Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 11:58:11 -0700 (PDT)
From: bpell@anon.nymserver.com
Subject: Chronicles Of St.Barnabas chapter15a

  15.  The Bottom of the Matter

     As you might imagine, I felt pretty rotten the next day.  In
   addition to having a shattering hangover, I felt like a real cad
   about Ronnie; and when I passed him in the corridor he gave
   me a very funny took.  Then, as if things weren't bad enough,
   I found out that Georgie had reported to the infirmary!  So
   the little rat was going to fink out on his promise by faking
   sickness!  There was a certain irony in the fact that he had
   gone there to escape my nozzle, only to be greeted with
   certainty by Miss E.'s smaller, but equally persistent, one-
   like going from the fire into the frying pan.  I also wondered
   what Miss E. would make of the stripes on Georgie's bot-
   tom, for she was sure to notice them if they were still visible.
   I just couldn't worry about that, though.  I made it through
   the day somehow, and after lights I brought Ronnie in for a
   talk.  He looked at me suspiciously, as if I were going to
   pounce on him and rip off his pajamas.
     We sat side by side on the couch.  He was cool at first,
   pouting; but boys don't bear grudges for long, and soon he
   began to thaw, and I began to "explain" my weird behavior
   of the night before, muttering things about "man's pas-
   sions" which he would understand some day soon, but
   Ronnie wasn't anxious to discuss it.  And what was there to
   discuss, after all?  One couldn't escape the fact that I had
   dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night and
   practically raped him-and all because of frustrated rage at
   not getting into another boy's behind.
     T'hrough halting conversation and non-verbal communi-
   cation, I finally understood that for Ronnie the fact of being
   raped had not hurt him as much as the feeling of being
   treated like something fit only to be raped, and that he
   wondered why I didn't love him anymore.  When this matter
     had been straightened out, with some convincing demon-
     strations, both verbal and physical, that he was still Numero
     Uno with me and always would be, things were restored
     more or less to normal, and we went into my bedroom so
     that I could prove to him that I still loved him in the same old
     way.
       Afterwards, we lay on my bed and talked until nearly
     midnight.
       It was several days before Georgie got out of the infir-
     mary, and by this time I had decided it would be far better to
     let the whole matter drop and let him off the hook.  For one
     thing, I found out that he really had been sick; for another, I
     had certain feelings of guilt about the whole affair-about
     my sneakiness in spying on him and Eric, about using this
     information to get into Georgie's drawers, and about trying
     to force my way into his unwilling behind, something which
     was against my principles.
       Tbus, when the boy was finally released from the clutches
     of Miss E., looking somewhat pale and even a trifle thin, I
     sent for him to release him from his promise.
       But things worked out differently.
       Georgie came to me just as the boys were changing for
     sports.  Having just gotten out of the infirmary, he was to
     stay in.  I had the pictures on the table, planning to burn
     them before his eyes; when he saw them he began to speak
     before I had a chance to say anything.
       "Yes, sir, I know.  I haven't forgotten my promise.  I really
     was sick, you see, not faking as you probably thought.  So
     now I guess you want me to live up to my word, and I'm
     going to, sir.  I am ready anytime."
       I was flabbergasted.  All my good intentions went out the
     window.  The boy was offering his bottom as a sacrifice.  Was
     I going to turn him down?  Perhaps I am weak, a man
     without scruples or principles.  Yes, it was certainly my turn
     to be magnanimous.  But just listen to me:
       "Thank you, Georgie, for being as good as your word.I
   admit I did suspect you of malingering, until I found out you
   really were sick."
      "Tonight, then, sir?"
      "Yes.  Tonight.  No, wait a minute.  Why not right now?
   That is, if you feel up to it."
      "Sir, Miss E, wants me to lie down in the infirmary."
      "I'll see what can be done about that." I called the good
   woman on the phone and asked her if he could recline here
   instead, assuring her that I would see to it personally that he
   spent at least an hour lying down.  She thanked me very
   kindly for all my trouble, obviously glad to be relieved of the
   responsibility.
