just have to huff and puff and
batter it down. But not you, you sentimental oldfool!
I made another drink. There was always tomorrow night.
He had promised. I began to plan. I would take him into one
of the school rooms. Far from everyone. No one to hear him
scream. I would gag him if necessary. I would take his pants
down and bend him over a school desk. It would be just the
right height. His toes would just barely touch the floor. I
would take my thongs, or a paddle-yes, perhaps a paddle
would be nice this time-and with his little bare ags sticking
out over the edge of the desk, I would paddle his rump until
he cried for mercy. Then I would give him mercy!
Dropping the paddle, I would take a glob of Vaseline and
jam it right in between his cheeks, right into his hot little
crack. I'd give him a jolly good goosing with my middle
finger while he squirmed helplessly. Perhaps I'd stick in my
index finger, too, and give him a two-finger goose. Then I
would pry apart his bottom cheeks with my thumbs and ram
my tool right up into him, breaking through his pucker and
forcing my way right up into his hot little rectum. He would
cry out, beg me to stop, yell in pain, groan, twist and squirm;
but I would hold his bottom and fuck him furiously, my big
body pressed against his slim nude torso, ramming my cock
in and out of his asshole until with one final lunge I would
slam into him, pressing him painfully against the edge of the
desk, and shoot quarts and quarts of hot spunk into his
deflowered rectum, his racking sobs at having been painfully
and humiliatingly raped only causing further spasms from
my loins.
Then I recalled how nice and obliging he had been for the
first part of the session. I had never had such a good blow-
job. He had put up with the finger fucking, too, obviously
not liking it. He's done pretty well for one night. I shouldn't
be too hard on him.
Then I thought of that ass again.
On my third drink I thought of Ronnie. Of course! He was
my own boy, after all. I had not had him in bed since spring
vacation, that wonderful time in our Central Park
"hideout". I remembered the musky smell of his warm body
next to mine, and the sun from the half-shut venetian blinds
falling in streaks on his peach-colored body. Is there any-
thing more lovely than fucking a boy in broad daylight, the
time when most boys are out playing, shattering the still
warm air with their shrill cries? Suddenly I lusted for Ron-
nie. To hell with Georgie.
Although I knew perfectly Well it Was after midnight, I
went into the wing where Ronnie slept (luckily the opposite
side from Georgie's) and went down the line of sleeping
boys, drinking in their special nocturnal smell, until I came
to Ronnie's bed. He was on his stomach as usual. I sat down
on his bed and whispered, "Ronnie! Wake up!" I shook him
gently, and he rolled over and started to say something. I
clamped my hand over his mouth and whispered, "Get up!
Follow me! Be quiet!" Slowly the dazed boy began to under-
stand, and automatically putting on his bathrobe and slip-
pers, padded down the corridor to my room. I looked back
to see if any of the other boys had awakened, but all seemed
quiet.
He blinked in the light of my room, rubbing his eyes.
There were creases on his cheek from sleeping on it. Quickly
I ushered him into the bedroom, closing the door and turn-
ing out the lights. Then he spoke.
"Sir, what is this?"
"Never mind," I said, undoing his robe, "just get undres-
sed and into bed like a good boy and I'll explain everything
later."
The boy let me take off his pajamas, and when he was
naked I pulled him down between the cool sheets. Stripping
off my robe, I crawled in beside him. I took his warm sleepy
body in my arms and squeezed him tight, my hands stroking
his back and buttocks. He was too sleepy to respond much,
but I didn't really care. All I wanted was to fuck him. I rolled
him on his other side and pulled his butt down against my
crotch. Then, without so much as a tender word or a warm-
up caress, I spread apart his soft bottom cheeks, drove in
some KY, and marched in like Sherman through Georgia.
I'd forgotten what a tight fit he was, and of course he wasn't
ready for my attack. The abruptness of it brought him to
consciousness.
"Ouch! Hey, sir!"
"Sorry," I said, feeling more aroused than sorry. The idea
of raping a boy was suddenly very appealing. I rarnmed in
again. Again he protested. "Then open up!" I whispered.
"It's not as if you were a virgin, after all."
The boy looked at me over his shoulder. "You drunk or
something, sit?"
"Yes, I'm drunk, God damn it. I won't remember a thing
in the morning and neither will you. But right now I need
you in the worst way. So open up, because if you don't I'll
screw you anyway and it'll just hurt more."
"Okay, sir, though I'm not exactly in the mood. And for
Christ's sake, take it easy."
For Christ's sake! How fitting for a choirboy to invo e
the Lord's protection while about to be buggered! Well, he
would need that protection, because in my lustful state I
wasn't about to take anything easy. I guided my cock toward
his hole and gave a shove. Luckily for him (thanks be to
'Mee, 0 Lord) his muscles relaxed, his anal lips parted, and
through the Grace of God my tool entered the soft hot canal
of the choirboy.
I rammed my rod joyfully home, ignoring the boy's gasp
of pain.
"Lord have mercy on me, a sinner!" I said aloud, holding
the boy tight around the waist so he couldn't retreat from
impalement on my spear as I withdrew part way in order to
plunge in deeper.
Now I started really fucking him with long, hard, deep
strokes. He groaned a bit, but I paid no attention to him. He
wasn't hard in front. My lovemaking, if you can call it that,
had been too sudden to arouse him. Nevertheless, he lay
passively in my arms as I pumped in and out, my face buried
in his neck. I drove in as deep as I could, loving the idea that
this was my own little boy, my private catamite whose cute
little ass was always at my disposal. I tucked deeper and
harder; and now my thrustings against his inner walls began
to affect the boy, for his penis grew hard and big. I took hold
of it and worked it quickly, for I knew I was about to come.
His eyes were shut tight and his teeth were clenched as I
pumped away on his cock, at the same time continuing my
rhythmic thrustings in and out of his bottom. Then he
spurted, and the involuntary constrictions of his sphincter
muscles caused me to reach an exquisite climax. For the
second time that evening, I felt my loins stiffen. Working the
boy's spurting cock, I drove furiously in and out of his
resilient bottom, pumping my juicy load into his boyish
canal.
After my cock slipped out of his behind, I licked his come
off his belly and kissed him, letting him taste his own juices.
Then, without the promised explanation, I helped the boy
back into his pajamas and robe and sent him padding off
down the corridor. I hadn't even wiped off his bottom, and
the thought of his crawling into bed and going to sleep
feeling all squishy back there from his recent fucking gave
me a charge. I wondered if he would wake up in the morning,
thinking he dreamed it all, and then feel the slippery feeling
in his behind! Ali, boys should have their bottoms perma-
nently lubricated, so that they would always be ready for
buggery! That squishy feeling back there would serve to
remind them what little boys' bottoms were made for!
I shut my door, finished off my drink, and fell into bed. In
a second I was asleep.