      "Yes, Georgie," said I, "I think I can be as good as my
   word, and see to it personally that you spend a good hour
   lying down."
      The boy laughed nervously at my little joke.  Perhaps an
   hour seemed an awfully long time to have to submit to my
   ministrations.  Or perhaps the thought of the immediacy of
   the act gave him the butterflies.  At any rate, when we got to
   the bedroom (door locked, blinds drawn) he asked if he
   might go to the bathroom.  I heard him peeing, then water
   running.  When he returned he looked flushed.  His recent
   illness made him look very vulnerable.
      I drew him between my knees and unbuttoned his shirt.
   "If you're going to take a nap." I teased, "I think we'd better
   undress you first.  You'll feel more comfortable that way."
      The boy managed a smile of sorts.  I peeled off his shirt,
   then sat him on the bed and took off his shoes and socks.
   Then I stretched him out flat to finish undressing him.  I
   unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down over his hips
   and off his feet.  I gazed long and hard at his near-naked
   body, so pale and soft.  His little pricklet was pushing up
   against the cloth of his jockey shorts.  Being undressed by
   someone almost always excites little boys, I've found.
      Very slowly I grasped the elastic of his underpants and slid
   them down over his hips.  His little rod popped out and stood
     up, waving proudly,I tossed aside his shorts and ran my
     hands over the smooth white skin of his nude body-his
     nipples, his soft belly, his smooth thighs, and of course his
     little pecker.  Grasping the little organ by its base, I tickled
     the tip of it with my tongue, then nibbled further down,
     under the head, and finally gave a few sucks on the delicious
     little thing, mainly for the purpose of arousing the boy
     sufficiently so I could penetrate his bottom more easily.
       Then I rolled him over on his tummy and stroked his
     smooth back, running my hands down over the velvet
     mounds of his buttocks, down his legs and back up again.
     Finally I concentrated my attentions on the most lovely part
     of all-the little boy's bottom, which I was soon to deflower,
     I hoped.
       Georgie's behind was the epitome of everything a little
     boy's behind should be: round and firm, yet soft and pliable;
     pink and smooth, yielding under the fingers; and most of all,
     it had that indescribable impertinence of little boys'
     behinds-that certain something which makes them irresis-
     tible when displayed properly, so that if caught bending over
     the boy will feel a sharp spank from someone's hand-
     sometimes a compete stranger! -and a voice will say, apolo-
     getically, "I just couldn't help it; it was too tempting a
     target," meaning, of course, that it was so cute and round
     and saucy that you just couldn't keep your lecherous paws
     off it!
      Spreading apart Georgie's milky thighs, I sank down and
     covered the smooth skin of his bottom with kisses, as I had
     done the time before, after his spanking.  I was not going to
     spank him today, of course, although there is something
     quite exciting about the idea of fucking a newly-spanked
     behind.  Now I parted his sweet cheeks and sank my face
     right down in between them, drinking in the smell of boy-
     bottom which to me is as lovely as that of any rose.  Finding
     the spot with my tongue I began licking around the opening.
     The boy squirmed under me as my tongue tickled his anus,
    but when it darted in between the pursed lips, he twisted and
    turned even harder.
      I lay there tonguing his hole for fully three minutes, my
    hands at the same time kneading the soft warm round cheeks
    of the little boy's bottom.  There was no doubt about it,
    Georgie had the most perfect behind in the whole school,
    and there were some mighty toothsome ones.  Ronnie's
    behind was delectable, but it was just not quite as perfectly
    formed; slightly imperfect, it was more mortal.  Allen Burns
    had a bottom that was made to be spanked.  And the rear
    view of Ericson was enough to drive sane men to rash acts,
    for it seemed to move lasciviously under the always thin,
    always tight material of his trousers; it was less chubby and
    saucy than either Allen's or Georgie's, both of which stuck
    out in back in an inviting manner; nevertheless it was
    extremely seductive, as the lean boy used his supple, willowy
    body in the most enticing way.  Georgie's bottom, though,
    was simply perfection.  It could not have been improved
    upon.
      After giving the boy a good rimming, I reached into my
    nightstand.  I decided on Vaseline for this operation.  I scoop-
    ed out a large gob from the jar and drove my fingers down
    between his cheeks, working the slippery stuff all around
    near the entrance to paradise.  The boy squirmed as I worked
    one finger in past the tight sphincter.  He seemedjust as tight
    as before.  Nevertheless, I pushed in further, well past the
    knuckle, and then began working my finger around in his
    bum, twisting it this way and that in an effort to loosen him
    up. Georgie made little sounds as I worked my finger around
    inside his sweet virgin bottom.  Perhaps he felt it wrong that
    anyone should take such indecent liberties with his little
    hole.  At any rate, it was clear he was not altogether happy
    with what I was doing to him.  Nevertheless, I continued the
    digital massage, stretching the walls of his anus with my
    finger until I felt them begin to yield a little under the
    constant massage.  Reaching under the boy, I found him still
     hard, which led me to suspect that the massage of his bottom
     was not altogether displeasing to the boy.
       Finally I decided the moment had arrived.  I turned him on
     his side and drew his legs up, flexing his knees.  This caused
     his fanny to protrude, making access to his anus easier.  I
     took a long look at his charms, displayed thus to the fullest
     possible extent.  After Admiring the boy's charms, I posi-
     tioned myself behind him working my way up until I was
     pressed close against his smooth buttocks.  Then, as before, I
     started knocking, all the while playing with him in front to
     keep him aroused.
       For a while, things went pretty much as they had the first
     time-that is, I had no luck.  There was one important
     difference, however.  On the first occasion, you will remem-
     ber, I had already unloaded a scrotumful into his mouth.  On
     this occasion, I had been celibate for three days.  This wor-
     ked to my disadvantage, for try as I might to hold it back, the
     act of working my rod against his slippery little bottom
     caused my fluid to rise.  This meant I would have to stop and
     wait for the flood to recede.  And this in turn meant that any
     ground that I had gained was also lost.  This happened four
     or five times.  I decided I would try to get in on the next
     attempt, then wait for a few minutes before beginning the
     actual fucking.  But you know what they say about the
     best-laid plans, or of you prefer the best-planned lays.  On
     the next attempt I suddenly realized I was past the point of
     no return.
       That part of me didn't care; an orgasm was an orgasm,
     after all.  But my cerebral part did care; it wanted to achieve
     the conquest of this little boy's bottom.  And so, I grasped
     the boy tight and prepared to go into him at whatever cost in
     pain.  Already I could feel the fluid rising.  When I felt the
     first spurt rise up in my shaft I rammed that shaft sharply
     into the small hole.  The boy's cry of pain only excited me.
     Determined to taste, at least partially, the fruits of the boy's
     sweet behind, I pressed on.  There was no time to lose.  I was
    just barely inside the sphincter, so that only the very tip of
    my cock could taste the heat of his rectum, and I was
    spurting.  And the boy was protesting that it hurt.  I had to
    hold onto him like an octopus to keep even that much of me
    inside him, for his muscles were trying to squeeze me out.
    But I held my position, and now the orgasm swept over me
    in wave after wave, and I pumped the juice of life into the
    boy.  Yes, every single drop went into his behind.
      As my pelvic thrusts grew less violent, the boy's efforts to
    expel the foreign instrument which was violating his bottom
    became weaker, so that when I had almost finished my
    orgasm I felt the boy's portals give way and allow my shaft
    to sink into his inner recesses.  In short, by the time I was
    spent, I was inside him.  But as my penis quickly grew flaccid,
    a slight motion of the boy's body caused it to slip out.  'Me
    boy rolled onto his belly and buried his face in the pillow.
    Apparently the shame at having his pretty virgin bottom
    deflowered was too much for the lad.  I stroked his hair and
    called him nice things, telling him what a good brave boy he
    was.  His only reply was a sniffle.  I patted his behind, slippery
    with Vaseline.
      "Sir, may I go to the bathroom?"
      "Again?  You just went."
      "I want to sit on the pot, sir."
      Of course you do, I thought, and get rid of all the nice hot
    spunk that's in your bottom.  Well, nothing doing.  I wouldn't
    let him.  I also knew that he didn't really have to go, and that
    the feeling would pass very shortly.
      "Rest a bit first," I said, "your bottom muscles have been
    put to a strain, and it's better to let them fully relax before
    you sit on the potty." This was a medical theory that came to
    me on the spur of the moment, but it seemed to have a
    certain logic to it.  At any rate, the boy submitted to my
    dictum, and lay passively as I wiped off his bottom with a
    towel, cleaning him carefully between his chubby cheeks.  I
    told him to stay there and rest for a while, that I would call
   him when he could get up.  I covered his nude body with a
     sheet and went into the front room.  I sat down and smoked
     several cigarettes, getting hard again at the thought of him
     lying face down and naked, his deflowered bottom sticking
     in the air, full of spunk.  It was disappointing, of course, not
     to have gotten into him in time to have given him a real
     fucking, but I felt an unreasonable triumph at having been
     able to inject every drop of myjuice into him, all the more so
     as he obviously disliked having it in him.
       After a while I decided to peek in at the boy.  His deep
     breathing told me he was sound asleep.  I pulled back the
     sheet and gazed at his lovely nude body for a while.  He made
     a little whimpering sound, twitching his buttocks and draw-
     ing up one leg to reveal the little rosebud, inflamed from its
     recent attentions.  I felt like pouncing on him again, but
     decided against it.  Covering him up with a sheet, I went
     down to the infirmary to report to Miss E. that all was well
     with her charge.  As I came in the infirmary she was cleaning
     her apparatus, getting it ready for the next victim.
       "Ah, Mr. Murchison!  And how's our little Candy doing?
     If he's causing you any trouble just send him right back
     down to me."
       "He's no trouble at all," I said, "he's sleeping like a baby.
     He seems exhausted, for some reason."
       "I gave him a good flushing out this morning.  That some-
     times induces sleep in children."
       "I see.  He didn't tell me about it.  Did he make a fuss about
     it?"
       "They all do.  None of them like it the least bit.  Well, there
     are exceptions, of course, but in general boys just don't like
     enemas.  But then boys never like what's good for them, do
     they Mr. Murchison?"
       "I suppose not," I answered, I wanted to draw her out
     more on the topic of her favorite sport.  "Though I've heard
     of children who enjoy being spanked.  Rousseau for
     instance."
      "Rousseau?"
      "The French writer.  He relates how he was spanked by his
    governess or someone, and how, instead of finding the
    experience thoroughly painful and unpleasant, as spankings
    are meant to be, he found it positively enjoyable, and sought
    a repeat of the experience."
      "How extraordinary that you should mention that!  When
    Candy came in the other day-I can't remember whether it
    was Monday or Tuesday.  Well, it doesn't really matter- As
    I was putting him to bed, helping him get undressed, you
    know, I noticed some strange marks on his posterior.  They
    weren't cane marks.  I know what they look like.  They were
    thinner than cane marks.  Well, the child was feeling under
    the weather, so I didn't ask him about the marks, just gave
    him something to make him sleep, but later on-was it the
    same day or the next day?-l can't remember.  But I was
    giving him a good cleaning out, and sitting there on the edge
    of the bed regulating the tube, I noticed the marks again.
    'Georgie' I said,'who's been taking a stick of your bottom?'
    'Ma'am?' he asked as though he didn't know what I was
    talking about.  Stalling for time, if you ask me!  So I asked
    him again.  'Where did these marks come from, right here?'
    And I looked him in the eye.  'Oh, that,'he said,'that wasjust
    some game we were playing, you see.  And I lost, so I had to
    pay the penalty.' 'I see,' I said,'and so the other fellows took
    a little stick to you, is that it?' 'Well, ma'am,' he says, 'not a
    stick, really, more like leather shoelaces.' 'Well,' I said, 'I
    shouldn't think shoelaces would leave such marks, unless of
    course the loser, or whatever you want to call him, was made
    to present his posterior in the state it is at the present
    moment-which is to say, of course, quite unprotected by
    clothing.' At this the boy blushed prettily and merely said,
    'Yes, ma'am,' a reply I found somewhat ambiguous.  But his
    blush had told all.  Of course at the time I didn't think to ask
    him whether he had enjoyed the little whipping.  I merely
    reflected that little boys think up odd games to play.  Don't
     you agree Mr. Murchison?"
        I certainly did agree, and was also grateful to Georgie for
     his quick and plausible explanation of the thong marks.
        "Who's to say?" I mused.  "There might well have been an
     element of pleasure involved.  After all, if the boys detested
     being whipped, I would think they would not play the game
     in the first place."
        "Well, I can't speak for Candy, or for anyone else on that
     matter.  Perhaps Father Sayers could enlighten us, if he
     should so wish.  Nevertheless, I can tell you that not all of the
     boys hate my little cleansings as much as they pretend to.
     Some of them actually rather enjoy them, I suspect."
        "Really?  How extraordinary!"
        "Yes, isn't it.  Now you take little Ladd, for example.  Of
     course, he's such a well-behaved child anyway, he wouldn't
     dare to make a fuss over such a little thing, such an ordinary
     matter, that is-or should be-so much a part of a child's
     daily experience.  It's a pity all our boys aren't like him." I
     silently agreed with her.  "So many children aren't brought
     up properly these days, and that's half the trouble with the
     world, if you want my opinion."
        She was getting off the subject, and I prodded her on.
     "You were saying-about Ladd."
        "Yes.  Not long ago he actually came in here and told me
     he had a tummy ache and couldn't I please do something
     about it.  Well, I asked when he had last sat on the potty and
     he said not for two days.  A simple case of constipation!  I
     told him he needed an enema, expecting some sort of fuss.
     But not at all!  'Yes,' he answered, 'I suppose I do.' Can you
     imagine?  Well, I put him up here on the table and went
     swiftly to work, and not one word of fuss from him, the dear
     little child.  He just lay here perfectly still, not squirming
     around and complaining that it's too hot and all, the way
     most of them do.  He took it just as nice as you please.  And it
     was just what he'd needed.  It produced the desired results,
     and afterwards, as I was tucking him into bed to rest, he said
   he felt so much better.  Most boys don't know what's good
   for them.  Everyone needs a good cleaning out, now and
   then.  Just like a house!  You wouldn't think of not giving
   your house a good cleaning now and then, would you?  Of
   course not!  Then why neglect your body?  After all, isn't it
   more important than a house?  Anyone can build a house,
   but only God can make a body."
      "Or a tree," I put in.  I was beginning to get bored with the
   woman's prattling, but I had picked up one very interesting
   piece of information.  Eric Ladd would certainly bear culti-
   vating next year.  If he didn't object to enema nozzles, per-
   haps he would not object to another kind of nozzle.  Yes, that
   boy certainly had possibilities.  I excused myself to go back
   and check on Georgie.
      "Keep him there as long as you wish, Mr. Murchison.  The
   others won't be back from sports for some time, will they?" I
   assured her they wouldn't.  It was a warm spring day, and
   they would stay out until almost six, when they had choir
   practice.  Dinner wouldn't be until seven.
      Georgie was still sleeping.  He was really out like a light.  I
   sat down on the bed and pulled back the sheet, exposing his
   naked body.  I ran my hand gently down his back and over
   his smooth round behind.  I was content just to sit there
   stroking the bare buttocks of the nude boy.  Time passed.  I
   fell into a sort of trance as I ran my hands up and down the
   length of the boy's bare body, paying special attention of
   course to his delicious round ass.
      The trance was broken by the whoops and hollers of the
   boys returning from sports.  I left Georgie and went into the
   dorm just as my boys, hot and sweaty from their games,
   bounced into the dorm flinging off their clothes as they
   came.  I got Brinkley, one of the prefects, to supervise my
   showers, which he was glad to do, as he was something of a
   martinet.  I left him there in charge of my dirty, sweaty,
   naked little boys, and went back to Sleeping Beauty.
      Then I resumed my caressing.  Soon the dorm was silent.
     Then I heard the boys vocalizing in the rehearsal room.  They
     were practicing an anthem, Mendelssohn's "Hear my
     Prayer." Ericson would sing the solo.  The sound of their
     sweet virginal voices stimulated me.  I began kissing Geor-
     gie's little bottom.  This brought him out of his slumber,
     making me wonder if he had been feigning sleep.  He sat up
     and rubbed his eyes, then looked at me.  He gave me a fqint
     smile.  Perhaps it amused him to find himself naked on the
     bed of a master.  He looked very cute, sitting there naked and
     sleepy.  I pulled him toward me, caressing him.  I guided his
     hand down to my cock, to let him know how aroused I was
     by holding him naked in my arms.  With my other hand I
     stroked his back.  When I stuck my finger between his
     cheeks, pressing it against his still moist anus, he drew away.
       "Not again, sir," he said.  I had been hoping, of course,
     that by some miracle he would be willing to let me fuck him
     again, as I wanted to get my prick all the way inside his
     bottom and really savor it fully.  However, I wasn't surprised
     when he objected.
       "Well," I said, "if not that, then how about the other?"
     And I pulled his head down toward my crotch.  He shrugged
     his shoulders.  That was all the green light I needed.  I undid
     my pants and slid them down.  I lay back on the bed and he
     knelt, his back to me, and took my erect cock by the root and
     guided it toward his mouth.  Soon his sweet young lips closed
     over the head.  I caressed his back and bottom.  But I wanted
     to do more than touch it with my fingers, so I had him get
     over on top of me so that he lay on his stomach, on my
     stomach.  I pulled him back by the legs until his bottom was
     right in my face.  In this position I could play with his behind
     to my heart's content while he sucked my cock in his expert
     way.
       I kneaded the soft cheeks of his ass, then pried them apart
     and touched the little hole.  Now he had my whole cock in his
     mouth, and was taking long, slow strokes, using the flutter-
     ing tongue movements that had delighted me so much
   before.  I stuck my tongue right in between his cheeks and
   began licking his tender hole.  The sweet choirboy voices
   wafted up from the rehearsal room.  My passion mounted.  I
   squeezed his buttocks hard, causing them to squirm, and
   then thrust my tongue hard against his back entrance.  He
   never missed a beat, but kept right on with his sucking, his
   tnouth closed tight around my cock so that I felt as if I were
   in a tight asshole.  I jabbed my tongue in past his pucker.  The
   little lips opened just a bit, and my tongue reached inside
   him.
      "Hear my Prayer!" The choirboys' voices rose in suppli-
   cation.  My juices rose in response.  I wrapped my legs around
   the boy's head and buried my face deep between the cheeks
   of his delicious bottom.  Then it came.  I felt the indescribable
   feeling as my orgasm rose and shot forth into the boy's
   mouth.  As I pumped wave after wave into his hot mouth I
   tongued furiously at his hole, working his prick with one
   hand until his bottom began jerking back and forth, forcing
   deeper inside his hot little rectum as he pumped away his dry
   orgasm.
      After he had sucked me dry I pulled him around so that he
   lay on top of me with his face above mine.  I kissed him
   deeply, tasting my own juice, and as my tongue explored his
   mouth, my finger pushed deep between his velvety buttocks
   and into his moistened hole, making his lovely little behind
   squirm.

      Later, in the other room, I burned the prints and negatives
   in my small fireplace and released the boy from any and all
   future punishment.  The incident was closed.  He had cer-
   tainly paid me in full.  If I had not succeeded in totally
   possessing his bottom, well, one has to take the bitter with
   the sweet.  And there had been plenty of sweet.
      We parted not as enemies, nor as lovers, but as friends
   who understood each other a good deal better than before.
   Just as Georgie was going out the door I stopped him.
      "One more thing.  I must compliment you on your tech-
    nique.  Wherever did you learn it?"
      He gave me a little smile.  "From Eric," he said, and was
    gone.